by Joan Smith
“If you feel that way, I don’t think you should come,” Emma said at once. “We would not want you to be uncomfortable all evening. We quite understand, don’t we, Nick?”
“Oh, no! I shall come,” Sanichton said. Emma stared at Nick with a stricken look on her face. Sanichton turned to her and asked in a conciliating tone, “And what costume have you chosen, Lady Capehart?”
“Emma will come as Aphrodite, and I as Ares,” James announced. “We were just on our way to hire costumes when you arrived.” He glanced impatiently at his watch.
“Don’t let me detain you,” Sanichton said. He was unhappy to think of Lady Capehart being made even more desirable by a revealing gown, but he didn’t want to draw further wrath by hinting at his feelings. He could count on her and Hansard’s discretion. Aphrodite wore various disguises after all. No doubt Lady Capehart would wear a modest evening gown, with, perhaps, her hair out loose. As he had no idea who Ares was, this didn’t concern him.
“Hansard is going as a coach driver,” Emma said. “How will you come, milord?”
“I hadn’t given it any thought. I don’t attend—usually don’t attend masquerades.”
“The wig and robes of a judge suggest themselves as suitable,” James said with a sneer.
Sanichton looked interested. “There have been a few judges in my family. I shouldn’t be surprised if we have the robes in the attic.” He rose and began to take his leave. “You haven’t forgotten Lady Margaret is escorting you to her modiste’s establishment this afternoon, Lady Capehart?”
“I look forward to it,” Emma said.
After Sanichton left James said, “Bad enough he is a prude, he hasn’t even a sense of the ridiculous. Imagine not realizing I was roasting him about posing as a judge.”
“We were rather hard on Sanichton,” Emma said. “I felt wretched. I didn’t realize his cousin had been assaulted at a masquerade.”
“And the party didn’t turn him off either,” James said. “But it has weakened his determination to have you. I saw him blink when I told him you were to go as Aphrodite. Come, let us choose the most daring outfit in the shop to disgust him. Unfortunately, it will also arouse his wanton impulses. Any man who is so concerned for morality is trying to control his own wayward tendencies. I know that seeing you as Aphrodite will arouse mine. Perhaps even yours, eh, Cuz?” he added aside to Nick.
“Perhaps even mine, moribund though they be,” Nick agreed.
“Missing Mrs. Pettigrew, are you?” James asked.
“Desperately.”
Nick glanced at Emma, who was examining him curiously. She scowled. She remembered distinctly that Nick had claimed Mrs. Pettigrew was only a friend, yet surely James would know the true situation. And Nick had as well as confirmed it. She was aware of a sense of grievance that she had no right to. What was it to her if Nick had a mistress?
“Shall we go?” Nick said. “I hear the carriage.”
Emma was still enough of a tourist to enjoy the trip through town. The plethora of handsome carriages rattling along, the dandies and ladies on the strut, the shop windows offering all manner of enticement were like magnets to her. James and Nick exchanged a speaking smile as she sat with her nose glued to the window, drinking in all the wonders of London.
“I’ll take you on the strut after we hire our costumes,” James said, and seized her fingers. Nick, watching, noticed that she didn’t withdraw her hand.
Once they were in the costume shop, James became lost in imagination. The shop didn’t have an outfit designed specifically for Ares, but they had gilt helmets with magnificent red plumes, shining breastplates, swords, and all manner of ancient military accoutrements. That he could hardly dance while carrying so much metal didn’t seem to occur to him, and Nick certainly didn’t mention it.
Nick found a coachman’s outfit to fit him with no difficulty. It was a favored costume. Emma chose a white gown with a vaguely Grecian look to its draped style. James selected a diadem of glass stars for her head and a jeweled corset to wear around her waist. It pinched, but it looked well.
“Just look at the size of that waist, Hansard,” he said in awe, when the costumer cinched the corset around her. “I could span it with my two hands. And it enhances the bosoms beautifully. We must watch her closely, or your friend Sanichton’s dire foreboding might well come to pass. If only she were a blonde, she would be perfect.”
