by Allison Lane
Harriet’s eyes lit up. “It will be fun to visit a dressmaker. Wentworth had nothing beyond his military pay, so we were always in debt and could rarely buy new gowns. Mama complained often that he had pretended to a comfortable income before marriage. It took her a year of begging before he would buy her that shawl.”
Emily shook her head, but this explained why so many of Harriet’s gowns were unsuited to her age. She was using her mother’s clothing as well as her own.
Which raised new questions – such as the size of her dowry. Unless it was substantial, she was doomed. Beauty might draw eyes, but with marginal breeding and questionable manners, she needed a fortune if she was to make a successful match.
“Wentworth always hated me,” continued Harriet.
“Why?”
“I wasn’t his, of course. My real father was a talented and respected officer who would be a general by now had he lived. Everyone loved him. His death was a tragedy, but also glorious, for he sacrificed himself to save three of his men – Mama wept whenever she recalled his fate. She loved him dearly.”
Emily started to speak, but Harriet swept on.
“The other officers hated Wentworth, calling him a brutal tyrant and worse. But his harsh treatment of subordinates was nothing compared to how he treated me. I was proof that his failure to produce a son was his fault. He kept me shut away for years, hiding my very existence. And he begrudged me every rupee. Even after he became a colonel, he refused to increase my pin money.”
Emily wasn’t sure what to say – or where to start pointing out the subjects no girl discussed.
“At least I had Mama,” continued Harriet, stroking the brightly colored shawl. “She loved me very much. If she’d had funds of her own, we would have fled to England long ago. She talked about it often – the places we’d see, the people we’d meet…”
“And now you’re here.”
“I know. It’s a dream come true. And I’m so pleased that Jacob is not like Wentworth.”
“Lord Hawthorne,” Emily reminded her.
“Of course. He is the most wonderful man. I nearly expired in relief when he said to buy anything I need. I had no idea what to expect, you see. No one knew anything about him beyond that he was Papa’s closest friend. I thought he’d be an old man. But it was really Jacob’s father— Lord Hawthorne’s father who was Papa’s friend,” she said, correcting herself. “Ja— this Lord Hawthorne was born in India, too, so he knows what it is like. And he knows how awful my voyage was. I was never so sick in my life. Even though Captain Hartwell assured me—”
Emily closed her ears to Harriet’s chatter. Her worst fears were being confirmed. Harriet bordered on vulgar and had little concept of what constituted genteel conversation. When they returned from the dressmaker’s, they must start immediate lessons.
* * * *
Jacob heaved a sigh of relief as he left Hughes House. After three hours in Harriet’s company, he was ready to run, screaming, from London. He should have sent his man of business to collect her from the docks. But he’d thought the personal touch might settle her fears.
What it had done was knock his plans into chaos. Harriet was trouble. The suitable companion provided by the Company was a vulgar widow with no manners and no sense of propriety. Despite that it had been barely nine when he’d collected her, Harriet had donned a gown that would have shocked even a courtesan as unflappable as Harriette Wilson. What had they been thinking? Bombay wasn’t that out of touch.
Thank God Emily had the sense and patience to deal with the girl.
Harriet’s manners were even worse than her clothing. She had thrown a fit worthy of Siddons when she discovered that she would not stay at Hawthorne House. Her behavior had shifted from provocative Siren to haughty lady to petulant child, all in the time it took his footman to shift two trunks from the ship to his carriage.
She was as manipulative as her mother. Unless she controlled her tongue, she would be ostracized in a week.
On the other hand, her looks demanded attention from every man still breathing, and not only because of her beauty. Growing up in India had added an exotic air that gentlemen would covet. He must trust Emily to teach her manners while he dampened her flirting to something more suited to ladies than courtesans.
Part of her problem was nerves, of course. She had to be terrified. Moving to a strange country was never easy. At least he’d had his parents with him. All she’d had was a camp follower.
Tonight, she would meet Charles and Sophie. Surely the five of them together could protect her and find her a match. Fast.
He needed to resume his usual activities.
Chapter Three
Emily’s heart soared as she descended the stairs that evening. Jacob waited in the hall, smiling in admiration, his eyes bluer than ever before. The yellow gown had definitely been the right choice.
It was the first time she’d seen him in evening dress. His blue coat and snowy linen suited his dark hair and softened the harsh planes of his face. The sapphire nestling in his cravat glinted like a third eye. He extended his hand—
Harriet rushed past, nearly knocking Emily over, and threw herself against him. As his arms closed around her, Emily’s heart stopped.
“You’re here! You’re here!” trilled Harriet. “Thank heaven! The day seemed positively endless. I feared you had abandoned me.”
Emily frowned. The way Harriet was carrying on, she might have just escaped the rack. But at least Jacob saw through her.
“What is this nonsense?” he chided, setting her aside. “I told you I would collect you at eight, and I always keep my word. Now behave yourself. Has Miss Hughes discussed society manners with you?”
“Of course. Not that it was necessary. I’ve been out for years.”
“But not in London.”
