She had to get them away from him! Emma looked around the gallery. She saw no one she knew well. Short of dragging her two young companions out by force, she didn’t see what she could do.
“Where are you staying in London?” Lady Mary was asking when she caught up with them.
“Alas, I find myself in the clutches of one Mrs. Groat, who provides apartments for travelers. Quite a terrifying woman. I fear I’ve made a poor choice of lodgings. Last night I heard most suspicious sounds in the wall. Unless I am mistaken, there are rats.”
“Ooh,” replied Lady Mary with a shudder.
Orsino shot Emma a meaningful glance. For one horrified moment, she thought he was going to mention that she had been to his lodgings, then he turned away again with a smug smile. He was vile, Emma thought, as she unclenched her fists—despicable, ruthless, inexorable. What was she going to do?
***
Colin was spending his morning in quite different pursuits. He had by no means forgotten Count Orsino’s intrusion into their theater party, nor his feeling that he should find out something about the fellow. It was not difficult to identify him; a few well-placed questions at his club soon uncovered a name, for the count had been making determined efforts to force himself upon English society. But no one seemed to know anything more—beyond a general impression that there was something unsavory about the man.
However, Colin had a good deal of influence and many contacts around the city of London, and he used all of these powers now to investigate the history and character of Count Julio Orsino. His hunt led him in many directions and into very different locations.
He spent a profitable hour in a tiny, dark office in the warren of streets near Saint Paul’s Cathedral, with a sinister man named, implausibly, Smith. Mr. Smith’s business was knowing everything, or at the very least being able to find it out within a very short time. He provided Colin with some very shrewd observations about Orsino and his habits, and why he was in London. His predictions of the man’s future plans did not make for pleasant hearing.
Colin spoke to acquaintances in the army. He called at the Italian embassy and spent a cordial couple of hours with an official there who agreed to a speedy search of his government’s records in return for certain future favors. In an English government office, Colin spoke with an old school friend and, between reminiscences, got a promise that he would make inquiries through official channels. Finally, Colin interviewed the proprietors of a several exclusive gambling establishments, who were known to have a broad web of contacts among their counterparts abroad.
In the end, as information about the count began to accumulate, Colin’s uneasiness turned to dread. The man was not a simple gamester. He had been involved in a hundred shady enterprises and unsavory transactions. There was a suspicion, unproven, that he had been a source for the white slave trade during his time in Constantinople. There were dark rumors of murder. Colin was appalled that Emma should even be acquainted with such a man.
But she was. The life she had been forced to lead had put her in contact with a variety of dangerous individuals. He recalled her story of her first encounter with Ferik and shuddered slightly. He found that his fists were clenched. It was fortunate that Tarrant was dead, because otherwise he would have been forced to kill him, he thought somewhat illogically.
He remembered the way Orsino had bent over Emma at the theater, and the look on her face as he did so. It did not require military instincts to conclude that the man meant her some sort of harm. An irresistible desire to get Orsino’s stubby neck between his hands began to build in Colin. He longed to choke the whole story out of him and then see to it that the blackguard never approached his wife again. But even more, he wished Emma would come to him and tell him what was wrong.
***
As they drove home from the Royal Academy, having shaken off Count Orsino only when they actually got into her carriage, Emma found herself biting her bottom lip to keep from screaming.
“I don’t see how you can say so,” declared Lady Mary Dacre with a toss of her golden hair. “That was quite the ugliest painting in the whole show.”
“It was far better than those sickly lambs and simpering boy that you liked,” replied Robin.
“He was a shepherd,” said Lady Mary. “And he was not simpering. He was under the influence of some powerful feeling, a state that I’m sure you would not understand.”
“Looked like he had a good deal of feeling for one of those sheep,” muttered Robin under his breath.
“What?” said Lady Mary sharply.
“I said he looked like he was about to fall asleep,” Robin answered, avoiding Emma’s eye.
“He did not!”
“Here we are,” interjected Emma, trying to keep the relief out of her voice. They had reached the Morland town house, and she was more than ready to take leave of Lady Mary.
The girl folded her arms and looked exceedingly mulish. “I can’t go in. I, er, I left my handkerchief in your drawing room.”
Emma turned to look at her in surprise. “What?”
“My handkerchief. I must go and fetch it.”
“I’ll have it sent to you.”
“No. I must get it. It’s, er, my mother embroidered it for me.” It was clear that even Lady Mary found this explanation extremely thin, but equally clear that she was determined to return to Emma’s house and that nothing short of a full-scale battle would remove her from the carriage.
Perhaps that was just as well, Emma thought. She had to warn the girl about Orsino and convince her not to speak to him again. And though she longed to be alone, this would provide an opportunity. “Very well,” she said. “We will leave Robin at—”
“I’ll go along with you,” her brother interrupted.
“But it is on our way—”
“Like to walk home,” declared Robin. “Lovely day for it.”
