Emily's Beau

by Allison Lane

  “Her looks have nothing to do with it,” swore Sophie. “It is her attitude. Look at how she clings. That’s a schemer if I ever saw one.”

  “Perhaps,” agreed Emily. “But she only arrived this morning, so I am trying to make allowances.” She wasn’t about to admit her fears, especially to someone she’d just met. Instinct recognized that Sophie might well become a bosom beau, but it was too early to tell for sure. And too early to condemn Harriet. “She’s only been ashore a few hours and has had no time to adjust to England, let alone society.”

  “Spoken like a true lady – and a diamond to boot,” said Charles, again gifting her with an admiring smile. “That gown makes your eyes glow like antique gold. I’ve never seen a color as enticing.”

  Emily didn’t believe a word of his flummery – he poured it over everyone, which accounted for his conquests – but it felt good, making it easier to face society’s lionesses.

  “Did Richard describe society’s matrons?” asked Sophie as they entered the house.

  “He mentioned names, but not much else. Jacob talked about some of them in the carriage. Now I must learn to identify them. It wouldn’t do to discuss them when they are standing nearby.”

  “We’ll help.”

  “Of course, we will,” said Charles warmly. “The one greeting our hostess at the top of the stairs is Lady Beatrice.”

  “With the purple turban?”

  “Right.”

  Emily shuddered. “I heard she knows everything.”

  Sophie nodded. “Rumor credits her with spies in every household.”

  Lady Beatrice didn’t look dangerous. Though her back remained straight, a wrinkled face and swollen knuckles proclaimed her well into her seventies. Her gown was at least two Seasons out of date, hinting at pinched pockets — not that anyone would dare comment.

  But when Lady Beatrice turned, Emily nearly gasped. There was nothing old or forgetful about that gaze. Her eyes were sharp and very black, instantly taking in every detail.

  Emily bowed her head to acknowledge the lady’s superior position, then turned back to Sophie. “Who else is here?”

  “The pair in front of Jacob are Lady Cunningham and her latest daughter,” said Charles. “Harmless, for the most part.”

  “The family is enormous,” added Sophie. “Every year they fire off a new girl. This will be the sixth, I believe.”

  “Seventh,” said Charles firmly. “With three more at home.”

  “Heavens!” Emily waved her fan.

  “And all wonderful people. You’ll love the third girl – Lady Renfrew now. They returned to town last week, as did the oldest sister, Lady Basil Chalmers. Lord Basil works at the Foreign Office with Charles.” As the Cunninghams moved into the ballroom, Sophie glanced down the stairs. “Lady Debenham just arrived.”

  “The other gossip?”

  “Everyone gossips, but she is trying to dethrone Lady Beatrice as the most powerful gossip.”

  “Which one is she?” Two ladies had entered together, both on the shady side of fifty, though not by much.

  “Blue silk with matching plumes. The one in green is Lady Horseley – rigid and formidable.”

  “Ah.”

  “You need to step ahead of me, Em,” murmured Charles. “Since this is your first outing, it is Richard’s place to introduce you.”

  “Of course.” Suddenly Jacob’s monopolization of Harriet made sense. As Harriet’s guardian, he had no choice.

  Her relief carried her through the receiving line and into the ballroom. Only as they paused inside the door did she again turn to Sophie.

  “What now?” Already the room contained a hundred guests with more crowding in every minute. For the first time, she truly understood the splendor of London, so different from her corner of Gloucestershire, where large gatherings might include thirty people, and the local assemblies took place in the dining room of the Dragon’s Egg Inn.

  Here, silver sconces holding dozens of wax candles tossed reflected light from mirrors and polished marble. Potted palms clustered in corners. A filigreed screen separated black-coated musicians from the guests.

  Everywhere, colorful gowns swayed like flowers in a spring breeze – or like ribbons set dancing by the flutter of myriad fans. Scents ranged from delicate to bold. Voices uttered greetings, recounted gossip, and feigned shock over the latest scandal.

  “We will mingle until the dancing starts,” murmured Sophie. “Here comes Lord Wroxleigh. He was a bigger rake than Charles before his marriage.”

