by Mary Nichols
Emma stayed on the sidelines during these exchanges, watching with amusement and marvelling at the way each thought they were manipulating the other, saying nothing unless appealed to and then choosing her words with care.
‘Oh, he can be so pompous when he chooses,’ Lucy said one day when the two young ladies were sitting over some crewel work in Lucy’s sitting-room. ‘I did so want to go to Madame Tussaud’s today. And I want to show you the town.’
‘But his lordship is otherwise engaged, Lucy, and we have no escort.’
‘Pooh to that. We can escort each other. What harm can we come to? There will be plenty of people about. And if Dominic would only allow us to take the carriage, we would have Nobbs to protect us.’
‘That is not the same thing and you know it.’
Lucy put her sewing down in exasperation. ‘What did your previous employer do when she wanted to go out? I’ll lay a guinea to a groat she took you for company and didn’t wait for her brother to accompany her.’
Emma laughed, though she had a twinge of conscience every time her past was mentioned. ‘No, her brother was a schoolboy. And it was different in India.’
‘How? Were there no villains?’
‘There were as many there as in England, I do not doubt, but that is nothing to the point. His lordship has taken the carriage, as well you know, and he has made his wishes very clear. I am afraid, this time, you must own yourself defeated, unless you want him to call me to account for allowing you to disobey him. He would very likely dismiss me.’
‘Oh, no, dear Emma, I could not bear that,’ Lucy said. ‘But I am tired of sewing and it is such a lovely day.’
This was perfectly true. Emma was beginning to revise her first impressions of England as a cold, dismal place. The sky was a pale blue laced with fleecy white clouds; the atmosphere, while not warm, was balmy and the trees, no longer soot-laden, were bursting forth in a delicate pale green. Lucy was right; it was a day for being out of doors.
‘Then let us walk in the park instead,’ she said. ‘I can see no harm in that.’
Fifteen minutes later they were entering Hyde Park by the Stanhope Gate. Lucy was becomingly clad in a lilac sarcenet walking dress with a matching pelisse in a darker tone of the same colour. Her chip bonnet was trimmed with violets and tied beneath one ear with velvet ribbon. She was charmingly attractive and openly enjoyed the looks of admiration she received while not being in the least conceited.
Beneath her green pelisse Emma wore the green and cream striped round gown she had purchased at the Pantheon and which she had been saving for just such an occasion. Her cottager hat, bought because it would be easy to change its decoration and even its shape to make it look different every time she wore it, was on this occasion trimmed with coloured ribbons in shades of green, cream and buff. It was neat and tidy rather than elegant and she tried very hard not to be envious of her companion; if it were not for Lucy she might be in very much worse straits. That her antecedents were as high as Lucy’s must not be allowed to count.
Arm in arm, they proceeded down the path, with Lucy smiling and greeting every other person they met, including the redoubtable Lady Clarence who was bowling by in a barouche, clad in a purple satin outfit and a matching turban covered in sweeping green feathers. Seeing the two girls, she called out to her driver to stop the carriage. When it had come to a halt, her ladyship lifted her quizzing glass to peer at them both, as if wanting to make quite sure her eyes were not deceiving her.
Lucy curtsied. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Clarence,’ she said. ‘May I present Miss Emma Woodhill who has lately come to stay with us. Emma, this is Lady Clarence.’
Emma was subjected to a minute scrutiny, during which she felt as transparent as glass, but she would not be intimidated. ‘Good afternoon, my lady,’ she said, affording her ladyship a token bending of the knee. ‘It is a beautiful day for an outing, is it not?’
The lady was affronted enough at having to suffer an introduction to someone who was so obviously not Quality, but to be addressed directly by that person was the outside of enough. Addressing her remarks to Lucy, she admitted that yes, it was a fine day, but she found the wind rather chilly, especially now she had stopped. Without further conversation she ordered her coachman to proceed.
‘Phew, I thought she was about to quiz us about where we were going,’ Lucy said, totally unaware of her faux pas. ‘I would not put it beyond her to think we had an assignation, though what it has to do with her, I do not know. And why did she stare at you so particularly, I should like to know. You do not have two heads.’
