by Aileen Fish
She managed to engage him in a deadly dull discussion of the unseasonably cold weather they’d been having and likely state of the roads.
He clearly knew what she was about but gentleman that he was, he followed her lead. Until Mr. Boone all but fell off his seat angling for a better view.
“Too bad Mr. Boone isn’t in need of a fortune,” she whispered to Nicholas, forgetting entirely her earlier vow to keep all conversation to the mundane.
“If things were reversed, and she was in need of his fortune, I’ve no doubt they’d be a match by morning,” Nicholas agreed.
“I think perhaps that arrangement leads to a happier match than the reverse,” she offered.
“Oh, this should be good,” he replied with a low chuckle.
“Women, as a whole, are raised to depend on a man for financial security,” she explained in her best schoolmarm voice. “It is nothing to a lady to ask her father or brother or other male guardian for funds for this or that. And gentlemen, leastwise those who are not tightfisted, enjoy lavishing their female dependents with this or that. And a smart lady knows how to wheedle what she needs from even a stingy man, one way or another.”
“One would assume she would employ different tactics for her husband than her father,” Lady Bernice piped in, leaning forward to look past Nicholas and meet Emily’s startled gaze.
“Never having had a husband, I cannot speak to that with any expertise, but I am quite certain you are right,” Emily agreed.
“How do you cajole your father into giving you additional funds when you’ve spent your pin money before the quarter is up?” Nicholas asked.
“I don’t spend my pin money. I’ve saved every penny for years. Anything I want I charge to Da.”
“Then what’s the point of your receiving an allowance?” he asked in surprise.
Emily shrugged one shoulder. “I’m sure I don’t know. Some foolish notion men got into their heads. But if I do need to ask Da for funds I just do it in such a way that he thinks it was his idea.”
“I’ll tell you how you could entice the last shilling from my pockets, if I was your husband that is,” he offered softly.
“Oh, I know just how I would go about it,” she interrupted knowingly.
He waited expectantly for her to continue but she turned to her plate, carefully cutting her carrots into precise little bite sized morsels.
“You must enlighten us, Miss Calvert,” Lady Bernice prompted, a friendly smile upon her perfect little lips.
“It wouldn’t be proper,” she answered, peeping at Nicholas through her lashes.
“The telling or the enticing?” he asked with a wide grin.
“Well, now, Mr. Avery,” she drawled. “That’s a bit of a trick question. If the enticing is improper, wouldn’t it follow that the telling would be likewise?”
Nicholas leaned in close to whisper, “Would it include throwing off your gowns and running about bare—”
Emily’s elbow shot out, connecting with his midsection hard enough to surprise a soft, “oof” from him.
“You are a very wicked man, Nicholas Avery,” Emily said, biting her lower lip not to laugh.
“You like me wicked, Emily Calvert.”
“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t,” she replied with a negligent way of her hand.
“Oh, you do.”
“And aren’t you sure of yourself.”
“I love it when you do that,” he said, his voice husky.
“What?” she asked.
“That slow drawl. Not quite Irish brogue, it’s softer, sweeter and altogether too sultry.”
“Oh,” she breathed.
“Dangerous.”
Emily laughed softly, oddly embarrassed and pleased. No man had ever found her dangerous. She rather liked it.
She cleared her throat delicately, wondering how they’d gotten on such an intimate discussion. “As I was saying, before you sent this conversation into the realm of the improper, I’m not certain a lady of good fortune and a fortune-hunting gentleman are likely to find contentment together.”
“Why’s that?” he asked, the teasing light in his eyes disappearing.
“Firstly, she turns over her fortune to her husband, who can share or withhold it as he pleases. Secondly, if he is a proud gentleman surely he must feel a certain amount of indignity in the knowledge that her funds have allowed him to continue in the lifestyle to which he is accustomed.”
“But you do not allow for the gentleman to be properly gratified by the gift his bride has bestowed upon him,” Lady Bernice said and it was Emily’s turn to lean forward to look upon the other lady. Nicholas dutifully leaned back in his chair so that the ladies need not crane their necks around his bulk.
