by Allison Lane
She accepted Mr. Larkin’s invitation to drive in the park and promised a set at an upcoming ball to Lord Francis. By the time she left the rout, she had two more invitations.
But Jacob had said nothing, not even asking his usual questions about Harriet.
* * * *
Harriet again followed Emily into her room when they arrived home.
“What a dull gathering,” she groused, throwing herself across the bed. “Everyone says the same things, over and over and over. Did you hear that Lord Seaton caught Devereaux in his wife’s bed? … The Hunt girl has already received two offers! … I was shocked – shocked – by the costumes at Drury Lane! That theater is becoming positively vulgar!” She produced a high-pitched parody of Lady Auden, whose girlish voice was recognizable everywhere, and who always injected an astonishing range of emotion into her recitation of the latest news.
“Gossip is the mainstay of society conversation,” Emily reminded her. “Fashion. Theater. Scandal. Courtship. Be glad you know the details. It proves you are part of society. But don’t mimic others in public. You haven’t the credit to carry it off without insult. If you hope to find a husband, you cannot afford to seem rude.”
“I’m already betrothed, so it doesn’t matter.” She flashed her secretive smile.
“What? Lord Hawthorne said nothing of a betrothal.”
Harriet sat up, preening. “I should not have mentioned it, of course, for he wants me to take my time so I have no regrets later on – he is postponing the announcement until the end of the Season. And I must admit that flirtation is fun.”
“Who?” But her pounding heart already knew.
“Jacob.”
“But you just met him!”
She shrugged. “Our parents arranged the betrothal when we were children. They were the best of friends.”
“I can’t believe it.” Her protest was automatic. “He would have told Richard. They have been closer than brothers since school.”
“Maybe he thought a fever would kill me – fevers are common in India and strike the English harder than the natives. Or perhaps he wished to give me a choice – since no one in England knows about it, I could terminate it without hurting either of us. But I can’t imagine anyone better. He is a very attractive man. And his title and fortune are a bonus Papa couldn’t have foreseen when he arranged the match.”
“True.” And it was that single fact that convinced her. To a pair of army officers in far-off India, pairing their children would seem logical. Only the addition of an earldom turned it absurd. But the earldom had come later.
No wonder Jacob had insisted on pushing Harriet into society despite the breeding that made her inclusion questionable. His wife must have entrée. If he merely wished to settle her, he could have arranged a marriage to any of a dozen men near Hawthorne Park. A village shopkeeper, perhaps, or the blacksmith, who needed a wife to look after his three young children. Or one of the Hawthorne tenants. And there was a vicar two parishes beyond Cherry Hill who remained unwed. The…
She slammed the door on that sort of thinking.
This also explained why he let Harriet cling and why he’d ignored the London beauties who dangled after him each year. And he’d had to denounce love to Charles because he would never experience it. The examples he’d cited were the only ones he dared see – Emily had already spotted a dozen couples who made no effort to hide their love, many of them wed long enough to have produced several children. The pain threading his voice had not arisen from a long-past hurt but from having no control over his future. He could only sire an heir, then go his own way, clinging to the illusion that he was happy.
Her heart broke for him and the barren life he faced – Harriet cared for no one. But even more, it broke for herself.
As Harriet chattered excitedly about being a countess, Emily fought back tears. So much of Jacob’s past now appeared in a different light. He’d fled their embrace out of guilt – as a gently bred female, she was off limits to any gentleman who couldn’t court her. His one-night-only policy had avoided any attachment that might disprove the lies he used to justify accepting his future. Even his insistence on calling her Tadpole kept her firmly in the role of Richard’s baby sister so he needn’t look at her as a woman – which would likely terminate their friendship. He was the most honorable man she knew.
Her love flooded back, stronger than ever as she considered the quandary he must have faced for so long – bound to a stranger who might not live long enough to wed him, yet unable to betray her. Nor could he force her, which meant suffering yet another Season in silence so she could come to him freely – and dying a thousand deaths every time her antics raised frowns.
Harriet would choose him, of course – Emily hadn’t missed the flash of avarice when the girl had mentioned his title and fortune. And there was nothing she could do about it. Even if Jacob knew Harriet was a fortune hunter, honor forbade him to jilt her.
So he was truly lost to her, condemned to a life he would never enjoy. As was she. Not only must she continue helping Harriet – teaching the girl proper manners was the only way to make Jacob’s life easier – but she must find another husband for herself.
Tomorrow.
Tonight she had to escape Harriet before she surrendered to fury and slapped that gloating face.
“Men can be so silly at times,” Harriet was saying. “It would be so much easier if we married immediately. He should not have asked you to share your Season.”
Emily gritted her teeth. “That is something you should discuss with him. I believe your maid is waiting,” she added as hers appeared in the doorway. “Tomorrow will be full of morning calls, so you need sleep.”
She held herself together while Huggins readied her for bed. But the moment she was alone, tears poured out. She’d been unbelievably stupid and had only until morning to pull out her renowned sense and convince her heart to seek another. If she failed, she would remain forever a spinster, for her father could never afford a second Season. She did not want to play maiden aunt to whatever children Richard produced. She especially did not want to live next door to Harriet. So she must find a husband.
