“On Valentine’s Day?” she demanded, hoping that the older woman would admit there would not be adequate time to prepare such a lavish event.
“Of course.” Lady Hartshore was swift to confirm the worst. “It has been too long since I have entertained.”
Emma clenched her hands in her lap. Trust her to be around the moment Lady Hartshore plunged back into the social whirl.
“I thought you preferred to live quietly?” she reminded the older woman.
“One ball is not precisely a life of debauchery,” Lady Hartshore said in gentle tones.
“No,” Emma acknowledged with a prick of guilt at attempting to dampen the woman’s obvious enthusiasm. It had obviously been years since Lady Hartshore had felt the desire to entertain. Only the most selfish beast would seek to discourage her. “I suppose not.”
The pleased smile returned. “It will be delightful, you will see. But there is so much to be done in a very short period of time. First we must concentrate on the invitations. Do you not think it would be clever to do them as Valentine cards?”
Emma could only hope that her expression did not appear as stiff as it felt.
“Yes.”
With a swift motion Lady Hartshore was on her feet, her hands pressed together.
“I shall begin making out the list this moment.”
She scurried from the room, leaving behind a bemused Emma.
Well, if she hadn’t needed a brisk walk before, she certainly needed one now, Emma told herself wryly.
With determined steps she moved out of the room, then, collecting her spencer, she headed for the solitude of the garden.
Once assured she was alone, she slowed her steps and drew in a deep breath.
A Valentine ball?
The mere thought was enough to give her the hives.
Hardly surprising, she admitted.
The last ball she had attended had been an unmitigated disaster.
Her eyes grew dark as she recalled the horrid night. Strangely, it had all started off so well. Sarah had ordered her a new gown with white lace and tiny roses around the hem. She had been surrounded by eager young gentlemen the moment she had entered the ballroom, making her feel almost beautiful.
Unfortunately she had not realized that her father had been captured that morning, nor that his true identity was spreading through London with the speed of a wildfire. It was not until the hostess had approached her in the middle of the dance floor and shrilly demanded that she leave her house at once that she understood what had occurred.
Emma would never forget the long walk from the silent room. Or the disgusted gazes from her supposed friends as she had left.
Not one soul stepped forward to ease the shame that clutched at her heart. Or offered her a kind word to prove their loyalty.
She had been condemned a social outcast and no one would risk her bitter plight. Reputation was of far greater importance than loyalty or friendship to those of the ton.
Less than two weeks later, Emma had taken a position as governess for the Falwells.
Emma gave a faint shake of her head.
She supposed she had always known that the truth of her father would be revealed. Perhaps even a part of her had accepted the humiliating episode as her due for being the daughter of the Devilish Dandy. But that did not ease the regret that still lingered deep in her heart.
How different might her life have been had she been just ordinary Miss Cresswell and not the notorious daughter of the Devilish Dandy, she thought.
Would she be wed with her own family?
Would she be surrounded by friends?
“Miss Crane.”
Pulled out of her thoughts by the imperious call, Emma reluctantly turned to discover Mr. Allensway hurrying in her direction. Her heart sank at the sight of his determined expression.
“Oh, Miss Crane,” he called again, as if fearing she might make a mad dash for freedom before he could catch her.
Not that the thought did not cross her mind, she acknowledged as the gentleman came to a halt beside her. There was something in the vicar’s thin smile that sent a rash of warning through her.
“Cresswell,” she corrected him in firm tones.
He regarded her in puzzlement. “Pardon me?”
“My name is Miss Cresswell.”
“Ah ... yes.” He gave a shrug, as if the name of a mere servant were irrelevant. “May I have a moment?”
“If you wish.”
As if sensing her reluctance, Mr. Allensway stretched his smile to reveal his prominent teeth.
“How are you enjoying Kent?”
She eyed him warily, well aware he had not approached her to discuss her opinion of Kent.
“It is very peaceful.”