“If the lady in question were smart,” Lady Bernice continued, a merry twinkle in her pale green eyes, “she would be cautious not to lord her gift over her husband, but instead to pander to his ego, to praise him for handling her funds so carefully, for growing her measly little fortune into a tidy sum. She might also be sure to remind him that those qualities he possesses that led her to choose him, the goods he brought to market, so to speak, are of value. That it was a fair trade.”
“Pander?” Nicholas asked with a surprised laugh.
“Fair trade?” Emily asked skeptically.
“Of course,” Lady Bernice replied airily. “Men, especially gentlemen of the ton, are simple creatures really. Boys, if you will. Little boys with great big egos. As such they must be assured that the stick they carry is larger than those of other boys, that their toys are better, newer, costlier, that their pony is coveted by all and sundry but will ride like the wind only for him.”
Emily found herself smiling at the other lady, at her wit and irreverent words. This was a lady deserving of Nicholas Avery. The thought jumped into her mind unbidden.
“Are you by any chance a collector of useless knowledge?” Emily asked.
“I beg your pardon?” Lady Bernice replied, lifting one perfectly arched brow.
Nicholas roared with laughter, causing heads to turn up and down the long table.
“What’s so funny down there?” Charles Calvert boomed from the end of the table where he sat to his sister’s right, a terrible breach of etiquette. Beside him sat a pretty lady with strawberry-blonde hair and smiling blue eyes, Lady Bernice Sutton’s mother, the Duchess of Martindale, presumably.
“The ladies are educating me on the finer points of marriage to an heiress,” Nicholas replied boldly.
“Never mind the marriage, you need an education in getting one to the altar first,” Charles boomed.
“He’s got two pretty ladies hanging on his every word,” Viscount Talbot exclaimed from his seat on Aunt Margaret’s left. “I’d say my son is doing just fine.”
Emily looked away from the two jovial men at the end of the table to find Veronica Ogilvie glaring at her around Mr. Boone while the remaining guests laughed good-naturedly at the fathers’ antics.
When the ladies retired to the front parlor to while away the cold day at cards and music, Emily approached Lady Bernice Sutton where she stood with Adelaide Sanderson.
“Oh, Miss Calvert,” Lady Bernice said welcomingly. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”
“You’ve not met before?” Adelaide asked in surprise.
“I was not in London for the Season,” Lady Bernice reminded her with a soft smile.
“Oh, but of course,” Adelaide agreed. “Miss Calvert this is Lady Bernice, my dearest friend and neighbor.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Lady Bernice,” Emily replied with what she hoped was a serene smile.
“Oh, but the pleasure is entirely mine, and you simply must call me Bernice,” the lady replied warmly. “From what Addie has been telling me we are sure to be friends.”
“Oh?” Emily asked in alarm. What tales could Adelaide Sanderson have been sharing?
“Any lady who can take on Ronnie O and come away unscathed is a lady I
would like to call my friend.”
“Ronnie... Miss Ogilvie you mean?” Emily asked with a laugh.
“She attended Miss Smythe’s Academy for Young Ladies with us,” Adelaide explained. “We spent four years unable to escape her razor tongue.”
“Lucinda Davis, as well?” Emily asked.
“Lucy invariably got the brunt of Ronnie’s malice,” Bernice replied. “She just would not stand up for herself, poor girl.”
“I had no idea girls’ schools were so difficult.”
“You were not sent off to perfect your accomplishments then?” Bernice asked.
“No, I studied with a governess at home.”
“Lucky you,” Bernice murmured. “What did you mean when you asked if I collected useless knowledge?”
“I find myself chock full of knowledge that never seems to have a use,” Emily replied with an embarrassed little laugh.
“I don’t know about that,” Adelaide said. “It would seem to me you find uses for all that knowledge at precisely the right time.”
“Miss Calvert is frightfully well-learned,” Lucinda added as she joined them, Veronica trailing behind her.
