"Good man, Sedgewick," she whispered. "He is well-regarded among the ton. His attentions will not go unnoticed."
His attentions were not unnoticed by Emily, either. Before his departure he had solicited a promise to drive with him in the park later in the week. Emily was feeling quite flushed by everyone's attention, but most especially Lord Sedgewick's. It was an entirely new experience to her, with the small exception of last evening's debacle, to be the focus of anyone's attention. Though the sort of fascination she held for most of today's visitors caused her nothing but mortification, Lord Sedgewick's regard was most pleasurable.
She wondered if the rest of her stay in London would go on as it had begun. Heavens, but that was a daunting thought. How would she be able to endure her own increasing popularity? she thought with a faint smile.
Finally all of the guests save one had departed. Lady Dunholm was a particular friend of the dowager's and made no pretense of adhering to the socially correct half-hour visit. She had waited for the other guests to leave with the specific intent of having a comfortable and private coze with her good friend. The two ladies were already chattering amicably, delightedly ripping to shreds most of the afternoon's guests, when Emily rose to leave. The morning room door was opened at that moment by Claypool, who carried a card on a silver tray.
"Blast!" the dowager exclaimed. "I thought we were through with visitors." She reached out her hand to take the card, but Claypool did not offer the tray.
"I beg your pardon, my lady," he said, "but the gentleman asked that I give this to Miss Townsend."
Emily cast a questioning look at her employer.
"Go ahead, my dear." The dowager laughed. "It is probably another admirer. What with Hamilton's flowers and Sedgewick's attentions, I believe you will have to get used to it."
Emily felt herself flush, but took the card. All at once her heart dropped to her toes.
Hugh, Viscount Faversham, it read.
"I believe the gentleman has written a note on the back," Claypool said calmly, obviously unaware that Emily had lost the ability to breathe.
Emily turned over the card.
I beg you to admit me, Cousin.
I am devastated over my father's behavior last night.
Please allow me to explain.
"Oh, God," Emily whispered as her hand clutched at the ruffed collar of her white cambric chemisette.
"What is it, my dear?" the dowager asked with obvious concern. She had risen to place her hand on Emily's arm. Emily handed her the card. The dowager read it, and Emily watched as the old woman's brows disappeared beneath steel-gray curls peeking out from under the Mechlin lace cap.
"Egad, but the fellow has cheek."
Emily was shocked by the hint of amusement in the old woman's voice. Her face must have registered her distress, for the dowager turned and took her by the hand.
"I say we should admit him," the dowager said. "I confess that I am agog with curiosity to hear what the fellow has to say. This should be most interesting. Oh, don't look so stunned, my girl. Perhaps he's genuinely contrite."
Emily gave an unladylike snort.
"Well, perhaps not," the dowager said. "But I think it behooves you to give the fellow his five minutes. Remember, my dear, that you escaped his father's attempt to disgrace you with all your dignity intact. You are the one in the more advantageous position. Besides, Claypool will be standing by ready to throw the jackanapes out if he so much as steps one foot wrong. Oh, and don't worry about Dolly," she said, tilting her head toward Lady Dunholm. "She'll be as silent as an oyster, won't you, dear?"
Lady Dunholm nodded, and the dowager joined her once again on the sofa.
"All right," Emily said, though she was not feeling at all sure about this. "Send him in, Claypool."
"She's got spirit, Fanny, I'll grant you that," Lady Dunholm whispered.
Emily overheard that remark and hoped it was true as she watched the morning room door with more than a little trepidation. Claypool returned shortly and announced her cousin. He stood looking at her for the briefest moment before entering the room. Emily had been so distraught the night before that she had little recollection of him. She saw now before her a man of medium height and slender build, with blond hair much the same color as her own. She would guess him to be no more than thirty years old. He might have been handsome but for the deep lines etched between his nose and mouth and the hint of dissipation about his gray eyes.
He smiled as he approached, holding out his hand, but the smile was flat and empty and did not reach his eyes. Emily had seen many such condescending smiles in her years of service and was not affected by its insincerity. She arranged her own expression to one of cool disdain.
"My dear Miss Townsend," he said in an unctuous tone that caused Emily to wrinkle her nose in distaste before quickly remembering to school her features.
She was reminded of a particularly persistent sales clerk at a perfumery in Bath who had always tried to force Pear's Almond Bloom on her, though she had repeatedly expressed no interest in it. She wondered what this gentleman was selling.
"Cousin," he said as he held out his hand to receive hers.