Exasperated, Emma looked from one to the other. It was some sort of silly contest, she decided. Neither of them was willing to be the first to leave. They really were like children. Mentally throwing up her hands, she directed the coachman home.
It was not far. In a very few minutes, they were climbing down from the barouche and walking through the door that Clinton held for them. Robin was coming inside, Emma noticed resignedly. “Shall we look in the drawing room for your handkerchief?” she asked Lady Mary.
“Oh, I can find it,” was the hurried reply. Lady Mary stepped in front of her, putting her foot onto the first stair.
“Of course I will help you,” said Emma, with a spark of malice. She had endured much this afternoon, and she was not averse to giving some of it gently back. She was very well aware that they would discover no stray handkerchief in her drawing room.
“I’ll help, too,” said Robin, following Lady Mary up the stairs.
“I do not require help,” exclaimed the girl, “particularly your help.” She hurtled into the drawing room and crashed head-on into Colin Wareham.
“Oh!” The girl tottered wildly on her feet. Colin was obliged to reach out and steady her. “Oh,” she said again.
Perfect, thought Emma. The day needed only this.
“You might watch where you’re going,” said Robin. “You could injure someone popping into a room like that.”
“Oh, what do you know about anything!” cried Lady Mary, and promptly burst into tears.
“Eh?” Robin seemed startled by the strength of her reaction. He blinked. He turned to Emma, who was not looking at him. He gazed questioningly about the room, his eyes finally falling on the tall, handsome figure of Baron St. Mawr. “Ah,” he said, enlightened. “Forgot.”
One corner of Colin’s mouth jerked.
“We have been looking at the pictures at the Royal Academy,” said Emma somewhat desperately. Lady Mary’s sobs continued in the background.
“Have you?�
�� Colin was at his most urbane. “They say it is a fine collection this year.”
This was a sticky situation, Robin told himself. Sort of thing Emma had recruited him to help her with. She was relying on him. He racked his brain for something to say.
“Very fine,” agreed Emma feebly.
“Splendid technique, I’ve heard,” Colin added blandly.
Emma threw him a look.
Lady Mary let out a piercing wail “How can you all—”
“The thing is,” cried Robin loudly to forestall her.
They all turned to look at him. Even Lady Mary choked back a sob and blinked at him in surprise.
“The thing is,” he repeated, wondering what the deuce he was going to say.
Everyone waited.
It was dashed hard to think with people staring at you like statues, Robin realized. But he had said he would help. He groped desperately for an idea—any idea. “A… a friend of mine knows of a boat that takes parties up the river toward Greenwich,” Robin babbled, surprising even himself. “That’s right. He was telling me about it just the other day. Neat little craft. Flat bottomed, like a barge, Jack says, but very clean.”
Everyone was still staring at him. Robin flushed and fumbled for words. “It… er… I was thinking, we should make an expedition,” he said, without thinking the matter through any further.
Three pairs of eyes continued to contemplate him, with varying degrees of surprise and disapproval.
“Take a picnic,” he added, thinking that was a nice touch, and feeling more and more pleased with himself. “Row upriver like Queen Elizabeth in the engraving.” Where the devil had that come from? Robin wondered, seeing the thought mirrored on the others’ faces. Then he remembered a book that had been about the house when he was small, a biography of the famous Virgin Queen with lavish illustrations. One of them must have stuck in his mind all this time, he marveled.
“I’ve never been on the river,” said Lady Mary slowly. She appeared to be examining the suggestion for potential pitfalls while growing increasingly enamored of it. “Yes, let’s,” she said finally. “It sounds like fun.”
“I don’t think—” began Emma.
“Oh, don’t say you won’t go,” interrupted Lady Mary, galvanized by resistance. Her tears, and the supposed reason for them, seemed completely forgotten. “If you won’t come, then it is off. And I am so tired of being cooped up at home.” She gave Emma a limpid look.
Meaning that if she didn’t agree, Lady Mary would make certain any outing they took was pure misery, thought Emma bitterly. The girl was a natural blackmailer.
“I think it’s a good notion,” said Colin, surprising them all. “What about tomorrow? I have no pressing engagements.”
“You… you will…?” Lady Mary stammered to a halt.
“I don’t know if I can arrange…” faltered Robin simultaneously.
“Colin,” admonished Emma.
“I believe it is supposed to be a fine day. Just the thing for a picnic.” Colin smiled, seemingly without concern.
“I don’t think—” began Emma again.
“Well, I want to go,” declared Lady Mary. “I want to see the boat. I don’t care who comes.” She looked ready to stamp her foot.
Colin met Emma’s speaking gaze, and returned it steadily. “Splendid. It’s settled, then,” he said.
“I, uh, I’ll have to speak to the boatman,” Robin pointed out.
“Yes, indeed. Offer him a larger fee if there is any objection,” said the older man. “And of course you’ll want to look in at Gunter’s and arrange for the food. They do a very creditable basket for this sort of thing.”
