by Anne Gracie
She cut him off. “Nothing is beyond me,” she said with lofty hauteur.
“Excellent. Then I’ll leave you to get on with it. Thank you, Aunt Agatha.” He kissed her hand and made a hasty exit.
* * *
To Emm’s great relief, the dress arrived from the House of Chance in plenty of time and proved her fears to be groundless. It was stunning, and it fitted perfectly.
In the two days previous, she and the girls had embarked on an orgy of shopping. Gloves, scarves, shawls, shoes, boots, dancing slippers, habits, hats—the list was endless. And the season hadn’t even begun.
But tonight was to be Emm’s first appearance in London society, and she was understandably a little nervous.
She stood in front of the long cheval looking glass and gazed at her reflection.
“Oh, my, m’lady, you look lovely,” Milly murmured behind her. “I never seen such a beautiful gown.”
Emm hadn’t either; she had certainly never worn one. The gown was made of silver tissue that shimmered through the green gauze overdress like a wintry lake gleaming through the mist. The neckline was scooped low but was modest enough not to make her feel uncomfortable.
She felt beautiful, elegant and yet deeply feminine. She pirouetted slowly in front of the mirror. Milly had dressed her hair, piling it high at the crown and letting soft ringlets fall at the sides.
A whistle at the door made her jump. Her husband stood there, immaculate and dazzlingly handsome in formal dress. His eyes devoured her. “Lady Ashendon, you are a sight to behold. That dress . . .” He whistled again.
Emm smoothed the fabric with nervous hands. “Will it do, do you think?”
“More than do. It’s going to make me the envy of every man there.” Then he frowned and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “There’s just one thing missing.”
“What?” She whirled around and examined her reflection in the looking glass. “I can’t see anything miss— Oh.” She broke off as, from behind, he slipped a delicate gold chain around her neck. A dainty pendant hung just above the shadow between her breasts. It glittered. One large emerald surrounded by a host of tiny diamonds.
“Oh, Cal, it’s beautiful.”
“This?” He was trying to sound offhand, but she knew he was pleased with her reaction. “This is just a small thing—a part of the Ashendon emerald ensemble. It’s part of the entail and is handed down from countess to countess.” He placed a heavy box on her dressing table. “The full set is in there, for grand occasions: a proper necklace, several pairs of earrings and a bracelet. Also a tiara, but you won’t want that for an affair like this. This is a small party, so you just want something pretty and tasteful. But you might want to wear some earrings.”
She selected a pair of emerald teardrop earrings and fastened them in her ears. Emeralds. She’d never worn anything so grand in her life. Pearls were all she’d owned before, and she’d left hers behind when she’d left home.
Her husband’s eyes met hers in the mirror. “Would a kiss be permitted, Lady Ashendon, or is it hands off until tonight?” The slate-gray eyes burned with promise.
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “Later,” she whispered.
* * *
It was all going beautifully, Emm thought. If this was a “small informal party”—there was quite a crowd, and even a musical ensemble—she would hate to imagine what a big formal one was.
She’d been introduced to a host of people, all of whom had been very kind. There had been dancing, which she hadn’t expected. Her hostess, Lady Peplowe, explained that the young people had begged for it, and confided that she thought it a good idea for girls about to make their come-out to acquire a little town bronze before the season started by attending informal parties like this.
“And where are your young ladies, Lady Ashendon? I understood you were launching three this season. Three! You have my sympathy. I’ve fired off two girls—both now married, I’m glad to say—and the third and last, Penelope there”—she indicated a robust-looking redheaded girl dancing with a laughing young dandy—“will make her come-out this spring. After which I will no doubt hie me to my chaise longue and go into a decline.”
Emm laughed. “I didn’t realize the girls had been invited.” She glanced around the room. “It’s a lovely party. I’m sure they would have loved to come.”
“Men!” Lady Peplowe shook her head. “I told my husband I should have followed up his casual invitation with a proper written one, but he assured me it was all in hand and that I fuss too much. What a pity. I thought your three might like to team up with my lone chick. It’s more fun for girls if they have friends.”
Emm knew very well that Lady Peplowe’s “lone chick” had no need to have friends found for her; she obviously knew most of the young people at the party. Her hostess’s kind consideration was for Emm’s girls, who knew practically no one. She thanked her warmly and they made plans to meet for tea the following afternoon.
Emm lowered her voice. “Lady Peplowe, who is that lady in the yellow gown—the tall one with the dashing turban?” Emm had caught the young woman staring at her a number of times, but as far as she knew, she’d never seen her before in her life.
Lady Peplowe squinted across the room. “Oh, that’s the Carmichael girl—married that fellow Jeremy Oates last season. Do you know her? Would you like an introduction?”
Emm shook her head. “No, thank you. I was just curious.” The name rang no bells at all. It was very odd.
Just then a gentleman came to ask Emm for the next dance, and for the next half hour she was well occupied. After the dance finished, Emm thanked her partner and, feeling rather warm, wandered out onto the balcony. There were plenty of people there, so she felt quite comfortable.
“You’re Emmaline Westwood, aren’t you?”
