It was a truly perfect plan.
Chapter Nine
“I wrote it last night.” Anne handed them the pages, which were written in her most legible hand. “It is called The Spinster's Beau.”
Robin already looked exasperated, and he hadn't read a word. “Is it?”
“It is. Mind you, it is a work of fiction. Any similarities to the real world are entirely coincidental,” Anne insisted. “I daresay it is the best I've ever written!”
Emily was frowning as she glanced over the pages. What on earth had she gotten herself into? “And my character's name is...?”
“Emma. You might notice the play begins with a description of her.” Anne cleared her throat and read from the first page. “Emma Wilcott is a regal woman of impeccable taste and unshakeable morals. She has lovely brown eyes, and her lustrous hair is so dark, the color is reminiscent of a raven's wing. Some might be foolish enough to call her a spinster, but she possesses a timeless beauty that is rarely found in this world.”
“Annie...” Robin groaned his sister's name. “Is it my imagination, or does Emma Wilcott sound vaguely familiar? Please tell me you didn't--”
“Roland Rothchild is a lovesick fool who has admired Miss Wilcott from afar.”
“And I suppose I am Roland Rothchild? I see you don't mind subjecting your poor brother to humiliation.”
“Humiliation... why are you humiliated? Roland has nothing to do with you, Robin. He's a character in my play!”
Robin rolled his eyes. “Right. Of course. Carry on!”
His sister continued her narration: “Roland steels himself as he approaches her. A moment in her presence never fails to have his stomach in knots.”
Against his better judgment, Robin took a step toward Emily and proceeded to recite the dialogue of Roland.
“Miss Wilcott, what a rare pleasure to see you.”
Emily did not miss her cue. “Not so rare, I think.”
“You're looking very pretty today.”
Even if it was Roland complimenting Emma, Anne smiled when she heard her brother recite the words. She wondered if he had ever been bold enough to pay her a compliment that wasn't written in a script.
“You are too kind, Mr. Rothchild.” Not wanting to disappoint the play's author, Emily read her lines as naturally as she could.
“Would you care to dance with me?”
“Are you sure you wouldn't rather dance with my niece, Miss Lawson?” Emily was chuckling when she looked up from the page. “Miss Lawson? Really? Isn't that a bit... obvious?”
“I chose the name at random,” Anne tried to defend herself, even though her intent was clear. “Do you know a Miss Lawson?”
“No, but we know a Miss Dawson,” Robin said. “Annie, you really are insufferable.”
“And you are insufferable for calling me Annie yet again! But I will forgive you, because you're saying the lines so nicely.” She pointed at the pages in her brother's hands, encouraging him to continue. “Go on.”
“I wouldn't rather dance with Miss Lawson. There is no one I would rather dance with than... than you.”
“I quite liked the dramatic pause,” Anne praised him. “It wasn't written like that, but I will have to make an adjustment.”
“Then I would love to dance with you.”
Emily and Robin stared in silence at the next words on the page:
They dance.
“Why do you hesitate?” Anne tried to look as innocent as possible as she peered at them over her copy of the play. “You're supposed to engage in a dance!”
“Reciting lines is one thing,” Robin began, “but to ask us to dance is another thing entirely!” When he glanced at Emily, she simply shrugged.
“Do you really have such an aversion to the idea? Emily... you don't mind, do you?”
“Not in the least.” Emily flashed the author's brother an encouraging smile.
“It's a waltz,” Anne told them. “It does not specify it in the text, but a waltz is what I had in mind.”
“If we're to waltz, then you need to play us something on the pianoforte!” Robin nodded in the direction of drawing room's abandoned instrument.
“But I cannot play a waltz! I can hardly play anything at all!”
“We can hardly dance in silence, can we? We'll need some sort of accompaniment.” As he moved closer to Emily, his entire body trembled at the idea of holding her close.
“Ohhhh... very well!” She was liable to embarrass herself on the instrument, but her pride was a small price to pay if her plan succeeded. Anne sat behind the piano and banged out some discordant notes.
“Miss Wilcott, if you please,” Robin improvised as he held out his arms.
“With pleasure, Mr. Rothchild.”
When the waltz commenced, Emily's heart skipped a beat or two. She wondered how men and women managed to waltz in front of a crowd without swooning.
As they danced to his sister's odious music, Robin whispered a confession that made him blush, “I've never waltzed before.”
“Neither have I.” Despite their mutual inexperience, their movements were surprisingly smooth and graceful. “But I have observed the dance on many occasions.”
They revolved in circles around the small room, continuing the dance in silence. Robin could feel his heart beating rapidly beneath his chest, and his palms perspired profusely. His body's reaction to the waltz made him feel like a green schoolboy.
The dance ended when Anne leapt from the pianoforte and declared, “onto the next scene!” She found Robbie curled up on the settee, lifted him into her arms, and deposited him near Emily's feet. “The butler has a line in the next scene. It's such a small role, so Robbie should suffice.” To her brother, she barked a command: “Mr. Rothchild should be sitting on the sofa when Emma arrives! And don't forget... you're a gentleman! When she enters, you should respectfully rise!”
