Emily's Beau

by Allison Lane

  It sounded so very plausible. And if she didn’t find a suitor soon, he would likely find her someone desperate enough to accept a stranger. And she would be desperate enough to agree. She could not remain a spinster at Cherry Hill with Harriet lording it over Hawthorne Park next door.

  She shuddered, for she had overheard Jacob and Richard discussing country suitors only yesterday.

  “Are you going to accept Charles?” asked Sophie, shocking Emily out of her thoughts.

  “What?”

  “Charles. He’s been mooning over you for weeks. Surely you’ve noticed. I hope you accept him. I want you for a sister.”

  “You can’t be serious. He only dances with me because Richard asked him to.”

  “That was true in the beginning – just as both Richard and Jacob dance with me at every ball. But two sets every night is beyond duty. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. Mama will be delighted. She’s been concerned that he would end like Devereaux – forty-five and still swanning around like a cub.”

  Emily shook her head, trying to jar a coherent response from the chaos. Charles? Sophie had to be wrong. Two dances meant nothing. Jacob also demanded two. As did Richard on occasion. Her card wasn’t exactly bursting with partners.

  But the idea intrigued her. Might he really care? She’d never considered him as anything but Richard’s friend. Even in childhood, her feelings had focused on Jacob.

  Hope rose. At least she knew Charles. He would never mistreat her. Was this why Lady Inslip had begun taking her on morning calls?

  She opened her mouth to demand details, but snapped it shut when Sophie stood.

  “Come on. Mama is ready to leave.”

  “Where now?” murmured Emily.

  “Lady Hartford, then Lady Beatrice.” She rolled her eyes, careful to keep her face turned so only Emily could see her. “We will have to behave very properly there. I swear the woman can read minds.”

  * * * *

  Jacob slammed his library door and scowled. He was sick of Harriet’s whining and begging. If she complained one more time that Lady Hughes was mistreating her or that Emily hated her, he would ship the girl back to India. Emily would never behave the way Harriet claimed. And how many times must he explain that he could not house her himself? Her hints had turned to demands, proving that her goal was to move out of Hughes House and into his.

  It had been a serious blunder to inflict Harriet on Richard’s family. He’d also erred in expecting anyone to tell him when Harriet misbehaved. Emily was a saint who would never utter a word against anyone. Richard might hint at trouble, but he was too easygoing to carry tales. Lady Hughes paid little attention to anything beyond her couch. Lord Hughes saw less.

  So it was up to him to whip Harriet into line. Not only was she taking advantage of the Hugheses’ goodness, she was obviously trying to stir up trouble.

  “Miss Hughes refused to accompany me,” Harriet had sworn when he’d run into her outside Madame Francine’s shop. She’d clutched his arm. “I finally convinced Lady Hughes to come out, but she won’t let me buy fashionable gowns. Look at this.” She gestured to her walking dress. “I look a dowd! Lady Woburn is much better dressed.”

  “She is not a lady. She is a duchess and must be referenced as Her Grace of Woburn,” he’d snapped. “That gown is perfectly suited to your age and station, so stop complaining. You have enough clothes. I won’t pay for more.”

  She’d pouted and produced copious tears, but he’d remained adamant. He hated manipulative females.

  Now he cursed as he poured wine. He’d been unconscionably stupid, bending over backward to hold her blameless for her mother’s crimes. By doing so, he had ignored the instincts that suspected the daughter would be just as bad. He should never have introduced her to society.

  Was that why Emily was avoiding him? Not avoiding, he admitted as a sunbeam fractured in his glass. She gave him two sets every night. But she’d withdrawn somehow, becoming aloof and masking her thoughts.

  He missed the lighthearted girl of ten years ago. She had changed so much. Where was the fiery reformer whose eyes sparkled with laughter? Where was the sprite who had hung on his every word?

  Only now that it was gone did he realize how often the memory of those meetings had steadied him over the years. In some ways she’d been a closer friend than Richard or Charles. He could tell her anything, secure that she would never ridicule him.