Harriet waved away his words, demanding, “How do like my new gown? We had to visit Madame Francine as my ball gown is out of fashion.” She twirled, brushing against him. “And I needed other things, too.” She smoothed her gloves to draw attention to her long, slender arms. “The air is so cold here. I don’t know how I’ll stay warm.” She aimed an arch look at Jacob as she leaned against him.
Irritation flashed across his face. And no wonder. Harriet’s gauche flirtation was making a poor impression, casting doubts on Emily’s competence as a teacher and mentor. But what could he expect in so short a time?
The trip to the dressmaker had demonstrated how difficult this job would be. It had taken the combined efforts of Emily and Madame Francine to keep Harriet from dressing like a harlot – her tastes ran to low-cut bodices, high hems, and nearly transparent fabrics despite her complaints about the cold. Then she had fallen into hysterics when Madame Francine confirmed that it would be a week before she could deliver the first of Harriet’s new gowns. Finally, to quiet her, Francine had given her a peach silk made up for another customer.
“You look lovely,” agreed Jacob when Harriet again crowded him.
“So does Emily,” said Richard from the stairs. Lady Hughes clung to his arm. “Yellow becomes you, Em.”
“So it does.” Jacob cast the briefest of glances in her direction before turning to Lady Hughes. “And you look quite your old self, my lady,” he said warmly, guiding her down the last steps. “The card room will empty as men rush to gaze upon your loveliness.”
While Lady Hughes blushed and protested his fustian, Emily’s heart plummeted. He hadn’t even noticed her. That earlier smile had been for Harriet, clattering down the steps behind her. As she’d feared, Harriet made everyone around her appear mousy. Even Jacob succumbed to her exotic looks.
“Shall we go?” asked Richard. “Since you have the roomier carriage, you can take the girls, Jacob. I’ll escort Mother.” He headed for the door.
“How exciting!” Harriet latched onto Jacob’s arm, snuggling against his side. “My first London ball. You must stay close to keep me from making mistakes. I do so want to make a good impression.”
She laughed up at him.
“You will do fine. Watch the other girls and follow their lead. Above all, be gracious. That is the best way to become a success.” He turned toward the door, leaving Emily behind.
Emily blinked away tears. This was not the way the evening should have gone. Where was the man who had crushed her against him, devouring her mouth as if he could never get enough? Where was the friend who—
“Miss Hughes?” Jacob glanced over his shoulder, extending his other arm.
Her fingers tingled when they touched his sleeve, the sparks biting sharper than yesterday. But instead of raising excitement, they now invoked dread. Including her had so obviously been an afterthought, done solely because Richard had asked. And probably because of propriety, she realized when he seated her next to Harriet. Even a guardian must protect appearances with a ward like this one.
Jacob sprawled across the opposite seat, igniting new fire in Emily’s belly. He was well set up, those elegant clothes unable to hide his power, his precise manners at odds with the wildness lurking just beneath his surface.
She’d seen that wildness often as they raced across hills or climbed trees or set their horses at dangerous obstacles. It escaped in the form of a fierce temper and a penchant for dares, as if a demon lurked inside him that could only be tamed by taking risks.
Whatever risk he contemplated now had nothing to do with Emily, though. He ignored her, his attention focused on Harriet. Even understanding his duty to his ward did not lessen Emily’s pain.
“There are very firm rules you must follow,” he said as the carriage jerked into motion. “The first is that you cannot waltz unless one of the patronesses gives you permission. That will not occur tonight.”
“Why?” Harriet licked her lips, focusing so intently on Jacob that the temperature inside the carriage seemed to rise.
“Because your breeding is inferior,” said Jacob bluntly. “Until people know you, you must be on your best behavior. And until they judge you worthy, you will not waltz. Also, no lady can dance more than twice with a particular gentleman. In your position, it would be best if you danced no more than once – this is part of endearing yourself to society,” he added when she tried to protest. “Don’t do anything that will raise brows. Every lady of consequence will be here tonight.”
“All the patronesses,” said Emily unnecessarily, hoping to draw at least an acknowledgment that she was present.
“Exactly.” But his eyes never left Harriet. “Even those who do not receive vouchers to Almack’s remain subject to their opinions, for they can make or break anyone. Some are sweet. Others are rigid. But all wield great power. So do the gossips.”
“Lady Beatrice,” murmured Emily, who had heard much about that formidable dowager from Richard.
“And Lady Debenham.” Jacob shook his head. “They are more dangerous than the patronesses, for news reaches their ears from even humble abodes. If you are ever indiscreet, they will know.”
“You must stay close.” Harriet laid a hand on his knee. “I cannot remember everything without your help.”
“For tonight, but hovering will do you much harm.”
He continued the lecture, but Emily stopped listening. Jacob seemed no more aware of her than he’d been when she was six. He’d probably forgotten their last meeting entirely. Harriet filled his mind.
By the time they reached Lady Penleigh’s door, she was near tears. What should have been her triumphant Season had turned to ashes.
“Emily!” exclaimed a gentleman as a footman helped her down. “It’s been years.”
“Lord Charles!” She extended both hands. His smile was a balm to her lacerated sensibilities.
