Marry in Haste

by Anne Gracie

  She lifted her head and said resolutely, “But he didn’t succeed then, and I won’t let it ruin my life again.” She saw Rose waving in the distance. “Come on, race you to where the girls are.” And she took off on her lovely Arab mare.

  * * *

  The gossip was spreading. When, later that day, Emm and the girls met Lady Peplowe and her daughter Penelope for tea and ices at Gunters—George had never eaten an ice before—Lady Peplowe drew her aside, saying, “I don’t know if you’ve heard, my dear, but there is a nasty tale circulating about you.” She gave Emm a clear look and added, “I don’t believe a word of it, of course. Anyone who has met you can see that—but it’s quite nasty and I thought I should warn you.”

  For a moment Emm was so surprised and touched she couldn’t say a thing.

  Lady Peplowe laid a gloved hand on Emm’s arm. “I’m sorry, I’ve shocked you. Perhaps I shouldn’t have—”

  “No, you did exactly right.” Emm smiled at the older woman. “Very few people would have had the courage to tell me to my face, and I’m very grateful—more than grateful, in fact. Especially for your belief in me. You could not know the gossip was untrue.”

  “Of course I could, don’t be silly.”

  It seemed she had found a friend. Emm blinked away incipient tears. She was becoming a veritable watering pot. She straightened her spine and set herself to explain. “They were lies, deliberately spread to discredit me and force me into— Oh, it is a long story.”

  Lady Peplowe glanced at the table where, despite the cold weather, the four girls were spooning up ice cream and nattering nonstop. “They’re happily occupied and we can be quite private. Now, my dear, tell me what happened and let us see what we can do to scotch these vicious rumors.”

  * * *

  The following day Cal, Emm and the girls returned home after their morning ride to find Aunt Agatha waiting for them. “I wish to speak to you in private,” she told Emm.

  Cal sent the girls on their way with a jerk of his head, took Emm’s hand and sat with her on the chaise longue. “What is it, Aunt Agatha?”

  She gave Emm a narrow look. “Are you sure you want Ashendon here?”

  “Quite sure,” Emm answered. “I have no secrets from my husband.” Not anymore, she thought guiltily.

  Aunt Agatha’s brows rose. “Very well, then. There is a disgraceful tale circulating, that you had a lover—multiple lovers, in fact—before you married my nephew. Is it true?”

  “It is partly true. I had a lover. Just one, long before I met Cal.”

  “Outrageous! I knew you were unworthy of my nephew, but never did I imagine you were that kind of female.”

  “I’m not!” Emm snapped. She’d had enough. She might regret Sam, might have been imprudent and reckless giving herself to him, but she would not go on being punished for it the rest of her life. Her husband had accepted it, and that was good enough for her.

  She went on the attack. “Did you never fall in love, Lady Salter? Never take a lover?”

  To her amazement the old lady flushed. “None of your business, Miss Impertinence!”

  Emm twirled her wedding ring. “Mrs. Impertinence.”

  “Lady Impertinence,” Cal interjected with a wink at Emm. Something settled inside her. She was not alone. He was here, supporting her against all comers.

  “Just as your past is your business and nobody else’s, Lady Salter, so is mine.”

  “Except when it’s your husband’s. And his family’s. And the whole wide world’s. Besides, I went to my wedding a virgin.”

  “To your first wedding, perhaps,” her nephew reminded her. “In any case, Emmaline told me about her lover before the wedding, so what does it matter?”

  If it hadn’t already done so, Emm’s heart would have melted at the gallant lie.

  “So you admit it brazenly, do you, gel? Showing no remorse, no shame, no guilt?”

  Emm shrugged. “What’s done is done. Spilt milk.” Of course she regretted it, but she wasn’t going to bare her soul to this horrid old tartar.

  “The rumors say multiple lovers, grooms, stableboys and farm boys, that you lay down in the fields and rutted whoever wanted you, like a bitch on heat.”

  “Filthy slanderous—” Cal exploded. Emm gripped his hand tightly and he calmed.

