by Lyn Stone
Dierdre had come to see her once, about two months ago before leaving for London, offering to suggest her for the position as governess to Vintley’s children. Now Emily could easily guess why Dierdre had gone to such trouble to see her employed. Vintley lived nowhere near Bournesea. Nick had been on his way home at the time and Dierdre had wanted to make certain Emily’s friendship with him had no chance of continuing.
Gloating had seemed to be Dierdre’s favorite pastime while enduring her brief spells of country life. Emily had to wonder what she would do now for entertainment.
As soon as they arrived, Dierdre promptly dismissed the maid on duty in the ladies’ chamber. She then stood aside to allow Emily to enter first, closed the door behind them and now stood against it as if to prevent her escape.
She was as lovely as ever, Emily noted, if one disregarded the sneer. Her pale yellow, expertly coifed tresses swept back from a perfect oval face. Her eyes were a trifle small, but she apparently had enhanced them a bit with kohl so that they appeared larger. Her nose had a slight upward tilt at the end, ensuring a permanent appearance of haughtiness, certainly in keeping with the rest of her attitude. Her body, squeezed to a fare-thee-well in the middle, protruded lasciviously above the satin neckline of her pink-and-white lace bodice.
She certainly didn’t need that additional reddening she had put on her cheeks since she already glowed with barely restrained fury. Perhaps the song had not yielded the expected results.
“The chamber pot’s behind that screen,” Emily announced with a smile as she gestured toward the corner. “Or do you really have something important to tell me?”
“Indeed I have. Nicholas wants rid of you.”
“Does he now? He hasn’t mentioned it. He confided this to you, I suppose?”
Dierdre clenched her teeth and pulled in a deep breath. She let it out slowly in an obvious attempt to control her temper. Emily recognized the little exercise, one she often employed herself.
“Nicholas spoke with my father,” Dierdre informed her. “His regret is absolute and he has promised to mend matters to our satisfaction.” A fake smile bared her teeth. “Surely you realize that mending will not consist of a monetary reparation, for the Worthings do not need more wealth. You must ask yourself, how else would he make things right?”
All of the snide remarks about Emily’s clothing, her provinciality, her inability to attract suitors, that Dierdre had offered over the years now echoed in Emily’s head.
It was difficult to muster any sympathy now, especially considering her current mission to cause trouble. And yet, it wasn’t hard to imagine how it must feel to believe you were betrothed for so many years and then to discover it was but a deception.
“Look, Dierdre, I know that our marriage provides you good reason to—”
“He wants rid of you,” Dierdre repeated, her voice low and grating. “You’ve managed to trap him, Emily Loveyne, but he won’t stand for it. Not for long.” She forced a hateful smile. “He will find a way out of your snare, you mark my words. If I were you, I should be very afraid.”
Emily did experience a small niggling of fear that there might be a grain of truth in what Dierdre was saying. Nicholas definitely was not happy with things as they were. He obviously worried—no, almost obsessed—about her inability to carry off the role of countess. And the few times they had come close to making their marriage real, he had deliberately made her angry.
Did he plan to keep her a virgin and eventually cite her refusal to consummate the marriage as cause for an annulment? No, too far-fetched, she decided. But how else would he be rid of her? Divorce was certainly out of the question for a man of his standing. It would ruin him completely, and he could not remarry anyway unless she died, so what would be the point of that? Dierdre was merely attempting to cause problems.
“Thank you for the warning,” Emily said, keeping her tone conversational. “Though misguided, I am certain it is given in a spirit of helpfulness. You may consider your friendly duty accomplished.”
Dierdre’s cat smile stretched wider and her kohlrimmed gaze was keen. “Disbelieve me, then, but you soon will see. You already know you are not his kind.”
Emily looked her up and down and made an honest observation. “Neither are you, I think.”
Before Dierdre could reply, someone tried the door and she had to move aside. Lady Julia pushed it open and looked in. “Is everything all right?”
Emily closed the distance between them and hurried past both Dierdre and her hostess to await them in the hallway. “We were just leaving,” she declared as they followed her out.
“Are you certain nothing is amiss?” their hostess persisted, looking worriedly from one to the other.
Dierdre answered, “Nothing at all. Emily and I were simply caught up in renewing our old acquaintance.”
“And apparently nothing about it has changed,” Emily added.
Chapter Sixteen
Nick blew out a breath of relief when Emily and Dierdre returned to the ballroom with Julia. He quickly approached Emily and leaned close to speak so that no one could overhear. “What happened upstairs?”
She looked back at him, a strange expression on her face. “What would you expect when ladies absent themselves from a gathering. Must I elaborate?”
Nick stifled a scoff. “Dierdre has just signaled her father and they are leaving rather abruptly. Would you care to explain that?” he asked, keeping his voice low and his face expressionless.
“A megrim, perhaps. It is almost time for everyone to go, is it not?”
“Surely she said something to you,” he insisted.
“That I should be afraid,” Emily announced, seeming unconcerned.
“Of what? Of her?”
Emily shrugged. He noticed that she plied her fan with unnecessary exuberance, given the temperature of the room.
