by Diane Gaston
He’d not noticed Emily at the sideboard, filling a plate. ‘Good morning, my dear,’ he said stiffly.
She placed the plate down in front of Aunt Dorrie, giving him the barest glance. ‘Good morning.’ She turned to Aunt Pip. ‘Lady Pipham, what shall I place upon your plate?’
Aunt Pip gave her a little smile. ‘Oh, an egg, I suppose. And toast… No, a biscuit and ham.’
Guy walked over to his wife at the sideboard, reaching for his own plate. ‘Bleasby usually serves them.’
She did not look up from her task. ‘He woke with a dreadful cold this morning. I sent him back to bed.’
‘And he went?’ Guy said with surprise. ‘It is not at all like him to shirk his duties.’
‘I ordered him.’
She took the plate to Aunt Pip and waited at the table until he’d made his selections and sat down.
‘Would you like some tea?’ she asked, reaching for the pot.
He nodded. ‘Thank you.’
Her demeanour remained perfectly composed. How did she accomplish that? he wondered. He feared all his worry would show on his face unless he battled constantly to conceal it. Another drain on his nerves.
She poured his tea and without a further word returned to the sideboard to place two pieces of toast on her plate. She sat down on a chair opposite his aunts and delicately spread raspberry jam on each slice.
‘That is not much breakfast,’ he said.
She darted a glance at him. ‘It is what I like.’
He did not know what else to say to her. He watched her lift the piece of toast to her mouth and take a tiny bite. No relishing gulp of food for the self-contained new Lady Keating. A drop of jam clung to her bottom lip and her pink tongue darted out to lick it off. He remembered how her tongue had felt against his own, how she had tasted. He had to look away.
Aunt Pip and Aunt Dorrie intently chewed their food, offering no help in filling what seemed to Guy to be an oppressive silence. It was his responsibility to make the conversation, but what of? He could not speak his thoughts about tongues and tastings. He would not divulge that he meant them to go to London without his mother present. He cast about in his mind for something to say.
‘I suppose I should check on Bleasby,’ he finally came up with, though he ought to have thought of saying so when she’d mentioned Bleasby’s illness.
‘That would be good of you,’ was all she responded.
His mother’s entrance saved him from having to invent something else to say. He stood.
‘What a dreary day.’ His mother swept into the room. ‘I declare I shall have nothing at all to do.’
‘The rain makes my joints ache,’ Aunt Dorrie said.
‘It will not last, I’m sure,’ assured Aunt Pip.
‘Good morning, Guy,’ his mother said, lifting her cheek, which he dutifully kissed.
Her complaints about the weather continued as she fixed her plate and sat down. He noted she’d neither spoken to nor even glanced at her daughter-in-law. Damn her. It made him ashamed.
‘Mother, did you enjoy your cards last night?’ Perhaps reminding her of Emily’s willingness to partner her would help.
‘Oh, indeed. I won some money.’
‘How much?’ His voice came out a little too eager. He hoped the ladies did not notice.
‘A guinea and five shillings.’
Not precisely a fortune. ‘Your share of the pot, or Emily’s, as well?’
Emily stood to pour his mother a cup of chocolate. His mother did not look up at her. ‘She gave the winnings to me.’
Emily sat down again and took a bite of her toast.
Guy stared at her. ‘That was a generous deed, Emily.’ His mother most assuredly did not deserve it.
She glanced up, looking surprised. ‘It was a trifle,’ she said.
Guy took another sip of tea lest he vent his temper on his mother. She deserved a scold, but it was best done privately. As soon as he could get her alone he would speak with her about her treatment of his wife. Again.
But since they were all present and a change of subject would have its advantages, Guy decided to seize the moment.
He cleared his throat. ‘I thought we might spend some time in London. Perhaps stay through the winter.’
His mother clapped her hands in glee. ‘London! How delightful!’
‘London air is bad for my lungs,’ said Aunt Dorrie.
‘Whatever you think is best, Guy,’ Aunt Pip said.
