First Season / Bride to Be

by Jane Ashford

  That was it, he decided. He had felt sorry for her, with her gypsy existence, her unsettled youth, not to mention parents who might be amusing, but clearly did not devote themselves to her comfort.

  He had wanted to give her a treat, he thought, as one would a child. The candies were clear evidence of that; the ring had been merely an extension of the same whim. Excessive, he acknowledged, even foolish perhaps, but no more.

  Reassured, Richard guided the carriage into his mother’s stable yard and handed the ribbons over to a groom. He seemed to have developed a somewhat maudlin tendency during his sojourn in the jungle, which was odd. Perhaps enduring hardship had made him more sensitive to others’ trials? He shook his head. He would have to curb the inclination, which had already committed him to finding work for a broken-down prizefighter. He hadn’t time for such things.

  Striding into the library, he took up the letter he had been drafting to his estate agent Taft. He needed to get it off. It was time to act, to take control of events. He couldn’t waste time chasing an illusory enemy or feeling sorry for individuals he encountered. He had enough to do just hunting down himself. But even as he took up the pen to work on the letter, his eyes grew distant, and he forgot matters of business as he lost himself in the memory of Emily’s exquisite face.

  * * *

  Sarah put her finger to her lips, signaling silence. Emily nodded, and her friend led her through a door and into a narrow space defined by a wall on one side and a thick velvet drapery on the other. She could hear people talking quietly beyond the curtain. This was the room where Herr Schelling did his spirit calling, she realized. Sarah had explained to her that it held a number of secret spaces, from which various effects could be created.

  The man was a total fake, she thought. Of course, she hadn’t believed he was really contacting the dead, but having the tricks explained made it more distasteful. She was very glad they were going to get Richard’s mother away from him.

  Chairs scraped on the other side of the drapery. Sarah touched her arm and pulled her a few steps to show her a tiny hole in the fabric. Setting her eye to it, Emily could see a round table with a single candle burning on it. Herr Schelling was facing her, and he seemed to be looking right at her. She drew back quickly. He couldn’t possibly see anything, she told herself, and peered out again.

  Richard was there. His strong profile was stiff in the dim light. His mother sat next to him. Strangers occupied the other chairs. Her gaze drifted back to Richard. He looked so stern, and so handsome. Emily felt a thrill of excitement and nerves run through her.

  Herr Schelling raised his hands and the circle stirred with anticipation. Schelling moaned and chanted. “We seek Walter, beloved husband of one of our circle,” he concluded.

  Emily saw Richard’s mouth jerk. His mother looked anxious and hopeful and distressed.

  “Bring him hither my messengers,” continued Schelling. “Azrael. Phileto. Bring him!”

  Beside Emily, Sarah pushed at the heavy curtain so that it billowed and swished. There was a low sound from high up in the corner of the room. This came from a henchman stationed on a set of wooden steps, Emily knew. Sarah had explained that this fellow—an actor who had fallen on hard times due to a propensity for drink—would provide the voice of Sir Walter Fielding, which would seem to come from above.

  “He is coming!” intoned their host. “He is near.”

  The man on the steps let out a long “Ahh.”

  “Walter?” said Lady Fielding shakily.

  The man gave something between a sigh and a groan.

  “Is it you, Walter?”

  Emily watched Richard’s face. He was obviously having difficulty controlling himself.

  “Dear heart?” said the actor in a muffled voice, as if from far away.

  A small shriek escaped Lady Fielding. Richard scowled.

  “By thunder, is that you?” added the actor.

  “Walter. Oh, Walter, I have missed you so.”

  This was cruel, Emily thought, letting people imagine that they could reach loved ones who were gone. She turned to Sarah with some reproach, but her friend was gone. She had slipped away to carry out the plan.

  Swallowing her outrage, Emily did her part, keeping the curtains moving so that Schelling would not notice Sarah’s absence.

  “And I you, dear heart,” continued the actor. “You are always…” The man broke off with a startled exclamation.

  “What is it, Walter?” cried Lady Fielding. “Are you all right? Are you…happy where you are?”

  “I am serene. Here on the other side…” He stopped again, with an audible curse. Sarah was doing her part, Emily thought with a smile. She made the drapery billow more wildly.

  “What is the matter?” cried Lady Fielding. She started to rise from the table.

  “There is some disturbance,” began the actor. Then, with a whoop, he tumbled from the steps that Sarah had pushed over and fell through the velvet curtains out into the room. “Devil take it,” he grumbled as he flailed at the folds. It was clearly the same voice as “Sir Walter’s,” and just as clearly the man was half-drunk. Sarah had counted on that.

  “It’s a fraud,” declared Richard, standing. “It was all a trick, Mother.”

  Lady Fielding was staring at the actor. Bewilderment slowly gave way to understanding, then to outrage, in her face. She drew herself up very straight. “How dare you pretend to be my husband?”

  The man looked at her indifferently, then shrugged, gesturing toward Herr Schelling as if to say, “It was all his idea.”

  Richard’s mother turned and faced the turbaned German.