When she stubbornly refused to speak more or to look at him again, Nick gave up for the moment. Obviously she wasn’t about to enlarge on what had taken place, at least not here.
“Later I will hear everything,” he said aloud, and turned his attention to the room at large.
“Depend on it,” she replied, abruptly snapping her fan shut.
She did smile, but if she moved a muscle to do anything else during the final quarter hour of their visit, he could not detect it. Still as a statue, she stood.
Of course, she’d had a lifetime of practice forcing her energy into abeyance, he recalled. Her father’s sermons, while not exactly boring, certainly were lengthy enough to satisfy the most pious in the pews.
Over the years she must have worked out some sort of trance state that mimicked rapt attention. Imagining that made him want to smile. Such a thing was so Emily-like.
At last Michael and Julia thanked everyone for coming, then led the way out of the room.
He took Emily’s hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. She still would not meet his eyes, making him wonder what she had either done or endured to disconcert her so. Instead of asking again, he remained silent and led her down to the front entrance. As it happened, they were among the last to leave.
Nick admitted he could not have asked more of Emily tonight. Unless she and Dierdre Worthing had quarreled, the entire evening had proved quite successful. Even if they had, to their credit, both had done so discreetly.
Once seated in the carriage, he complimented her. “I was extremely proud of you tonight. You were wonderful.”
“How kind of you to say so,” she replied. “That makes me wonder just how apprehensive you really were.”
“Are you offended?” he asked pleasantly. “Perhaps you should be. I admit I feared you might find yourself at a loss with some of the guests. The elders especially, are such elitists.”
“No one asked how blue was my blood, though there were two I think might have liked the opportunity to see some of it.” She sounded snippy, probably with sound reason.
“Dierdre and her father,” he said.
No question.
“Yes.” Emily looked him squarely in the eye. “She assures me that you want out of our marriage. That you have said you regret it and mean to rectify your error by some means. What means, Nick?”
He sat up straight. “That is patently absurd! I have never said such a thing to anyone, much less to Dierdre or Worthing.”
She matched his glare. “No more lies, no more games, Nick. Tell me what you plan to do.”
He glanced out the window. They were almost home. “We will continue this discussion. First, go up and change into something that allows you to breathe. Meet me in the library in half an hour. You and I will settle this once and for all.”
“Why the library?” she snapped. “Do you need brandy for fortification?”
He turned his head slowly and pursed his lips for a moment before he replied, “Because the next time we meet in a bedchamber, I promise you it will not be for the purpose of conversation.”
Emily remained silent as Nick assisted her down from the carriage and ushered her up the steps to the front door. The clock struck twelve as they entered.
“Will you require anything else tonight, my lord?”
Upton asked as he closed the door and locked it behind them.
“Nothing,” Nick said over his shoulder. “See that everyone retires immediately, would you? Good night, Upton.”
As they reached the stairway, Emily glanced back at the old fellow and saw his wrinkled features twisted into semblance of a grin. It made her shiver.
“Are you cold?” Nick asked softly.
“A little,” she admitted.
“I shall light a fire for us.”
“Thank you,” she replied, hating the formality with which they spoke to one another, wondering if that would become a pattern in the years to follow. If, indeed, there were years to follow.
They parted company when they reached the third-floor landing. “Half an hour,” he reminded her as he left her at her door.
Apparently Rosie had dozed off in one of the chairs in the corner of the bedroom while awaiting Emily’s return. Emily gently shook her shoulder.
The maid bolted upright and almost fell. “Gor! A fright you gave me!”
“Sorry,” Emily said. “Why don’t you go on to bed, Rosie. I can manage for myself.”
“No, no, I’m awake.” Her words slurred as if she had been tippling. She swayed a bit as she stood.
“You seem a trifle unsteady. Are you quite all right, Rosie?”
“Sleepy’s all,” Rosie said, rubbing her eyes.
“Then undo my hooks and unlace me. After that, I won’t need you,” Emily told her.
“Oh, no, ma’am, I can—”
“Do as I say.”
“Aha, more plans for the evenin’, I see. You don’t need me hanging about, then, do you?” Rosie said with a wicked grin. “Well, I’ll be out of here quicker’n you can snap your fingers.”
“Just get on with it,” Emily said impatiently as she removed the necklace and dropped it to the dressing table. She started to take the pins from her hair, but decided to leave it as it was since she was meeting Nick later.
Rosie soon freed her of the constricting garments that fastened at her back. It took no more persuading to get the maid to retire.
Confident that no one would remain below to see her when she went down, Emily donned her lawn nightrail and wrapper, firmly knotting the sash at her waist and making certain she was as modestly covered as if she were leaving the house.
Once she was ready to go below again, she wondered what she would do for the next twenty minutes, since she didn’t relish awaiting Nick alone in the library.
She was so tired and her eyes felt scratchy. For lack of anything else to do, she turned off her lamp and lay down in the darkness, reflecting on all that had happened tonight.
Dierdre’s words haunted her. For the second time now Emily had heard that she should be afraid. First she had overheard Duquesne declare she should, and now Dierdre said the same thing without offering a precise explanation.
