by Joan Smith
“They have lit out for Gretna Green, depend upon it!” Lady Gertrude exclaimed in delight. “James hinted as much the day they arrived.”
“They were mounted. They would hardly head off to Scotland on horseback,” Hansard said.
“A ruse to allay our suspicions until they are well beyond reach,” Miss Foxworth pointed out. “They would hire a rig some place outside of London to throw us off the scent.”
When Hansard remembered his chat with Emma the evening before, he couldn’t believe she had eloped. Why would she? She was her own guardian. John had not placed any man in charge of her, no doubt thinking her papa more than adequate for the role. Was Emma so sly she had conducted that conversation to deflect suspicion of her scheme?
He called for his mount and pelted to Rotten Row, to discover if they had even been there at all. He arrived just as Bow Street was about to lead the pair of miscreants off to charge them with public mischief. The joyful lifting of his heart at seeing that Emma had not eloped lessened his wrath at her imminent arrest.
And when Emma turned a grateful smile on him and cried, “Hansard! Thank God you have come!” what little anger he had managed to muster dwindled to something akin to amusement.
“What seems to be the problem, Officer?” he asked.
The officer tipped his hat in recognition of a leader of the ton. “Your lordship. Lord James and his young lady have caused a public mischief by galloping in Rotten Row and upsetting the old Duchess of Dearne. Her nag bolted on her, causing Her Grace to slide to the ground.”
“It’s soft falling. She didn’t hurt herself,” James said dismissingly.
“You know perfectly well the pace is kept to a walk in Rotten Row,” Hansard scolded.
“And so I told him, your lordship,” the officer threw in.
“Emma didn’t know it,” James said. “When she struck up a canter, I had to overtake her.”
“Why didn’t you tell her before you began your ride?” Nick asked.
“I thought she knew. Everyone knows. I’m surprised you or Sanichton didn’t tell her.”
“How is Her Grace?” Nick asked the officer.
“She cut up pretty stiff, which is why I felt I ought to take Lord James into custody. If you can straighten it out with her, I’ll be glad to give up my commission on the arrest and let it pass.” He looked hopefully to see if his lordship was of a mind to provide compensation.
A golden coin was passed between them. “Lady Capehart will write an apology to Her Grace,” he said.
A much-chastened Lady Capehart followed Hansard out of the park at a strict walk.
“I’m sorry, Nick. I had no idea one could only walk. What is the point of that? There is no exercise in walking your mount.”
“The point is to see and be seen,” James told her. “I wanted to show you off to the ton. I said I would make you famous, Emma. By nightfall your name will be known to everyone.”
Emma cast a wary glance at Nick and was greatly relieved to see he was trying not to laugh. Served the demmed duchess right! The toplofty lady had snubbed a country cousin of Nick’s the Season just past. A word by her whispered in Princess Esterhazy’s ear had ruined another friend’s hope of getting into Almack’s. And worst of all, she was a Whig. Nick felt obliged to ring a peel over the pair during lunch, but they both knew his heart wasn’t in it. Immediately after lunch the note of apology was written and dispatched, along with a bouquet of flowers.
Nothing was said of the contretemps when Lady Margaret called in the afternoon to take Lady Capehart shopping. During a delightful forage at the shops, Emma purchased new kid gloves, three pairs of silk stockings in various shades unobtainable in the country, a handsome new reticule, and a shawl for Miss Foxworth. Then it was back to Berkeley Square for dinner and to prepare for the rout party.
James had no intention of missing this do. He had rigged himself out in the height of fashion in a cinnamon jacket that well suited his complexion. The tumble of lace at his throat held a brown diamond the same shade as his eyes. His bow, when Emma came downstairs, was a model of exquisite grace.
He lifted Emma’s fingers to his lips and exclaimed, “You put Aphrodite herself to the blush, Emma.”
Emma thought she looked well in a gown of cream-colored Italian crape, gathered up around the hem with silk rosebuds. Other buds were tucked in among her raven curls.
