Rules of Refinement (The Marriage Maker)

by Tarah Scott

  Robert took a step back. “No,” he croaked, throat dry as ashes. He gave a more vigorous shake of his head. “This isn’t what I wanted. I wanted breakfast every morning. I wanted to watch our children grow.” He took another step back. “I wanted a life together.”

  “We can still have a child, and he’ll be a viscount someday.” She smoothed her hands down her frame and angled her face to look up at him through thick lashes. “You can’t tell me you don’t dream of this.”

  “Of bedding the woman I once loved so she can raise my child as another man’s heir?” The sound that wrenched from his throat bore little resemblance to laughter. “That is not my dream.”

  Her lips turned downward, muting their bowlike perfection. Blue eyes narrowed. “It’s that Scottish chit, isn’t it? You’re both enamored of her. My husband because he thinks she’ll be a fertile little whore and you…I thought you simply wanted to take something from him, but now I see you fancy yourself in love.”

  Robert blinked. In love? An image of Emilia’s open, smiling face, blotted out the treacherous beauty before him. Framed in sun-kissed tresses, that face was all things good.

  “You think she’s better than I am, don’t you? That she’s sweet, innocent.” Cinthia’s tone was harsh now, ugly. “Well, you’ll come around once she betrays you. She’s no match for Dunreid’s persistence. He’s like a fox hound with the scent. You’ll never best him, Robert. You aren’t man enough to take what you want before he can. Once she’s his, you’ll come crawling to me, brokenhearted and alone, and I’ll have what I need from you.”

  Her hard voice stole through him, cooled him, settled his hammering pulse. “Is that the way of it, Cinthia? I wasn’t man enough to keep you?”

  “You weren’t, and now you aren’t man enough to take me,” she snapped.

  He crossed to the bed, anger alive inside him. “I mourned our future, Cinthia. I wept for it, like a dead lover, but I am not the one who killed it.” He raked his eyes up and down her frame, and saw not beauty, but a desperate, vulgar display. “I’m glad Dunreid came along. He stopped me from making the greatest mistake of my life.”

  She gasped, white-faced.

  Robert turned away, a bit surprised to find he’d left the door open. He shrugged, for his servants may as well hear. Perhaps his response to her would reassure them.

  “Robert.” Cinthia’s tone pleaded.

  He didn’t turn back. As he strode from the room he said, “I’ll send a maid to help you dress. I already have carriage ready.”

  A string of invectives followed him down the hall. Cinthia’s shrillness faded as he jogged down the steps. He found Edwards in the foyer.

  “Send someone to assist Lady Cinthia back into her garments,” Robert said. “I’ll be in my study. Let me know when she’s gone.”

  “In your study, sir?” Edwards’ face pulled down with worry. “Will you need a new decanter of scotch, then, sir?”

  Robert frowned. Would he? Emilia’s smile flittered through his mind. “No, Edwards, I think not.”

  Chapter Nine

  EMILIA WOKE THE MORNING of the third ball with mixed emotions. She wished to find a husband, and remain in Edinburgh, but the second ball and her ride in the park had produced no suitable candidate. This was partly because none of the available men seemed interested in her, or rather interested enough to defy Viscount Dunreid, but also because, to her despair, she’d come to realize that only one man would suit…Mister Banbrook.

  Robert, as she now called him in the privacy of her thoughts, was everything she’d hoped for in a husband, and more. He was also things she never imagined she wanted, but now did. He suppressed his passions. Drawing out a man was a pleasure she’d never before experienced. In the park, when he’d laughed so hard and free, she’d given up any hope of keeping her heart.

  Yet two obstacles prevented pursuit of him. He might still love Lady Cinthia, and he wasn’t in the market for a wife. Emilia sighed.

  These obstacles occupied her thoughts as she went through her morning. No matter how she twisted and turned them, they couldn’t be set aside. She could find no way over, through or around those two truths. A sinking despair began to fill her. How could she wed any other man now that she knew Robert? If she couldn’t wed, she would return to the country and die an old maid, a burden on her family forever. She almost rued the day she wrote to Sir Stirling and brought Robert into her life.