“Yes.” He fingered his stiff cravat. “Tell me, did you know Lady Hartshore before becoming her companion?”
“No, I was hired in London.”
“Ah.” He gave a delicate cough. “Then it must have been something of a shock when you arrived at Mayford.”
Emma hid a wry smile. Shock was rather an understatement.
“It was not precisely what I had been expecting,” she hedged.
The vicar gave a sympathetic click of his tongue. “No, a gently reared lady such as yourself must find it very awkward. Yes, very awkward.”
Oddly, Emma stiffened at his soft words. He was saying nothing more than she had said to herself on a dozen separate occasions. And yet she could not deny the stab of anger that raced through her body.
“Lady Hartshore is very kind.”
“Oh, yes, do not think that I do not greatly admire Lady Hartshore. And, of course, Mr. Carson,” he smoothly assured her, pressing his hands to his heart in a futile effort to appear sincere. “Still, I do find myself concerned at your unfortunate position.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Unfortunate position?”
“Well, my dear, you must realize that this rather peculiar household is bound to cause its share of gossip. I would not like to see an innocent maiden’s reputation tarnished in any manner.”
She should have trembled with fear at his words. His insinuations struck at her deepest concerns. How could she bear to once again be the center of gossip and cruel amusement?
Instead, her hands clenched in anger.
“I have done nothing to tarnish my reputation, Mr. Allensway.”
The gentleman sent her a pitying glance. “Simply being at Mayford is enough to set tongues wagging, I fear. You know how people can be. And Lady Hartshore’s odd behavior is bound to create twitters.”
“I would hope that true Christians would have more productive things to do with their time than mock others,” she said in cold tones.
Undaunted, Mr. Allensway lifted his hands in a helpless motion. “Indeed, but human nature is human nature.”
Emma had endured enough. She was well acquainted with human nature. Including bumptious encroachers who cared for nothing beyond their selfish desires.
Commanding an unconscious hauteur, she glared at her unwelcome companion in an icy fashion.
“What do you desire from me, Mr. Allensway?”
The vicar appeared momentarily startled by her less than servile demeanor. Then, with an ingratiating smile, he at last came to the point of his visit.
“Well, as you are in a position of trust with Lady Hartshore, I thought perhaps you might speak with her concerning her habit of referring to Lord Hartshore as if he were still alive. I’m certain that a few well-spoken words would reveal to her that such ungodly behavior is unseemly for a countess.”
So, that was why he had lowered himself to speak with a mere servant, she thought with a flare of disgust. The nasty little toad.
“Lady Hartshore truly believes that she speaks with her husband. No one can convince her otherwise,” she said in lofty tones.
His lips thinned at her perverse refusal to concede to his wishes.
“At least you could speak to her about the gossip she is stirring. It does, after all,
affect you as well.”
At the moment Emma had no thought to the inevitable gossip that might be twittering through the neighborhood. She knew only that Lady Hartshore was a kind and generous woman who was far superior to this nodcock.
“No, Mr. Allensway.”
He gave a blink of surprise. “What?”
“No, I will not speak with Lady Hartshore regarding her husband,” she said in slow, concise tones. “Not only is it not my place, but I have no desire to do so. If it comforts her to speak with Lord Hartshore, then it is no one else’s concern. Least of all yours.”
Without warning the sound of clapping hands rang through the garden and the large form of Lord Hartshore stepped from behind a hedge.
“Bravo, Miss Cresswell,” he congratulated Emma, smiling deep into her startled eyes.
* * *
Cedric was not above eavesdropping.
When he had spotted Miss Cresswell and the vicar in the garden, he had deliberately moved to stand behind the hedge.
He had no interest in Mr. Allensway. There was no doubt the sly little twit was up to something devious. He would never lower himself to speak with a mere servant unless he hoped to gain something from the situation. But he was very curious in how Miss Cresswell would respond to the vicar’s demands.
