"You are quite right, my lady. I have in fact determined to forsake my evil ways. I intend to become a pattern card of respectability."
"How very tiresome," she said, and then sighed in exaggerated boredom. "I always find a rogue far more entertaining."
Emily suppressed a giggle at her friend's outrageousness. Lady Mary was often bold to a fault, still relishing her independence from her late father's strict household. Emily could not help but envy such spirit, and often longed for the freedom to give rein to the natural liveliness of her own nature. She recognized, though, that such forward behavior would never be tolerated in a woman in service.
Emily was amused but not surprised at her friend's easy banter with the earl. Lady Mary especially enjoyed teasing gentlemen, particularly those considered "dangerous," the ones gently bred females were warned against. Lady Mary believed that she held no physical attractions for them and was therefore completely at ease in their company. Emily suspected, however, that more than a few gentlemen were nevertheless charmed by Lady Mary's unaffected manners.
"I shall try to retain something of my former self beneath the new veneer of propriety, my lady," Robert said. He bent over and put his face close to Lady Mary's ear. "But only to be revealed to my closest friends," he added in a low, soft voice.
"Then I shall hope to become your friend, my lord," she replied, totally unabashed by the earl's seductive charm.
"It is my hope as well, Lady Mary," he said, impressed by her composure. He considered himself a master in the art of flirtation and was unused to having his well-practiced charms show no effect. Rather than being disappointed, he instead found that his initial estimation of Lady Mary's character had risen considerably.
Perhaps he should have come to Bath more often. In this short visit he had already met two out-of-the-ordinary young women who more than piqued his interest. He experienced a brief moment of frustration that his betrothal was so quickly affecting his normal way of life, before he returned his attention to the ladies.
"I regret," he said, "that I must now ask Miss Townsend's indulgence, as my grandmother is ready to begin the walk back to Laura Place."
Emily turned at once and bid farewell to her friend. She and Robert walked away after exchanging final pleasantries with Lady Mary. "I liked your friend. Miss Townsend," Robert said as he steered them through the crowded room toward the dowager. "She is delightfully plain spoken."
"Yes," Emily said, smiling, "Lady Mary does speak her mind. I find her artless manners most refreshing. I am glad you like her."
They soon joined the dowager, who was anxious to depart. Before they had reached the door, Sir Percy had dashed up to make his farewells. As they began their walk past the Abbey and the Orange Grove toward the Pulteney Bridge, Emily blushed in silence as Lord Bradleigh and the dowager teased her over the enthusiastic attentions of Sir Percy.
* * *
The dowager's normal evening entertainments had come almost to a halt while the household readied itself for the move to London. With the exception of one Wednesday evening concert in the Upper Rooms, most evenings found the dowager, her grandson, and Emily staying at home and dining without company. Although the dowager preferred a larger group to dine, providing more diverse conversation, she did not wish to put her staff to the additional trouble of entertaining guests during this busy time. She was also well aware that these intimate evenings provided the perfect opportunity for Robert and Emily to become better acquainted.
Emily had learned much of Lord Bradleigh's history and character by listening as he matched wits and anecdotes with his grandmother. She noted that the only subjects he seemed unwilling to discuss involved his betrothal or his betrothed. She did, however, begin to suspect that he was less of a libertine than he let on. She had even picked up a few hints that much of his unsavory reputation was deliberately manufactured by the earl himself in an attempt to make himself an unsuitable candidate for the Marriage Mart. He had laughingly admitted to having allowed several lurid but wholly untrue stories of his various debaucheries to spread through the grapevine of the ton. Emily began to see that by denying nothing, the earl had implicitly encouraged belief in the stories, thereby further enhancing his reputation as a gamester, a womanizer, and a general rakehell.
As he tended to be candid with his grandmother, Emily could not help but notice that he avoided denying the story of Lady Theale in the vaults of St. Paul's. Or was it Westminster Abbey?
