"I wouldn't mind an invitation to that dinner party, Ramford," said James, giving Jacob a nudge.
"You think my influence with my father is so great?" asked Jacob lazily.
"I think you'll manage it if you try."
"Yes, please, Jacob," said Emily. "It would mean so much to me to have Mr Marsden's advice."
"Emily!" said Sarah, surprised. "That doesn't sound quite proper to me."
Emily caught James's eye and hid her laughter. "Oh, it's only a game, Sarah. There's no need to be concerned."
"I'll see what I can do," Jacob relented. He didn't look particularly happy about it.
He would have been even less happy if he'd had an inkling of the feelings which stirred within James when he shared that secret glance with Emily.
"I look forward to it," said James, attempting to hide his delight. "Now, tell me, ladies… Should I expect Lord Henry Digby at this dinner party?"
The three girls erupted into gales of laughter. Harriet put her hand on James's arm.
"Just wait and hear the story we have to tell you," she murmured. "Though, now that I think back on how wretched we made him, I can't help feeling sorry for the poor boy!"
James felt Emily's eyes settle on the place where Harriet touched him, sharp and questioning. Carefully, he withdrew his arm from her hand. Harriet didn't seem to notice – she was too engrossed in the tale of Digby's misfortune.
There was something in Harriet's eyes when she spoke of him. A little spark James thought he understood.
He was terribly afraid that a similar spark lit him from within whenever he was near Lady Emily.
"Do go on," he said, through a mouth which was suddenly dry.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Duchess of Rawly was a consummate hostess. Her guest lists were carefully cultivated and her French chef prepared the best white soup in London. As the gentlemen arrived, Emily fought to shake off the uncomfortable impression that she was on the menu herself, a new dish squeezed in between the mutton and the potato pudding.
The Marquess of Chiltern was first to arrive. He bowed to her politely, inquired after her health, commented on the weather, spoke to her mother – in short, he did everything that manners demanded, and nothing more. Emily glanced at his weather-beaten hands and tried to imagine those fingers clutching her own. Something about the Marquess was calming, safe and warm – but was that only because she sensed he didn't really want her?
It couldn't have been more different to the way Viscount Tilbury kissed her hand, led her away from her parents to talk in a corner, and looked her over keenly with his intense green eyes. This was the man her friends called the handsomest man in London, and she could understand why. His shock of charcoal hair seemed to beg for a woman's touch to smooth it. His lips were almost indecently plump. He moved with a lithe muscularity that spoke of strength and power beneath his black tailcoat. When she was with him, Emily felt like a piece of Turkish delight, pink and sweet and delicious, held just above his mouth and ready to be swallowed whole.
Plenty of girls would relish in that sensation. Emily wasn't sure she was one of them.
The Earl of Corden arrived next, practically blushing as he greeted her. Their drive earlier that week had been the most awkward hour Emily had ever passed in her life – the man had barely managed to string three words together! He was obviously a thoughtful, gentle-hearted person, ill-suited to the demands of his position in Society. She had once met his father, the Duke of Lathkill, and thought it a pity that the Earl had not inherited his father's confidence and forbidding manner. How such a gentle soul had survived with such a formidable father was anyone's guess! No, Emily was almost certain – the Earl of Corden was not for her. So much for her mother's desire to see her become a Duchess!
Fourth came Lord Jonathan Granger, almost too late to join them before they went through to dinner. He was cheerful and charming, cracking jokes with the other gentlemen, and almost forgetting to pay Emily any attention at all. It was most refreshing.
Fifth, and finally, James Marsden was announced. Emily's mother covered her mouth to conceal her grimace of disapproval, but Emily relaxed the moment he walked into the room. She felt so much safer negotiating this crowd of gentlemen with James watching over her. She waited as he clasped Jacob's hand, bowed to her father, complimented her mother – when was he going to greet her? Emily was astonished at her own impatience.