She turned. It was the woman in yellow.
“I was, but I’m married now and am Lady Ashendon.”
“Yes, I’d heard that.” The woman tilted her head, watching Emm with an odd little smile. “Incredible.”
“Have we met before?” Emm asked, puzzled by the woman’s behavior.
She shook her head with a little laugh. “Oh, no, but you were pointed out to me once when I was a girl and visiting my cousin.”
“What is your cousin’s name?”
“She’s married now, you wouldn’t recognize it.” Her smile was sly as she added, “But she used to live in Bucklebury.”
Bucklebury. A sour taste flooded Emm’s mouth.
“My cousin knew all the best gossip. Some quite shocking scandals happened in the sleepy little village of Bucklebury. You’d be amazed.” Her smile was now openly malicious. “Or perhaps you wouldn’t. So nice to chat, Lady Ashendon.”
Emm didn’t say a word. From being overly warm a few minutes before, she was suddenly chilled to the bone.
Bucklebury was her home village.
She breathed in the chill night air, taking deep, slow breaths until she’d regained a semblance of composure, then returned to the party.
She felt it the minute she stepped back into the light, the attention of a small knot of young women, heads together, whispering. They turned to look at Emm, their expressions avid, almost gleeful, then they returned to their whispering.
It was starting again.
* * *
“Are you feeling unwell?” Cal asked when he saw her. “You’re very pale. Do you want to leave?”
Emm nodded. She was feeling sick, but not the way he thought. Gossip had ruined her life once, and now it was back. She’d thought she’d been able to put it behind her, move on. She’d been wrong.
She was going to have to tell him. Tonight, before someone else did.
“Take me home, please, Cal.”
In minutes they’d made their farewells to their host and hostess and were in the carriage heading home. C
al looked worried, his eyes dark and full of questions, but Emm didn’t want to talk, not here, not in the carriage. She closed her eyes and leaned against him, finding refuge in his strength and warmth and the dear, familiar smell of him.
She loved him. She’d resisted it from the first but hadn’t been able to help herself. She’d fallen, head over heels, and it was as unlike her first experience of “love” as anything could be. She knew now the difference between infatuation and love.
But of course, she couldn’t tell him. They’d made a marriage of convenience—he’d made it perfectly clear what his expectations were, and they didn’t include love. So it was not for her to burden or embarrass him with unwanted emotion.
Besides, if she told him now, and then he heard what people were saying, he’d probably think she was saying it out of desperation. That she was lying to save herself.
They arrived home and he walked her up the stairs. “Is there anything I can do? I don’t like to see you so pale. Shall I fetch your maid?”
“No. Just give me a few moments and then come in. We need to talk.”
“Talk?”
She felt another pang of guilt, remembering the unspoken promise of lovemaking after the party. Lovemaking was the last thing on her mind.
“I’ll just take this coat off.” He left her in her bedroom and went through to the dressing room. Emm stripped off her jewelry and the lovely dress, pulled out her hairpins and pulled a brush quickly through her hair, then slipped on her thickest, warmest, most unseductive flannel nightgown, wrapped her lovely cashmere wedding shawl around her—for comfort as much as warmth—climbed onto the bed and waited.
“So, what’s this about?” he said when he returned wrapped in his favorite dressing gown. “I take it you’re not actually sick.”
“No. Sit down.” She indicated the end of the bed. “It’s going to take a while.”
He sat, closer than she’d intended.
“You asked me once why my father disowned me.”
He waited, his eyes somber.
“It’s hard to explain; I didn’t even understand how it happened myself, until long afterward, when it was all too late anyway.” She took a deep breath. “But somehow, suddenly, everyone in Bucklebury—that’s the village closest to our—to Papa’s house—was talking about me behind my back, saying—” She swallowed, unable to force the hateful words out.
“Saying?”
“Saying that I was, that I—that I’d been fornicating with stableboys and grooms.” She looked at him, anguished. “This was more than two years after Sam had left the country, you understand—not that I’d ever . . .” She shook her head. “They weren’t talking about Sam. Papa had kept that very quiet. But somehow, it came out, two years later, only . . . vilely twisted and horribly exaggerated. They said—” She broke off, her voice shaking. Her whole body was shaking.
She forced it out. “They said I’d been acting the whore for anyone in breeches, all over the parish, preferring farmhands to the attentions of gentlemen.”
He made a small sound. She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t, not until she’d told him everything. “It wasn’t true, I promise you—but everyone seemed to believe it, everyone was talking about it. Someone told Papa—well, half the village seemed to have told Papa, including the vicar. But in particular our neighbor, Papa’s friend, Mr. Irwin, passed on all the dreadful stories—but they weren’t true, none of them.”
Tears were rolling down her cheeks, “None of it was true, Cal, I promise you. I never did any of those things they were—”
“Hush.” He reached forward and placed his finger over her lips. “I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me those rumors were a pack of filthy lies.”
She blinked at him through her tears. “Really? You believe me?”
“I think I know you a little by now.” His voice was gruff.