  Unlike some of his schoolmates, Emily did not keep his misdeeds alive – which had let him put that scandalous kiss out of his mind. The good memories had calmed him in crises, influenced his stand on several issues before Parliament, and even affected where he invested his money. He supported several benevolent societies because of concerns she had shared that summer.

  But that camaraderie was over. She no longer listened while he talked, no longer offered debate that might clarify his thinking, no longer welcomed him in her company. The last ten years had hardened her in ways he couldn’t comprehend.

  He wanted to ask Richard what had happened, but he couldn’t. Such personal questions might hint at personal interest, raising hopes in the Hughes family that he could not fulfill. Besides, Richard might not know – he spent most of his time in town. Questions might send him home to demand answers, driving Emily further into melancholy.

  And now that he thought about it, Emily’s coolness had started after reaching London. She’d been animated that first day, as full of life as ever. It was Harriet’s arrival that had changed her – but not because she disliked sharing her Season, as Harriet charged. It had to be Harriet herself. And it was getting worse. Emily seemed more strained every time they met.

  He surged to his feet, pacing as he reviewed Harriet’s complaints. Dismissing the substance, he concentrated on her tone. Harriet was clearly a troublemaker. If she was disrupting Hughes House, he must move her elsewhere. It was more important to give Emily some peace. Only then could they recapture their friendship.

  * * * *

  Harriet narrowed her eyes when Lady Jersey presented Charles to Emily as a suitable partner for the waltz that evening. Jacob had made no effort to get her approved. She should be dancing in his arms instead of promenading with yet another boring boy.

  It was time to change tactics, she decided. Complaints did not faze him, but no guardian could ignore actual danger. He would have to take her home with him.

  * * * *

  Emily smiled as Charles whirled her through a complicated series of turns. Waltzing in public was an exhilarating experience, especially with a graceful dancer like Charles.

  Or like Jaco—

  She stifled the voice. It didn’t matter what Jacob was or wasn’t.

  Sophie’s claim that Charles cared had teased her all day. Would he do? She’d known him almost as long as she’d known Jacob. His lush auburn hair and brilliant emerald eyes made him handsome enough to draw covetous glances from every lady in the room – though if gossip were true, he’d bedded nearly half of them.

  She tripped.

  “Sorry,” he murmured.

  “My fault,” she countered.

  Like all the Beaux, Charles was a rake. There was no reason to expect marriage to change that. Even setting up high-priced mistresses hadn’t stopped him from seducing an endless procession of matrons – or so Richard had once claimed when he hadn’t known she was listening. Sour grapes on Richard’s part, perhaps, for he’d lost a conquest to his friend. But that made the evidence even stronger.

  She had always assumed that Jacob would remain faithful once they wed, but honesty condemned that fantasy to the rubbish heap, too. Rakes rarely changed their habits, and since society didn’t expect fidelity from any husband, Emily could hardly demand it. Wedding someone she didn’t love gave her little bargaining power.

  Another dream gone. While she might eventually come to love a husband, she was unlikely to do so before marriage. With the Season half over, gentlemen seeking wives were already culli
ng candidates. Since the only one left in her court was Charles, love was out of the question. She could only hope that Sophie was right. He flirted with everyone, so she still couldn’t believe he had intentions.

  “Did you buy that horse you wanted at Tattersall’s this afternoon?” she asked as they sidestepped to avoid a collision. He’d mentioned the horse last evening.

  “Yes, and for a good price, too. You should see him. Not only will he draw all eyes in the park, but he has the stamina to hunt. Remember that gray I got my last year at Eton?”

  “Beautiful animal.”

  He grinned. “This one’s better, though I must change his name. Bucket would insult even a broken-down cob.”

  He continued waxing poetic over his new steed, but Emily no longer listened. A turn had brought Jacob’s scowling face into view. His eyes speared hers like twin lances, radiating so much fury she nearly tripped.

  What was wrong with the man? He acted as if she’d disgraced everyone from family to crown. It couldn’t be because of Harriet. The girl had done nothing gauche that Emily knew of. Nor could it be the waltz. Charles had done everything right before leading her out.

