by Jan Constant
“Have I shocked you?” he asked.
“I must own to some surprise,” she replied candidly. “I had not supposed you to believe this rumor of the Beringer Heiress!”
Vivian Devern laughed. “So you have claws!” he said, reminding her of a similar remark made by Sir Julian. “No, my dear, I am not after your fortune. You are not in the usual run of insipid Society misses, I fancy, and I’ll admit that I would like to know you better. ... To be honest, I rather care for the idea of Julian being hoist with the guardianship of a wayward young lady who can ride like the wind—yes, I did see you in the park—and who is not afraid to speak her mind, beside having the looks of an angel for good measure.”
Not expecting flattery, Emma blushed furiously and feigned a sudden interest in the button of her kid glove which had come undone. The tiny pearl button proved difficult, and suddenly her wrist was taken by a masculine hand and the task performed competently. Before releasing her, Lord Devern carried her hand to his lips and lightly kissed the back of her fingers.
‘ ‘Will you acknowledge me when next we meet? ’ ’ he asked insistently.
Raising her eyes to study the face above her, Miss Beringer finally nodded.
“Julian will not like it,” he pointed out, not hiding his satisfaction. “To upset his equilibrium would please me, but how do you feel, Miss Beringer? Julian can be . . . forceful.”
Reminded of the many times when he had, indeed, been overbearing, Emma’s resolve hardened. “My guardianship is purely a formality. I am sure that my father had no real intention of putting me into Sir Julian’s care. I am far too old to be a ward and shall attain my majority in a few months. Of course I cannot invite you to the house,” she added hastily, foreseeing possible difficulties, “but I shall be very happy to be friends.”
“I am honored.” Lord Devern smiled, setting her heart fluttering, as he bowed over her hand, holding it for longer than was strictly necessary.
“I—think that we should rejoin the others.”
For a moment he looked into her eyes. “By all means,” he said, releasing her hand at last and escorting her back to the party, handing her over to Freddie’s care as soon as that youth approached along the path. “You see,” he said, “Miss Beringer is none the worse for my presence,” and went to pay attention to Clarissa who, having had only her mother for company, was feeling decidedly peevish.
Henry and Elvira had wandered a little along the riverbank in the opposite direction, and Freddie suggested that he and Emma should join them.
“Not too far, children,” said Mrs. Melvin as they passed the picnic site. “We must start back to town soon. ”
As soon as they were out of earshot Freddie spoke. “I say, Miss Beringer,” he began heatedly before falling silent, appearing to be at a loss for words.
73
Emma smiled encouragingly. “What do you say, Mr. Melvin? ’ ’ she wondered gently.
Freddie thrust a finger into the folds of his neckcloth as if that garment were about to strangle him. “I say,’’ he began again, “I wouldn’t have you suppose that I knew— embarrassing and all that. Common knowledge that the Leytons don’t acknowledge him. Nothing against Vivian myself, of course, and the fellow is kin—but not the thing to force the meeting on you. Give you my word that I’d no idea Vivian had invited himself along. Can’t think why—a picnic’s not usually to his taste.”
“I don’t feel that the coolness between the families has anything to do with me,” Emma hastened to reassure her companion. “I have no intention of cutting Lord Devern, and so I shall tell Sir Julian if the point arises. I intend to choose my own friends.”
She spoke bravely but did not feel nearly so bold when her guardian sent for her the next day. The sight of a tearful Elvira precipitously leaving the room did nothing to reassure her, and she answered the curt order to enter with a trepidation which she did her best to conceal.
Sir Julian was standing in front of the empty fireplace, one arm stretched along the mantelpiece. The look he turned on Emma was far from kind, his black brows almost meeting in obvious displeasure.
“Well, Miss Beringer?” he demanded in a tone which made her lift her chin. “What have you to say for yourself— and I want no such nonsense as I have had from Elvira. ”
Refusing to stand like an errant schoolgirl for what was clearly to be a scolding, Emma calmly seated herself and turned an inquiring face to her companion, determined not to be intimidated.
