Let the Lady Decide

by Gemma Blackwood

  "You certainly are."

  "The man I marry must want me, above and beyond my money. Do you see?"

  "Quite clearly – though I've no idea how I can be of any help."

  For the first time, Emily looked embarrassed. She lowered her eyes and fixed them on her coffee cup as she anxiously stirred it with a tiny silver spoon.

  "You see, I am not experienced with gentlemen," she admitted. "My parents have kept me quite apart from Society, so that I may focus on my studies and live without the distraction of romance. But now I find myself in a very awkward position. How am I to choose a husband who loves me, when I do not understand what love is?"

  James bit his lip to keep himself from laughing again. Emily caught his mirth, and her eyes flashed.

  "I am not a complete fool!" she protested. "I have made enquiries among all the ladies of my acquaintance. I understand how gentlemen go about wooing a lady – the rides in the park, the morning calls the day after a ball. I know the mechanics of love. But how can I know when it is genuine? That's what concerns me."

  "And you think I will be able to tell a false suitor from a genuine one?" asked James, light finally dawning.

  "You must admit that you have been a false suitor yourself, to more women than one," said Emily. James balked at that description. Noticing his chagrin, she softened her words. "I mean to say that you are experienced in matters of the heart. And I am a complete innocent. Mr Marsden, I would be entirely at your service if you would lend me your assistance. As a gentleman, you may investigate my suitors in ways I cannot."

  "That's true." Helping a precocious young Miss choose a husband! Truthfully, James could not think of anything duller. He envisaged long evenings spent listening to the whining of lovelorn baronets.

  Love, marriage, and all the trappings that came with them were the very opposite of James's pleasure!

  But he wanted that voucher for Almack's. The thought that anyone would deny him entrance to a place where the ton made merry rankled with him painfully. He could endure a few months of boredom to win it back.

  "I would be delighted to help you," he said. Behind him, Ramford groaned.

  "With the pair of you working together, I fear for the gentlemen of London."

  Emily set down her coffee cup and clapped her hands. The happy light which shone from her face was entrancing. James felt his own spirits lift in response. "Then it is settled! Jacob, you must give James an invitation for Papa's ball on Friday."

  "It's a little late to be giving out invitations," complained Ramford.

  "Oh, I can rearrange my plans quite comfortably," James grinned. The knowledge that his friend disapproved added a touch of amusement to the scheme.

  "Hang it all," grumbled Ramford, but he went to the mahogany cabinet and fished out a gilt-edged invitation from a drawer. "Just make sure you don't cause another scene, Marsden. Then your chances really will be finished."

  James could not help but glance at Emily to see her response. She gave a little shrug, her shoulders moving elegantly.

  "Oh, if Cynthia Collins is silly enough to accept an invitation to waltz, I say let her waltz!"

  "I can only hope for the day when you are Lady Patroness of Almack's," said James teasingly. "Well, Lady Emily, it has been my absolute pleasure. Ramford, I'll see you Friday. I can hardly wait."

  He left with a smile that belied his concerns about getting involved with the marriage machinations of England's most powerful families. Small fry such as James were apt to get crushed in the wheels where the aristocracy were concerned.

  Worse than that, he was terribly afraid that it wouldn't be any fun. And James lived for fun.

  He would have to see what he could make of it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Emily's mother had provided her with a selection of beautiful dresses to choose from for the ball. Not only that, but she had given her free range of the ducal jewellery collection to adorn herself. Emily had shelves stacked with gorgeously-made satin shoes to try on. She had a fan of carved ivory brisé.

  What she did not have were any words of comfort or advice from her mother regarding her primary task that evening: identifying which of her father's approved men she would allow to court her. But no-one had everything, and Emily was not disposed to mourn that which she lacked. Particularly when she had so very much.

  She had mentioned her worries to her mother over breakfast the previous day, and had been told she was very lucky to have a choice in the matter at all.

  She was an Albemarle. Albemarles married for the good of the family. That was that.