"Lady Emily," he said, finally reaching her. The corner of his mouth twitched up as he drawled her name. It made her stomach tingle. "I trust you've passed a pleasant week since I saw you last?"
"Very pleasant, thank you." She was shocked to find herself smiling like a vapid little fool. Why couldn't she think of anything clever to say? After all the suitors had left her cold, why should this man fill her with bubbling nerves?
James did not kiss her hand, as Tilbury had, or look at her as though she were edible. He took a single step closer to her, to speak low enough that only she could hear him, and said, "I cannot wait to hear about your adventures."
She realised that she could not wait to share them with him.
"We can't wait any longer," said her father. "If the Marchese shows up, he'll have to join us at the table."
Such a quantity of gentlemen made the order of precedence a matter of little importance. The Earl of Corden, as the highest-ranking next to her father, offered the Duchess his arm, and Emily went through on the arm of her brother.
Her father, unlike his wife, was not a natural host. "Where on earth is that dratted Italian fellow?" he grumbled, as they all took their seats. "The cheek of it! Is it not customary to send one's apologies in Italy when one is late?"
"I'm afraid I doubt the Marchese will be joining us," said Emily delicately. All eyes turned to her – Chiltern's politely, Tilbury's full of hunger, and James's with genuine interest amid the dazzling blue. She strove not to look at him as she continued. "I had quite the experience at the concert with him yesterday."
"Emily," her mother chided, "it isn't kind to gossip."
"Well, now you simply must tell us what happened!" said Lord Jonathan merrily.
Emily usually enjoyed being the centre of attention, but even she had to admit that this was a little much. She stole a glance at James and saw that he was eager to hear her story. "I can only say that I was pleased to make the acquaintance of a certain gentleman from the Italian embassy. A Signor Rossi – a very charming man with excellent English. He had come to give the poor Marchese news from home."
"Not bad news, I hope," said James, tucking in his napkin. Emily bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself calling him out. She suspected that James knew perfectly well what news had been publicly delivered to the Marchese. Who else had the wit or motive to organise such a scheme to discredit one of her suitors?
"Not at all," interrupted none other than the Duchess. Emily smiled. She knew her mother could not resist such a scandalous piece of gossip. "In fact, Signor Rossi was giving the Marchese news of the health of several women of his acquaintance in Rome."
"Let me guess," said Lord Jonathan. "His mistress, the mother of his child, and his secret wife?"
"You're not far wrong, Lord Jonathan." The Duchess waved her soup spoon dramatically. "I am sad to say that the Marchese's behaviour is such that he will no longer be welcome at Almack's."
"A fate we should all wish to avoid," said James smoothly. Emily couldn't believe his nerve. If he had any grace at all, he ought to have blushed! After all, he was in the same outcast position as the poor embarrassed Marchese.
She caught his eye across the table and immediately knew that her suspicions were true – he was to blame for the Marchese's disappointment. She had to look away quickly to stop herself laughing.
That left her with four suitors remaining, and all of them were sitting with her at the table. Emily restrained herself from her usual chatter to take advantage of the opportunity to study each gentleman in turn. The Marquess of Chiltern sat beside her
, and made sure she was well-provided with wine and cuts of meat. His face was not unhandsome: a finely-cut, straight nose, excellent teeth, and a serious expression which gave him the air of a man who knew a great deal about the world. There was a sadness in his eyes which drew Emily's attention. Even though he was quick to laugh at the Duke's jokes, his grey eyes never once lost their mist of grief.
She remembered James's instructions. Searching for an excuse to borrow a handkerchief, she knocked her wine glass and spilled a little on her hand.
"How clumsy of me!" she gasped theatrically. The look she drew from her mother was poisonous. Emily was not given to carelessness. Her mother knew her too well not to suspect some scheme.
"Please, my lady, use mine," said the Marquess immediately. His manners really were perfect. Emily accepted the fine whitework handkerchief with a grateful smile and dabbed her hand, taking a great deal more time than she needed to, to give herself a chance to inspect the square of cloth in detail.