Richard, Jacob, and Charles had been closer than brothers since their school days, earning the sobriquet The Three Beaux for their exploits with the fair sex. They were fanatically loyal to one another. Even if wrong, any Beau could count on the others to stand by him in public – an argument with one was an argument with all. But they would unmercifully punish any transgression in private, even one brushed aside by society. The Beaux’ code of honor was superior to other men’s.
Their code had never included chastity, of course. She’d heard many tales of their exploits – Charles, whose charm left a broad trail of broken hearts in his wake, even in the demimonde; Richard, whose affinity for widows and wives kept husbands on their toes; Jacob, whose appetites had reportedly sampled every courtesan in town, but who never bedded anyone twice.
Charles examined her from head to toe, his green eyes sparkling in the torchlight. “My, but you do clean up well, Em. Who would have thought…”
“I wasn’t that bad when last we met,” she laughingly protested.
“Oh, worse. Much worse.” Setting her hand on his arm, he turned toward the door. “I do believe I’d just fished you from a bog.”
“How unchivalrous of you to recall.” She was grateful for his teasing even as she wished for Jacob’s admiration. “Though honesty compels me to mention that you are the one who tossed me in there.”
He laughed. “Why would I do such a thing?”
“If you’ve forgotten, far be it from me to remind you. But I must say that you clean up rather well yourself. No one would mistake you for a stork these days.” He’d filled out enough that his tailor no longer had to pad his coats. Or his legs. Not a particle of sawdust filled his stockings. And his hair had darkened from carrot to a rich auburn, adding a spark to his green eyes that had nothing to do with boyish pranks. “I hear you set hearts aflutter wherever you go.”
“A few,” he admitted, winking. “And grateful I am for the interest.”
“You would be.” She joined his laughter. “So were you waiting for us, or did you just happen to be passing by?”
“Neither.” He gestured a gorgeous redhead closer. “I’m playing chaperon yet again. This is my sister, Lady Sophie Beaumont. You can call her Sophie. Lady is much too pretentious for the brat.”
“Brothers!” snorted Lady Sophie.
“Sisters!” he replied in the same tone. “This is Emily, Soph. At last.”
Emily opened her mouth.
Jacob swept past with Harriet on his arm. Richard and Lady Hughes followed, pausing only long enough for Richard to pinch Sophie’s chin. “Save me the second set, Soph.” And he was gone.
“Which gives Jacob the third,” Charles told his sister, then scowled at Jacob’s back. “Not even a greeting for us. He’s being haughty tonight. I suppose that’s Miss Nichols.”
Emily closed her mouth, unable to keep up with the rapid shifts in conversation. Beside her, Charles fell silent, his eyes glued on Harriet’s hips as she swayed up the steps. His expression was as startled as Richard’s had been. Emily had no doubt the rest of him was reacting the same way, too.
“Welcome to London, Emily,” said Sophie, ignoring her brother. “I’ve heard so much about you that I feel we’ve been friends for years.”
“As have I.” Richard often mentioned Sophie, usually applying the same descriptions he used for her – pest, hoyden, and other epithets denoting little sisters. “I hear you are the most pestilential female in London.”
“To be sure. Controlling my fits and starts keeps the poor Beaux from pursuing their own business – or so they claim.”
“It doesn’t seem to have slowed them down, if gossip is any indication.”
“No. Their most important business takes place after midnight.” She grinned.
Charles shook off his abstraction to lead the ladies up the steps. “If you have any questions about London, Emily, ask Sophie. She has much experience. This is her fourth Season.”
“To Mama’s despair.” Sophie’s smile invited Emily to share the joke. “I’m the family scandal, for I’ve turned down two offers – which everyone assured me were very good – and deflected several others. I’m quite the choosiest female in town.”
“Or the most repugnant.” Charles laughed.
“That’s a horrible
thing to say,” gasped Emily, punching his arm. Sophie was beautiful, with the same rich auburn hair as her brother. Her eyes were softer, though, more mossy than his brilliant emerald. But they could shine with delight, as they were doing now.
Emily grinned at Sophie. “Are London’s gentlemen unacceptable, then?”
Sophie laughed. “I knew I’d like you. No. Many are quite nice, and some have become good friends. But I am determined to wed for love. Besides, I’m having too much fun to settle down.”
“Love does not guarantee happiness,” said Charles with surprising perspicacity.
“Just because you don’t believe in it—”
“Says who?”
“I heard what you told Jacob last month about love being a fantasy perpetrated by those trying to enslave others to their wills.”
“A sneaking spy.” He glared. “How dare—”
“No spy. If you are careless enough to divulge your innermost secrets before checking a room for occupants—”
“What the devil were you doing in—”
Emily squeezed his arm. “Does London condone sibling squabbles in public?”
“Lord, no!” Sophie forced a smile back on her face and relaxed her fists.
Charles fought his irritation under control. “Have you had time for morning calls yet?” he asked Emily.
“No. We would have gone out today, but Miss Nichols needed new gowns.”
“I don’t envy you having to watch her,” said Sophie, shaking her head. “She looks like trouble.”
“Envy doesn’t become you,” snapped Charles. “Just because she’s lovely—”