‘Perhaps I am a curiosity,’ Emma said, very conscious of her tanned complexion, though it was beginning to fade. ‘Like the exhibits at Bullock’s.’
‘Fustian! Let us forget all about her. Look, they are playing cricket over there. Shall we go and watch?’
The match, they discovered on drawing nearer, was one between a team from the Prince of Wales’s Own Regiment, two of whom were batting, and another made up of naval officers. Lucy laughed and clapped with everyone else, calling out, ‘Oh, bravo!’ when a particularly good stroke was made.
Emma began to feel a little uneasy. ‘Lucy, dear, do not speak so loudly,’ she whispered. ‘People are staring at us.’
Before Lucy could reply, there was a shout of ‘Look out!’ and the spectators suddenly parted in front of them. Emma caught a glimpse of a young man running backwards to catch a well-struck ball and the next moment he had collided with Lucy and sent her sprawling on the grass.
The ball, indeed the game, was forgotten as he scrambled to his feet and put out his hand to help the young lady to rise. ‘My apologies, ma’am. I did not mean…Are you hurt?’
‘No, no,’ she said, setting her bonnet straight and brushing down her skirt. ‘Think nothing of it.’
‘Oh, but I do. I cannot tell you how sorry I am. Captain Fergus O’Connor, ma’am, your servant.’ He executed a perfect leg, though he was not wearing a coat and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to reveal muscular arms.
‘I think you had better retrieve the ball and return to the game,’ Lucy said, giving him one of her enchanting smiles. ‘They are all waiting for you.’
‘Then they may wait until I discover who you are.’
‘Lucy…’ Emma warned.
‘Lucy,’ he said, grinning at Emma for inadvertently telling him what he wanted to know. ‘That’s a peach of a name to match a peach of a girl.’
‘Sir, you are impertinent,’ Emma retorted.
‘So I may be,’ he said, laughing. ‘But I don’t see the little lady objecting.’
Emma took Lucy’s arm. ‘Come, my dear, we really must be going. Your brother, the Marquis, will be looking for us.’ And with that she eased her charge away.
‘I shall find you again, never fear,’ the Captain called after them, as he rejoined his fellows.
‘Why did you say that?’ Lucy demanded, looking over her shoulder to watch him return to his place on the field. ‘Dominic will not be looking for us.’
‘He will if we are not home soon,’ Emma said. ‘And I have a feeling he might be very displeased if he knew. Don’t you know a lady should never speak to a strange man without an introduction?’
‘It was not my fault the Captain bowled me over…’
’emma laughed. ‘In more ways than one.’
‘Don’t be silly. I am not such a goose as to be taken in by empty flattery.’
‘I am glad to hear it.’
‘He was handsome though, wasn’t he?’
‘Do you think so? I can think of handsomer.’
‘Who? Do tell.’
‘No, I will not,’ she said, thinking of Lord Besthorpe. Now, there was a handsome man and the lady who married him might think herself very fortunate indeed. The more she saw of him, the more she admired him. And the more she admired him the more she regretted deceiving him. She would so much have preferred to be open and truthful. She was honestly beginning to doubt they wo
uld ever be able to discover anything about their father’s exile. It had happened so long ago. Oh, if only…
She brought herself up short and her voice, when she spoke, was brisk. ‘I do think we should hurry, Lisa will be bringing in the tea tray before we get home.’
Having decided to say nothing to his lordship about the walk in the park, the girls were both disconcerted when, two days later, Lady Clarence paid a call and brought up the subject herself. It would not have been so bad if Dominic had not decided to stay and take tea with them, but as it was they were obliged to listen in growing mortification as she lectured him on the evils of allowing unmarried young ladies out alone.
‘Not a soul with them,’ she said, with the feathers on her hat nodding in time with her many chins. ‘Not even a footman. My dear Cavenham, I cannot think that you would have consented to it. Why, half the ton was there and witnessed it, and not a scrap of shame between them, bowing and smiling to all and sundry. Why, your sister even exchanged a nod with that rakeshame, Brummell. Everyone knows he is in disgrace with the Regent.’