  But she would find out all too soon. Jacob had the next set.

  Charles’s voice faded to a faint buzz for the remainder of the waltz. She only hoped her smiles and nods fit his questions.

  Ten minutes later Jacob swept her away without giving her a chance to thank Charles. He was more furious than she’d ever seen him – more even than the day Richard had tossed him into the lake, ruining his favorite boots.

  “I saw Harriet on Bond Street today,” he snapped, his scowl drawing a disapproving glance from Lady Marchgate as they passed. “She has enough gowns. I won’t pay for more.”

  “Of course.” Keeping her answers brief kept her voice steady.

  “I told her that.” His softer voice lost none of its edge. “And I told her to stay with simple styles. One more flounce or spray of flowers will turn her into a laughingstock.”

  Emily’s heart froze. He obviously blamed her for dressing Harriet like a mushroom. How could she explain that Harriet refused to listen to anyone? Even her maid’s protests brought only threats to turn the woman off. She’d actually added another rouleau with her own hands to a gown already encumbered with three.

  “She is rather headstrong,” Emily tried. “Perhaps you will convince her that she is better suited to simpler lines. I’m afraid she ignores my admonitions.”

  “She has no sense,” he complained. “How the devil can I penetrate that thick skull? Words roll off without effect. You must help me.”

  “You are her guardian,” she said carefully. “You have more authority than I can ever wield.”

  “For all the good it does,” he groused.

  The music started, separating them.

  Emily sighed in relief. She usually enjoyed listening to Jacob’s problems, but not tonight. Why the devil had he criticized his betrothed? It simply wasn’t done – unless he’d been about to blame her for Harriet’s intransigence. He clearly hadn’t believed her when she mentioned her own failure to penetrate Harriet’s thick skull.

  Stop thinking about him, she ordered herself as the pattern returned her to Jacob’s side. Concentrate on Charles. He treats you like a lady instead of a child or an oracle.

  Jacob touched her fingertips as they exchanged places, sending sparks up her arm. She turned gratefully to the next gentleman in line. By the time she returned to Jacob, she had herself under control. He was merely one of many men in this set, and of no more importance to her life.

  She would encourage Charles. If Sophie was right, she could garner an offer soon, which would keep regrets from muddling her mind every day. An offer would let her plan for marriage and the children that would soon be hers. And it would put her infatuation for Jacob firmly behind her at last.

  * * * *

  “For the last time, no!” Jacob hissed an hour later, pulling Harriet behind a statue in the hallway so they could escape detection by two dowagers climbing the stairs. “Cease dramatizing yourself. And if Richard says another word about you annoying Lady Hughes—”

  “He lies. He wants to turn you against me.” She grabbed his arm when he turned away in disgust. “It’s true. I’ve seen the way he looks at me, like I’m a dish of sweetmeats and he is starving. Just so did Colonel Wentworth look at my mother before sending me to my room. Once he destroys your faith in me—”

  His palm struck her cheek before he even realized it was moving. Her head snapped back.

  “Leave me,” he growled. “And take your filthy tongue with you. If you say another word, I will pack you off to the country so fast your head will spin.”

  White-faced, she stared, then fled.

  Jacob leaned shakily against the wall, horror weakening his knees. He’d never struck a female in his life and couldn’t understand how he’d done it this time. Even Harriet.

  His father’s violence had frightened him into vowing he’d never lash out in anger. He knew his temper was chancy, so he was careful to expend any fury in a round of boxing or a breakneck ride across the fields. But her words had beat against his ears, maligning his closest friend, hinting—

  For an instant, she’d turned into Mrs. Nichols, begging, cajoling, pleading with her latest lover for help against a husband she swore beat her. Hah! A man whose life had been devoted to service, whose gentleness sometimes interfered with his duty to the regiment, who—

  His hand pressed his eyes. Tremors attacked his legs, worse than the last time he’d endured a beating. He’d vowed to never become the tyrant Major Winters had been. But now he’d hit—

  Dear God! He was turning into his father.

  “What’s wrong, Jacob?”