His wife glanced up at him, but said nothing.
‘Would it suit you, my dear?’ he pressed.
She paused before answering in her bland way, ‘I’m sure it will be very pleasant.’
He supposed he ought to be grateful that she was so accommodating, but, dash it all, he’d liked it better when she’d thrown the book at him.
‘Won’t be pleasant,’ grumbled Aunt Dorrie. ‘I’m sure to get an inflammation of the lungs.’
His mother rose to her feet and danced over to him, giving him a big hug. ‘Oh, it will be a delight. Thank you, Guy. There will be some other important people in town as well, I’m sure. Some entertainment, at last.’
Another matter to speak with his mother about. It would not do for her to spend his money as fast as he could win it. He’d have to speak with her about economising. Again.
He glanced at his wife, who quickly averted her eyes. It would ease his conscience if he thought her as delighted as his mother to travel to London. It would ease his conscience if he knew anything he did pleased her.
He stabbed his slice of ham with his fork and let his mother’s exuberant chatter wash over him.
Emily washed down the last crust of her toast with a sip of tea.
London.
Did she not have a considerate husband, asking her if a decision he’d already made suited her? Not that she had any illusion that a husband gave a wife any say in matters. Her father’s luck or lack of it had always dictated where they would go and what they would do. Her mother went along, managing to find her own enjoyment. Perhaps that was what Emily would do as well, find her own enjoyment, though she could not imagine herself seeking out the sort of entertainment her mother craved.
She’d spent years ensuring that her behaviour did not entice the sort of men who danced attendance upon her mother, men like Cyprian Sloane.
She swallowed another mouthful of tea. She was certain Sloane’s attention to her the previous night has been some sort of jest. Perhaps some other gentleman had put him up to it. ‘Bet you a quid you won’t get her to dance with you.’ She could imagine it.
At least Sloane had sought out her company, whatever the reason. It was more than her husband had done. But she would not think of her husband. She would think of London.
Was she pleased to return to London? It could hardly be worse than Bath, and perhaps their London accommodations would give her less reason to be in her mother-in-law’s way. Or her husband’s way, for that matter.
Her maid would like the change, Emily was sure, as it placed her so near her parents. For Emily, the distance away from her mother and father was an advantage.
She wondered if her brother would still be in London. After his brief visit to Bath, he’d said he was returning there. Robert had never been very pleasant company for Emily, loving cards as much as their father did even if he lacked the wit to be as conniving. Still, she would not mind seeing him.
She felt her eyes sting with tears and quickly poured herself another cup of tea. She must be lonely indeed if she pined for her brother’s company.
‘I thought we might leave in a week, if that would suit you.’
It took her a moment to realise her husband had spoken to her. ‘If Bleasby feels well enough to travel by then.’
Her husband murmured, ‘Yes, of course. I had quite forgotten.’
Did he think she’d chastised him? Good. His servants were his responsibility, after all.
‘What about Bleasby?’ her mother-in-law asked, s
till chewing her food.
Emily let the others answer. Her mother-in-law would like it so much better to listen to them explain, even though it had been she who had noticed Bleasby’s cough and ordered him to rest.
Peering through her lashes at her husband, she pressed her lips together. What was the real reason he wished to go to London? Was he fleeing creditors? That had always been her father’s reason for a change of location. Perhaps she ought to again offer him her vast inheritance of fifty pounds.
No, she said firmly to herself. As long as he did not require her to turn over the money, she would use it to help herself.
But help herself do what?
She sighed inwardly. Life had seemed so uncomplicated when she’d simply gone along with whatever her parents decided. She’d always known her father liked his cards excessively and that her mother was a frivolous creature, but she’d always thought she could trust them to see her well married.
All that changed when she discovered her sister Madeleine was alive.
She’d been a fool to trust her parents with her future, and she’d be no less a fool to trust Guy Keating. He was as willing to deceive her as her mother and father had been.
The only person she could depend upon was herself. She alone must determine her future.