“This is my London debut,” she said. “I must look my best.”
“Your worst would be better than any other lady there,” he said gallantly.
But for all James’s airs and graces and flattery, Emma found herself preferring Hansard’s style. His modest jacket of dark green velvet clung to a set of broad shoulders. An equally modest emerald gleamed in his cravat. No fall of lace was considered necessary for a simple rout party.
“You look very nice, Emma,” he said. His smile was the better compliment. A glow of pleasure lit his dark eyes.
As they drove to Sanichton’s mansion, he mentioned some of the guests who would be there to meet her. “Tip of the ton,” he said. “I tremble to mention it, but er—country manners won’t do here. You and I are accustomed to speaking our minds. As you are especially interested in being at home in both societies, I shall mention only that discretion is the better choice amongst new acquaintances.”
“I shall try not to disgrace you, Nick. I appreciate all the trouble you’ve taken on my behalf.”
James emitted an occasional “Bah!” to show his disgust with the conversation.
Sanichton’s mansion on Manchester Square was as grand as Nick had promised—and as imposing and lacking in welcome as a government building. Emma caught Nick’s eye studying her as he pointed it out.
“Very impressive,” she said, but there was no admiration in her voice.
James, on the qui vive for treachery, declared, “It’s only brick and stones and wood. True love is happy in a hut.”
“Only until the snow flies,” Emma said.
Their host welcomed them into a vast hallway done in carved oak and brown marble. Emma wondered why it was so gloomy for there was no lack of lamps. He introduced Emma with a very proprietary air to the other guests who had come before them. The guests were all from the cream of Society. There was hardly one amongst them who lacked a title. There was even a duke, fortunately not the husband of the Duchess of Dearne. Emma was aware of watchful eyes and raised eyebrows as Sanichton’s friends examined her.
She found her tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth, not knowing what to say, but Sanichton filled any embarrassing pauses until she recovered her social feet. Once she discovered it was not herself these people were interested in but the estate her late husband had left her, she could relax. They were suitably impressed with Whitehern, and if she had been a hurly-burly girl, they would have found no objection to her.
James was indignant when he discovered that Sanichton had got in first for the waltzes. “In that case, you shall have the first set with me, Emma,” he declared, in such an aggrieved tone that she was not of a mind to dispute it.
He was very poor company as he whined and complained like a boy throughout the cotillion. “I took it for granted the waltzes were mine,” he said. “I hadn’t thought it necessary to make application for them like a stranger, after all we have been to each other.”
“We’ve only known each other a week, James. There is no understanding between us.”
“Sanichton has got at you with his title and gold. I’m disappointed in you, Emma.”
“Yet you came to Whitehern to court me because of my gold.”
“That was different. I’m only a younger son.”
“Isn’t it time you grew up?” she suggested.
“They’ve ruined you. You’re no longer the free spirit I fell in love with. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised to see you donning a court gown and making your curtsy come spring.”
“A fate worse than death.”
“If only you meant it!” he said wi
th a kindling eye.
The waltzes with Sanichton were more enjoyable, yet they lacked that carefree spirit of her waltzes with James, or even Nick. He kept time to the music, he didn’t step on her toes, but the dance never took flight.
“You have charmed the cream of Society, Lady Capehart,” he complimented.
“I called the duke ‘milord,’ “ she confessed. “He sounded very haughty when he told me a duke is called ‘Your Grace.’ Such an odd name for that graceless ogre. He looks like a gargoyle.”
“The title is a compliment to his position in Society, not his physical appearance. He was more favorably impressed with your appearance. His Grace noticed a physical resemblance to Lady Hamilton. Only a physical resemblance, of course. She is counted a great beauty, you must know. We shan’t mention her character in the same breath as yours. Imprisoned for debt, due to her own extravagance. Wretched woman! Hansard has assured me of your sterling character.”