There was a name embroidered there! But it was difficult to read without alerting the Marquess to what she was doing. She could hardly hold it up to the light to see the name properly.
Emily felt James's eyes on her again. Something about his gaze made her self-conscious. She hardly knew what to do with that feeling. She wasn't used to uncertainty.
As she passed the handkerchief back, it fell from her fingers onto the table.
There, displayed prominently, was the embroidered name.
A woman's name.
Annabelle.
The Marquess picked up his handkerchief without a shred of embarrassment and continued his conversation with the Duke.
Emily flushed red with indignation. How dare he! To behave in such a gentlemanly way towards her, while all the time he carried another woman's token! It was unbearable.
Was there no true man in all of London?
Across the table, James gave her the barest shake of his head. Her anger was visible – at least, to him. His warning was enough to cool Emily's troubled spirit – for the time being. The Marquess would certainly find a very cold reception should he bother her with a morning call now!
Three suitors dispatched. Three remaining. Viscount Tilbury, with those bottomless brown eyes like melted pools of chocolate, was watching her intently. He'd hardly said a word all evening, but he hadn't stopped looking at her. Perhaps James was right. He did seem the most interested of the gentlemen.
Wasn't that what she wanted? Her husband's true interest?
Was a handsome man's desire enough to build a marriage?
Tilbury sucked on a forkful of pink salmon pie and gave her a wicked smile. Emily turned her head away. She refused to allow that man to make her blush!
The Earl of Corden ate his meal in silence, only opening his mouth to put food inside it or to compliment his hostess. Emily knew she ought to be considering him. When his father died, he would become Duke of Lathkill. Nothing would make her parents happier than to see their only daughter become a Duchess.
But the man seemed hardly aware that he was supposed to be courting her at all. Emily thought of her brother, the Earl of Ramford, a man uniquely placed to empathise with Corden's position. After all, they were both sons of Dukes, and both suffered familial pressures to choose the proper bride. Emily resolved not to dismiss the Earl out of hand. She would not want anyone to write Jacob off so quickly.
That left Lord Jonathan Granger. He was by far the merriest guest at the table. His conversation went far beyond mere manners and he was not at all cowed by the presence of Emily's rather stern father. He was regaling the Duchess with a tale of an unwise bet he'd written into the betting book at White's. Between her fits of laughter, Emily's mother shot her a meaningful glance.
Perhaps here was a gentleman worth Emily's attention.
"And in order to retrieve his hat," continued Lord Jonathan, "Burley had to climb onto the roof!"
"Gracious!" gasped the Duchess. "Did he succeed?"
"He certainly did - but two minutes outside the half hour we gave him. So I came out of the bet a good ten pounds heavier in the purse."
"My goodness, the things you young men get up to!" The Duchess dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. "I'm not sure I entirely approve."
"It sounds jolly good fun," said Jacob. "And I'm half-jealous I wasn't there to watch poor old Burley make a fool of himself! What do you say to joining them one of these evenings at White's, Marsden, old chap?"
James had gone rather pale. He set down his cutlery carefully and turned to Jacob with a smile that seemed false. "It seems a pleasant way to spend an evening."
"What do you think we can persuade Burley to get up to for the promise of twenty pounds?" asked Lord Jonathan, grinning broadly. James cleared his throat.
"You will have to count me out of the betting, gentlemen. I wouldn't wager so much as a shilling on so frivolous a matter."
Emily blinked. She had never heard James speak so seriously. What on earth was he thinking, to disagree with a baron in such strong terms? In front of her parents, no less.
To her relief, the Duchess nodded emphatically. "That is very wise, Mr Marsden. I find I cannot support the endless betting that goes on among Society's young men. Too many have come to ruination because of it."
"I am entirely of your opinion, Your Grace," said James. And that was all he said for the rest of the dinner. Emily could hardly contain her disappointment. She had been expecting wit, charm, daring flirtation in front of her father – and what she received was a polite, handsome man sitting silently opposite her. He was as bad as the Earl of Corden!