Looking as if she were merely lifting her cup to her lips, Emily secretly gave herself a hearty toast to her new resolve.
A few days later Emily called upon her mother. She’d not bothered to mention her intention to do so to her husband, and she knew the ladies of the household would have little interest in her whereabouts. Indeed, she herself had little interest in making the call, but it seemed the dutiful thing to do. Though her parents had not noticed her absence when she’d eloped, it still behooved her to let them know she was bound for London.
The day was brisk and still damp from the nearly constant rain. Rain may have prevented some activities, but it had not stopped her husband from leaving the apartments every night. Did he truly go out only to play cards? Or perhaps did he also meet a mistress? She shivered at the thought. What a humiliation that would be for a new wife, but he certainly had ceased taking care of his manly needs in his wife’s bed.
Telling herself she did not care what her husband did, Emily walked up to her parents’ door and sounded the knocker.
In a moment, the footman answered. ‘G’d afternoon, Miss Emily,’ he said.
She did not bother to correct him. ‘Good afternoon, Samuel.’ She pulled off her hat and gloves, and he assisted her with her pelisse. ‘Is my mother at home?’
‘Indeed she is. She’s in the parlour.’ He placed her items on the hall chair.
It was the fashionable hour for afternoon calls, but she hoped to find her mother alone. ‘Does she have other visitors?’
He frowned. ‘A gentleman, Mr Sutton said, miss, but he did not give me the gentleman’s name.’
Just her luck. She was probably interrupting one of her mother’s assignations. Perhaps with Lord Cranton. She had no wish to walk in on them. ‘Perhaps you should announce me.’
He bowed and went to the task, returning in a moment. ‘Lady Duprey says you may come up directly.’
She thanked him and proceeded up the stairs, trying to be optimistic. If her mother had company, perhaps her visit would be a short one. As she neared the parlour she heard a man’s voice and her mother’s trilling laughter.
As she stepped inside the room, her mother twisted around on the Grecian sofa. The gentleman stood.
Cyprian Sloane.
‘Emily, my sweet,’ her mother gushed, extending her hand. ‘Look who has come to call.’
With the briefest of hesitation Emily walked over to her mother and clasped her outstretched hand. ‘Hello, Mama.’ She nodded. ‘Mr Sloane.’
He bowed, his lips stretching into his most charming smile. ‘Lady Keating.’
Emily sat primly in a chair, facing her mother.
Her mother giggled. ‘Yes, can you countenance it, Cyprian? I am old enough to have a married daughter! It is too bad.’ She fussed with the lace on her dress. ‘Of course, I was married very young.’
Yes, Emily thought, her mother would most probably pretend to be a good ten years younger than her age, and neglect to inform the gentleman that she had an older married daughter as well, and a son nearing age thirty. As well as another daughter, younger than Emily.
‘Indeed you must have been, ma’am,’ he said agreeably. He turned to Emily and gave her that kind of appraising look that made her so uncomfortable.
‘I hope you are well, Mama,’ Emily said, trying to ignore him.
‘Oh, famously well, darling.’ She gave Sloane a flirtatious flutter of her eyelashes, before turning back to her daughter. ‘Emily, be a dear and have Sutton bring our guest some refreshment. I believe your father has some very nice sherry put away.’
She crossed the room to the bell cord and a moment later met Sutton in the doorway to give her mother’s instructions.
‘I must not stay so long, my lady,’ Sloane said, his glance sliding to Emily as she returned to her chair. ‘My errand was with your husband, after all, and I would not intrude upon your visit with your daughter.’
Her mother flung out her hand as if to stop any attempt to flee. ‘Oh, nonsense. You must have a glass of sherry with us. I insist upon it.’ She made room for him to sit next to her on the sofa.
He laughed. ‘I never could resist the entreaty of a beautiful lady.’ He sat down.
Emily gave an inward groan.
After Sutton delivered and poured the sherry, Emily asserted herself to break into the bantering between her mother and Sloane. ‘Mother, we are bound for London in two days’ time. I came to inform you.’