  “It’s not true,” she said coolly. “It was all a vicious campaign to force me into a marriage I didn’t want. All the stories came from him.” And for the third time in two days, Emm found herself explaining, only this time to a stiffly judgmental and hostile listener.

  When she’d finished, Lady Salter said nothing for a long time. “Most edifying,” she said at last. “The truth of the matter is neither here nor there—it is the damage it can do now that matters. You’ve been invited to the Braxtons’ party the day after tomorrow, have you not?”

  Cal confirmed it with a nod.

  “You will not attend it. Send your apologies. Take your wife back to Oxfordshire, Ashendon; keep her and the girls there until the season is about to start, give it all time to blow over. Another, newer scandal will have taken its place by then.”

  “No,” Emm said. “I’m going to the party. I won’t run away and hide. I will face down these cowardly spreaders of old muck. I know from whom the story started this time—”

  “Who?” Lady Salter demanded

  “A Mrs. Oates, née Carmichael, who had it from her cousin who lived in Bucklebury, the village I came from. I met her the other night. She’s a nasty, spiteful piece of work, and I will not be bullied into leaving. I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  The old lady made a scornful noise. “Confronting the mischief makers would only give people more reason to believe there was truth to the tales. No smoke without fire.”

  Emm gave an angry shrug. “They will believe it anyway, and if I retreat, it will certainly confirm their suspicions.”

  Lady Salter lifted her lorgnette and gave Emm a long, steady look. Emm lifted her chin and stared back, refusing to be cowed.

  “Well, then.” Lady Salter folded her lorgnette with a snap and glared at Emm. “If that’s going to be your attitude.”

  “It is.”

  The old lady gave a brisk nod. “Excellent. Couldn’t be better. Keep that up. I’ll do my part and we’ll see what we can do. Storm in a teacup. Stupid Oates woman got the wrong end of the stick. Family solidarity. Ashendon, your arm.”

  Emm blinked in shock as her husband helped his aunt rise. Had Lady Salter just said she would support Emm?

  At the door, the old woman paused and turned back. She pointed her cane at Emm. “Never apologize, never back down. Show one shred of shame or fear and the vultures will be on you in an instant. Ashendon, my carriage.”

  As the carriage steps were let down, Aunt Agatha turned to Cal. “She might be a nobody, but at least she has a spine.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  But having done whate’er she could devise

  And emptied all her Magazine of lies

  The time approached . . .

  —JOHN DRYDEN, IPHIS AND IANTHE

  “Cal, would you frank some letters for me?”

  “Letters, Rose?”

  She gave a careless shrug. “Just writing to a few old school friends, exchanging news, that sort of thing. But if you don’t want to frank them for me—” She held a slender sheaf of letters, half a dozen or more.

  “No, it’s all right, I’ll take them.” There was something about the way Rose had asked—the almost ostentatiously casual nature of the request that raised his suspicions. Was she up to something? Had the weeks of good behavior come to an end?

  He took the letters into his office and checked them. They seemed harmless enough: all addressed to females, and most of them in London—Mayfair, actually, so there was no need to put them through the postal service, let alone fran
k them, which strictly speaking was for government business. “I’ll send them off with a footman,” he told Rose, who was hovering in the doorway.

  “So they’ll arrive today? Good. Thanks, Cal.” She hurried off.

  He blinked. Regular exercise, shopping and a social life seemed to have wrought a miracle in his sisters. Long may it last.

  Speaking of government business, it was time he checked on the status of the assassin affair. He handed the letters to Burton on the way out, who promised to have them delivered immediately, and headed for Whitehall.

  Joe Gimble and his family were not Cal’s only concerns this time. He wanted to ask Radcliffe’s help in dealing with these vile rumors that were causing his wife sleepless nights. The Braxtons’ party was the following night. Radcliffe knew everyone. He was discreet and could keep confidence.

  “No news of Gimble,” Radcliffe said the moment Cal arrived. He was deep in paperwork. “One thing you might be interested in, though—your drunken sharpshooter friend is dead.”

  “Dead? How?”