Emma was fully alive to the subtle condescension in his compliments. She had heard Nick protest at the harsh treatment accorded to Lady Hamilton. She could hardly come to cuffs with her host, however, so she smiled dutifully.
“And is His Grace a connoisseur of beauty?” she asked playfully, for there were rumors in that direction.
“Yes, by Jove! He has the prettiest—but I ought not to speak of that.”
“I’m a widow, milord, not a deb. You may speak quite openly to me about worldly matters.”
“Well, entre nous,” he said uncertainly, “no secret after all, His Grace likes the ladies. But he is discreet, mind. He would never embarrass the duchess. A fine gentleman.”
It was a relief when the waltzes were finished. Emma felt her face becoming tired from smiling when she wanted to raise her voice and complain. Had it not been for her duty to Nick, she would have spoken more openly to her host.
A smile of genuine pleasure lit her face when she saw Nick coming forward to rescue her. He had watched the progress of Emma’s waltz with some trepidation. He knew her well enough to know that her tight smile often presaged some outrageous speech.
“Shall I take you outside for a good scream?” he asked, taking her elbow and leading her out of the ballroom.
“Was I that obvious?” she asked, laughing.
“I recognize the signs of frustration. What happened?”
She gave him a quick resume of her disgrace with the duke and conversation with Sanichton. “I fear your friend is a tad high in the instep for me,” she said.
“I expect you’re right, but he’s a good fellow, you know. Just the usual prejudices of his class.”
“But you don’t despise Lady Hamilton, and you’re of the same class.”
“She was younger and less experienced in worldly matters than Admiral Nelson. My own feeling is that he ought to have known better. Actually, it’s usually the ladies who despise Lady Hamilton as a wrecker of marriage. Sanichton was probably trying to please you by denigrating her.”
“I always prefer honesty in my dealings. If anything is to come of this match you are hatching, I shall have to give Sanichton a clearer view of how I feel about things.”
Hansard looked at her in alarm. “Then you are serious about him?”
“He’s handsome, rich, titled, and of good character. One cannot dismiss such a match out of hand.”
“Quite,” Nick said uncertainly. He had handpicked Sanichton and was hard put to now find a fault in him. “You would certainly want him to know your prejudices don’t match his,” he added. “What, exactly, did you have in mind?”
“His hypocrisy. He complains of Lady Hamilton for carrying on when she was married. Well, it was wrong of her, yet he praises the duke for his discretion in a similar matter. Surely the more important point is not the lack of discretion, but the wrongdoing in the first place.”
“Society feels differently, Emma,” Nick said simply. “The duke’s marriage was arranged by his papa. Where there’s marriage without love, there will be love without marriage.”
“I’m familiar with that cynical bit of French philosophy,” she said. “I disagree with it, as I disagree with the French on many other matters, like executing their monarchs and eating frog legs. People oughtn’t to be forced into marriage if they’re not in love, but if they do marry, then they should obey the vows they take before God.”
Nick wondered if her papa had pressured her into marrying John. He said, “I fancy you and Sanichton would agree about the French at least. He is a firm royalist.”
She listened with interest. “Actually, it might be interesting to sound him out on that other matter on which we disagree. I rather enjoy a good argument. But I don’t have to tell you that. You have been my sparring partner long enough to know my horrid ways.”
After a half hour of Lady Margaret’s cloyingly agreeable company, Nick was ready for some friendly squabbling.
“You seem to have put our James in a pelter as well,” he mentioned, handing her a glass of wine.
“I fear he is turning against me. He shook his head sadly and prophesied my ruin if I don’t watch my step. He said I would end up making my curtsy at St. James’s.”
“Make sure he’s not along, if you do. Queen Charlotte has taken him in dislike since he helped himself to a pinch of her snuff. One does not dip into the royal snuffbox without invitation. I haven’t seen him since the first dance, by the by. Where is he?”
“Haring off after actresses, I expect. He looked as if he’d been at it all night when he turned up for breakfast this morning. At least he makes no bones about it. He admits he’s a rakehell.”