He had not been disappointed.
She had not even paused in her staunch defense of her employer. Despite her own misgivings and reluctance to remain at Mayford, she had protected Lady Hartshore with a fierce loyalty that had made his heart flare with warmth.
Miss Cresswell might profess a burning desire to return to London, but she was no more immune to the charm of Lady Hartshore than anyone else.
All except the local vicar.
Slowly turning from the lovely countenance of Miss Cresswell, he stabbed Mr. Allensway with a glittering gaze.
“Mr. Allensway.”
Clearly uneasy at being caught in his attempt to recruit Miss Cresswell, the gentleman gave a hasty bow.
“My lord. A fine day, is it not?”
“It was,” Cedric deliberately drawled. “Why are you here?”
A dark flush stained the vicar’s countenance. “I merely wished to visit with Miss Cresswell.”
“Really?” He folded his arms over the width of his chest. “Surely a vicar has more pressing duties than pestering my aunt’s companion?”
“Of course.” His smile was sickly as he performed another bow. “Good day.”
With satisfying haste the vicar scurried from the garden and with a rueful shake of his head Cedric turned back to Miss Cresswell. She was busily frowning at the retreating Mr. Allensway, and Cedric allowed himself a moment to sigh over her serviceable dark spencer that covered an even more serviceable gray gown.
Just once he wished to see her attired in a dress that was not utterly repulsive. Perhaps a deep blue silk, or ivory satin with Brussels lace. Or even a pale rose gauze with a neckline . . .
He abruptly brought a halt to his train of thought as he realized that his imaginary gowns were becoming more sheer and revealing with every passing moment.
Good heavens, he was close to having her stripped naked.
Not that he wouldn’t enjoy stripping her naked, a treacherous voice whispered. He had no doubt that beneath those layers of hideous gray was a body that would inflame any gentleman.
“I am sorry that Mr. Allensway bothered you,” he forced himself to say before he could no longer hide the direction of his scandalous thoughts.
Her frown abruptly lifted as she turned to meet his deliberately bland expression.
“He is very persistent.”
“That is a polite manner of describing him,” he said wryly. “Still, I have no desire to mar this lovely day with thoughts of Mr. Allensway. I brought you this.”
He watched in pleasure as a blush touched her cheeks, and she reached out to take the rose he had plucked before leaving Hartshore Park.
“Thank you.” A bewitching confusion rippled over her features before she restored the polite mask. “Did you wish to see your aunt?”
“Perhaps later. For now I have something I wish to show you.”
“What is it?”
He flashed her a devilish smile. “It is a surprise.”
“Another surprise?”
“Oh, I am filled with surprises,” he assured her.
Her brows lifted. “So I am beginning to realize.”
“Shall we?”
He held out his arm, and after only a moment’s pause she placed her gloved hand upon his sleeve. Cedric hid his sense of triumph as he led her through the garden and toward the surrounding parkland. He had half expected to have to toss the contrary chit over his shoulder to convince her to accompany him. He could only suppose that she was too overset by her confrontation with Mr. Allensway to recall that she disliked his company.
“Is it far?” she at last demanded as they angled toward the copse of trees that marched beside Hartshore Park.
“No, not far. Of course, you must tell me if you are cold. I would not wish you to become ill.”
“My constitution is quite hardy.”
“So you are not one of those females who find pleasure in always being frail?” he teased.
She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I have little patience with such foolishness. My last employer was quite dedicated to presuming herself stricken with one illness or another. She spent entire months laying abed with no company beyond her doctor.”
“And no doubt expecting you to fetch and carry for her night and day,” he surmised.
She gave a shrug. “At times.”
“It sounds as if you are well rid of her.”
“Yes, I suppose,” she slowly agreed.
His frown abruptly lifted as he easily read her thoughts. “Even if it did land you in Bedlam.”
A renegade smile twitched at her full lips. “Yes.”