  Emily loved her mother dearly, for all her deficiencies, and did not blame her for not offering advice. The Duke and Duchess's own marriage had been arranged by their parents, and it had never reached the heady heights of romance.

  Still, as the Duchess reminded her daughter, it was a successful marriage nonetheless. They had two fine children and had been the toast of the ton for more than twenty years.

  As far as her mother was concerned, it did not do to dream about something as petty as love.

  Emily was sitting at the dressing table, letting Marie, her French maid, put the finishing touches on her hair – worn up, naturally, and studded with pearls – when there came a knock at the door.

  Marie dropped a pearly pin on the floor when the Duke himself walked in. She was used to serving noble families, but the Duke was enough to fill even the bravest servant with nerves. He was a large man, tall and broad-shouldered, with a comfortably solid stomach which filled out his waistcoat magnificently.

  "Good evening, Papa," said Emily, bending down to pick up the hairpin. "What a lovely surprise! Have you come to pass judgement on my outfit?"

  She squeezed his arm as he planted a bristling kiss on her cheek.

  "I've no idea how you manage to look so dashed pretty," he told her. His booming voice was ill-suited to compliments. "Young ladies! Young ladies and their secrets!"

  "I am not quite ready, Papa, so please tell me what you want quickly so that Marie can continue." Emily turned her chair away from the mirror to give him her full attention. He folded his arms and harrumphed a little as he considered how to begin.

  "This is more important than your petticoats and whatnot, dear girl. Pay attention, now."

  "Always." Emily assumed a pose of rapt, exaggerated interest. Her father shook his head.

  "Now, now, Emily. I am quite serious."

  "Excuse me, Papa. I did not mean to tease." She dropped the pose and folded her hands in her lap. Her father paced the room from fireplace to window. He was evidently taking great pains to go about it the right way.

  "Emily, you know now that you are almost a woman grown."

  "Yes, Papa. I shall be twenty-one next February."

  "It is time to think of your future."

  "Yes, Papa."

  "This is a subject to which I have given a great deal of thought."

  "Thank you, Papa. I appreciate it."

  The Duke stopped pacing, an agonised look on his face. "Your future security and happiness are my greatest concern, Emily. Jacob – oh, Jacob will inherit the dukedom, and he'll do well enough wherever he marries. You are a young girl with one of the largest fortunes – nay, I dare say the largest fortune – on the marriage mart. I will not part with you to any but the finest of men. Do you understand?"

  Emily glowed with pleasure. Her father was not given to great displays of affection. Men of his rank were not encouraged to be loving; it was seen as soft and unmanly. She knew how much effort he put into expressing his feelings for her. "I understand you perfectly."

  The Duke gave her shoulder a few absent-minded pats. "Good. Good. Now, to the business at hand. I have come to let you know which of the gentlemen coming tonight I deem worthy of you. I have made my selection carefully, based on their family names, their titles, their future prospects, and reports of their fortunes. As you know, there are many fine men from fine families who would be lucky to have you. I have narrowed
it down to six."

  "Six!" repeated Emily, amazed. "Gracious!"

  "Of these six, you may allow whichever you choose to woo you. Does that suit you?"

  "Very well," said Emily, smiling as she thought of her pact with James.

  "Now, then – shall I ring for a pen and paper?"

  "Not at all. I'm sure I am equal to remembering six names."

  "Very good. They are," the Duke coughed, harrumphed, and continued, "the Earl of Corden, the Marquess of Chiltern, the Marchese di Montecchio – an Italian, that, but very good family – Viscount Tilbury, Lord Jonathan Granger, and Lord Henry Digby."

  "My goodness," Emily murmured. "There really are six of them!" Already, she felt entirely lost in the sea of choices.

  "Get to know the gentlemen," her father counselled her, "and see which you prefer."

  "Thank you, Papa."

  "If you want my advice…?"

  "Always, Papa."

  "My preference is the Marquess of Chiltern. Yes, he's a little old, and you will not be his first wife, but he is a good friend of mine and by every report he treated the late Marchioness admirably."

  "I shall keep a special eye out for him. Are all the gentlemen attending tonight?"