  Schelling spread his hands. “My dear lady, this is some dreadful mistake. I promise you, I never…”

  Lady Fielding’s glare cut him off. “All of it a fake. What else is behind these curtains?” She gestured as if she would pull them down. Richard stepped forward to restrain her just as Emily felt a touch on her arm. Sarah was there, indicating that they should go. Emily had to agree, though she very much wanted to see the rest of the scene.

  Sarah led her to a room at the back of the house where they put on their wraps and slipped out. Sarah had a portmanteau as well. “That’s that,” she said as they walked along a back street in search of a hack.

  “You aren’t going back?”

  “No, I’m done with Herr Schelling.” She laughed shortly. “I expect he’s about done with London as well.”

  “Good riddance. It was despicable, the way he deceived people.”

  Signaling to a cab, Sarah agreed. “Though most of them were eager to be deceived.”

  “Even worse.”

  They climbed into the hack and directed the driver to the Fitzgibbon house. “Dad will be pleased that Schelling’s out of business,” continued Sarah.

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Oh, yes. But there are worse folk about, Emily. He gave some of his ‘clients’ a deal of comfort.”

  “False comfort.”

  Sarah shrugged.

  Fifteen

  “I don’t think so,” said Emily in response to one of Lydia Farrell’s questions. The woman always had a lot of questions. And she was nearly always in evidence when Emily and Richard encountered each other at a ton party. Had Richard’s mother asked her to interfere with the match? Emily examined the handsome older woman more closely. She looked guileless.

  “Of course, Richard knows more than I about fashion,” Lydia said.

  Emily couldn’t decide whether she meant to be cutting, but it didn’t really matter, because Richard wasn’t listening, he seemed fascinated by another conversation entirely.

  “A madman,” one of the exquisitely dressed gentlemen behind him was saying. “He’s built some sort of mechanism that runs along a rail. Belches smoke and steam and makes an ungodly racket. He thinks people will want to ride i
n the thing!”

  “Madness,” agreed his companion.

  “Worse than that, he expected me to put up three thousand pounds to lay rails across my land. As if I would soil my hands with such an investment.”

  “The gall!”

  “Fools,” muttered Richard.

  Lydia gave him a sharp glance. “Do you think so?”

  The two exquisites moved down the room still shaking their heads.

  “They were talking about the steam locomotive,” Emily said. “We saw…” Seeing Richard’s expression, she broke off.

  “Locomotive?” drawled Lydia. “What a very curious word.” She looked Emily up and down. “Don’t tell me you are interested in such things, Miss Crane.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Emily saw Richard wince. It seemed he was right about the ton’s contempt for new inventions and change. Raising her chin, she said, “Very. I find them extremely interesting.”

  “How prodigious unfashionable of you,” murmured Lydia mockingly.

  Richard shifted from one foot to another.

  “Locomotives will revolutionize the transport of goods,” Emily replied, recalling some of the things Richard had said when they viewed the new mechanism.

  He turned to look at her.

  “Laying the rails is a large expense, of course,” she added.

  “Why, Miss Crane, it sounds as if you have made a study of the subject,” jeered Lydia.

  “No. Merely listened with interest to people who really know. Steam power is changing all sorts of manufacturing, I understand.”

  “And fomenting riots among the weavers,” retorted Lydia Farrell. “Do you care nothing for poor men’s livelihood?”

  “That is exactly why men of wealth and influence should be interested in such matters. Particularly those who care about their tenants and dependents. They can make certain the new inventions are used wisely.” Richard was staring at her, she noticed uneasily. Probably she had made some mistake in what she said. She really knew next to nothing about steam power or anything to do with it.

  “What a very novel idea,” said Lydia coldly. She seemed displeased with the entire conversation.

  “Every day I hear of some new device that will ease men’s labor and aid their work,” put in Richard quietly.

  “Or put them out of work altogether,” commented Lydia.

  Replying, he spoke very slowly. “Not if it is done properly.”

  He looked astonished, Emily thought, as if he had been struck by a notion so vast that he could hardly contain it.

  “I wouldn’t expect Utopia just yet,” was Lydia’s sour reply.

  Unexpectedly, Richard laughed. His cousin appeared to take this as an insult. “Would you excuse me?” she said. “I think your mother wants me.”

  Emily scarcely noticed her departure. She was transfixed by the joy and excitement in Richard’s face. “What is it?”

  “You. You are the most amazing creature.”

  The light in his hazel eyes shook her. She had to swallow before she could say, “What?”

  “A few words, a phrase, and you cut through weeks of pondering and confusion.”

  “I…I don’t understand.” She couldn’t think; she could hardly breathe with him gazing at her in that way.

  Richard laughed again. “I know. That’s the true beauty of it.”

  “Of what?” She had to smile, but she was also impatient to understand him.

  “I will show you that,” he replied with the same maddening obliquity. “In time, I will show everyone.”

  “Couldn’t you just tell me now?”

  “I haven’t got it all worked out.” His smile was tender. “Perhaps you should tell me.”

  “Lord Warrington!” But her protest was cut short by the arrival of the duchess, who was ready to depart.

