The old woman waited.
Emma still hesitated. She didn’t know how to say what she meant. “Something other than what they wished for,” she concluded finally.
Lady Burrington’s eyes were as unwavering as those of a diving eagle. “You are not an adventuress,” she said.
Emma said nothing.
“You are not a fool,” said the old woman with even more conviction.
“I don’t think I am.”
“But what are you, eh?”
Emma stared at her, caught by the question. She didn’t know how to answer.
Colin’s great-aunt gave a crack of laughter. “Not so sure of that one? Well, I’d be suspicious if you were, at, what—five and twenty? But I believe I’m rather sorry I shan’t live to see you work out the answer.”
The door opened, and the gentlemen entered the drawing room.
“You’d best get on if you’re going to that ball of Felicity Cardington’s,” declared Great-Aunt Celia to the party at large. “I don’t intend to keep all the men here for ten minutes just for form’s sake.”
Seeming used to this sort of statement, the family members began to stand. Emma looked to Colin, who came over to join them as the room emptied. “Has Aunt Celia been grilling you?” he asked, his tone light but his expression probing.
“Of course I have,” replied the old woman. “What else did you expect?”
Colin looked at Emma, who smiled.
Lady Burrington gave a great sigh. “I’m tired,” she said. “How I loathe being old.”
Colin put a hand on her shoulder.
“Pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” she responded.
He smiled down at her.
“You’ve set society abuzz, outraged your mother, and wound me around your little finger.”
“You?” he protested. “Never.”
“Well, you haven’t,” she barked. “So don’t preen yourself. Either of you.” Turning, she looked at Emma again. “Well, girl, from what I can see, you’ll make a decent match for him. Better than the children Catherine was pushing forward at any rate. You’ve my ‘approval,’ if you actually care for it.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I do,” said Emma, and meant it.
“Go along now. I’m for bed.”
“Can we help…?” began Colin.
“No, no.” Irritated, she waved them away. As they left the room, they passed the two footmen coming to help her upstairs.
“Well,” said Emma when they were in the carriage once again. “Thank God that is over.”
“It appears that you did splendidly.”
“She made me quake in my shoes,” said Emma.
“She’s known for it,” Colin acknowledged. “But somehow, I think you held your own.”
“Perhaps.” Emma gave him a sidelong glance. “I think I shall make your Aunt Celia my model,” she declared. “I intend to be just like her when I am older.”
“Then I shall cast up my accounts like Uncle Harold and leave you to it,” Colin answered at once.
“When did he die?” wondered Emma.
“Five years ago. She was a different creature before that. I understand they were very happy together.”
“Ah.” Emma contemplated this new information, trying to imagine the intimidating Lady Burrington as a happy wife.
“However, I cannot believe you could be as crusty as Aunt Celia, not after watching you charm Wrotham and Cousin Gerald at dinner.”
“I sat and smiled and agreed with whatever was said to me,” she retorted.
“The perfect woman,” he teased.
“If you truly think so, my lord, you have made a disastrous mistake in offering for me.”
“I know.”
“You know what? That you have made a mistake, or that I am not—”
“I know that I have made a very wise bargain indeed,” he said. “I expect that in a week or so, you will have my mother eating out of your hand as well.”
“You expect too much, my lord. I don’t think anything will reconcile her to this match.”
“You will find a way.”
Emma looked doubtful.
“You will be meeting many of the leaders of society tonight,” Colin continued, his tone businesslike.
Emma nodded. This must mean a great deal to him, she thought. He was marrying her against the wishes of his mother and amid a storm of gossip. No doubt he wanted her to impress his friends. She listened carefully to his descriptions of the people they were about to encounter.
The baroness, Caroline and her husband, and the Bellinghams met them, as prearranged, in front of Cardington house, and they went in to the ball together. The room was already filled with dancing couples when they entered, but their striking group still attracted a good deal of attention. The baroness wore violet the color of her eyes. Caroline’s gown of deep orange set off her russet hair to perfection. Emma was like the moon on water in her blue and silver. And the men were all handsome, in different ways, in their evening dress. However, the extended stares and murmur of talk had little to do with appearance. The unexpected announcement of Baron St. Mawr’s engagement to an unknown woman had raced through the ton and roused wild speculation.
“Courage,” said Colin, his hand at Emma’s elbow. “Let us greet our hostess.” Gathering his party with a glance, he led them to the corner where Lady Cardington was standing.
She broke off her conversation at once and stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. Colin fixed his mother with a stern gaze. Obediently, she moved to meet Lady Cardington. “Felicity, may I present Lady Emma Tarrant?” she said.
“How do you do?” She examined Emma closely, seeming a bit surprised by what she found.
Conscious of the gaze of many pairs of eyes, Emma greeted her in return.
“How odd that we have not met before,” said Lady Cardington. “I thought I knew positively everyone.” Her tone implied that those she did not know were of no consequence.