  “Is that possible?” asked Emily before she could think.

  “Minx!” Charles shook his head. “Save me the third set. I can’t wait to spar with that shockingly forward tongue.” Grinning, he moved off before she could respond.

  “You’ll get Jacob for two, then,” said Sophie. “The Beaux will take the first three sets at every ball you attend – and then they dare to complain that I’ve not found a suitor to my taste!”

  “Brothers!” For the first time, she understood the tone Sophie had used earlier.

  “Exactly. They will smother you, while assuring themselves that they are protecting you from harm. Now pay attention. We have only a moment before Wroxleigh gets here. Lady Jersey – dark-haired beauty in red by the first window, Almack’s patroness.”

  “Who is she laughing at?”

  “Laughing with. Lord Ingram. Thinks he’s a dandy, though his legs belong to a stork.”

  “So did Charles’s a dozen years ago.”

  Sophie giggled. “Ingram is too old to develop curves. He’ll be in sawdust for life. Now concentrate. The battle-ax near the next window is Mrs. Drummond-Burrell. Another patroness. The silver-haired gentleman in the green coat is Lord Castlereagh. He is talking to Lady Marchgate and her son Lord Hartford.”

  “Who married my cousin,” put in Wroxleigh as he joined them. “We must be playing Who’s Who. My favorite game. Introduce me, Lady Sophie. Who’s the new diamond you’ve brought us?”

  * * * *

  Half an hour later, Emily’s head was spinning. As the crowd grew, the Beaux closed ranks around their charges – Lady Hughes had retired to a chair. Emily wished she could join her. Despite Charles’s teasing and Wroxleigh’s compliments, she couldn’t hold a candle to Sophie and Harriet. Sophie might complain about the Beaux driving off suitors, but she drew a large court. Harriet’s exotic looks attracted gentlemen in droves, her foreign mannerisms and lilting voice keeping them enthralled. And the Beaux themselves were targets for a score of matchmaking mothers towing aspiring daughters. Even Richard was a prize, for he would one day be a lord. Emily felt invisible.

  Worse, Harriet’s flirtation bordered on vulgar. The elegant room had triggered a fey excitement, leading to coarse allusions and suggestive comments that might draw applause in a barracks, but not in London society. Yet Jacob did nothing.

  Emily gritted her teeth. Jacob would blame her if anything happened, for she had accepted the job of keeping Harriet under control. The moment they returned home, she must deliver yet another lecture – not that she expected Harriet to listen. The girl had the bit between her teeth and had no intention of being reined in. Filling her card within moments of her arrival would make it hard to convince her that proper behavior mattered. That Emily’s card still contained holes added to the difficulty.

  Richard pulled her mind back to the ballroom.

  “You must meet Lady Beatrice, Em,” he said, drawing the gossip forward. “My sister, Miss Emily Hughes.”

  Emily uttered the expected greeting. Up close, the gossip was even more formidable, confidence and power shining from those dark eyes.

  “Nice-looking gel.” Lady Beatrice tilted her head as she studied Emily – she was clearly checking out new arrivals tonight. “A little long in the tooth, perhaps, but remarkably unspoiled. She should do well. Lady Sophie, on the other hand, is nearly on the shelf.” Clucking her tongue, she turned a quelling glance on Charles’s sister. “Inslip should put his foot
down.”

  Sophie laughed. “He does, my lady. Quite regularly. Very demanding man. Why only last week he forced me to wear pattens while taking the air in the garden, and you know how much I hate pattens.”

  “Hmph! Saucy miss.” But her eyes sparkled. “Are you going to shape up this Season? I’ve seen no evidence of it so far.”

  “I will try ever so hard. It pains me to disappoint you. But what can I do when the perfect gentleman refuses to fall at my feet?”

  Sophie’s response tugged at Lady Beatrice’s lips. “What about Benning?” she suggested, examining Sophie’s court, which had drawn back when Lady Beatrice appeared and now moved farther away.

  “Far too spindly. I do love well-formed limbs.”

  “Gresham?”

  “A weakling. I cannot accept anyone unable to carry me to safety should the need arise – without puffing. I swear Gresham is hard-pressed to haul himself up the stairs with any degree of finesse.”