“Surely Grecian ladies are more usually dark haired,” Nick said. He had been admiring the sheen of Emma’s lovely raven hair.
“Contemporary Grecian ladies, yes, but we are speaking of goddesses of antiquity. It is Botticelli’s famous painting that has given us the notion Venus—the Roman interpretation of Aphrodite—was a blonde. Perhaps a wig ...” He strolled off in search of a long blond wig.
“What do you think?” Emma asked Nick.
“I think Sanichton will probably propose,” he said. “And I was so certain the party would be enough to disgust him.”
Emma gave him a conning smile. “It seems he is more enamored of me than you realized.”
“So it seems,” Nick replied, displaying very little interest. “We are putting ourselves to a deal of bother for nothing.”
“Not for nothing, surely. A masquerade is fun. Will you not enjoy it?”
He studied her for a long moment. “Perhaps—if you’ll save me the waltzes. We’ve been missing our waltzes, Emma.”
“I’m afraid Ares has got in before you,” she said, casting a questioning look at James, who was strutting in front of a mirror.
“Do I sense a warming of your affections in that direction?” Nick asked.
“I never know quite what to make of James, but despite all, I prefer him to your sanctimonious friend, Sanichton.”
Nick just smiled and went to help James in his selections. He suggested a set of metal shin and knee protectors that would make waltzing impossible. James strapped them on and wielded his sword.
“It is the true me,” he said, striking a pose before the mirror. “I am that sort of fellow who can be either very good or very bad, but I cannot be mediocre. I shall make a superb Ares, lover of Aphrodite. I wish Papa would let me have my portrait done in this outfit. He is such a dead bore. He wants me to wear a hunting jacket and stand beside Warboy, his latest equine acquisition. He don’t fool me! It is his hunter he wants a portrait of. I am merely the pretext. What do you think of this plume, Cuz? Does it wave gallantly when I turn my head?”
“Gallantly. But don’t you think you need a longer sword? That one is hardly long enough to kill a mouse.”
“True, but the hilt is magnificent. Still, you may be right...”
He went in search of a longer sword, which would add another impediment to dancing. Hansard returned to Emma.
“James won’t be able to dance, carrying so much metal about him,” she said.
“No, but he will look magnificent,” Nick replied blandly. “The show’s the thing, you must know.”
She looked at him wearily. “It isn’t going to be a wretched party, is it? I mean with Sanichton scowling, and James acting up, and you—”
“Me?”
“All your time and effort for naught, if Sanichton offers.”
“We shall have to see that he don’t.”
Her face firmed to determination. “Yes, I must behave rather badly, I fear. That should do it.”
Nick drew a deep sigh. “And here you were worried that it would be a wretched party.”
Chapter Sixteen
The days passed in a flurry of pleasure and excitement. Lady Margaret took Emma to her modiste that afternoon, where Emma succumbed to the temptation of a new gown and a new riding habit, the latter to be made up in the military style with epaulettes and brass buttons.
In the intimacy of this ancient feminine pursuit, Margaret and Emma became better acquainted. Margaret sensed a free-spirited girl who strained at the shackles Sanichton imposed. She thought Emma would be good for her brother,
who could be a prosy old bore if he wasn’t prodded from time to time. She gave Sanichton a hint of her feelings when she returned, and he listened eagerly.
“She is a darling, isn’t she?” he asked in a moonish way.
“Delightful,” Lady Margaret agreed, “and very well to grass. I do hope you weren’t too severe about the masquerade. Under Hansard’s auspices, you know, it will be unexceptionable. What costume will you choose?”
“We have that judge’s robe and wig in the attic. Lord James mentioned I might go as a judge.”
“Oh, Horatio! Choose something more dashing, or you’ll seem to be nothing but an old stick alongside the others. Lord James suggested it purposefully to make you look a quiz.”