“I have been living abroad,” Emma replied, keeping a rein on her temper.
“Really? Where did you find to live with that monster Napoleon on the loose?” Once more, her tone was incredibly patronizing. It implied that since Lady Cardington did not know of any place where she might have lived, Emma must have resided in a back slum.
“I was last in Constantinople,” said Emma tartly, “well out of his reach.”
“Ah.”
Emma was certain that Lady Cardington had no idea where Constantinople might be.
“Such a lovely city,” she added, gazing right at her hostess. “And in such a vital position for English interests.”
“Er…” said Lady Cardington.
“There is nothing more beautiful than the flush of dawn on the straits of the Bosphorus with the golden dome of Sofia hovering over them. Don’t you agree?”
Coldly, Lady Cardington met her eyes. She was not to be bested as easily as this, her expression insisted. “I really couldn’t say,” she responded, as if Emma had asked about something quite uninteresting, and vaguely inappropriate. “I find travel so fatiguing, and most of the places one is urged to visit are so dirty and common. How glad you must be to be home again, among fashionable people.”
Her threat was entirely clear. If Emma truly joined battle with her, she would spoil her chances in society. Bristling, Emma started to speak. Then she hesitated, remembering Colin’s wish for her success. Presumably, this insufferable woman was a friend of his family. Emma became conscious of the baroness at her side. She would enjoy it so much if Emma was rejected by her peers. Swallowing her stinging reply and smiling blandly, Emma answered, “Of course.”
“Shall we dance?” said Colin, taking her arm and leading her away. They joined a set forming at the end of the room and waited for the musicians to strike up.
/> “I cannot remain mute and smiling under that kind of questioning,” said Emma, her anger reemerging now that the chance of offending Lady Cardington was past.
Colin shook his head.
“If you want a sweet, compliant ninnyhammer, you can no doubt find one,” she added.
“Scores of them,” he answered.
“Do you not think you have made a mistake, my lord?” said Emma through gritted teeth. “I despise that sort of woman—saying the most cutting things she can imagine in that syrupy voice, implying the worst without having the courage to accuse one of anything.”
“I can’t bear her myself,” agreed Colin.
This startled Emma out of her anger. “Then why are we here?”
He took her hand as the music began, and they executed the opening steps of the quadrille before he answered, “Because others do not share your very sensible attitude toward Lady Cardington. She is one of the leaders of fashion, and this invitation will establish you, get you vouchers for Almack’s, show society that you are to be reckoned with.”
“I am surprised she invited me, then,” replied Emma. “She certainly did not seem pleased to have me here.”
Colin looked suddenly haughty. “She had no choice.”
This made Emma’s eyebrows come up. “Really, my lord baron? Why not?”
“I have a certain amount of influence.”
“Over that woman?” Emma looked skeptical.
“Over her youngest son, who is botching his military career.”
“I see. Enough to get me invited, but not to make her polite to me.”
Colin smiled. “I do not think anyone could manage that.”
“Thank you very much, my lord.”
“She isn’t polite to anyone,” he assured her. “She is one of the most disliked women in London.”
“And still a leader of fashion,” marveled Emma. “I begin to see what I have missed, being abroad all these years.”
Colin laughed down at her, and realized he was enjoying himself. This was the first of these social gatherings he had enjoyed since he came home from France, he thought.
What he did not realize was how evident this was to others in the crowd. A dozen mothers saw their hopes of a grand match definitely die. Several very young ladies grew quite petulant with their partners. And a number of men were greatly intrigued. Emma’s beauty had already struck them. Now, they wondered what sort of woman could draw a smile like that from the somber Baron St. Mawr.
When the music ended, Emma found herself besieged by partners seeking an introduction and a dance. When she glanced at Colin, he shrugged slightly, leaving the choice to her. She hesitated. She had almost forgotten how much she loved dancing. Going through the measures with Colin had been exhilarating. But of course she could not stand up for every set with him. She looked up at him again. He was smiling at her, as if he followed her thoughts. A spark of the excitement she had felt years ago at her first ball reawakened in Emma’s breast. She acknowledged one of the hopeful gentlemen and was presented. In another moment they were taking their places on the floor.
“She is making a great hit,” said the baroness sourly to her son some time later.
He merely nodded.
“I think you might dance with someone else,” she accused.
“No.”
The baroness glared at him. She was extremely annoyed at the way things had fallen out. She was not a good loser. “Aren’t you afraid she will lose her heart to one of those gallants?” she asked, following Colin’s gaze to where Emma twirled in the arms of a duke’s heir.
“No,” he said again. It was obvious to him that Emma was finding joy not in her partners but in the act of dancing and freedom from the worries that had plagued her for years.
“You are the most infuriating person in existence,” fumed his mother.
“So you have often said, Mother,” was his absent reply.
Which positively proved her point, the baroness thought, watching him gaze at the woman who was to be his wife with absolutely no concern for her own feelings about the matter.