‘London!’ her mother exclaimed. ‘Oh, I envy you. How naughty of you to leave me when I am in such need of diversion.’
As if her mother had given her daughter’s presence in Bath a moment’s thought. Since Emily’s marriage, her mother had not once called upon her.
‘I believe my husband’s affairs require it.’ One way of describing a flight from creditors.
‘Oh, that is right,’ chirped her mother, acting as if she’d forgotten all about her daughter’s marriage. ‘Where is that handsome husband of yours?’
Sloane’s eyebrows rose in anticipation of her answer.
‘He has much to do to get ready.’ Another half-truth, though her husband had been very busy cramming in as much card playing and who-knew-what-else as he could.
‘Bath will be much duller without your presence, Lady Keating,’ Sloane said, his voice silky.
Her mother tapped his thigh with her fingers. ‘Oh, we shall contrive to stir up some excitement, will we not?’
He laughed, carefully placing her hand back upon her own person. ‘Lady Duprey, you must not say such things. Your daughter will get the wrong notion of my visit.’
Emily’s lips thinned.
Sloane inclined his head towards her. ‘See, she looks at me very disapprovingly.’
Was he mocking her? Emily could not tell. In any event, he made her difficult interview with her mother much worse.
‘I must not stay, Mama.’ She stood and placed her nearly full glass on the table next to her mother’s empty one. ‘There are many preparations to be made.’
Emily had assumed the task of arranging the household’s transfer to London. It kept her busy and relieved her mother-in-law of a tedious chore, though she expected no thanks from that quarter.
‘Wait,’ her mother said, again flinging out a hand. ‘You may perform a task for me.’
She sat again. ‘Certainly, Mama. What is it?’ Likely something troublesome, and something she would rather not do.
‘Take a trunk back to London for me.’ Her mother used a tone of voice as if talking to a servant. For some odd reason, it irritated Emily that Sloane witnessed it.
‘A trunk?’
‘Yes.’ Her mother nodded. ‘A trunk of old dresses. I do no
t know why Shelty packed them. They are hopelessly out of fashion. All from last year.’
Emily stole a look at Sloane. He caught her, and a smile slid across his face.
She quickly looked back to her mother. ‘Perhaps Shelty expected you to give them to her.’ It was the custom, after all. A way for Shelty to make a little money on the side by selling them.
‘She has no need of them, I assure you,’ her mother shot back. ‘Besides, they might be altered. Who knows what fashions will be the rage next year?’
Emily had a fair idea of how many boxes and trunks the Keatings needed to transport to London. ‘I am not sure if—’
‘You must take them,’ her mother wailed. ‘I am tripping over that trunk every time I take a step. I threatened to make Kirby store it in her own room.’
Emily sighed. She knew better than to oppose whatever her mother wanted. There would be no peace if she did not acquiesce.
‘Very well,’ she said in sinking tones. ‘Have Sutton send it over not later than the day after tomorrow.’
‘Will you tell him before you leave?’ her mother pleaded.
She sighed again. ‘Certainly.’ Rising from her chair, she said, ‘I really must leave.’
‘Oh, if you must.’ Smiling, her mother gave a sideways glance to Sloane, who also rose.
‘And, dear lady, I must depart as well.’ He took her hand and blew a kiss over it. ‘I have left my card for Lord Duprey.’ He turned to Emily, an amused expression in his eyes. ‘May I escort you home, Lady Keating?’
‘It…it is not necessary, I assure you, sir,’ she stammered.
He smiled like a cat who’d got into the cream. ‘It would be my pleasure.’
The walk back to Thomas Street seemed inordinately long to Emily, though Sloane behaved like a gentleman and spoke to her in the most proper of ways. They finally reached her door.
‘Well, thank you, sir,’ she said with nothing more than politeness.
‘As I anticipated—’ he grinned ‘—it was my pleasure.’
She opened the door and entered, feeling like she’d narrowly escaped getting tangled in a snare. Before she closed the door, he said, ‘My regards to your husband.’