  In need of solace, she went into the garden to draw. Not the flowers that bloomed before her, but to give in to the impulse to sketch his fine features. Once down on the page, she gazed at his likeness in misery until she could no longer bear the pain, then forced herself to turn to a clean sheet. Resolutely, she began a sketch of his Cleveland Bays.

  She had a fair rendering, one she felt Missus Millview would approve of, before the familiar patter of a maid’s footfalls drew her attention. Emilia looked up to find she was, once again, Mary’s goal. She felt a surge of hope, for perhaps Robert had come to call, to give some indication he esteemed her as she did him.

  Mary proffered a box. “Another package for you, Miss.”

  “Thank you,” Emilia said. She took the package, and waited for Mary’s departure, which was almost immediate. Emilia turned the paper wrapped box over in her hands. This time, the message was affixed to the outside, and showed signs of having been opened. More than likely, Lady Peddington already knew what the note said. With a shrug for what couldn’t be changed, Emilia opened the page.

  To wear tonight.

  Yours, with the greatest affection,

  RB

  With hands that shook, Emilia peeled back the paper. The box inside came from the same jeweler Viscount Dunreid had used, which wasn’t surprising. Lady Cinthia had said they were the best in Edinburgh, which meant the jeweler on High Street. Likely, someone more experienced that Emilia would have recognized their box when given the first gift. Carefully, she opened the lid.

  Inside gleamed a pendant. The single sapphire, accented by several small diamonds, hung from a delicate chain. The stone was the same size as the largest on the necklace Dunreid had sent, but the similarity ended there. This piece was beautiful. Elegant. Perfectly lovely.

  Emilia put a hand to her mouth. Her vision blurred with tears. Robert hadn’t asked about jewelry because he’d learned of the necklace. He wasn’t keeping company with Lady Cinthia. He’d simply noticed the lack, and attempted to ascertain her feelings, and she’d said…

  She clutched the box to her chest. She said that if a gentleman sent such a gift, and she accepted, it would be as if she accepted a proposal. Surely, there was no ambiguity in her words. He’d taken them in, and the pendant was his response.

  She jumped to her feet, drawing tools flying. She must ready for the ball. She had a gown selected, but the pink muslin would not do. She must try on every suitable dress, few that there were, and see which best displayed the pendant. Her hair would need to be perfect, as well, a frame for the piece.

  Her hands trembled as she opened the box once more. The sapphire glittered in the dappled sunlight beneath the oak. Almost dizzy with joy, she closed the box and dropped to her knees to collect her scattered tools.

  Emilia spent the remainder of the afternoon in a happy haze. She stepped in and out of gowns, trying each at least three times. She brushed her hair until it shown, and curled the silken locks, then arranged and rearranged them to perfectly frame her face. Finally, when she felt she’d come as near to faultlessness as she could with her unstylish curves and yellow tresses, she clasped the pendant about her neck.

  The hour for the ball rang out from the church bells of Edinburgh, the whole city singing along with her heart. Trembling with excitement, Emilia perched on the edge of her bed to don her slippers. She didn’t stand once they were on, but rather stayed where she was, and drew in deep breaths. She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve Robert’s regard, but she was endlessly thankful. Her hand went to the pendant, to ensure the gif
t was real. She inhaled in another long, steadying breath.

  Finally composed enough to venture out, she stood, crossed to the door and slipped from her room. The hallway was deserted. Her slipper-clad feet made no sound on the thin carpet, though the faint rustle of her skirt filled the silence. Steps light, she flew down the stairs to the foyer.

  She wished to meet him alone, there, where they’d first met. Somehow, she knew he would arrive late, as he had then. He would do so in the hope he would find her waiting. Emilia smiled. If she was wrong, no harm would be done. She could seek him in the ballroom, and tell him of her foolishness. Perhaps he would laugh. She loved his laugh.

  Emilia took up a position under the great candelabra that hung in the center of the vaulted space, so the pendant would sparkle, and tried to wait calmly. She was aware the butler and footmen darted covert glances her way, but ignored them. If they’d ignored her when Dunreid had foisted his unwanted attention on her at the start of the second ball, they could ignore her now, when she waited full of joy.