When the last set was announced, Emma rejected all offers and went in search of her promised husband. She found him saying good-bye to his sister just outside the ballroom. When she approached, Caroline held out her hands and said, “I hope we will be friends. Will you come and see me?”
“I’d like that,” replied Emma.
“Nicky will love your hair,” Caroline added obscurely.
“He’ll likely rub barley sugar in it,” warned Lord Wrotham, his tone indulgent.
“Caroline’s son,” said Colin, in answer to Emma’s look.
“He doesn’t do that any longer,” objected Caroline at the same time. She seemed ready to argue the point, but her husband urged her toward the stairs. “Come soon,” she called over her shoulder.
“Mother is gone as well,” said Colin. “Your father escorted her home.”
Emma made a face.
“Are you ready to leave?”
“The last dance is a waltz,” objected Emma.
“Ah. We could not possibly go, then.”
Looking up at him, Emma felt a tremor in the region of her heart. She was in danger of developing feelings for this man, she realized with a jolt. That would never do. It was no part of the sane, sensible bargain she had made. “Perhaps we should go,” she said.
“No, indeed,” he responded, and offered his arm.
In the ballroom he encircled her waist and she put a hand on his shoulder. His fingers curled firmly around hers—solid, reliable. Whatever the future held, this man would not publicly humiliate her as Edward had done, Emma realized, and her eyes briefly threatened to fill with tears.
“What is it?” asked Colin.
“Nothing.”
He guided her expertly onto the floor, and they began to whirl in a great circle of dancing couples. “Do you wish to make a wedding journey?” asked Colin after a while.
“Out of England? No. I have had more than enough of foreign travel.”
He nodded. “I thought we might go down to Trevallan.”
“What is that?”
“The seat of the St. Mawrs. In Cornwall.”
“Your home? Certainly. I should like to see it.”
“It is traditional,” he answered, almost apologetic.
“Of course,” said Emma.
He gazed down at her. “It remains only to set the wedding day.”
“I am at your disposal, my lord.”
She looked so cool and elegant, everything a nobleman could want in a wife, Colin thought. So why did he feel a twinge of disappointment? “It makes no difference to you?”
“I need some time to prepare,” she conceded. “But there is not a great deal to do, since we will have a small private ceremony.”
“The date your father gave is one week from today,” he pointed out.
“A week!” She looked startled, and somewhat anxious.
“We are not bound by it,” he added.
“No. I… I suppose I can be ready by then.”
An awkward silence fell between them. Neither appeared to know exactly what to say. They turned through the dance for several long minutes, outwardly calm and graceful.
The music ended. Colin and Emma faced one another. “So, shall we stay with that day then?” he asked, a bit abruptly.
“I… all right,” she answered with equal unease.
He gave a single nod as they made their way off the floor and went to wait for their cloaks.
Robin Bellingham was lying in wait at the foot of the stairs. “I wanted to speak to you,” he said to Emma.
Very conscious of Colin at her back, she stopped and smiled at her brother.
“I… we’ve had no chance to get acquainted,” he stammered. “
I should like to.”
“So should I,” replied Emma warmly. “We will have many opportunities now. Come and see me.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Robin flushed a little, obviously wanting to say more. Emma waited. “I never liked what Father did to you,” her brother blurted out. “I think it was wrong. If I could have done anything, I would. Truly. It was just that I was…” He faltered, clenching his fists.
“You were ten years old,” said Emma. “There was nothing you could do.”
“I might have said something,” said Robin. “If I had understood what…”
“But you did not. And you must not feel yourself responsible in any way.” She smiled. “Besides, that is all past. We shall make up for it by being very good friends to one another now.”
His face cleared. “Yes. I should like that.”
“Come and see me,” repeated Emma.
He nodded and watched Colin lead her off to where the carriage waited. Only when they were driving away did Robin remember that he still did not know where she was staying. Colorfully, he cursed his own ineptitude.
Six
Emma and Colin were married at Saint George’s in Hanover Square on a July morning that glowed with rich golden light. The climbing rose that twisted about the church door waved like a scarlet banner against the deep blue of the sky as they went in to take their vows. Only the families had been invited, and a few of Colin’s friends from his military days who were in London. Yet it was still a marked contrast to her first hurried marriage ceremony, Emma thought, as the music rang through the church and the bishop, a connection of the Warehams, awaited them at the altar.
Then, it had been only herself and Edward crowded into a small parish office, with a pair of housemaids called in to witness the transaction. The initial exhilaration she had felt upon taking her destiny into her own hands had faded by that time, and after a very long, jolting carriage ride, Emma had been worn out, and yet still alert and fearful of pursuit. Edward had simmered with ill-tempered eagerness to get the thing done. At the time, Emma had been pleased, thinking that he desperately wanted to make her his wife. What he had wanted was to fix his claim to her fortune, she thought wearily now. Her money was the only thing about her that had ever really excited him.
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