  "They are, and I expect they shall all ask you to dance."

  Emily smiled. The family estate in Derbyshire had not exactly been overflowing with parties, balls and masquerades. She had only been in London a short while, but already it was much more fun.

  "I hope I can make you proud, Papa."

  "I am sure you will." He patted her shoulder again and left her to it. Marie, who had been cowering nervously in the corner, tiptoed forwards and began twisting a strand of Emily's hair into place.

  "Are you excited, my lady?" she asked in a half-whisper. "So many noble gentlemen!"

  "I am very excited," said Emily. What she could not admit was that her mind was not on her suitors, but on James Marsden. What would he make of the chosen six? What would he advise her to do?

  She quashed a silly hope that at least one of the suitors would be handsome. There were more important things, after all.

  "Marie, are you quite finished?"

  "Just two minutes more, my lady."

  "Then let it wait. I must go and check on my brother."

  With half her dark hair still tumbling over her shoulders, Emily left her bedroom and wound her way through the corridors of her father's house until she reached Jacob's rooms. She knocked, and waited only a second before entering.

  Jacob was studying two starched cravats held aloft by his obliging valet. He jumped when Emily came in.

  "I thought you were father! He wants me downstairs early to greet the guests, but you know how hopeless I am at dressing up. Tell me, Emily, blue or green? Or should I stick to white?"

  "Only a white cravat for a ball, Jacob." Emily took the dark green cravat from the valet and held it up to Jacob's face. "Though it's a shame. This one brings out your eyes."

  "Then I'd rather the blue. Goodness knows I don't need any more silly girls vying for my attentions." He waited patiently as Emily, ignoring his complaint, intercepted the spotless white cravat from the valet and tied it around his neck. "They swarm around me, Em. All those awful matchmaking mamas. I feel as though every girl in London wants to be the future Duchess of Rawly. Not my future wife – oh no – they're only interested in becoming a Duchess and popping out the next Albemarle heir."

  "I wish I could feel for you," said Emily teasingly. "But I'm being put out to market for the six highest bidders in London."

  "Oh, hang it all – I forgot! You're on the straight, short road to marriage. Six of them? Couldn't Papa narrow it down a bit further?"

  "Oh, I don't mind." Emily adjusted her brother's jacket and stood back to admire her handiwork. "There. You look quite the fine Earl."

  "Well, at least somebody thinks so." Jacob tugged at his collar awkwardly, nearly messing up all Emily's work on the cravat. "You know how Papa is. He always has some comment to make about my clothes. But tonight isn't about me, Em. How are you? You look very nice."

  "I'm not half finished yet," Emily laughed.

  "Which gents have made the lucky six, then?"

  "That's what I came here to talk to you about. You remember the pact I made with James Marsden?"

  Jacob rolled his eyes. "How could I forget? Be careful with that one, Em."

  "I intend to be. That is why I've come up with this little ploy – listen. Every time I speak to a gentleman Papa has approved, I will tap my closed fan against my left hand." Emily mimed the action. "Like this. See?"

  "And what will that achieve?"

  "Well, Mr Marsden is to watch me as closely as possible and take note of the gentlemen I signal. That way, he'll be able to discover which ones interest me, without us having to speak and let on to Mama that anything's up."

  "Anything that prevents you speaking to a lowly second son!" Jacob laughed. "Very well. It's an intriguing scheme, I'll admit. And what's Marsden to do once he knows who to look for?"

  "Why, he'll investigate them, of course. I want no surprises in my courtship. If any of the men are unsuitable, I expect him to find it out by the end of the evening."

  "I'll let him know." Jacob picked up his hat, twirled it distractedly in his fingers, and set it down again. "Emily – you are happy, aren't you? The thought of marriage, it doesn't…frighten you in any way?"

  "Of course I'm happy." She gave her brother's arm a nudge. "Stop worrying. I have been preparing since I was a little girl for the day I become mistress of a great household. I'm looking forward to it, actually."

  "Yes," Jacob smiled. "You will be rather wonderful, I expect."