  She held her hands at her sides, then clasped before her, then behind. She’d decided they should be at her sides again when heavy footfalls sounded in the corridor that led to the ballroom. She tensed. In their few short encounters, she’d come to recognize that aggressive tread. Viscount Dunreid would ruin her meeting with Robert.

  Emilia’s gaze snapped onto the servants’ door hidden in the paneling, closed now while the footmen stood to the side, awaiting more guests. The small room had saved her before, and would again.

  She tiptoed to the door. Refusing to look at the footmen and butler, she pulled open the panel. She glimpsed greatcoats and top hats in the instant before she closed the door and found herself smothered by wool and felt. Something soft bounced off her head and hit the floor. A hat, she realized.

  Light streamed through the keyhole, disguised in the scrollwork on the outside paneling, and illuminated a single patch of some gentleman’s greatcoat. She hardly dared move for fear of toppling the pile of top hats. Carefully, she turned, then inched into a crouch until she was eye-level with the knob. She placed her eye to the keyhole, then jerked back.

  True to her fear, Viscount Dunreid paced the foyer. Her heart took up a quick beat. In her eagerness to meet Robert, she’d ignored that the viscount had also found her in the foyer at the start of the last ball. Why, oh why, hadn’t it occurred to her that Dunreid might seek her there again?

  She mustered her courage and returned her eye to the keyhole. He walked along the wall opposite her. When he reached one end and turned, his gaze caught in her direction. She straightened. Oh dear, had he seen the glint of her eye through the keyhole?

  Though muted by the paneling, she discerned approaching footfalls. She squeezed her eyes closed, though how that might help, she didn’t know. He came ever nearer. She tried to breath quietly.

  More footsteps sounded, near the front of the foyer. She realized the butler must have seen a coach arrive and opened the door in anticipation of new guests… which meant soon the cloakroom door would open as well. She cast about, frantic. Could she push back among the coats and remain unseen?

  She eased deeper into the forest of greatcoats. The cloakroom door opened. Light filtered through tiny spaces between the fabric. Heavy fabric was pushed about. The door closed. She could hear the footman hurry away, but Dunreid and the newcomer didn’t move.

  “Lurking in foyers again, Dunreid?” Robert’s voice was so devoid of warmth her happiness dimmed, though his ire wasn’t directed toward her.

  “I was looking for a certain Miss, but I’ll take you.” Viscount Dunreid sounded equally hostile. “We need to have words, Banbrook. If you’re fortunate, I won’t issue a challenge.”

  Emilia pushed back forward through the coats, eager to see Robert, even if he was angry with Dunreid.

  Robert gave a derisive snort. “Challenge me? You’re the one trying to ruin an innocent young woman.”

  “But I’m not the one trying to cuckold a viscount.”

  Emilia pressed her hands to her mouth to hold in her gasp.

  “Nor am I.” Robert’s words were clipped.

  “Then explain to me how it happened that, not four days past, my wife arrived at my townhouse in your carriage, in the evening, thoroughly disheveled.”

  Palms crushed to her mouth, Emilia bent once more to the keyhole. She needed to see Robert’s face, to know if Dunreid’s accusation was true.

  The view out the keyhole was the back of Dunreid’s coat.

  “You’ll have to ask Lady Cinthia for the details,” Robert said. “It’s a matter best kept between man and wife.”

  Why didn’t he deny the affair? Emilia’s head spun. She leaned her forehead to the door.

  “Bloody right it is,” Dunreid snarled. “I know you probably think I deserve you taking Cinthia as you please, but for God’s sake, man, it isn’t as if I kidnapped her. She wanted my title as much as I wanted to give it to her.”

  “I’m aware of the circumstances of your courtship, thank you,” Robert gritted out. “Don’t play righteous with me. You saw something that wasn’t yours, and you set out to have her.”

  “She wasn’t yours either, or I wouldn’t have been able to.” The viscount’s voice was harsh. “I intended to step aside, you know. Let you have the little Glasbarr chit. But you’ve crossed a line. You brought this on yourself, and her. Don’t forget that.”

  “Try your best. Miss Glasbarr is too good to give in to you.”