With an inaudible grumble, Robin trudged to the sofa. As much as he was vexed by his sister's orchestrations, he was a bit disappointed she ended their waltz so soon. When would he ever have another opportunity to stand so close to Miss Weaver? “You needn't coach me on the ways of a gentleman, Annie!”
With a roll of her eyes, Anne turned toward Emily. “I will... cough... I will provide a voice for the butler.” She could feel a coughing fit coming on, but she had to suppress it, lest her brother would ban her from all activity.
In her deepest voice, Anne read the butler's line: “Miss Wilcott, are you here to see Mr. Rothchild?”
To the dog, Emily answered, “Indeed I am.”
“My master is in the sitting room. I will take you to him at once.” Anne looked up from the page and said, “You're supposed to follow the butler to the sitting room, but I don't think I can get Robbie to move. He seems so dreadfully lazy today!”
“Then we shall pretend!” Emily stepped beyond the passive puppy and approached the sofa where Robin was seated. Following his sister's direction, he rose to his feet.
“Miss Wilcott, how good it is to see you!”
“The pleasure is all mine, I'm sure.”
“You look as beautiful as ever.”
“And you are as skilled at flattery as ever.”
Anne kept a hand over her mouth as she watched them perform. She coughed as quietly as she could, muffling the noise behind her fingers.
Robin's line was next. “Miss Wilcott... there is something I must ask you.”
“You are free to ask me anything, of course.”
Robin took a few steps in Emily's direction as he recited his lines. “No one stirs my heart as you do. No one else in this world makes me feel so alive. If I could wake up every day and see your smiling face, I would be at liberty to say I have fulfilled my dreams.”
“Mr. Rothchild... I don't know what to say.”
“Say my name, dearest Emma. To hear my name uttered in that sweetest voice would be my life's greatest wish.”
“Rob--” She caught herself saying the wrong name, and
quickly corrected her error. “Roland.”
“Marry me, Emma.” As he read aloud, Robin's pages were shaking in his hands. “I know you have expressed some concern about our ages, but it matters not. As long as we love each other, it is a trivial matter. And I know...”
“What's wrong?!” Anne spoke up. “Why are you not finishing your line?”
“I don't know if I can say this.”
His sister finished the speech on his behalf. “I know I love you with all of my heart!” Anne coughed audibly a few times, and tried to ignore the burning tickle in her lungs. “It's your turn, Emily.”
“I will marry you, Roland. Nothing in this world would make me happier than to be your wife.”
Robin felt the crushing weight of sadness in the center of his chest. Emily would never say those words. Not to him. Not in reality.
The next words on the page did nothing to improve his mood.
They kiss.
“Do make it believable!” Anne encouraged them. “You've done very well so far! At times, I would even say I've been impressed! I see no reason why you--”
“Anne, this has gone far enough!” Robin interrupted. “I know what you're trying to do. It is as obvious as it is cloying!”
“But I--” She looked to Emily for support, but her story's heroine simply shook her head.
“I think we've performed enough for one day,” her brother said.
“But you haven't even gotten to cough the best part! The wedding is beautiful! And after the wedding, it gets even better! They cough cough they complete each other! They make each other better!”
“Anne, you're unwell. Perhaps you should lie down for a bit?” He watched in horror as his sister doubled over, coughing and wheezing. When the fit was over, she was gasping for breath. “If you'd like, I'll even carry you to your room, the way I did when you were small.”
Normally, she would have protested against such a thing, especially in the presence of Emily, who she admired with all her heart. But there was so much pressure in her lungs, she would have been a fool to argue with her brother. She even held out her arms to him, silently asking him to be her strength.
Robin took his sister in his arms and carried her into the hallway, down the corridor, and into her bedchamber. Emily followed them down the hallway, but she lingered by the door, giving them a moment of privacy.
Robin lowered his sister to the bed and lovingly tucked her in. Anne continued to cough, and he cursed the fact that he was powerless to help her.
“You're angry with me, aren't you? You—” Another cough interrupted her words. “You didn't like my play.”
“It wasn't that I didn't like it. In fact, I can appreciate what you were trying to do.”
“I only want what's best for you.”
“I know. But you can't force her to love me, Annie.” A moment later, he corrected himself, “Anne.”
Anne slid deeper into her blankets, until only her eyes and nose were visible. “I actually don't mind when you call me Annie. I only like to tease you.” With tears in her eyes, she told him, “Robin, you're the best brother in the world. You may call me whatever you would like.”
“Poppet?”
She coughed and laughed at the same time. “Even that.”
He could tell she was struggling to catch a breath, and he wished he could trade places with her. It would have been much easier to suffer through his own misery than to watch Anne suffer.
“I only want to see you happy before I die,” Anne said. “That's all I've ever wanted.”
Robin swept a curl from his sister's forehead and planted a kiss on her temple. “I am happy enough to have a wonderful sister such as you.”
Soon, he would say “I had a sister.” Tears leapt into her eyes when the realization struck her. “I had a wonderful sister, and now she is gone.”
“If you don't mind, I would like to be alone for awhile,” Anne said. “Tell Miss Weaver I bid her good night.”