Again Hansard’s lips moved. “I recommend you limit such country talk to the country, Emma.”
She blinked in surprise. “I thought I was being uncommonly discreet! I was careful not to say what he had been at all night. At least there would be no danger of Sanichton cutting up like that.” She peered up at Nick. “Would there? He is not a secret lecher, is he?”
“No, no,” Hansard said at once. “I wouldn’t have introduced you to such a character.”
She gave him a sly look. “Unless he happened to be a cousin and in need of a fortune.”
“I had no idea James was such a wretch. We were discussing Sanichton. He is aboveboard in that respect.”
Emma listened and thought for a moment before speaking. “He has asked me out to drive tomorrow. I shall give him some notion of my true feelings at that time. If he is too weak-stomached for my views, then I shall drop him. Or more likely he will drop me,” she added.
“How do you plan to shock him?” Nick asked.
“I expect a word against the duke should do it. Just how lascivious is His Grace?”
Nick didn’t hesitate a moment before giving her details. “He was lascivious to the extent of a five-thousand-pound set of diamonds for Lizzie Malton before giving her her congé and taking up with her younger sister. Lizzie was getting too old for him—she was nineteen.”
“But he’s ancient! He must be at least fifty.”
“He prefers younger ladies.”
“And Lord Sanichton called him a fine gentleman!”
“Well, the duke always votes the Tory ticket.”
Nick felt a warm glow when he saw that wicked gleam in Emma’s eyes. He felt the affair with Sanichton was about to come to a halt. James was pretty well past history. His conscience was easy on the matter of Lord Ravencroft. He had discovered that Ravencroft had left London.
“We haven’t had one dance, Emma,” he said. “Shall we?”
“Yes, it will be nice to stand up with someone I can talk to without walking on eggs,” she said, setting aside her glass and taking his arm.
Chapter Fourteen
That morning Emma received a letter from her papa, forwarded by Derek from Whitehern. She read it with a sinking heart. He suggested that she hire a cottage by the sea for the summer. This would serve the double purpose of aiding Hildegarde’s health, while removing Emma from the hammer blows o
n the roof of her home. As an extra bonus, he invited himself along for the sojourn. He enclosed half a dozen advertisements for cottages, each numbered in order of preference. Emma read the letter twice, then put it in her reticule, where it skulked like an ogre, threatening her happiness.
As luck would have it, Lord James was at home that morning when Sanichton came to call. James had decided that the proper treatment to bring Emma to heel was a frosty silence. That his left eye was swollen and discolored detracted somewhat from his dignity. No one asked how he had acquired the black eye. It was assumed that the actress’s husband had shown up inopportunely the night before.
“Ah, Sanichton,” James said, smiling grimly. “Taking Emma to look at more churches? I recommend Lambeth Palace. Perhaps the archbishop of Canterbury will invite you to tea.”
“Actually, we’ll be driving through Hyde Park,” Sanichton replied.
James’s young face colored alarmingly. “But that is our place, Emma!” he exclaimed. Then he leapt to his feet and left the room, muttering dire words of betrayal and treachery. From his limping gait, Emma assumed the blows last night had fallen on more than his face.
She was embarrassed, but Hansard just smiled vaguely. “James is always excitable as quarter day approaches,” he said. “Enjoy your drive, folks.”
After seeing them off, Hansard went to his study and tried not to think of Emma, driving out with Sanichton. What if Sanichton proved to have a sense of humor? What if he took Emma’s scolding about hypocrisy in good form? It might be all that was needed to nudge her into accepting him. After half an hour Hansard began glancing at his watch. At the end of one hour he was at the saloon window, watching out for their return. After ninety minutes he convinced himself Sanichton had overturned his rig and called for his own carriage to go after them.
Before it arrived Emma came storming into the saloon, wearing a heavy scowl. Nick’s heart lifted. He swallowed a grin and asked, “How did it go?”