  His eyes flew open to see Emily frowning at him. “Nothing.” But the shaking grew until he could no longer hide it.

  “You look terrible. Come in here before someone sees you.”

  He didn’t protest when she led him into an anteroom. Couldn’t. It required all his concentration to remain on his feet.

  She shoved him into a chair. “Should I send for wine?”

  “N-no.” Damn! Now his teeth were chattering.

  “What’s wrong, Jacob?” She squatted so she could see his face. “Do you have an ague?”

  “I-I hit her.” He hardly noticed the words. His stomach was trying to heave up everything he’d eaten in the last week.

  “Harriet? She can be exasperating at times.”

  “Yes – no – dear God! It’s happening. M-murder. Just like them.”

  “Who?”

  He couldn’t answer. Saliva flooded his mouth. Lurching to his feet, he thrust open a window and vomited onto the rosebushes below.

  Emily fought down the urge to pull his head to her breast in comfort. Whatever was wrong wasn’t illness. He seemed in shock. What could Harriet have done that could shake him so badly? Had it banished his infatuation? Not that it would change anything…

  She led him to a couch and made him lie down. Tears leaked from his eyes, shaking her to the core. He covered them with an arm, but not before she’d seen his anguish.

  “Talk to me, Jacob,” she said softly. “What happened that distresses you so?”

  For a long time he said nothing. She’d nearly given up hope before he finally spoke.

  “The violence. I-I thought I could control it, but I was wrong…” Sobs punctuated his words. “Too strong… They both killed… Should never wed. Might pass it on.”

  “Who killed?”

  “My parents. Cold-blooded killers. Both of them.” Shudders wracked his body.

  “What nonsense is this?” she demanded, pulling his arm from his eyes so he had to look at her.

  “Truth. I saw them.”

  “What did you see?” She’d long ago sensed secrets in Jacob’s heart. He never spoke of his childhood and rarely mentioned his parents. She knew that they had not gotten on and that their arguments had likely affected h
im. She knew his mother had accused his father of wanting her dead. But she’d never expected this.

  “Major the Honorable Edward Michael Winters,” he spat. “With a name like that, you would expect a ruddy saint. Damn him to hell!”

  “What happened, Jacob?” She kept her voice soft, hiding her shock at the hatred in his voice.

  “He was a martinet who abused servants and ordered excessive punishments for his troops. He enjoyed floggings. Watching them. Administering them. His excitement…” His head shook as if scattering unwanted memories. “But his brutality didn’t stop there. He killed anyone who stood in his way. The only survivor was my mother, though he tried many times to poison her.”

  “Why?”

  “So he could marry his mistress.”

  The idea was so shocking that she nearly protested. No gentleman wed his mistress. But now that she’d pierced his wall, she dared say nothing that might stop him. “Are you sure he used poison?”

  He nodded. “He first tried datura. It’s an Indian poison that drives its victim mad – the sort of madness that leads to accidents like falling down stairs, leaping under horses, suicide…”

  “But she didn’t.”

  “No.” He covered his eyes again. “Her maid was Hindi and recognized the poison. Without demonstrated madness to explain the accident he’d arranged, he had to change plans. He was furious.”

  This time when he paused, she remained silent.

  “I heard him cursing the maid’s vigilance – his man must have known his intent, for they were discussing it. He swore the next attack would work. Arsenic. Faster. More difficult to detect. Less risk of her surviving. I told Mother immediately.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Ten.”

  Too young to bear such a burden.

  “Before he could act, his brother died. He was summoned home to take up the Hawthorne title,” he said wearily. “I thought that would be the end of it, but I was wrong. He couldn’t tolerate a wife who knew of his crimes, so he planned a fresh start – a new wife to go with his new title and new estate.”

  “You can’t—”

  “I know everything.” He glared at her. “I was a sneak in those days – poking, prying, listening at doors and under windows. My punishment was overhearing his cold-blooded plans. I’d heard others before, but paid little heed, for they had nothing to do with those I cared for. But make no mistake, Em. I know exactly what he was. He tried again aboard ship. Disease had killed half the crew. One more death would not have been questioned.”