* * *
Robert had discovered Miss Townsend's company to be as delightful as his grandmother's. He was pleased to note that she was not shy of displaying her intelligence or erudition, and he enjoyed frequent lively discussions with her on issues of politics or literature. Their literary tastes differed widely—he preferred the classics, while she was more fond of the modern poets— but they did share a passion for Shakespeare, which had led to several intense discussions of their favorite plays.
With the exception of one notable mistress some years back, Robert had never so enjoyed verbally sparring with a woman. He generally had little interest in a woman's company outside of the bedroom. But despite Miss Townsend's considerable attractions, he found that his feelings for her were, for the most part, extremely proper. Given their circumstances, there could never be anything more between them, and so he had resolved to be content with a chaste friendship.
He wondered if Augusta would be at all understanding of such a friendship. Good God, he had never realized how much his life would change with his betrothal and marriage. Only a few weeks had passed since his betrothal, and already he could feel the noose tighten.
After an initial reticence in his company, no doubt due to her strict interpretation of her position. Miss Townsend had gradually relaxed her guard. She now appeared quite at ease in his presence. She still bristled whenever hints of matchmaking entered the conversation, but Robert had so relentlessly teased her that she now seemed almost acquiescent to the idea. Either that or she had simply chosen to ignore him. He couldn't be sure. But it was certain that she no longer voiced her objections. Robert took this as a signal to proceed, and was still planning to introduce her to some of his more respectable unmarried friends. It was the less respectable ones who worried him. How, for example, was he to keep Black Jack Raebum away from her?
Robert was content to enjoy her company and conversation for the moment, and to forget the potential evils of London Society awaiting its new deliciously innocent victim. And to forget what Augusta might have to say about his friendship with Miss Townsend. Emily. He had begun to think of her as Emily, though he had never requested permission to use her Christian name.
During their many evenings together, Robert noted that Emily spoke little of her own past, while she seemed thoroughly diverted while he and his grandmother discussed their more colorful histories.
"So you see, Emily," the dowager said one evening as the three of them lounged rather informally in the drawing room after dinner, "Robert is actually a much more upstanding gentleman than he pretends to be."
"Grandmother!" Robert said. "Have a care for my reputation."
"It is true that I don't discount every tale that comes my way," the dowager said to Emily. "He is no saint, thank God."
Robert placed his hand to his heart and quoted: " 'They say best men are molded out of faults. And for the most, become much more the better for being a little bad.' "
"I suspect," the dowager continued, ignoring Robert, "that his primary motive in achieving such a black name for himself is to rebel against his father's sober conservatism."
"I am merely attempting to live up to the standards set by you and Grandfather," Robert said lazily as he tossed back a second brandy. "I have heard that wildness skips a generation."
"My son Frederick," the dowager said to Emily, still ignoring Robert, "was quite ashamed, I think, of our rather madcap way of life. Just to spite us he became a somber, conservative, stiff- rumpled aristocrat."
"Oh, he wasn't so
bad as all that," Robert interjected. "You must admit that Mother was always able to soften him up a bit."
"Father did persist, though, in referring to his parents as those lunatics." He threw back his head and laughed at that remembrance.
This set off the dowager—who was at her most voluble, having indulged in Robert's brandy in a most unladylike fashion—on a lengthy reminiscence of her late husband. He and Emily listened patiently as the dowager discoursed at length on her life of shared passions with her beloved Thomas.
She had never really stopped missing him since his death over twenty years before, and as she drank more brandy her reminiscences became more melancholy. She had hoped to see her children find that same joy in their lives that her marriage had brought to hers.
"And yet," she said, addressing Emily, her natural drawl enhanced by a slight slur, "each of them approached marriage as a business arrangement, a convenient alignment of families and fortunes, without any engagement of the heart." She sighed loudly. "I had even higher hopes for Robert, who always seemed closer in temperament to myself than any of my own children. But now," she said, her voice lowering to an ominous pitch, "those hopes appear virtually dashed with this loathsome betrothal."