No matter what they said, Emily refused to believe she should fear Nick. If he wanted shed of her so badly, why had he not allowed her to perish in the carriage? It would have been so easy to do. One shove, the entire conveyance, with her inside it, would have plunged over the precipice and he would have been free of her forever. But he had risked himself to save her.
Or had he felt he had to do so? Had he suddenly realized he might have been blamed, seeing that he was not in there with her at the time, but had chosen to ride instead? Perhaps it dawned on him how it would look to everyone if his wife was killed while he remained safely on the road. The wicked little voice inside her head insisted she consider the possibility.
“No, it’s not true,” she muttered, and turned her face into the pillow. Nick might not love her, but he would never consider murder. He did not have it in him.
But you don’t know him now, do you? He isn’t who he was at twenty-one. Neither was she.
“He’s still Nicholas,” she insisted vehemently. “My Nick.”
Given all the excitement and that it was several hours past her usual bedtime, she was truly exhausted. Easy to see how she could let her imagination run wild. But she mustn’t.
Her eyes drifted shut as she lay there, determined to discontinue that vein of thought. She had no reason to be afraid of her husband. None.
Vaguely, Emily feared she might doze off, but knew the clock striking the quarter hour would rouse her and she would still have five minutes to arrive in the library at the prescribed time. She wouldn’t go to sleep, but would only rest her eyes.
Nick paced the carpet and muttered epithets to himself as he waited. And waited. He glanced again at the decanter of brandy. Tempted, he cursed again. After her comment about his needing spirits to get through this discussion, he would die before he touched the bottle.
Given how difficult the evening must have been for Emily, he supposed she thought she had the right to torture him a bit for submitting her to it as he had. Perhaps she did, but, damn it, he hated to be kept waiting.
Nick pulled out his watch yet again and checked it against the clock. Thirty minutes was long enough for anyone to change clothes. Another quarter hour, quite sufficient to sulk. Without another moment’s pause, Nick strode toward the open doorway and headed for the stairs. If she refused to meet him here on neutral ground, then, by God, he would risk the distraction of the bedchamber.
He had just reached the second-floor landing when he heard a muted scream.
“Emily!” he shouted, hoping it was not her. Perhaps it was only one of the maids frightened by a mouse. Nevertheless, he bounded up the next flight, his heart in his throat.
Smoke seeped from the crack beneath her door. Desperately, he tried the door. Locked! He launched himself against the panel, but the stout oak held. “Em, can you reach the door? The key?” he yelled.
“No!” she screamed. “Nick, help me!”
He dashed to his own chamber, then through it to the connecting dressing room. That key was in her door, but on the wrong side. She’d been locked in. His hands shaking with haste, Nick twisted the key and shoved open the door.
In the light of the blaze that was left, he saw Emily frantically batting the heavy draperies with a small woolen throw rug. She coughed violently with each attempt to smother the flames, but her efforts were inefficient.
“Move!” he shouted as he snatched the rug from her.
“I’ll do this. Sound an alarm for those sleeping upstairs in case it spreads. Hurry!”
Satisfied she would obey, he continued what she had begun and soon conquered the last of the fire. Smoke filled the room, choking him. He yanked down the charred fabric, stamped on it until it was completely out, then threw open both windows.
In the distance, through the open doors of the dressing room and his own chamber, he heard the frightened squeals and excitement of the speedy household evacuation.
Using
what was left of the small rug, he fanned as much smoke as possible out the windows. He hauled water in a vase and poured it on the smoldering fabric and the rug. Several times, he retreated into his own room to breathe relatively fresh air. He feared to leave for longer than a moment or two in the event the fire rekindled.
As soon as the air had cleared enough to see, Nick noted the cut-glass lamp on its side on the floor. The flammable liquid had spilled out and the flame had caught fire to the draperies. He crouched down and examined it. The lamp was from his own bedside table.
Nick glanced over at the door to the hallway. The inside keyhole was empty of its key. If someone had opened the door only enough to reach inside, they could have removed that key and locked the door from the outside. The dressing room had been locked on his side of the door. Emily had had no way out.
He stood and went to the dressing room door. At the distance from either doorway, with only the moonlight from the windows, even with the lighted oil lamp someone held, it would be difficult to tell whether one or two people were on the bed, only that it was occupied.
Someone had tried to kill Emily. Or else, had attempted to kill them both, thinking they were sleeping together.
“M’lord?” Wrecker’s voice boomed from the hallway. “Where ye at?”
“In here,” Nick called.
“God a’mighty!” Wrecker exclaimed, coughing as he surveyed the damage. “You all right, sir?”
“Yes,” Nick said, brushing past Wrecker as he entered Emily’s room. “You stay here. Make certain this doesn’t catch up again. Where’s Lady Em?”
“She’s on the front steps. Sent one of the men for the fire wagons.”
“And you left her there?” Nick demanded in disbelief.
Wrecker shrugged. “She ain’t in no danger. She’s surrounded by our folk about six deep.”
“One of whom set this fire!” Nick announced. “You are in charge here until you hear from me. I’m taking her somewhere safe.”