“Frightfully,” Veronica purred, her eyes shooting daggers at the circle of young ladies.
“Hello, Miss O,” Bernice greeted her with a wide smile. “How odd to find you here. I thought you’d finally brought Lord Almsey up to scratch. Oh, of course, I’d forgotten Miss Lumberton whisked the poor man right out of your arms.”
“She’s Lady Almsey now,” Lucinda added helpfully.
“So she is,” Bernice replied.
“Lord Almsey is a bore,” Veronica announced with a half-smile that might be mistaken for a sneer. “I’m afraid his chubby little wife will find herself quite lonely in her bed, what with Almsey running around all night with His Grace. Oh, so sorry, I’d quite forgotten the Duke of Martindale is your brother. How sad he’ll likely never have an heir to carry on the name.”
Emily sucked in a shocked breath as the implication of Veronica’s words registered.
“Keep telling yourself that,” Bernice cooed. “But one would surely think that after…what is it now? Three gentlemen who have rejected your advances? Surely they can’t all be in pursuit of male company? Why, to hear you tell it, the ton is just infested with jolly gentlemen.”
“And to what do we owe your sudden appearance in our midst?” Veronica asked icily. “Have you finally admitted to yourself what the rest of us have always known?”
Bernice laughed softly, but made no reply.
Veronica turned her cold gaze on Emily. “Did you know, Miss Calvert, that Bernice has been panting after a man for four long years and he still refuses to marry her? No, how could you, being from the wilds of America. She’s become quite the fodder for gossip. If you think The Sleeping Wraith is a terrible moniker with which to live, you don’t want to know what the papers have named Lady Bernice.”
“No, I don’t,” Emily replied in horror. These were the proper English ladies her aunt wished she would emulate? These waspish women were Nicholas’ choices? Good God, she’d best marry the man, if for no other reason than to save him from their vicious tongues.
“The Untouchable,” Bernice supplied. “They call me The Untouchable. As in Lord Jamison wouldn’t touch me with a barge pole and neither will any other gentleman as I’ve sullied my good name chasing after a man who is not only beneath me but unwilling to wed me.”
There was unmistakable pain in the lady’s voice, but she held her head up, held a soft smile upon her lips, even as her eyes shone with unshed tears.
“But that’s dreadful,” Emily whispered.
“The name or the unfortunate state of her marriage prospects?” Veronica asked.
“Both, I suppose,” Emily replied.
“Before you get to feeling teary eyed for Bernice, you might remember why she is here,” Veronica said, the first authentic smile Emily had yet to see on her face. “She’s joined the race for the viscount’s son. And what a wonderfully entertaining spectacle this dull house party has suddenly become. I dare say Bernice will give you a run for your money.”
“Oh, no,” Emily replied with a strangled laugh. “I’ve no desire to cast my lot in with the rest of you. I believe this is one race I’ll watch from the boxes.”
“Oh, so you intend to keep to your current strategy,” Veronica replied with an appreciative nod. “I must admit that I wish I’d thought to play the part of the reluctant lady. Mr. Avery is simply eating it up.”
“I’m not joining the race either,” Adelaide replied.
“No, you’ve set your sights elsewhere,” Veronica agreed.
“I have also decided to forego the prize,” Lucinda exclaimed, laughing happily. “Mr. Avery would make an uncomfortable husband, I think. I’ve decided to try the marriage mart again next season. Fifth time is the charm, I’ve heard.”
“So, that leaves you and me,” Veronica said to Bernice, her voice silky. “To the victor go the spoils.”
Four pairs of eyes watched Veronica Ogilvie wander away to join Lady Margaret and Viscount Talbot who stood looking through the music on the grand piano in the corner.
“Have you really no wish to marry Nicholas?” Bernice asked.
“I’ll be going home in the spring.” Emily wondered if the other lady heard the doubt in her voice.
“What a shame,” Bernice replied thoughtfully. “I hadn’t actually intended to try to attach Nicholas to me, but I simply cannot allow that she-cat to get her claws into him.”