  “No suspicious circumstances. Fell down drunk in a gutter the other night. It’s a toss-up whether he froze to death or drowned in a puddle. The state he was in, the fellow wasn’t long for this world anyway.”

  Cal agreed.

  Radcliffe looked up from his papers. “Something else you wanted?”

  “Yes, but it’s personal.”

  “Ah, those rumors about your wife, yes. Nasty stuff.”

  “Bloody hell, that spread fast.”

  Gil looked complacent. “Everything comes to my ears. Now, what can I do to help?”

  * * *

  Four boxes from the House of Chance had been delivered, Burton informed the Rutherford ladies when they returned from their morning ride. The boxes were upstairs in the relevant bedchambers. Each box was clearly labeled with the name of the recipient.

  With squeals of excitement the girls raced upstairs, breakfast forgotten.

  Emm gave Cal a rueful look. “We won’t be able to stop them going to the Braxtons’ party now.”

  At her party, Lady Peplowe had spoken to her friend Mrs. Braxton, who’d immediately sent a written invitation that included the three girls in Emm and Cal’s invitation. At that stage the nasty rumors about Emm hadn’t surfaced.

  Naturally the girls were excited to be invited to their first London party, but Emm had demurred, privately hoping Miss Chance wouldn’t get the girls’ gowns finished in time. She knew there would be some kind of scene at the Braxtons’, had been metaphorically girding her loins for it, and she didn’t want the girls to witness it, especially not for their first society party.

  “We’re going to have to tell them,” Cal said.

  “I know. But let’s let them enjoy their dresses first.” She wasn’t in a hurry to see hers—she was dreading the night too much—so she and Cal went into the breakfast parlor and shared a quiet, companionable meal.

  “Ahem.” Burton stood at the door and cleared his throat portentously. His face was its usual bland self, but his eyes were dancing. “May I present Lady Rose Rutherford.”

  Rose, a vision in long white gloves and a gown of soft dusky blue, glided in, her head held high as if she were about to meet royalty. Or as if she were royalty. The dress was perfect for a young lady who was not an ingenue but who was nevertheless making her first appearance in society. It was simple yet sophisticated and floated around her body like dark flame.

  “Oh, Rose, that’s—” Emm began, but Rose raised her hand, as if to say stop, her expression stern. Clearly they were to admire in silence. Rose looked at the butler and inclined her head graciously.

  “A duchess in the making,” Cal murmured in Emm’s ear. He was rewarded with a ducal frown.

  “Lady George Rutherford,” intoned Burton from the doorway.

  George paced in like a lithe young leopard, not exactly the glide that Rose had achieved, but with a charm all of its own. She looked splendid in a gown of rose-tinged bronze, the gown cut to emphasize her high bosom, upright bearing and slender legginess.

  “By George, she’s a stunner too,” Cal murmured, and Emm chuckled softly at his inadvertent pun.

  “Hush!” Rose hissed, and turned to the door.

  “And finally, I would like to present Lady Lily Rutherford,” Burton said.

  Emm took one look at Lily, framed in the doorway, and clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, my, Cal, will you just look at Lily.” She blinked away tears as Lily, proud and straight as a young duchess, glowing like a candle lit from within, glided into the room. Her dress was the softest, palest shade of peach, cut simply yet cunningly to frame her unique beauty. She looked, as Miss Chance had promised, round and feminine and utterly delicious.

  “Oh, lord, my baby sister! I’m going to be beating them off with sticks,” Cal groaned.

  Lily heard him, blushed and gave a happy little twirl. “Don’t we all look pretty, Emm? I think I love Miss Chance.”

  Emm nodded. She did too.

  “So we can go to the party after all?” Rose said. “Now that the dresses have arrived.”

  Emm sighed. “Yes, but run upstairs and change into a day gown first. There’s something I need to explain to you—warn you about actually, seeing as you’re going to the party.”

  “You mean about those horrible stories people have been spreading about you?” Rose said.

  Emm’s jaw dropped. “You knew?”

  All three girls nodded. Rose said, “Penny Peplowe told us the other day. Everybody knows.”