That evening Lady Margaret invited Emma, Hansard, and James to attend a rout party being given by her friend Miss Almonte. The company, unfortunately, inclined to dullness.
“They’ve ransacked the pews of the Methodist church to gather this lot,” was James’s indictment. “There’s not a pretty face in the batch of them, except for Sir Hillary Dane.”
Miss Almonte had invited only the most rigidly moral of her acquaintances. Emma found Sanichton relatively easygoing in comparison; he stood up with her for the waltzes.
“I hope you don’t think me an old stick-in-the-mud about your masquerade party, Lady Capehart,” he apologized. “It was only concern for your innocence that led me into that wretched indiscretion this morning. I could see Hansard was on his high horse. Truth to tell, it was not his party I was worried about so much as Lord James. A bit of a rascal, Lord James. Let him hide his face and there’s no saying what he might get up to. Sly as well, suggesting I go as a judge. Maggie thinks he was quizzing me.”
“How will you come to the party?” she asked to avoid this subject.
“In a manner that will shock you,” he said, and laughed in a way he hadn’t laughed before, as if he were enjoying himself.
“Now don’t tease, Lord Sanichton. What is your costume?”
He gazed into her gleaming eyes. “Perhaps I shall come as Don Juan, or Romeo, or some fellow with an eye for the ladies.”
Emma looked at him with the dawn of a new interest. “You have been hiding your light under a bushel, Lord Sanichton.”
“As Maggie was saying, you’re not a deb after all, but a widow. I fear I have given you a poor notion of me with my carping.” His arms tightened, drawing her closer to him, though not close enough to cause concern in the most demanding matron. “Now don’t you think it time you stopped lording me?” he asked daringly.
“If you wish, Sanichton.”
“I didn’t mean that! My name is Horatio. I would be honored if you would call me so.”
“Horatio,” she said, thinking the stodgy name suited him.
“May I call you Emma?”
“Why not? Oh! Now I know how you will come to the party. You are going to be Horatio Nelson! He had an eye for the ladies, as we discussed the other evening.”
“Yes, an eye for his own Emma. Only one eye, and only one arm to cuddle her as well,” he said, soaring to unusual heights of recklessness. “Though I oughtn’t to make jokes about his misfortune,” he added, when Emma stared at the new personality that was peeping tentatively out from this stern moralist. “I had not planned to come as an admiral, however.”
Emma teased him some more about his costume. He daringly mentioned the similarity of their first names, Emma and Horatio, to those of that famous couple, Lord Nelson and Lady Emma Hamilton, and hinted at his own similar feelings. Emma found, to her surprise, when the waltzes were over, that she had enjoyed them. She noticed, too, that Nick had had the waltzes with Lady Margaret, who was glowing like the sun in pleasure. The two couples walked toward each other, then continued together toward the refreshment parlor.
Once there Lady Margaret was accosted by Miss Almonte, and Sanichton immediately did the proper thing by requesting her to stand up with him. He took Emma’s hand before leaving and said, “Pardon me, Emma. Duty calls.”
Hansard’s ears perked up at that casual “Emma.” When Margaret was led off by a friend, Nick served Emma a glass of wine and drew her to the side of the room for some private conversation.
“I didn’t see any sign of freezing in Sanichton when you were waltzing with him,” he said.
“More like a thaw,” Emma replied. “Really he is much more lenient in his views than I had thought. He even attempted a few jokes.”
“I notice he’s achieved a first-name basis as well. I fear the letter to your papa is imminent,” he said, lifting an eyebrow.
“I shouldn’t be at all surprised,” she said, with something akin to complacence. That letter with the list of cottages was still in her reticule, awaiting a reply. Between the gay round of activities and uncertainty as to what to write, she had not answered it. If she could say she was engaged, the matter would be solved.
Nick stared at her. “Are you suggesting that, after all my efforts to deter him, you welcome his advances?”