“We at least do not make you fetch and carry. And for the most part we are a harmless lot.”
The emerald gaze suddenly lifted to meet his steady regard. “I am not entirely certain I would consider you harmless, my lord.”
He gave a short laugh. “Perhaps not. I do possess a most violent fascination for wood nymphs.”
Her head ducked at his teasing, but he had no doubt that a delightful color was staining her cheeks. A strange sense of contentment settled in the region of his heart as he pulled her even closer and entered the fringe of trees. He had exchanged such banter with dozens of women. Some sophisticated, some coy, and some far more experienced than himself. But none of them had managed to stir more than a fleeting desire. He was uncertain why this particular woman managed to strike so much deeper.
The sound of chattering voices echoed through the chilled air, and with a frown of puzzlement Miss Cresswell lifted her head.
“Who is that?”
“A traveling theater group,” he explained as they entered a small clearing to reveal a dozen mingling actors attired in brilliant if rather battered clothing. “They are on their way to Canterbury and requested to use the clearing to rehearse. I thought you might wish to watch.”
The ripple of pleasure that crossed her countenance was all that he wished for as she nodded her head.
“Yes.”
Spotting their arrival, a thin gentleman dressed in a gaudy crimson coat and cape detached himself from the group and hurried to greet them with a flamboyant bow.
“My lord, such an honor to welcome you.”
“This is Miss Cresswell.” Cedric indicated his companion. “Miss Cresswell, Gaston, the manager of the troupe.”
“Mr. Gaston.”
The manager waved his hands in a Gallic fashion. “No, no. Merely Gaston. Now I must tend to business. Please enjoy.”
He bolted away as swiftly as he had arrived, and realizing he was calling the actors to take their places, Cedric led Miss Cresswell to a rough bench that had been situated close to a large covered-wagon.
“Cold?
” he asked as he settled close to her slender form.
“Not at all,” she assured him, her gaze never leaving the makeshift stage that was swiftly being assembled.
Ruefully acknowledging that he had been thoroughly dismissed from Miss Cresswell’s thoughts, Cedric made himself as comfortable as possible and turned his own attention to the actors. Within moments they were prepared.
Although it was far from a polished rendition of The Country Wife, and the leading man had a tendency to mug and upstage the remaining cast, there was enough ridiculous humor to make the performance bearable. Most enjoyable, however, was watching the rigid control that Miss Cresswell shrouded around herself slowly disappear. There was even a smile upon her face by the time the actors took their bows. This was how he wished her always to be, he thought with an inner sigh. Unfettered by the shadows that dimmed her natural spirit.
Pressing himself to his feet, Cedric helped Miss Cresswell to rise as Gaston hurried in their direction along with a tall, overly handsome leading man and a lush raven-haired actress with an inviting smile.
“My lord, Miss Cresswell.” Gaston waved his hands toward his two companions. “May I introduce Raymond Field and Anna Fray?”
Cedric barely noted the lovely actress who attached herself to his arm and offered her conveniently exposed charms for his inspection. Instead, his attention was trained on the oily-smooth gentleman who had brazenly claimed Miss Cresswell’s hand and raised it to his lips.
“Miss Cresswell, what a charming surprise,” he murmured in rich tones. “Did you enjoy the performance?”
Shockingly, the perverse minx offered him a ready smile. Far more readily than she had ever offered one to him, Cedric acknowledged with a hint of annoyance.
“Very much.”
“It is a bit rough, but all will come together before we reach Canterbury.” The bounder continued his hold on Miss Cresswell’s fingers, unaware how close he was to having his perfect Grecian nose broken. “It always does.”
“It must be difficult to travel so much.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He leaned forward. “I get to meet many fascinating people.”
The beautiful Anna tugged on his coat, obviously wishing to gain his attention, but Cedric refused to shift his gaze from Miss Cresswell’s delicate profile.
When You Wish Page 26