  * * *

  Emily joined her aunt in the carriage feeling exhilarated and bewildered. What had Richard meant? What had she done to make him so happy? She very much wanted to know that, she realized. She very much wanted to repeat the thing, whatever it was.

  She opened her hands and looked down at the exquisite ring. She had no business wanting any such thing. Their engagement was a sham. This ring was a deception and would soon go back to him. She shouldn’t be thinking this way.

  “It is a lovely piece,” said her aunt.

  Emily started out of her reverie. Aunt Julia was also gazing at the ring.

  “Perfect for your coloring,” she added. “And very suitable.” She looked regretful. “You know, I am sorry, Emily.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I intended to find you a great match—brilliant even. I did everything I could.” She looked bewildered. “Things just somehow…slipped out of control.”

  “It was not your…”

  “Alasdair wasn’t even here,” murmured her aunt. “I just don’t understand how it went so wrong.”

  You aren’t taking into account the interference of a killer, Emily thought.

  The duchess was gazing worriedly at Emily. “Lord Warrington is quite different since he returned to town. Not nearly so arrogant. Handsome, too.” She grimaced. “But Emily, how will you live?” The last words came out almost as a wail.

  Emily saw real concern in her aunt’s eyes. For a moment, Emily was tempted to tell her the truth. But she couldn’t. “I am accustomed to a…gypsy existence,” she said, trying to offer some comfort. “I’ve never had all the luxuries you take for granted. What you might see as hardship will not be so to me.”

  “But to have no assured income…” There was fear in the duchess’s face.

  “Well, I never have,” answered Emily, suddenly feeling she understood her aunt better. “Never any significant amount, anyway. I’m used to dealing with the bailiffs.”

  “I always knew Olivia was mad,” whispered her aunt.

  Only the horror in her tone kept Emily from taking offense. “She’s quite happy, you know.”

  “That’s what I mean. I would be worrying every moment, terrified that…that everything would be at an end.”

  Emily felt an instant’s true sympathy with her aunt. She had had such moments. But she had dealt with the fears, and they had passed, leaving her the stronger for it. She patted her aunt’s hand. “You are in a far different position.” She searched her mind for a distraction. “You never told me whether Lady Sefton granted vouchers to that girl you mentioned?”

  The duchess appeared to gather herself. Her customary blend of dignity and reserve returned to her features. “I doubt it. The chit wore a silk ball gown cut down to her…ahem.”

  For just a moment, her aunt looked much more like her mother than usual. Emily smiled at her, and received a slightly sheepish smile in return. “If only she had had you to advise her, she would have been quite all right.”

  Aunt Julia looked surprised, then touched. “Do you think so, my dear?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  The duchess cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

  * * *

  Richard paced from one end of the library to the other, his whole body vibrating with energy. It was as if every part of him had come awake. He would be one of those men Emily had described, part of the legion who helped a new age to be born. He wasn’t wealthy, true. But he was intelligent, knowledgeable. He could persuade those who had money to use it wisely and well. He could bring the inventions he found so fascinating into the world in ways that made sense for the people already living there. It was the thing he had been searching for—a mission that could consume him.

  Richard was flooded with gratitude to Emily. Somehow she had brought it together for him. In a few words, with her honesty and lack of pretension, she had made it all clear. She would understand, as no one else could, exactly how he felt now and the plans that were unfolding so quickly in his mind
. He would go and see her, he decided. He longed to tell her everything, to exchange ideas and see the future opening out in this exciting new shape.

  He was halfway to the door when he realized that he was picturing their meeting all wrong. He wanted to sweep her into his arms. He wanted to thank her in ways that were out of the question. He had been seeing the future as something they shared, something that involved far more intimate matters than inventions.

  Some of Richard’s excitement drained away. He stood in the middle of the room for a moment longer, then went to the desk and sat down. This wouldn’t do. Emily Crane had never intended to be part of his future; and even if she had, he could give her nothing but genteel poverty and an empty name.

  There was the thrill of a changing world, he argued silently. But that was his vision, not hers. Asking her to give up so much for an idea… Richard shook his head. That would be offering her the same sort of life her parents had given her. She deserved far more than that.

  She deserved everything, Richard thought. She should never have to worry again.

  His fists clenched, and the muscles in his jaw hardened. He had let things get out of hand. Things? inquired a sardonic inner voice. Richard clenched his teeth. He had let himself get out of hand. He had drifted somehow into…into feeling things he should not feel and thinking things that could not happen.

  With a great effort of will, he relaxed, placing his hands flat on the surface of the desk. He must put Emily from his mind, and certainly from his plans for the future. His gaze encountered his never-finished letter to Elijah Taft. He needed to make some decision about his estates. Taft had sent a note saying as much, and suggesting he come down to Somerset and observe for himself.

  He would do that, Richard decided. Though his true interests lay elsewhere, he couldn’t neglect his inherited obligations. And it would be a very good idea to get out of town for a while, to put some distance between himself and a woman he could not have. A woman who had never said she wanted him. Yes, it was time to go away.

  * * *

  “Somerset?” said his mother when he informed her that evening. “I can’t bear that house. Besides, it must have tumbled to pieces by now.”