  “Penfield?”

  “Dull. My lids droop the moment he opens his mouth.”

  “Alders?”

  “Haughty. He accepts only his own opinion, and he prefers blonde hair to auburn.”

  “You are hopeless,” sighed Lady Beatrice, shaking her head.

  “Very,” agreed Emily, having enjoyed their sparring. “I’m surprised you don’t expect your suitors to fly.”

  “What a lovely talent that would be!” exclaimed Sophie. “So many things lurk just out of reach. I must consider it.”

  Charles burst into laughter.

  Lady Beatrice chuckled, letting Emily relax. What had possessed her to joke with the woman? If the gossip had taken the words wrong, Emily’s Season might have ended before it began.

  “You must be Hawthorne’s ward,” Lady Beatrice boomed.

  Jacob nodded. “Miss Harriet Nichols, daughter of Captain Nichols.”

  “I don’t recall a Captain Nichols.”

  “He died before I was born,” said Harriet before Jacob could respond. “I never knew him, though everyone claims he was a great man. My mother next married Colonel Wentworth. They succumbed to fever last year.”

  Lady Beatrice turned to Jacob. “Breeding’s tolerable. Introduce her to Sir Bertram.” Without waiting for a response, she headed for the next group.

  “You did well,” said Charles, sensing Emily’s uncertainty. “Lady Beatrice loves anyone who will stand up to her. As for you,” he added to Sophie. “You’d best expect a Season of similar observations. Four years is enough.”

  “He’s right,” murmured Sophie when he turned away. “I have to wed this year, but I think I’ll manage. I’ve been cultivating a gentleman for some time. He should be ripe by now.” Her eyes strayed to the door where a man in stark black had just appeared. “Don’t mention it to Charles,” she added. “If he meddles, he will ruin everything.”

  Emily wanted details, but this wasn’t the place, particularly if Sophie meant to keep her interest secret. Before she could figure out how to arrange a moment alone – or even how to learn the gentleman’s name – the musicians struck up a country dance, and Richard swept her into the first set.

  Jacob commandeered her for the second set, but any hope that he considered it more than a duty dance vanished with his first words.

  “Harriet’s manners are rougher than I feared. Is everything all right?”

  “So far,” she said. Reporting Harriet’s tantrum at the modiste’s would serve no purpose. And since calling her blue gown suitable for a ball had been an exaggeration, demanding a new one – and paying extra for the service – had been her only option.

  “Good. She thinks your mother hates her, but I can’t believe it.”

  “How did she form that notion? Unless she misunderstood Mama’s comment about the queen’s Drawing Room.”

  He raised a brow.

  “My presentation is tomorrow. She expected to accompany me.”

  “She actually expected to be presented?”

  Emily sighed. “It was more a question of whether she could accompany us – she must know presentation is impossible. Mama said no, of course. Breeding aside, court gowns take weeks. In explaining, Mama also mentioned that she will not receive vouchers to Almack’s. Her father’s station simply isn’t high enough.”

  “I told her that, but I will repeat it. It must be difficult to absorb so many rules at once.” He fell to muttering as the music started. “Perhaps bringing her out was a mistake. But how else…”

  The dance separated them, giving them no further chance to talk.

  Emily hid her disappointment. Mistake or not, Harriet was now out. They would all have to deal with the consequences, one of which was Jacob’s focus on duty.

  At least he trusted her to help him.

  * * * *

  Jacob berated himself as he moved through the dance. If he’d had more warning, he could have planned things better – might even have had a husband lined up before Harriet arrived.

  No doubt about it. He’d rushed his fences. Studying her manners should have been his first step, even if that meant she had to miss a week or two of the Season once her ship arrived. Instead, he had assumed she would know the basics and understand the importance of remaining in the background until she had established her place. So he’d thrust her into society without knowing a thing about her – except that her mother was not a lady.

  He grimaced as he spotted Harriet fluttering her lashes at a notorious rake in her set. Nervousness was pushing her into gauche behavior. And ignorance.