Emma was desperately worried and longed to offer a defence, but she was wise enough to know that answering back would make matters worse. She looked at Lucy, but that young lady was studying the toes of her kid slippers.
‘Lady Clarence, I thank you for bringing your concerns to my attention,’ Dominic said solemnly. ‘But I think you worry unduly. My sister and her companion had only got down from the carriage for a short walk; our coachman was not very far away, I do assure you.’
‘I saw no coach.’
‘Perhaps not, but it was there and Nobbs was watching over them.’
Emma was horrified to think that he felt obliged to lie to cover their indiscretion, something she was sure he would not do unless there was no other way. It did not bode well for her once Lady Clarence had taken her leave and his lordship would be free to give rein to his undoubted displeasure. She was sure her dismissal was only moments away.
‘Then I say no more,’ her ladyship said, rising and picking up her gloves and reticule ready to depart. ‘But your sister needs a proper duenna to watch over her, if she ain’t to make a cake of herself and you too, and I ain’t afraid to say it to your face, Cavenham. Your dear mama was my friend and she would wish me to point out where you are going wrong.’
Emma saw Dominic’s brown eyes harden and his jaw tighten and she knew the good lady had gone too far, though he was far too polite to tell her so. She exchanged glances with Lucy, who had realised, as she had, that the brunt of his annoyance would land on their heads. He rose as the footman came in answer to his summons to show the lady to the front door.
‘Thank you, my lady,’ he said, polite as always. ‘But Lucy has a very able companion in Miss Woodhill, and I have every faith in her.’
Her ladyship favoured Emma with a look which clearly revealed what she thought of that arrangement. It made Emma throw up her head and meet her gaze with clear green eyes. She could not be subservient to such a one, not even to please Lord Besthorpe.
As soon as Lady Clarence had taken her leave, his lordship sat down again and looked from his sister to Emma. ‘I do dislike gabble grinders telling me how I should go on,’ he said, in a voice that had lost the silky charm of a moment, before. ‘But can you tell me why I should not instantly dismiss you?’
Lucy jumped to her feet, stricken. ‘Dominic, you can’t do that. It wasn’t Emma’s fault and we were not doing any harm…’
‘You were harming my good name and your reputation,’ he said repressively. ‘Please go to your room. I wish to speak to Miss Woodhill alone.’
Lucy hesitated. ‘Please don’t turn her off, Dominic. I will be good, I promise.’
‘Do as I say, Lucilla.’
Lucy knew that when he used her full name he was very cross indeed, and decided there was nothing for it but to obey. Arguing would only make him more obdurate. ‘Very well.’ She put a hand on Emma’s shoulder as she passed her on the way to the door. ‘Don’t let him bully you, Emma. You did nothing wrong.’ With that she left the room, closing the door with a sharp snap that was almost a bang.
Emma turned from watching her go, to see a smile twitching at the corners of his lordship’s mouth. It was gone in an instant. ‘Do you think Lady Clarence was right?’ he asked her.
‘That Lucy was making a cake of herself, my lord? I am afraid I am not familiar with the term.’
Unable to repress it, he gave way to laughter. ‘Oh, dear, I am supposed to be reprimanding you. How can I do that when you look at me with those incredible eyes, pretending innocence? I am perfectly sure you know exactly what was meant.’
She relaxed and allowed herself a little smile. ‘If I do, then I deny the accusation. The only person to make a fool of herself is Lady Clarence.’
‘Now, I think you go too far. Kindly remember that you are employed as a servant.’
For a moment she had forgotten it. ‘I beg your pardon, my lord.’
The apology was made promptly but there was no meekness in it. She was proud, was Miss Emma Woodhill, too proud for a servant. Who was she? Where had she come from? Why was he so taken with her that he had no heart to dismiss her?
‘Was her ladyship right?’ he repeated. ‘Should my sister have a proper duenna?’