Robert was determined to put a halt to this line of discussion. He moved to the dowager's side and pulled her gently to her feet. "Come, my love," he said softly. "You're foxed. Off to bed with you before you put Miss Townsend to the blush."
"I'm not foxed, you puppy," the dowager snapped, although she offered no resistance as Robert helped Emily bundle her off to bed. Robert winked at Emily over the dowager's head as she led the old woman up the stairs.
Emily quite surprised him by returning his wink.
After the ladies retired, Robert grabbed the brandy decanter and headed for the library, where he planted himself in a large leather wing-backed chair near the fire. He poured another glass and began to ponder his impending marriage. Had he been too hasty? Had he made a mistake in selecting such a young girl for his bride? And how was he to cope with the burden of a young wife who was completely dependent upon him? He had already discovered that he could no longer blithely go about thinking only of himself. He now had to give first consideration to the honor and respect due his future countess.
After considerable liquid encouragement, he convinced himself that he had made the right decision regarding Augusta. He had, after all, offered for her knowing that she would make few demands of him. He would harbor no regrets, despite the increasingly unsettling presence of Miss Townsend—my God, she had actually winked at him!—or the melancholy distress of his grandmother. Since that first day in Bath, she had been silent regarding his betrothal, seldom if ever mentioning it. Tonight, half castaway on smuggled French brandy, she had been more open in her disappointment. It humbled him to think of somehow failing this woman who had always been so important to him. But the betrothal was an unalterable fact, he thought as he poured another glass, and so there was no sense in repining.
Several hours later Luckett quietly entered the library in his stocking feet and found Robert sound asleep in his chair in front of a long-dead fire. He gently shook his master awake with an offer to help him to bed. Robert grunted incoherently, flung a limp arm over Luckett's shoulder, and tried to place one foot in front of the other. This proved to be too wearisome a task, and so he decided to simply sleep where he was, draped across Luckett's comfortable bulk. Luckett, not unfamiliar with such a situation, lifted Robert like a sack of potatoes, hoisted him over his shoulder, and trudged up the stairs with his not inconsiderable burden.
* * *
The night before their departure from Bath, Emily crawled exhausted into the cocoon of her featherbed, but found that sleep eluded her. It had been a busy day of last-minute preparations, but finally the last of the baggage was packed and ready to be loaded onto carriages early the next morning. A few minor crises in the kitchen had needed attention while Anatole supervised the packing of almost his entire batterie de cuisine, refusing to trust that the earl's cook would have the proper equipment. Other minor crises involving linens and a missing trunk had also been faced and finally resolved.
Emily smiled as she recalled the excitement created when Lottie had been invited to travel to London to act as Emily's maid. Emily had objected at first to the dowager's offer to assign her a personal maid. The dowager, though, had been insistent that the demands on Emily's time while in London would require that someone assist with her wardrobe. Emily had finally capitulated and had selected Lottie from the dowager's large staff.
Lottie was so overwrought with excitement that for once she was speechless. She had grown up as the youngest of a large cottage family in the Somerset countryside, and it had been the thrill of her life to gain a position in the grand Laura Place household in the vast and wonderful city of Bath. The thought of London was almost too much to bear. When she finally found her voice, she was more wound up than ever.
"Oh, miss," she said in breathless excitement. "I can hardly believe it. Wait'll I tell me sisters that I'm goin' to London. They're like to bust a gut!" She laughed nervously as she fluttered around the room, ostensibly to assist Emily with her final packing, but in fact adding to the general confusion. "I'm ever so grateful to you, miss," she went on. "I just don't rightly know how to thank you, proper like. You coulda picked anybody, but I'm right proud that you picked me. I promise to do my very best. I really do! Just send me packin' if I don't."