  Emilia’s heart constricted. Too good, was she? But not good enough to keep Robert, rather Mister Banbrook, from having relations with Lady Cinthia. Not good enough to win his heart from his first love.

  “Oh, I’m sure she’s good, and I mean to find out how good.”

  Dunreid’s lascivious tone brought bile to Emilia’s throat. She squeezed her lids closed as tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “Watch yourself, Dunreid.” Robert’s voice was low. Anger curled around the edges of his words.

  “Don’t worry, when I’m done with her you can have her back.”

  A loud smacking sounded. The door ricocheted as something crashed into the paneling. Emilia sprawled backward with a squeak and landed in a heap on the floor. Top hats rained down on her. She threw a hand over her head and buried her face in the fallen coats.

  The door shook. A final hat hit her shoulder. She yanked her head up.

  “I’ll have you jailed,” Dunreid shouted. “You think we won’t hang an Englishman?”

  Footsteps sounded. The door rattled. Emilia crawled to the keyhole and jammed her eye against it. Some of Lady Peddington’s burlier footmen had arrived. Two restrained Robert as he tried to shake them off.

  Wiping at the tears on her cheeks, Emilia struggled to her feet among the toppled hats and greatcoats. There was no point in Robert hanging for her. She wouldn’t go to Dunreid, but she didn’t have any use for a man who was in love with someone else’s wife, either. Even life as a spinster in the country was preferable.

  She flung open the door. Viscount Dunreid and another footman turned to her, as did the butler beyond. Robert strained against the grasp of Lady Peddington’s footmen. His gaze fell on the pendant she wore and he stilled.

  “There’s no need for anyone to hang.” Emilia tried to make her voice strong, but the words wavered. “No one need fight over me.”

  “What are you wearing?” Robert whispered.

  Emilia cast him a beseeching look. She would return the pendant immediately, but that would associate them in a way she now knew she could not bear. She wouldn’t declare herself all but engaged to a man whose heart would never be hers, especially before Viscount Dunreid.

  “You wish this man spared?” Viscount Dunreid asked, his tone officious.

  Though she knew Robert wouldn’t hang on the viscount’s word alone, and likely had resources at his disposal, she also knew many among the Scottish peerage bore no great love for their English cousins, so she turned to the v
iscount and nodded. “I would. He was defending my honor, mistakenly thinking it is his place to do so.”

  The viscount’s smile was slow, almost stunned, but ended as a smirk. “Very well. For you, Miss Glasbarr, I shall drop my complaint against him.” He tugged at his jacket, pulling the brocade fabric straight.

  “What does this mean?” Robert asked, his voice barely audible, his gaze locked on the pendant.

  “It means, my dear chap, that you lose. Again.”

  Emilia wished she could punch the viscount, as well. She raised beseeching hands to Robert. “It means…it…” She shook her head, unable to find the words. She sucked in a shuddering breath, turned on her heels, and ran.

  Chapter Ten

  SITTING ALONG IN HIS club, the drone of cheerful male voices a backdrop to his misery, Robert stared into his scotch. In his vision stood an image of Emilia, beautiful in a pale blue gown, golden tresses tumbling about, and Dunreid’s sapphire at her throat.

  His grip tightened. Damn Dunreid and his sapphire, and damn… no, he couldn’t bring himself to damn Emilia. If anyone else should be consigned to hell, Robert should be. He wouldn’t even have to leave his club. Hell was the world in which he lived.

  He eased his grip on the tumbler. He’d already squeezed one into fragments that week. He had the cuts to prove it. His eyes drifted to the decanter in the center of the table, only drained when he poured a new glass each afternoon. A glass he stared at but didn’t drink. Not even scotch could numb the pain of Emilia’s betrayal.

  Even dreams of the Continent held no draw. Nor did dreams of seductive French women, or vivacious Italians. The smooth lull of cognac, the vivid bite of grappa. No amount of exotic beauty or expensive liquor would make a difference. The usual pleasures didn’t matter. If Cinthia had broken his heart, Emilia had mended the tortured organ, made it whole. Then she’d taken a blade to it and shave it into little pieces. He set down his tumbler, rested his elbows on the table, and dropped his face to his palms.