  ‘That’s why we were so desperate to come,” Lily added.

  Cal said, “I thought all the subtle nagging was because you wanted to go to the party.”

  “We do, of course,” George said. “At least Rose and Lily do, though I don’t think I’m going to like parties much. But you don’t imagine we’d let Emm face those bitches alone, do you?”

  Emm had a large lump in her throat. The dear, sweet, loyal girls.

  “But you’re not allowed to punch that Oates woman, George, remember—you promised,” Rose said severely.

  “Or slap her,” Lily added, “no matter how much she deserves it.”

  “All right, but I still don’t see why,” George grumbled.

  “Because we are a family now, and what one family member does affects the reputation of the others,” Lily said, echoing something that Emm had said an age ago. “If you punch that horrid woman it will reflect badly on Emm.”

  Emm’s mouth trembled. She pressed her lips together, striving for composure, unable to speak, deeply moved by their unquestioning support. And their faith in her.

  Seeing her dilemma, Cal slid an arm around her. “That’s what happens when you’re a family. We’re all going to be there tonight, even Aunt Agatha.”

  “Aunt Agatha?’ the girls chorused.

  He nodded. “Facing down the hounds of hell.”

  George corrected him. “Not the hounds, the bitches.”

  * * *

  There was a sudden hush in the Braxton ballroom when Emm and Cal entered, followed by the three girls. Their names hadn’t been announced—it was just an informal party—but the hush, followed by a buzz of conversation, showed that people knew, that either they had or hadn’t expected Emm to show up, and that now they were speculating as to what might happen.

  Cal led them to a line of seats opposite the entrance. Emm had told him she wanted to be there if and when Mrs. Oates arrived. She intended to have words with the woman.

  He seated them and then went to fetch champagne for her and the girls. Emm smoothed her skirt. Miss Chance had sent her a dress in pale jonquil silk. It was beautiful, but Emm was wound up tight as a spring and couldn’t enjoy it as she wanted.

  She sat up suddenly, spying a familiar face. “Look, isn’t that Sally Destry? Lady Maldon, I mean.” Sal
ly was looking very different from the sensitive young schoolgirl Emm remembered, very dashing and fashionable and confident-looking. “I hope she hasn’t heard what’s been said about me. I must have a word, oh, but then I might miss the guests arriving.” She hovered indecisively. It wasn’t like her.

  “And there’s Susie Morton from school as well,” Lily commented. “She married some viscount, I forget his name.”

  “Viscount Burford,” Rose said. “And see who she’s with tonight? Julia Hampton.”

  “Goodness me, what a lot of former Mallard girls there are here tonight,” Emm exclaimed, noticing several more. “I had no idea they were all in London, and what a coincidence that they’re all at the same party. Of all the nights. Oh, I almost wish we hadn’t come.”

  “An amazing coincidence,” Cal said. He recognized some of those names from certain letters recently delivered.

  Rose smiled at him. “Isn’t it just?”

  Emm stiffened. “There she is, Mrs. Oates.” She handed Cal her glass. “Right. I want this over and done with. I’ll just— Oh!”

  For as Mrs. Oates entered the room on her husband’s arm, a group of dashing and elegant young women, led by the former Sally Destry, linked arms with her and bore her gaily off to an adjoining anteroom. She went with them, flushed and laughing. Emm counted five former Mallard girls.

  Emm sat back down with a thump. “They must be friends of hers. How very disappointing. I’ll have to wait until she comes out. I don’t want to involve anyone else.” Cal handed her the champagne glass. She emptied it in one gulp.

  “There’s your aunt, Cal.”

  Aunt Agatha entered, dressed magnificently in silver and deep claret. She gave Emm and Cal a gruff nod and started to move toward a group of her cronies. Then she noticed her three nieces and stopped in midstep. The elegantly plucked brows drew together, she pulled out her lorgnette and gave each one of them a long, unnerving scrutiny. Her forehead furrowed a moment, then she turned away.

  All three girls heaved a sigh of relief. “I thought for a minute she was going to come over and yell at us for not getting our gowns from All-Tense,” Rose said.