In desperation, she examined Harriet’s tale, seeking some flaw or a hint of exaggeration. Was it possible the girl was lying?
Yet she’d detected no hint of dishonesty before. Arrogance, of course. And stubbornness. But not lies. Harriet’s breeding might be less than her own, but she was a lady. Ladies didn’t lie. If anything, the girl was too honest for her own good, refusing to use the social lies that covered boredom.
The betrothal must date to Harriet’s infancy, for Jacob’s family had returned soon afterward, and his parents had died only six months later. But such arrangements happened. And they were binding.
Chapter Six
Jacob watched as Emily settled into the box he’d taken overlooking the stage and ring at Astley’s Amphitheater. He was looking forward to her pleasure.
Emily would never disparage a show some considered more suited to children and the lower orders. She loved horses and riding, so she would enjoy this exhibition. Many of the tricks were performed nowhere else, for the acrobats of Astley’s were the best in the land. And Grimaldi’s fame as a clown had spread well beyond London.
He hated to admit that Harriet had been at least partially right about Emily’s coolness. Though he’d seen no overt antagonism, Emily remained as far from Harriet as possible, answering the girl’s questions with a minimum of words. At the moment she was at the opposite corner of the box, laughing with Sophie.
It might be no more than a momentary tiff, of course. Harriet could be aggravating. He considered asking Richard, but doubted if he would know the truth – or would say anything against Emily if he did. So he must speak to Emily himself. Only then could he decide whether Harriet was exaggerating to stir up trouble or was a victim of spite.
He still couldn’t believe Emily had a spiteful bone in her body.
When Charles drew
Sophie away for a moment, Jacob slipped into the chair at Emily’s side.
“Words cannot express how grateful I am that you agreed to take Miss Nichols under your wing, Em. I hope her presence does not interfere too badly with your own plans.”
“Of course not.” She smiled warmly, though her eyes flashed a different message. Irritation? It was gone before he could tell, but his heart sank. Clearly the sun did not shine at Hughes House.
“I spoke to her last night about her manners and hope that she understands better now,” he continued doggedly.
“I’ve no doubt her understanding is quite firm,” she agreed, turning to watch several horses parade into the ring.
He waited for her to add the qualification promised by her tone. When she remained silent, he prompted her. “But what?”
She sighed. “Understanding the rules is not the same as following them. I remind myself that England is more rigid than a military outpost. Frustration often makes people lash out. I’m sure she will settle soon. It is in her best interests to do so.”
He frowned, though she didn’t see it. “You are right, of course. Is she disturbing your mother?”
“No.” Her denial was firm. “They rarely speak. Mama remains upstairs much of the day, joining us only to make calls or attend events. I hope this evening is not too strenuous for her,” she added, casting an assessing glance at Lady Hughes.
“She will be fine,” he quickly assured her. “Laughter is wonderfully invigorating. Everyone enjoys Astley’s.”
“Hardly a surprise.” She turned back to the ring as Miss Astley cantered into view, standing on her horse’s back. A roar rose from the pit, where merchant children jostled for a better view. As Miss Astley set her hands on her mount’s withers, vaulting from the ground on her left to the ground on her right before landing atop the horse again, the entire audience inhaled in an audible gasp.
“How does she do that?” demanded Emily.
“Much practice.” Her flushed face and bright eyes warmed his heart. Whatever complaint she had with Harriet was forgotten for the moment.
“Look!” she gasped, grabbing his arm as Miss Astley assumed a new pose – arms out to the side, one leg back, body forward like a ship’s figurehead, her only support a single foot. Her diaphanous costume fluttered as the horse continued to canter.
“She is well-known for that trick,” he said absently, wondering why Emily’s grasp seemed so different from Harriet’s. Probably because she was sharing pleasure rather than demanding attention.
His own attention suddenly shifted to a man skirting the ring. As he watched, the fellow hurried through the door leading to the green room. Sir Bertram, in the flesh. At last.
“I just spotted someone I need to see,” he murmured in Emily’s ear as he rose. “I’ll be back in a moment.” Without further ado, he hurried off to find the fellow.
* * * *
Emily kept her eyes firmly on the ring as her other senses followed Jacob. She couldn’t turn back to Sophie or Charles until she could control her face.
She had awakened that morning, hoping Harriet was ill-bred enough to have lied. But she was deluding herself by letting fantasies again take hold of her mind. Ten years of dreams was enough. It was time to face reality.
Jacob had focused all his attention on Harriet tonight, just as he’d done for days. Even his brief conversation just now had dealt solely with Harriet. He knew his wife must take her place in society. He trusted Emily to make it happen.
She could warn him that Harriet was worse in private than in public, but it would do no good. Complaining that Harriet snubbed Lady Hughes at every opportunity would sound like jealousy. Reporting that Harriet demanded a new shopping expedition nearly every day would look like envy of the bottomless coffers Harriet had at her disposal. And repeating even one of Harriet’s snide remarks must sound like sour grapes from a woman with no matrimonial prospects about a woman who was settled.