“Y-yes.” Robin gathered his wits. “But I can’t be sure the boat will be free, you know, on such short notice. I’ll have to—”
“Persuade him,” suggested Colin.
“Well, but—”
“Surely you can deal with a boatman?” said Lady Mary.
They were all looking at him. Robin’s jaw hardened. “Certainly,” he rapped out. “I’ll make all the arrangements,” he added recklessly.
“Do you really think…?” began Emma, then trailed off. Colin continued to gaze at her; his face contained some message, but she could not read it.
“It is settled, then,” he said. “We rely on you, Bellingham. Send word of the time.”
“Very well,” said Robin, like a man who had gotten in well over his head without knowing quite how it had come about.
“You are not to order lobster for our picnic,” Lady Mary said. “I hate lobster.”
“You needn’t eat it, then,” Robin snapped. “But I shall certainly have some myself.”
“But even the smell makes me feel quite ill. How can you—?”
Emma broke. “Robin, you will escort Lady Mary home,” she commanded through gritted teeth. “You may use my carriage.”
“Why have I got to…?”
“No doubt Lady Mary is tired,” she continued, ignoring him.
“No, I’m not,” said the girl.
“So you had best set off now.” Emma’s tone did not encourage argument. And the glare she directed at the two young people seemed to impress them even more.
“Oh, all right,” agreed Robin pettishly.
Lady Mary pushed out her lower lip and looked mutinous. But she turned with Robin toward the door.
“I’ll have the servants find your handkerchief and send it to you,” added Emma sweetly.
Lady Mary looked blank.
“The one your mother embroidered especially for you.”
“Oh.” The girl had the grace to look guilty. “That is, thank you.”
“I am completely at your service,” replied Emma savagely.
With sidelong looks at her expression, the two young people hurried from the room.
Emma turned to Colin. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“I wished to help you,” he said.
“Help?”
“Yes.” On his way home, Colin had come to certain conclusions. Emma was annoyed with him because he had refused to do anything about her scapegrace brother. He would show her that he stood ready to aid her, that he could be counted on to stand by her, and then she would no doubt confide in him about whatever problem this man Orsino posed. “I thought to lend my efforts to your campaign to show society that there is nothing in the rumors,” he added. “Won’t it be even more convincing if I join a party of which Lady Mary is a member?”
“Perhaps,” allowed Emma.
He spread his hands.
“But it will be very awkward. I don’t think…”
“I had another motive as well.”
Emma raised her eyebrows.
“It is, after all, a significant sacrifice, to spend a whole day with two bickering youngsters, one of whom fancies herself in love with me,” he pointed out.
“You cannot know how significant,” replied Emma feelingly.
“But I shall find out.”
“You certainly will.”
“And so, you see, you were wrong.”
“About what?” Emma wondered.
“I do believe that we have a partnership, and an obligation to help one another,” he said significantly. “I am ready to do my part.”
Emma gazed up at him, her eyes threatening to fill with tears. She could not tell him the real reason for her reluctance—that she was pulled violently in two directions at once. She longed to spend the day in his company. But she was also terribly afraid that she might make some slip, give him some clue about the threat hanging over her before she could eradicate it.
“I mean to hold up my end of the bargain,” he assured her.
Emma froze. She was deathly tired of that word “bargain,” she thought.
Ten
As he offer
ed his arm to Lady Mary Dacre to escort her onto the boat that was awaiting them at the other end of the short gangplank, Robin tried to make some order of the multitude of details buzzing in his mind. He was feeling extremely harassed. In barely twenty-four hours, he had had to locate the boatman, bribe him to change his schedule and accommodate them, arrange for food and drink, provide extra funds for the odds and ends the boat suddenly, mysteriously required, and then choose suitable garments from his wardrobe for a day on the river.
His problems had begun when his friend Jack had been unable to remember the boatman’s name or location, and they had not ended yet, he thought distractedly. Though Lady Mary was chattering brightly about the sights on the docks and the fine clear weather, Robin expected only the worst from her, and he was very much afraid that the day would be a disaster. And of course, everyone would blame him. This helping people was a good deal more complicated than he had imagined, he thought. It would be quite a while before he tried anything of the sort again.
“Oh, look,” said Lady Mary. “How pretty!” She trotted over to the cluster of chairs and small table in the center of the vessel, shaded by a striped awning.
It ought to be pretty, thought Robin bitterly. He had been coerced into financing a new awning, and the rug covering the deck boards had come from home, without his father’s knowledge. He looked around to make certain everything else was in place. The boat was actually a small barge, flat and square, with a tiny shack-like house in the rear. The awning spread over most of the middle. The coils of rope and other oddments at the front corners had been tidied as he asked. The boatman and his son stood ready at the back to ply the oars. Baskets of provisions sat on the rug near the table. All seemed to be in order. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“There are no flowers,” said Lady Mary as she sank into one of the waiting chairs. “We should have had flowers, don’t you think so, Emma? The table looks so bare.”
The Marriage Wager Page 29