Politeness was deeply bred in Emily, and she knew she had to acknowledge him. She tilted her chin up, fixed him with an arctic gaze, and offered two fingers.
"Lord Faversham," she said in the chilliest tone she could muster.
A low growl was heard from the direction of the sofa. Emily wasn't sure how the dowager was able to coax the tiny pug into baring his teeth and snarling on cue, but she had seen it often enough to know that Charlemagne had been trained to react so. The trick came in handy when one wished to be rid of an unwanted guest. Emily saw Lord Faversham glance at the dowager and Lady Dunholm, both wearing their best scowls, and watched as the smile slid from his face. He swallowed hard and turned to face those ladies.
"Lady Bradleigh, Lady Dunholm," he said, executing a sharp bow. "Your servant."
He turned back to Emily, who was still standing, and made a slight move with his hand as if to ask her to be seated, but seemed to think better of it. He grasped his hands behind his back and stood looking at her expectantly. She decided to make him sweat—it must be the dowager's subversive influence, she thought, as she found herself truly enjoying his discomfort—and glared at him for several heartbeats before she leisurely glided to the chair she had recently vacated and slowly eased herself into it. She carefully smoothed the skirts of her sprigged muslin day dress, straightened the lace at her cuffs, and finally looked up at him.
"I have only a few moments to spare, Lord Faversham," Emily said, "as I have an appointment this afternoon." It was true that she did have an appointment and was glad not to have been forced into a complete falsehood. Mr. Hamilton was coming to take her for a drive in the park, but not for another two and a half hours. "Please say what you've come to say and be brief about it."
His expression slowly altered to one of forlorn hope as he took a chair near hers and leaned anxiously forward. "My dear cousin," he said in a quiet voice, "I have come for one reason only. To assure you that I stand as your friend despite anything my father may have said last night. Believe me when I tell you that I could not have been more distressed at my father's behavior. I had thought he only meant to make himself known to you, and I asked to accompany him, eager to meet you." He smiled briefly, but then his gaze dropped quickly to the floor as he seemed unable to meet Emily's frigid glare.
"I will not pretend to believe," he continued, "that he was prepared to offer friendship or kindness. I knew that he would not." He looked up again with an imploring expression. "But I had no idea he would be so vicious."
He paused for a moment, apparently waiting for a response from Emily. She made none, and so he continued.
"You see," he said, "I did not even know of your existence until very recently. But since I discovered I had a cousin I have been most anxious to make your acquaintance. We are but a small family, you know. It is
very important to me to be on friendly terms with the few of us that are left."
"I am afraid, Lord Faversham," Emily said, "that your father does not share your concern for familial ties."
"I am sorry for that, Cousin," he said, "but Father is a bitter man whose character was molded completely by his own father. The old earl—the one, I am ashamed to say, who rejected your mother—was a hard man of unflinching principles. He was hurt at your mother's elopement with a man of whom he strongly disapproved and was too proud ever to retreat from his position. My father simply echoed those long-held sentiments. You know, if someone says to you 'the sky is green, the sky is green, the sky is green' enough times, you actually begin to believe that the sky is green. That is how it was with my father. Those things he said to you last night were merely the words he had heard over and over from the old earl."
"And you, my lord," Emily said, "are here to right that wrong? To attempt to make up for six and twenty years of neglect?"
"I cannot make up for those years," he said, bowing his head slightly, "but I would have you know how much I regret them." After a moment he looked up once again and pinned her with an imploring gaze. "It is foolish to perpetuate the prejudices of our fathers without cause. I am my own man, Cousin, and I would not see another generation continue this painful and senseless estrangement. My father and I have none but each other, Emily. My grandparents and my mother are dead, and I have no siblings. I am also aware that you are as alone in the world as I am. If you will allow me to offer my friendship and ... and . .. well, my affection, as your nearest relation, I am sure in time I can exert some influence on my father's opinion. And if not... well, at least you and I should be friends."
Despite her best intentions, Emily found herself actually warming to the man. His words seemed so sincere, regardless of her first impression of his character. She knew he spoke no more than the truth. In fact, she was stunned beyond imagination to hear someone of her mother's hated family speak so openly about the injustice and pain of their long estrangement. For all of her life she had believed that no one cared. To hear her cousin speak otherwise quite disconcerted her.
She was as confused as she could be. She wanted to believe him, but it was so hard to let go of the anger that she had lived with every day of her life. Could a lifetime of anger and bitterness be washed away in only a few moments? Could she so quickly dismiss her mother's grief and pain?