"I am certain you will do just fine, Lottie. I'm very pleased that you will be accompanying me," Emily said, refolding a night rail that Lottie had crumpled in her excitement. When Lottie realized what she had done, she gently retrieved the garment from Emily's hands.
"Please, miss, let me do that," she said. "I'm sorry I was in such a state. But I know my duties, I do. Don't let nobody tell you I don't. Sure, I never been a lady's maid afore, but it's always been my dream, and I been watchin' real close at what Iris and Miss Tuttle do for her ladyship. I'm gonna do for you at least as good as them. Better even."
Emily was very touched by Lottie's concern and enthusiasm. She made an effort to seek out Tuttle and ask her to do what she could to help Lottie in her new role, particularly regarding the care of Emily's fine new wardrobe. Tuttle found it hard to refuse such a sweetly presented request, and even agreed to begin to work with Lottie at once. That evening Emily had felt like a lifeless mannequin as she allowed Tuttle and Lottie to dress her. Lottie was an excellent pupil. Emily was pleased to discover that the girl had a natural talent for hairdressing and was able to exactly duplicate Turtle's intricate coiffures.
Emily burrowed deeper into her featherbed, chuckling quietly as she contemplated the unexpected turns her life was taking. Not only had she allowed the dowager to provide her with an expensive new wardrobe as well as a personal maid, but she had even agreed to let Tuttle to take scissors to her hair. Granted, she had allowed no more than for Tuttle to give her softer, shorter tendrils around her face, but the effect was one of dramatic change from the ruthless knot she had worn for so long. Tuttle had wanted to make more drastic changes, giving Emily a fashionable short cropped style. But Emily had refused to part with her long, heavy locks.
She still believed that all of these superficial changes were no more than a silly feminine indulgence, but she also experienced a strange new confidence, knowing that she looked well. And she needed all the confidence she could manufacture, as her mind was in a turmoil about what to expect in London. It was not the normal social activities of a London Season that filled her with anticipation, although that alone would have been sufficient to set her head to spinning. Rather, it was thoughts of the dowager's particular circle and their activities that provided Emily with the greater thrill of excitement. She knew that the dowager kept up a lively correspondence with many writers, artists, poets, and politicians. In fact, it seemed to Emily that Lady Bradleigh had at least a passing acquaintance with almost everyone of note in English Society. She fully ex
pected, and had received hints of confirmation from the dowager and the earl, that she might happen to meet many notables as they passed through the drawing room of Bradleigh House.
At least her fine new feathers provided a certain level of confidence to face whatever lay ahead, even if that did include the matchmaking schemes of her employer. This thought brought a troubled frown to her face. Heavens, how had she ever allowed herself to be so thoroughly manipulated? She had no wish to be paraded before the ton as an aging spinster with no fortune, hanging out for a husband. But after all, she had promised Lord Bradleigh that he might introduce her to a few of his friends. He had even pulled her aside for a brief private conversation yesterday, after the dowager had left the breakfast table.
"Miss Townsend," he had said as he led her by the arm to a window seat overlooking the busy square below, "I wanted to give you one final word of reassurance before we arrive in London. Regarding Grandmother's matchmaking schemes, that is."
Emily had tensed. Dear God, would they never leave her in peace?
"It is true," the earl continued, "that I agreed to provide introductions to a few fine fellows, but I assure you I will have no further involvement in the matter. And I will do my best to steer Grandmother away if I see her meddling. Any further developments," he said in that infuriatingly seductive tone he sometimes used, "will be up to you and the gentleman."
Emily had felt the heat of a blush color her face. He had spoken briefly on other topics which she could not now remember. She had not, however, forgotten that as he rose to take her leave, he had laid his hand over hers and gently squeezed it. It had been a gesture of friendship and support; but it had nevertheless left her momentarily discomposed.
Emily was very pleased to have made a friend of Lord Bradleigh, though she had been quite unprepared for his kindness and generosity. She knew that he recognized her anxiety over the dowager's matchmaking, and she appreciated his reassurances.
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