Perhaps that was why, when the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room after their brandy and cigars, she allowed Viscount Tilbury to take a seat beside her.
His eyes raked up her body, from her yellow satin shoes to her lace and mother-of-pearl undersleeves, finally landing not at her eyes but on the tiny pulse which beat in her collarbone.
"I've been longing to take you on a drive with me," he drawled. His voice was husky and deep. Emily thought regretfully of all her friends, who would be swooning just at the notion of a drive with the Viscount.
She glanced over at James. She was not surprised to find him watching her, too. He gave an elegant shrug.
"I'd be delighted," she said, turning to the Viscount with a sunny smile. "Perhaps tomorrow?"
The Viscount seized her hand and pressed it to his lips. Emily waited for her stomach to dissolve into butterflies, as Sarah and Harriet had assured her it would.
She felt nothing. Not yet. Only mild confusion. What was he doing grasping her hand with such strength? It almost hurt.
"Tomorrow," the Viscount repeated. Emily felt as though a great weight had descended on her. She looked around for James, but he was deep in conversation with her father.
"I can't wait," she lied, smiling despite her sense of impending doom.
CHAPTER NINE
It was hardly suitable for James to ride a carriage with Westbourne livery to Mrs Wrenn's tiny rooms in the lodging house in Seven Dials, so he decided to make the most of the sunshine and walk.
Before he could leave the building, he was accosted by one particular young Miss he had promised to take pains to avoid: Harry's young sister-in-law. She was in her first Season, not that you'd know it. She behaved as if she already ruled the ton. Miss Alice Sharp seized his arm the moment he'd finished breakfast and demanded that he accompany her to the park.
"You absolutely must," she insisted, tossing her glossy red curls. She was very little like her sister, the new Duchess of Westbourne, who was blonde, short, and tranquil. Alice was as fiery as her hair implied – and James had a feeling she could burn a gentleman just as badly.
Of course, her chief goal in dragging him out to promenade about in front of Society's finest was to antagonise Harry and his wife, her sister Catherine. Although they lived under the same roof, James was not considered a desirable influence on Alice. He half-suspected that Harry though
t she might fall in love with him, given the chance. James was quite certain that Alice had no feelings for him whatsoever – not that it stopped her pretending to flirt, just to tease Harry. Usually he would have no objection to joining in the fun.
That morning, however, he had serious business to attend. For once.
"Miss Sharp, nothing would give me greater pleasure," he said, extricating himself from her arm. "On any other day, I would not hesitate."
Alice frowned, wrinkling her nose. "Where on earth are you going that's so important? You're not in love, are you?"
James thought of Susan Wrenn, wrapped in the widow's blacks that she had hardly been able to afford. The thought of courting her could not be more inappropriate.
"Are you very hungry for intrigue, Miss Sharp?" he asked, smiling. "I have a tale of an Italian Marchese which will make your hair stand on end. But you'll have to wait until later. I'm busy."
Alice stopped just short of stamping her foot. James pitied the girl. She was in an unenviable position. After her elder sister had married a Duke, she was expected to make an equally incandescent match.
If only the gentlemen of the ton held any interest for Alice!
He did not know whether it was the lack of gentlemen or the lack of useful occupation which bothered her more. He knew that Alice had nursed high hopes for her first Season, and so far she had been disappointed. She was not cut out for the life Society wanted its fine ladies to lead – the life Emily led.
There was Emily in his head again. James's smile turned softer as he thought of the graceful way she had played hostess under her mother's guidance. Every gentleman in the room had been entranced by her. And how could they fail to be?
Hang it all! Hadn't he just now assured Alice Sharp that there was no way he had fallen in love?
But no – he had not said that. Now that he thought about it, he had not denied being in love at all.
A dangerous notion.
"I promise to take you out as soon as I'm back – assuming your sister agrees I'll make a worthy chaperone," James promised his friend. Alice rolled her eyes.
Let the Lady Decide Page 6