She sighed. “I’m not sure, Nick. But really, when you think of it, most of your efforts were to bring us together. It’s only the masquerade that was designed to turn him off, and it seems to have brought a new side of him to light, a more likable side.”
“Well this is a fine how-do-you-do!”
“Now don’t sulk,” she said, patting his fingers. “If I accept his offer—if he offers, I mean—then your job is done. You’ll be free of your troublesome neighbor. I shall have Horatio to pester with all my little problems. Isn’t it worth the bother of coming to London and having this masquerade party to be rid of me?”
“What of James?” he asked, and blushed at the folly of such a question.
“What about him? He’ll find some new actress to fall in love with.”
“Only this morning you were telling me your feelings for James had undergone a change. You were finding him more agreeable.”
“So I was.” She smiled impishly. “I’m really not at all hard to please, you see. Any gentleman will do for me.”
“Then it’s a pity we bothered coming to London,” he said grouchily.
“Oh, but I meant any gentleman who knows his way about Town. William Bounty, for instance, would not have done at all. And Derek was only after my blunt. I think Horatio likes me for myself. I shall confess all my horrid little tricks about misleading Papa before I let him make an offer, however. It wouldn’t be fair to him not to.”
“You’ve already confessed that.”
“Not all of my stunts. I’ve been staving off Papa and Aunt Hildegarde for months, you know.”
“That won’t be enough to deter him. He’ll turn you into a tragic heroine, being forced into an unwanted match.”
“They do say love is blind, but at least I shall have no secrets from him.”
“You plan to accept him, then?” Nick asked, and held his breath for her answer. He knew he should be relieved. Sanichton was an excellent parti. He had chosen him himself. Emma couldn’t be in better hands. Yet he was not pleased. Something bitter caught in his throat at the very thought of them together.
“I don’t know,” she said simply, and looked at him trustingly. “It’s true James has been behaving more sanely recently. It is very difficult making the right match. It’s especially important for a lady, you must know. She depends totally on her husband for her welfare. Is James likely to squander my estate?”
“I shouldn’t be at all surprised,” Nick said.
“Nor should I. When all is said and done, Sanichton is the better match. I shall watch him closely and see if he improves on longer acquaintance. And by the by, you are still leading Lady Margaret astray. She was glowing during the waltzes, Nick. What on earth were you saying to her?”
“We were discussing our costumes for the masquerade. She plans to come as a shepherdess. I told her she would make a charming shepherdess. Is that cause for a lady to glow?”
Emma considered it a moment before speaking. �
�That would depend on how you said it. Did you gaze into her eyes and murmur softly, or did you just glance over her shoulder and say it offhandedly?”
“I didn’t murmur at all! I believe I looked at her. It is only common courtesy.”
Emma nodded. “It would be the look that did it. I remember you used to look at me like that. To flatter John, I mean. I realize now you didn’t mean anything by it. What a little fool I was. I actually thought you were in love with me.”
Nick listened and tried to recall those early days of his acquaintance with Emma. He didn’t remember trying to flatter John by flirting with his wife. He had been impressed by Emma’s beauty. Perhaps he had let himself get a little carried away.
“Why are you looking like that?” she demanded.
“Like what?”
“Frowning, as if you don’t remember. You know perfectly well you were a wicked flirt, so long as you knew I was safely married.”
“I admit nothing of the sort!”
She gave a derisive look. “No doubt it, like everything else, is to be blamed on my naiveté. I misinterpreted your leers for flirtation.”
“I never leered at a lady in my life!”
James came sauntering up to them. “What a dead bore you are, Cuz, never leering at a lady. I have worn my eyes out with leering. I’ve just been leering at Lady Margaret. She’s looking well this evening. I do believe she has found herself a beau. Or perhaps she was trying to flirt with me.”
“What did she say?” Emma asked, interested.
“She called me a wicked boy. All I did was pinch her. There is nothing so flattering as being called wicked by an older lady.”