“Of course.” Robin rose from his sister's bedside and went to the door. He hovered in the doorway for several seconds, studying her quiet breathing, before slipping into the hallway with Emily.
“How is she?” The question was out of Emily's mouth before he had even closed the door.
“Not as well as one would hope.”
“Will she be alright?” She gently touched Robin's shoulder. “Will you be alright?”
“My sister and I have survived worse than this.” Robin slipped his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat and shuffled down the hallway. He checked over his shoulder, making sure Emily was following.
“I haven't known her long, but it saddens me to see her in pain.”
“I should apologize on her behalf. Her little experiment was in very bad form.”
“Experiment?”
“Her play.”
“Ah.” Emily lowered her eyes, remembering the sting of how he'd reacted when the play called for a kiss. A kiss wouldn't have been such a bad thing—not to her. “Perhaps I should have mentioned this sooner, but... Julius proposed to me yesterday.”
“Did he?!” Robin was determined to hide every trace of disappointment from his face. “That is... shocking.”
“It was a shock to me as well.”
Robin stopped walking and leaned against the wall. This is the end, old boy, his mind whispered. Her heart belongs to someone else now.
“I assume you have accepted him?”
“Actually, I haven't. I asked him to give me time. Harriet thinks me a fool. She thinks I should have accepted his proposal straightaway.”
“What gives you pause?”
“Well...” Emily wished he would look in her direction, but he seemed reluctant to meet her gaze. “The manner in which he treated you was utterly reprehensible. Until that moment, I did not realize he could be such a careless lout. I don't know if I can align myself with such a man.”
“The decision is yours to make.” Robin knew it was foolish to think she hesitated because she cared for him. Emily Weaver would never care for him as he cared for her.
“Indeed.” She searched his face for a sign, but his expression was blank. “I should return home before dark.”
“Then I'll have a carriage--”
“No. That is hardly necessary,” Emily protested. “There is at least another hour of daylight. I can make the journey on foot.”
“If you insist.” Robin's voice was cold and hollow. “My sister wanted me to bid you farewell.”
“And give her my best wishes. If you and Anne need me for any reason whatsoever, do not hesitate to send for me.”
“I appreciate that.”
“I am your friend, Robin,” she continued, “your sister's as well. I adore her with all my heart.”
Friend.
That word lingered on his mind, mocking him like a cruel echo, haunting him like a bad dream.
Chapter Ten
“I cannot believe you've yet to accept his proposal!” Harriet exclaimed. “Why, might I ask, is it taking you so long to decide?”
“I am sure Mr. Richardson has been asking himself the same question.” Emily looked down at the needlepoint on her lap, which she hadn't touched since she arrived. Her mind was occupied elsewhere, in a place where menial tasks had little value.
“Isn't his proposal what you've been waiting for all along?”
“I... suppose.”
“Then it is ludicrous that you would hesitate! How long has it been since he asked? A man will only be so patient!” Harriet raised her chin as she coached the older woman. “Is there another man with a claim on your heart? Please tell me it isn't Robin Cockburn!”
“It... is not. There's no one.” The lie tingled on Emily's tongue.
“Good. For a moment, I thought you had spared some affection for him. You had been going to see him so frequently, after all, and--”
“Please, say nothing ill about Mr. Cockburn! I hold our friendship in the highest regard.” After a moment of silence,
she felt the urge to defend him even more than that. “And even if I had affection for him, there would be no shame in that! He is everything a gentleman should be. He is an absolute paragon of perfection!”
“Paragon of perfection?” Harriet's voice squeaked as she repeated the words. “Those are some very passionate words, especially from someone as placid as you. Are you sure you are not in love with him?”
Emily simply shook her head.
“Good, because I think you would be much happier with Mr. Richardson. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we were engaged at the same time?”
“Mr. Turnbull is the perfect man for you. As for Mr. Richardson and myself... I cannot be so certain.”
“But why? Were you not in love with him when you were younger?”
Her niece's words were true enough. At one time, she might have fancied herself in love with Julius Richardson. How many times had wallflower Emily Weaver watched him from across the room, wishing he would notice her? Now that he had noticed her—perhaps a decade too late—her heart refused to be stirred. “I wouldn't say it was love, Harriet. Not real love.”
“Urgh!” Harriet threw up her arms in frustration. “What must someone do to get you to see reason? You are my very best friend, Aunt Emily, and as your best friend, I feel it is my duty to be honest with you at all times. You must consider your age! You aren't likely to get another offer. Julius' proposal might be your last chance to find happiness.”
“Harriet, please.” There was an obvious trace of anger in Emily's voice. “Allow me to make my own decisions, no matter how insensible you think they might be.”
When the butler entered the sitting room, Emily was relieved to be rescued from her niece's criticism. She was even happier when the butler announced the reason for his interruption: Robin Cockburn had arrived, and was waiting to see her. She sent the butler to fetch their guest, and Harriet excused herself. Emily tried to keep her composure as she waited for him to appear.
Robin was so tall, he had to stoop to enter the room. He looked a bit disheveled, but handsome, as always. Harriet wouldn't agree with her, of course, but there was something about Robin's face that Emily had always liked.
The Spinster's Beau Page 6