Her mouth wobbled. “Do you?” Papa didn’t seem to, even after a lifetime.
He nodded. “I know you give yourself with reckless generosity—and I’m not talking about that swine who seduced you when you were seventeen, I’m talking about agreeing to marry a man you’d met a bare handful of times—none of them particularly auspicious.”
His voice deepened. “You married me, you took on my wild girls, became their guide, their friend and their defender. You took me on and showed me how to be a brother and an uncle. And a husband.”
Her face crumpled. The tears were flowing faster now.
“You’re reckless, you’re loyal and you’re true. I couldn’t have found a better wife if I’d searched for a decade. Even if those vile rumors were true—and don’t look at me like that, I know they’re not—but even if they were, it would make no difference to me.”
He cupped her face in his hands and wiped away the tears with his thumbs. “Marry in haste, Aunt Agatha said to me, but marrying you is the best thing I’ve ever done in my life.”
“Oh, Cal . . .” Tears flooded her again, and he drew her into his arms and started kissing them away.
“Don’t worry about the rumors. We’ll fix everything.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet, but we will. We’ll face them down together, my dear. Don’t worry.” There was a little pause and then he said in quite a different tone, “Now, since you’re not feeling ill, how do I get to you through this amazingly thick and voluminous nightgown?”
She gave a tremulous laugh and showed him.
He was such a gift, this dear, kind, trusting, honorable man. Emm ached to tell him how much she loved him, but it wasn’t part of their arrangement, and though he’d made it clear he was pleased with their marriage, and with her, he’d never said anything to make her think he felt anything deeper toward her.
It was gratitude he was talking about. And satisfaction with his choice of wife. She would hate to spoil everything by spouting words he could never return.
She showed him instead.
* * *
The next morning, despite their late night, they rose early, as usual, to go riding. At that hour the few other people in the park were those who were also actually riding their horses, instead of walking them in order to be seen and admired, as people did during the fashionable afternoon hours.
It was fast becoming their family habit, as long as it wasn’t pouring with rain. As soon as they reached the park and had a good gallop in the morning mist, the three girls rode off, their groom, Kirk, a phlegmatic middle-aged Scotsman, following behind to keep an eye on them, while Emm and Cal walked their horses and talked.
“You said you didn’t understand how the gossip happened until long afterward,” Cal said, showing that it was on his mind as much as hers. “So what did happen?”
“I think it all came from Mr. Irwin, Papa’s friend and our neighbor.”
“Why do you think that?”
“He wanted to marry me. He was younger than Papa, not quite forty, but of course to me at the time that seemed quite old. He’d asked me before, and I’d refused every time.”
Cal gave her a sharp glance. “He asked more than once?”
“Oh, yes.” She gave a humorless laugh. “Easily a dozen times. But I wasn’t interested. He didn’t love me. I don’t even think he liked me, really. He just pretended he did, flattering me and protesting undying love until it became quite irritating.”
“You’re sure he didn’t love you?”
She shook her head. “No, though at the time I took him at his word and tried to be kind but firm. Afterward I realized he wanted my inheritance. I was Papa’s only child, you see, and the estate is not entailed, so I was something of an heiress.”
“So what changed? Why would he think spreading vile and untrue gossip about you would entice you to marry him?”
“I suspect he was desperate for money. As for why he spread the rumors, I think his plan was
to force me into marriage to save my reputation. It’s what he urged Papa and me to do when the scandal broke, nobly offering to save me, saying that I would be able to hold my head up in church again once we were married and under his protection.”
Cal swore under his breath.
“I refused, of course—but I expected Papa to, to . . .”
“To believe you?”
She nodded, close to tears again. “But he didn’t. Because of Sam, you see. Nobody else knew about Sam, but I think Papa must have told Mr. Irwin at some stage, and that’s what gave him the idea. And so Papa had a precedent for believing in my bad behavior.”
They walked on a little. “It was when he asked the vicar about it, and the vicar confirmed he too had heard the rumors—I think that’s what tipped the balance. In the end Papa gave me an ultimatum—marry Mr. Irwin or leave his house.”
“So you left.”
She nodded. “I don’t think Papa expected that of me at all, but I don’t take kindly to being bullied and I certainly wasn’t going to be bullied into marrying a man I disliked because of something I didn’t do.”
“And so your father disowned you.”
She nodded. “And then he died, and it was too late to mend things with him. It’s the thing I most regret, not being able to explain, to have him understand that I did nothing wrong, not since Sam.” Tears clustered on her eyelashes. She blinked them away.
“Is this Irwin fellow still around?” Cal asked in a voice that boded nothing good for the man.
“No, he married a rich widow from Manchester and went to live in the north. Strangely, he was the one who told me Papa had died and left me nothing. He was visiting Bath on his honeymoon with his new wife, and we bumped into each other in the street by accident. He had no idea I was living there, of course.”
She pondered the memory for a moment. “I think it pleased him to tell me that. He was quite vindictive in the manner of telling me, as if it served me right for not marrying him.” She shuddered. “A vile man.”
“A complete villain,” Cal said quietly. “He tried to destroy your life.”