“As I have no idea what has put you in such a temper, it is only fair to tell you that I have very little to say,” she answered coolly, folding her hands in her lap with the air of one prepared to give her attention to a fractious child.
Sir Julian’s expression darkened. “You know very well to what I refer,” he said. “Play no games with me, miss.” Remembering her father’s advice that attack was the best defense, she sat up straight and met the angry black gaze directed at her. “Has no one ever pointed out what a bully you are?” she asked, almost conversationally. “Elvira passed me on the stairs in tears, and now I find you obviously intending to reduce me to the same state! Let me tell you, sir, that I am made of sterner stuff. I was not brought up by an overbearing brother, too full of his own consequence to care about others. I assure you, Sir Julian, that behaving like a bear with a sore head cuts no ice with me. / am not afraid of you!”
For a moment Julian Leyton looked astonished, obviously surprised by her attack before, schooling his features, he went on, “From what Elvira has said, it is perfectly clear that you are aware that Lord Devern is persona non grata.” “With you, Sir Julian—not with me,” Emma interposed calmly, for all her heart was beating quickly at her own daring. “I understand that Mrs. Melvin is Lord Devern’s cousin, and so it was perfectly proper for him to be invited to the outing. Elvira and I can hardly dictate upon the matter.” For his great height Sir Julian looked down at her, his expression harsh. “While in my house, Miss Beringer, you will obey my rules,” he said.
Emma shook her head. “You can try to impose your will on me, I suppose, but I really cannot see how you can force it,” she said candidly. “And you must know that I have no intention of obeying what seems to me to be a totally unreasonable dictum.”
“While in my house—”
“Of course I would not expect Lord Devern to be invited here—but outside is quite another matter. Having been introduced in the proper manner, how could I cut him, without causing gossip and speculation in the matter? I am persuaded that you have no desire to attract attention.”
Curbing his temper, Julian Leyton considered. “Very well,” he conceded grudgingly. “But remember that Vivian Devern is a dangerous man.”
Emma smiled angelically. “How exciting,” she said.
Sir Julian’s eyebrows lowered. “Have a care,” he warned. “And remember that your friendship with Devern ends at my door.”
Emma studied him, her head on one side. “How very autocratic,” she observed.
Sir Julian’s head came up, and once more she was the object of a cold stare, which made a tingle of anticipation slide down her spine.
“Have a care, ward,” he advised. “I could very easily remove you to the country. I stand in place of a parent, remember.”
Smiling, Emma stood up. “And what a grumpy one,” she said sweetly, refusing to be provoked into losing her temper. “Really, Sir Julian, has no one ever told you that more battles are won by kindness and understanding than by bad temper and autocratic ways?”
Abruptly abandoning the contest, Sir Julian went to hold the door for her, merely remarking dryly that he had not supposed General Wellesley to be a mild-mannered man.
“No, ” Emma agreed cordially, ‘ ‘but he is fair to his troops who respect him in consequence.”
Julian Leyton’s expression grew thoughtful, and over the next few days he seemed to take care to court his sister’s company. Elvira, who had become reserved with him, relaxed and even allowed hersel
f to be teased and chaffed him in return. Indeed so pleasant became the atmosphere at Cumberland Square, that both girls allowed themselves to be a little disappointed when Sir Julian announced that business took him away and departed for Hampshire, promising to be back in time for the dinner-dance.
“A sirloin of beef, with fowl and fish—whatever Cook thinks suitable,” said Lady Beauvale, making lists at her desk, “and supper refreshments for the twenty couples invited to the dance. We’ll open up the ballroom and engage some musicians. . . . Flowers from the garden and glasshouse should suffice.” Pausing, she looked up, her expression unhappy, “I must own to a wish that the Melvins . . . Unfortunately the invitations have gone out, so there is nothing to be done. I almost feel that I would not welcome them. ... I can only be charitable and suppose that Lizzie Melvin did not know of the affair with her kinsman, or she would not have included him in the outing to Richmond. However, having been introduced and having received my apparent endorsement of the acquaintance, I do not see how you can end the friendship, but I must ask you both to reduce it as much as possible.”