‘My lord, it is not for me to comment on Lady Clarence’s opinion of me.’ She stopped. Just why had he asked that question? A moment ago he had been laughing, making her think all would be well and now he looked serious again. ‘As for her reference to a proper duenna, how can she know whether I am proper or not? I can see no harm in Miss Besthorpe taking a stroll in the park with me in attendance. No harm could have come to her, there were hundreds of people about…’
‘Quite.’
Emma was suddenly reminded of Mrs Goodwright’s book of etiquette. It had been published many years before, but its truisms were as relevant now as they had been then. One was meant to stick by the rules.
‘I am sorry, my lord,’ she said, really penitent now. ‘I did not think we were doing anything wrong, or I would never have suggested it.’
‘Not so much wrong as ill-advised,’ he said. ‘You must have known you needed an escort for such an outing.’
‘No, my lord.’
‘Surely Miss Mountforest did not go about Calcutta without a male escort?’
Emma could not help the ghost of a smile which flitted across her face, but she instantly stifled it. ‘I am afraid she did, my lord, though there were Indian servants if she felt she had need of one.’ She stopped, feeling she was treading on quicksand. ‘And, of course, I was there.’
‘Then things are done very differently in India, don’t you think?’ He was speaking softly and she was not deceived into thinking he was going to be easy on her, but neither had he sent her packing immediately as he had done the unfortunate Rose.
‘They must be,’ she said. ‘I am sorry, my lord. I would not, for the world, lead Miss Besthorpe astray or embarrass you with your friends.’
He was laughing again, puzzling her even more. ‘Lucy does not need anyone to tell her how to fall into a bumblebath, she has been doing that all her life, and neither do I class Lady Clarence as a friend, but the truth is that she is an inveterate gossip and she does have a deal of influence. A bad word from her and Lucy could be ostracised…’
‘Oh, my lord, I am so sorry.’ Emma could stand no more of this gentle prodding and rose to her feet. ‘I will leave at once.’
‘Sit down, Miss Woodhill. I said nothing of leaving. Lucy would never let me hear the last of it.’
‘But…’ She subsided into her chair again.
‘Tell me about Miss Mountforest,’ he asked, taking the opportunity he had been waiting for ever since she had first mentioned the lady’s name.
Emma felt decidedly uncomfortable. ‘What do you wish to know?’
‘Was she a mature lady, old perhaps? That would account for her being so independent.’
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��No, she was the same age as me.’
‘And you have the same Christian names.’
‘Yes, I was named for her.’
‘You were more friend than servant, then?’
‘I suppose you could say that.’ She paused and then decided to plough on. ‘That is perhaps why I am such a poor companion to Miss Besthorpe, my lord. I thought I should go on in the way I had in India. I was obviously mistaken.’
‘Now you have told me that, of course, I understand, but I am still curious about Miss Mountforest. Do you know where she is now?’
Oh, surely he was not intending to write to her? She wished she had realised, when she penned that letter, the trouble it would cause, that she would be tangled in a web of her own making. If only she could go back in time, she would never have tried such a ploy. She had chosen to steer a course as near to the truth as she could, thinking it would be easier to deal with questions about life in India if she could answer with something approaching veracity.
How was she to know she would fall in love with the Lord Besthorpe? She had fallen in love with him, there was no doubt of that in her mind. How could she have foreseen that every untruth she told would build a barrier between them which would become more and more insurmountable with every day that passed? The guilt of it lay heavily on her heart; it was almost a physical pain. He was looking at her now with those intelligent brown eyes, waiting for an answer.
‘I am afraid she left Calcutta when I did, my lord,’ she said, choosing her words with care, so as not to add to her lies. But it was still deception and only increased her burden.
Her evasive reply served only to convince him that there was something smoky going on. Either she was not who she said she was, or she had never known Miss Mountforest. It was not unknown for servants to forge references, but why choose that name? And why did he think, in spite of all the evidence, that she was not a natural deceiver? If he probed long enough he was sure he would elicit the truth, but he was reluctant to pursue that path. The result would give him no alternative but to dismiss her, which he did not want to do.