  "All I need is the right man. And your friend Mr Marsden will help me with that."

  "Pardon the interruption, my lady," said the valet, "but it's coming up to seven o'clock, and your hair –"

  "Blast!" cursed Jacob. "Papa will be waiting for me!" He made a dash for the door.

  "Your hat!" called Emily. "For goodness' sake, Jacob, don't go down without your hat. Papa will call you out as only half-dressed."

  "Hang and blast!" Jacob cursed again. He fumbled with the hat as he tried to set it on his head at a jaunty angle. Emily sighed and adjusted it for him.

  "There. Very handsome. Now go. Tell Mama I'll be down the moment Marie is done with my hair."

  Emily watched Jacob scurry off with fond resignation. No matter how the family tried, no-one had managed to imbue Jacob with the sense of dignity befitting his rank. She could not imagine him as the someday Duke of Rawly. He was only ever her brother – her loving, bumbling, hapless brother.

  The thought of him spending the evening browbeaten by matchmaking mamas brought a secret smile to Emily's lips.

  But she had her own marriage to deal with first. Excitement bubbled up inside her at the thought of the evening ahead. Which of the six gentlemen would win her heart?

  It was time to find out.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Duke of Rawly certainly knew how to throw a ball – though you wouldn't think it to look at him. James moved through a ballroom that glittered like the glowing heart of a constellation. The guests sparkled. The chandeliers shone. Even the mosaic-tiled floor was gleaming. Everything around him seemed to be made of gold. Everyone around him pretended not to admire it.

  The enormously high ceiling was moulded with a delicate Grecian motif, drawing the eye upwards to take in the full height and splendour of the space. James was admiring the craftsmanship – and wondering what Lady Emily would say about the vectors and calculations necessary to keep it all so beautifully even – when he was jostled from behind by an elderly Earl in old-fashioned breeches, who gave a disapproving glare at James's own tight-cut pantaloons. James bowed and sauntered off towards the champagne, not regretting his outfit for an instant. After all, how else were the ladies to get the benefit of his muscular thighs?

  He had received his instructions from Lady Emily via her b
rother. Ramford, busy in his role of dutiful son to the host, had subsequently abandoned him to the tender mercies of the ton. James was fortunate that his elegantly tousled blonde hair and the misleadingly angelic blue of his eyes meant that he was rarely at a loss for company at a ball. No sooner had he picked up a glass of champagne than two giggling friends, Lady Sarah Elmsbury and Lady Harriet Moore, appeared at his left and right.

  "Mr Marsden! We didn't expect to see you here."

  "We rather thought you had fallen out of favour with the Duchess. Tell us, is the gossip true?"

  James kissed the hand of each lady, distracted the while by the movements of Lady Emily on the other side of the room. She looked truly ravishing, clad not in typical debutante white but a delicate pale pink. A dress the colour of rose petals, and twice as delicate. It brought out the matching roses in her pale cheeks.

  James had to admit there was no comparable woman at the ball – or, indeed, in the whole of London. And he had seen more than enough women to be an expert on the matter.

  "Ladies," he said, smiling at first Lady Sarah and then Lady Harriet. "Your company always gives me such pleasure. Let me be the first to assure you that any rumours of the Duchess's displeasure are…" He gave a rueful shrug. "Completely accurate."

  Lady Harriet batted him lightly with her fan. "And yet here you are – you naughty man!"

  "Here I am," James agreed, winking. The two girls dissolved into more giggles.

  Emily was talking to several gentlemen. One of them, the Marquess of Chiltern, was an older chap who had been married once before. He had a silver fox-ish sort of handsomeness, but surely could not be under her consideration?

  No. It was unmistakeable. As Emily laughed at the Marquess's joke, she tapped her fan precisely against her left hand. So. Suitor number one.

  The man on Emily's left was one James knew well. Lord Henry Digby. A lightweight in the battle for her ladyship's heart, James had no doubt. He was not surprised to see Emily tap her fan again, indicating that Digby too was on the prowl for her.