All she could do was try her best to teach Harriet the skills she’d not needed in a Bombay military outpost. More than blood set aristocrats apart. They acted different, talked different, dressed different, and thought different from merchants or tenants or soldiers. Teaching all that was a daunting task, especially when every lesson would remind her in the most painful way that she had lost the man she loved.
No! She did not love him. She had exaggerated a childish infatuation into a fantasy of a perfect union. The infatuation would have died long since if she’d seen him. He was very different from the boy she remembered. Grimmer, more rigid, with less care for others. She needed a man who could laugh, who would share his concerns and listen to advice. With the Season well underway, her chances were diminishing daily.
Sophie reclaimed her seat as Harriet laughed uproariously. Charles quickly moved to whisper in the girl’s ear – probably an injunction to temper her exuberance.
As Grimaldi tumbled onto the stage, Sophie leaned close, as if telling Emily about the fabled clown.
“Ashington is here,” she whispered. “He just slipped into the corridor. Come with me.”
“You can’t chase after him,” warned Emily. “Charles will have a fit.”
“That’s why you are coming. We will go to the lady’s retiring room. Quickly, before anyone questions us.”
Emily glanced at the others. Charles was still berating Harriet. Richard bent to Lady Hughes. Jacob had not yet returned from his errand. “All right, but if you do anything wrong…”
“Never. I only wish to bump into him in the hall.”
And to Emily’s surprise, that was exactly what happened.
“Lord Ashington! What a surprise. I didn’t know you enjoyed Astley’s.”
“Lady Sophie.” His brown eyes twinkled as he raised her hand to his lips. “How delightful to see you again. But who is your friend?”
“Miss Hughes, Richard’s sister.” She smiled. “Emily, this is Lord Ashington, heir to the Duke of Argyle.”
Ashington murmured the correct greetings.
“So what brings you to Astley’s?” asked Sophie.
“My nephews.” He grimaced.
Emily laughed. “You look just like my brother when he was plagued by a demanding little sister.”
“And mine,” added Sophie.
“Not that I mind,” Ashington was quick to note.
“Of course not,” said Sophie soothingly. “But we all know family obligations often ignore personal preference.”
“As you must know all too well,” he nodded, leaving Harriet’s name hanging unspoken in midair.
They continued talking for some time, giving Emily a chance to study his lordship. While he lacked the overt masculinity of the Beaux, beneath his urbane exterior was a man just as dependable – and just as steely. The brown eyes might seem warm and friendly, but she had no doubt he could be as hard as Richard when crossed. What she did not see was evidence of dissipation, dishonor, or disrepute. His quarrel with Charles must be private indeed.
“Are you enjoying the Season?” he asked, turning to Emily.
“Very much. London lives up to its reputation for splendor.”
“And squalor.” But he said it lightly.
“True, but what city doesn’t have that? I do not expect perfection, though I do pursue it in my own life.”
“Well said.”
Sophie glanced over her shoulder as music swelled from the ring. “We must hurry, Emily, or you will miss the pantomime. It is spectacular.”
“Of course.” She took her leave of Ashington, then watched as he and Sophie exchanged several silent messages.
“You arranged that,” hissed Emily the moment they reached the retiring room.
Sophie blushed. “Not exactly, though I did mention that we would be here tonight, and he mentioned that, by coincidence, so would he.”
“He seems quite nice.”
“He is more than nice. I have every intention of wedding him.”
“Why does Charles hate him so
?”
Her face clouded. “I don’t know.”
“Can’t you guess? He said something about dishonorable rogues.”
“He says that about half the gentlemen in town.” She checked her hair in the mirror. “They attended school together and remained friendly rivals until three years ago. I know no details, but from snippets of rumor, I suspect there was a duel. Whether they were principals or seconds or merely onlookers, I don’t know, but they must have been on opposite sides. And the result must have been serious, for both left town for a time – as did Richard, Jacob, and several others. Since no one will discuss it, I’ve no way to discover the truth.”
“Oh, lord.”
“Exactly. I refuse to let a quarrel between two stubborn fools interfere in my happiness. Ashington is everything I want in a husband, and since he is now seeking a wife, I intend to have him.”
“You likely will. There is a gleam in his eye when he looks at you.”
Sophie exhaled in relief. “So you see it, too. I was afraid I was imagining it.”
“No.” She bit her lip, but had to continue. “You can’t ignore Charles’s objections, though. If you truly want Lord Ashington, you must discover the truth of their quarrel and convince Charles to call a truce. Do you want to tear your family apart? Charles is stubborn enough to cut you if you ignore his advice.”
“True. Perhaps Lady Beatrice can help. She knows everything. In the meantime, please don’t tell Charles.”
Emily followed her back to their box, wishing she hadn’t participated in a meeting with all the overtones of an assignation. But she had given her word.
The moment she resumed her seat, Charles slid into the chair next to her.
“Where did you go?” he demanded sharply.
“To the retiring room.”
“You should have told me you were leaving.”
“Why? You were engrossed in a conversation. I took Sophie along for propriety. Should I have announced my departure to the entire theater?”
“Of course not.” His fury dwindled to irritation. “But you could have waited long enough to let one of us know you were leaving.”