“They are the only young people we see,” complained Elvira later. “Why should old quarrels affect us?”
“Your aunt was not definite—she did not precisely say that we had to cut them,” Emma pointed out slowly.
“N—o.” Her friend was doubtful. “Ju read me the most famous scold the other day. ...”
“I know—at least I guessed as much. He seemed surprised when I told him he was a bully. ”
“You’re very brave,” Elvira told her in awe.
“Well, I’m not his sister,” said Emma practically, “and was not brought up to admire and obey him. It’s really not good for boys to be treated so—it gives them quite the wrong idea of their own consequence.” She paused thoughtfully. “Though to own the truth, he can be charming when he sets his mind to it,” she added honestly, thinking of the last few days.
The household, from Maria to Lady Beauvale, was thrown into a frenzy of activity, making ready for the dinner-dance, leaving Emma in no doubt as to the reason for Sir Julian’s convenient absence.
The day arrived, heralded by the arrival of the hired musicians with their instruments, and for the rest of the morning their rehearsals added to the pandemonium. Elvira and Emma had been given the task of arranging the flowers, which the gardener had cut reluctantly and brought in grudgingly that morning. Dressed in their oldest clothes and enveloped in large aprons, the work was relaxing and much to their liking. Around them servants scurried about their work, as excited as the girls at the prospect of entertaining. Only Mrs. Frobisher showed signs of overwrought nerves, and her husband was heard declaring the fervent hope that she would not give way to the vapors until after dinner.
At last all was in readiness and the house in relative quiet as its occupants seized the opportunity to recover their energy before the coming event.
Emma obediently lay on her bed with the curtains drawn against the bright afternoon sun, but, even in the dimness, her new gown shimmered where it lay over a chair, filling her with excitement. At last she could bear inactivity no longer and, sliding off the high bed, crossed to the window to draw back the curtains.
The sun streamed in touching her with warm, golden fingers, and, sighing with satisfaction, she leaned her elbows on the hot windowsill. Resting her chin on her hands, Emma watched the scene below with interest; a few children under the watchful eyes of their governess played a desultory game with a ball, two nursemaids were flirting with a group of soldiers, resplendent in their regimentals, and a lady occupied one seat, oblivious to all that was going on around her as she read a book. For a while Emma occupied herself with imagining what she was reading so avidly and had just decided that it must be the latest offering from the pen of Miss Austen, when a clatter of hooves made her turn her head to see Sir Julian and his groom entering the square.
Mindful of her state of undress, she drew back a little but could not resist watching the arrival of her guardian. Instead of dismounting at the front steps and leaving his groom to take the horses to the mews, he continued round the comer of the house. A movement at her window made him glance up, and Emma found herself the object of his disconcerting black gaze. A decidedly unguardianlike grin crossed his face as she blushed furiously and hastily backed away into the darkness of the room behind.
Mortified, she sat down in front of her dressing table and was still pink and uncomfortable when Elvira entered a few minutes later.
“It is hot, isn’t it?” she remarked innocently, noticing her friend’s condition. “Have you decided upon how you are dressing your hair? Aunt Diana is lending Mrs. Hill to us.” Seeing her friend’s doubtful expression, she hurried to reassure her. “She is really very good, you know. Aunt Diana pays her a hundred pounds a year, just to be sure of keeping her.”
When the elderly maid came to take out the curl rags with which her head had been decorated all day and arranged her hair in a becoming style quickly and easily, Emma found that Elvira had spoken the truth.
Maria watched closely and with obvious admiration as the older woman worked, following the other’s deft handiwork with attention. Aware of her interest, Mrs. Hill, with a grudging air, explained some of her techniques, but Emma noticed that her austere manner had softened slightly.