“Because you cannot stand for her to beat you?” Emily asked. “Or to save Nicholas?”
“Oh, posh,” she replied with a throaty laugh. “Nicholas is a big boy, he can take care of himself. No, I would rather eat dirt than allow Veronica Ogilvie to best me.”
“Oh, dear,” Lucinda murmured.
“Now, Bernice,” Adelaide said, laying a cautionary hand upon the lady’s arm. “You are not going to allow yourself to become betrothed to Mr. Avery simply to best Ronnie.”
“No?” she asked, and up went that dark brow again. “Just watch me.”
Chapter Seventeen
Nick was developing a crick in his neck from constantly turning his head right and left. Margaret had placed him between Bernice and Emily at every meal and he was damned tired of dividing his attentions between the former who seemed to have developed a sudden interest in him and the latter who pretended no interest at all.
Bernice was turning out to be just one more complication in a long line of complications, corralling him as soon as he entered a room and remaining by his side until he finally found some polite way to extricate himself to go in search of his intended bride.
Nick invariably found Emily sitting with Lucinda Davis or Adelaide Sanderson in some corner laughing and talking about God knows what. She would look up at him with the strangest expression in her eyes. He wasn’t certain if it was surprise that he’d left the apparently enamored Bernice to seek her company or confusion as to why.
He thought he’d been successful at reminding Emily that she was his first choice, his only choice for a bride. He’d risen early every morning to ride with her. He’d taken advantage of every opportunity that presented itself, and invented some damn creative ones, to pull her into empty rooms, dark corners, and shady woods to kiss her, to whisper of his desire, to show her how she tempted him.
He imagined it was only going to get worse in the coming days. It wasn’t enough that he had Bernice hovering around him so that he could barely take a step without bumping into her. It wasn’t enough that Emily continued to insist that he must cease kissing her and concentrate on finding a wife. It wasn’t enough that he’d found Veronica loitering alone in the hall outside his bedroom door this morning.
No, if all of that wasn’t enough to make Nick howl in frustration, two more ladies were due to arrive today, two more ladies with healthy inheritances and a desire to land a viscount’s son.
Nick ma
rched into Lady Margaret’s study without knocking to find her sitting on his father’s lap in a chair by the fire.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to knock?” Margaret asked with a laugh.
“My mother taught me any number of things which your mother must have neglected to teach you,” Nick replied viciously.
“Nicholas Edward!” his father roared.
“Such as?” Lady Margaret demanded as she tried to rise to her feet. His father held her on his lap with his muscular arms wrapped around her waist.
“Ah, hell, I’m sorry,” Nick replied with a frustrated groan as he fell into the matching chair beside them.
“Is my niece still claiming she won’t marry you?” Margaret asked, settling against her lover’s chest once more. “Did you think Emily would just give over like that?” She snapped her fingers, the sound inordinately loud.
“No,” he admitted. “But I’m exhausted. Bernice is draped about me from morning till night. Was that your idea? Do you think to drive Emily into my arms by introducing a rival?”
“As much as I’d like to lay claim to that sort of strategic planning,” Margaret replied wistfully, “I am but a simple woman.”
Nick laughed in spite of his weary frustration.
“And I wasn’t aware Emily needed to be driven into your arms,” Margaret continued with a wink. “It seems to me that every time you manage to elude Lady Bernice I see you pulling my niece into empty chambers, behind hedges and didn’t I see the two of you disappear into the pantry only this morning?”
Nick rubbed a hand over his face, dug his fingers into his eye sockets. “And still she insists she will be returning home in the spring.”
“Well, if Emily won’t have you…” his father’s words were punctuated with a grunt as Margaret’s elbow connected with his solar plexus. “Damn it, woman, you’re like to kill a man with your bony elbow!”
“Oh, she’ll have me,” Nick growled. “She just hasn’t realized it yet.”
“What a muddle,” Margaret murmured and Nick groaned at the thoughtful look in her eyes. “We may have to alter our strategy, add a bit of frosting to the cake.”