  He hoped Emily could settle her nerves quickly. Harriet was clinging in a most unseemly fashion. He’d managed to put some physical distance between them, but merely hovering near her would draw comment if it continued.

  Yet he couldn’t abandon her. He recalled too clearly how frightening England had been that first week – and he’d had his mother to help him adjust. No matter how much the English abroad clung to their customs, living in India was nothing like living in England. Class distinctions blurred and manners softened. People who would not have spoken in London welcomed each other to dinner.

  But he could do little beyond trust Emily and Lady Hughes to look after her.

  He stifled a frown. Lady Hughes was far more frail than Richard had claimed. Within minutes of arriving, she’d retired to a corner, paying no heed even to Emily. Her color was bad and her eyes blurred, as if she’d taken laudanum. But if she was unable to watch even Em—

  Perhaps he should hire a chaperon for Harriet. It wasn’t fair to place the entire burden on Emily’s shoulders. She was in town to seek her own match and had but one Season to do it, according to Richard.

  When the set ended, he led Emily back to the Beaux’ corner and glanced at her card. “Save me the supper dance, Em.”

  “Of course.”

  Engrossed in thought, he moved away. While a chaperon might work, he needed to consider the idea before broaching it to Richard. He could not afford another mistake. Nor could he afford to insult Emily. But with luck, he could reach a decision before supper.

  Yet thinking proved difficult, even after seeking solitude. Too many questions remained, from mundane ones, such as whether Hughes House had room for another resident – a chaperon was not a servant, so needed decent quarters – to nebulous thoughts about Emily’s reaction to this latest change of plans. He would have to discuss it with her and hope she didn’t take offense.

  He was returning for the supper dance when Harriet dragged him behind a palm. “You have to help me, Jacob,” she demanded. “Miss Hughes won’t talk to me.”

  “What now?”

  She raised pleading eyes to meet his. “I heard that lady in blue tell her friend that she wears a different gown to every ball.” She nodded toward Mrs. Camberly. “Is that usual?”

  “For her. But few people command her fortune. Three or four gowns should suffice for a girl in your position. Most maids are adept at changing trim to keep appearances fresh.”

  “But th
at’s my point! This is my only gown.” She thrust her chest out.

  “You told me you had a dozen gowns.”

  “But Miss Hughes won’t let me wear them. She took me to a dressmaker, but the woman refuses to deliver anything until next week. I tried to talk to Miss Hughes about it before this last set, but she told me to be quiet.”

  “And rightly so. You should not discuss such things at a ball.”

  “But—” Her hand gripped his arm.

  “Miss Nichols!” he snapped, shaking her loose. “There is no way you can hurry a dressmaker during the Season. You can either make do with what you have or stay home until your new gowns are ready.”

  “You can’t expect—”

  “I can, and I do. A smart girl would remain quiet until she understood the rules. She would study how others conduct themselves and accept her place. You must never forget that Captain Nichols was low gentry, so you have limited entrée to society. Thus your behavior must be perfect.”

  “You want me to become one of those insipid misses who never dance,” she wailed, drawing eyes as she clutched his arm.

  “Of course not. You are attractive enough to draw attention, but you must behave. Beauty will never compensate for a crass tongue. So cease this childish display this instant. No one has ever been cut for being too proper, but plenty have been cut for breaking rules. Don’t annoy Miss Hughes with demands she cannot grant or complaints that have no place being uttered in public.”

  She sputtered and objected, even trying tears when he ignored her wheedling. It took half of the set to settle her. And by the time he could find her partner, the music had ended. All he could do was lead Emily into the supper room.

  Emily was understandably annoyed to have been abandoned. And they were so surrounded by people that he could not broach the subject of Harriet’s chaperonage.

  All in all, it had not been a good evening.

  Chapter Four

  Emily could barely keep her eyes open as she climbed the stairs to her room, but she knew that sleep would come slowly, if at all.

  Lady Penleigh’s ball had gone well from everyone’s perspective but hers. Richard was happy because she’d danced every set – there were always more ladies than men in ballrooms, a situation worsened by twenty years of warfare and by the penchant of so many men to retire to the card room the moment they arrived.