“I’ll leave Miss in your care,” she said, having surveyed her work with satisfaction. “Lady Beauvale will be needing me.” Looking down from her angular height she nodded at the diminutive form of Maria. “You show promise, I’ll say that for you—but don’t you so much as touch a hair of Miss Emma’s head!”
Maria poked her tongue out at the closed door once Mrs. Hill was safely beyond it. “Old misery!” she commented.
“She is a bit grim,” agreed Emma, dabbing perfume in various places about her person. Fastening her pearls around her neck, she found herself yearning for some more elaborate item of jewelry to enhance her gown. Ashamed of her ava-
rice, she reminded herself how much the pearls meant to her and, remembering the loss of her father, had to blink back tears. Luckily a footman handed in two bouquets at that moment, distracting her thoughts as she examined the flowers.
One was an eminently suitable posy of cream roses, tied with ribbons that matched her dress.
“How clever!’’ she exclaimed, holding it against herself. “Who can it be from?”
“Sir Julian,” Maria informed her with satisfaction. “He asked me what you’d be wearing. ”
“Oh!” was all Emma could think of to say before turning to the other gift. Unlike the first this bore a card, nestling among the arrangement of flamboyant cream and orange lilies. “From an admirer,” she read and looked at the bouquet thoughtfully.
“Do you know who sent them, miss?” asked Maria curiously. “Aren’t they lovely.”
“I’ve a good idea, only one person would send anything so . . . unusual,” Emma returned. “What a pity they don’t go with my gown. Put them in water for me—I’ll carry the roses.”
But almost at once her decision was affected by the arrival of another offering, this time in the form of a single cream rose, with a spray of forget-me-nots trailing from it.
“Forget-me-nots! ’ ’ snorted Maria, not hiding her disgust. “Everyone grows them. Why, we even had them in the yard of the George.”
“I think it’s very original,” observed Emma, having ascertained that they were from Freddie. For a moment she hesitated, knowing that Sir Julian’s gift was the more suitable and suddenly made up her mind. “Here, help me,” she commanded, reseating herself in front of the mirror. “Pin them into my hair, just at the back.”
“Mrs. Hill won’t like it,” Maria warned, doing as she was bid and pinning the flowers into the knot high on Emma’s head without disturbing the arrangement of her fair curls too much.
Pleased with her tact, Emma went along to Elvira’s room, and a little later both girls went downstairs together to join Lady Beauvale a
nd Sir Julian in the drawing room.
“My dears, you look beautiful!” Lady Beauvale smiled.
“Without a doubt they’ll be the toasts of the town,” said Sir Julian with a gallant bow. ‘ ‘I had not realized that my little sister had grown into such a beauty—though I had an idea that my ward was something out of the ordinary.”
“Thank you for the flowers,” said Emma. “As you see they compliment my gown perfectly.”
“An inspired guess,” her guardian said blandly.
“And doubly clever to guess rightly a second time,” she said dryly with raised eyebrows, indicating Elvira’s pink satin and matching roses.
Sir Julian laughed. “I see I am found out—I confess to a well-organized spy service. Does that make my efforts less worthy?”
“Not at all,” she told him amiably. “Though I own to a little disappointment that you did not use a crystal ball or a charm to read my mind.”
“Alas, I am no wizard, kitten,” he assured her quietly, smiling down into her eyes.
Emma found his expression disconcerting, and her own eyes wavered under his gaze. For a few seconds the other occupants of the room became so insignificant that they might have been alone. Her mouth softened, and as her hand crept up to play with her necklace, Julian Leyton’s expression altered, and he drew back, turning aside to say something teasingly to his sister.
By the time the first guests arrived, Emma had recovered her composure and was able to join in the greeting with all the niceties of social behavior expected of her.
Miss Plantagenet arrived on the arm of her father, Tudor Plantagenet, a small man, whose lack of stature was more