No, she could not. She must not allow herself to be so easily swayed by her cousin's eloquent plea for understanding. For all she knew of him, he might be a consummate actor manipulating her for his own purpose. But what that purpose might be Emily could not imagine. In fact, she was inclined to believe him, but she somehow felt that she must not yet let him know that. She allowed that she may in time grow to trust her cousin, but she knew she should not be so quick to make that judgment.
She glanced at the dowager, who was still scowling, but this time those brows were furrowed at Emily. She gave her employer a tiny nod to indicate that she knew she must think twice before committing herself.
"What would you have me do, my lord?" she asked in an indifferent tone which hopefully masked the turmoil of her emotions.
He smiled brightly. "I only ask that you allow us to become better acquainted," he said. "Let us spend some time together and get to know one another. As I have said, if nothing else I would be your friend. As a first step, I would request the honor of taking you up in my carriage this afternoon for a drive through the park."
"I am afraid I am engaged this afternoon, my lord."
"Thursday, then?"
"I am also engaged Thursday afternoon, my lord," she replied truthfully, remembering Lord Sedgewick's invitation.
"Please, Cousin." His voice took on a beseeching tone, and he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. "Believe that I am serious and completely honorable in my intentions. I only seek to become better acquainted with one of my nearest relations. If you will only name the day, I am at your service."
Emily glanced at the dowager, who shrugged in resignation. There was no polite way out of this, even if she wanted out. But Emily was willing to give him a chance, a very small chance, to convince her of his sincerity.
"Saturday, then," she said.
Lord Faversham stood and bowed over Emily's hand. "You honor me, Cousin. Saturday it is. I will take my leave until that time." He turned toward the dowager and Lady Dunholm. "Ladies," he said, bowing crisply.
The morning room door was opened before he could reach for the handle. Claypool must indeed have been standing by.
"Well," the dowager drawled when the door was once again closed. "What an interesting development, to be sure. What do you think, Dolly?"
"I don't trust him."
"Neither do I," the dowager said. "But I think you were wise, Emily, not to reject him out of hand. It would be well to see what game he is playing. But take care, my girl. Do not forget that he is his father's son, after all."
"Do not worry, my lady," Emily said. "I shall never forget that."
Chapter 14
"I thought I might find you in here."
Emily looked up with a start from the book she had been reading to find Lord Bradleigh standing in the doorway of the library. "Oh," she said, slightly flustered.
"I learned in Bath," Robert said as he sauntered into the room, careful to leave the door ajar, "that whenever you weren't with Grandmother—who, by the way, is still in the morning room sharing gossip with Dolly Dunholm—you could most likely be found with your nose buried in a book. What better place than here?" he asked as he indicated the walls of books with a sweep of his arm.
"I beg your pardon, my lord," she said.
He cocked a brow. "I thought we had dispensed with my title ... Emily."
"Yes, of course," she said, feeling the unmistakable heat of a flush on her cheeks. "Robert." His wary expression melted into a warm smile. She was immediately at ease and smiled in return. "I am sorry to be making so free with your library. I only came in to see if I might find something interesting to read, but found myself enchanted with exploring the shelves." She looked around the room with admiration. "What a magnificent collection. Goodness, I had no intention of sitting down and making myself quite so much at home. I'll just take this volume and be on my way." She closed her book and made to rise from the leather armchair.
"The library is at your disposal, Emily." He placed a hand gently on her shoulder to prevent her from rising. "There is no need to leave. Please feel free to make use of it at any time. I am happy to know it is affording pleasure to someone besides myself." He stood next to her and reached down for the book in her hand. He noted the title and looked back at her, eyes wide with feigned astonishment. "The Agricola of Tacitus?"
She grinned and retrieved the book. "I have always wished to further my knowledge of the classical authors," she said. "Of course, I read the Histories and the Annals of Tacitus while still in the schoolroom. I have never, however, had the privilege of reading the Agricola. I find it quite fascinating. I was just now reading of the revolt of the Britons under Boudicca."
"And her subsequent rout by Paulinus," he added.
"True, the Romans were quite thorough in their victory. Nevertheless, one cannot help but admire Boudicca's courage and leadership. Tacitus even reluctantly admits that had Paulinus not acted quickly, Britain would have been lost to Rome. All due to the fury of one woman."
"Indeed," Robert said as he eased himself into an adjacent chair, "it seems our ancestors made no distinction of gender in their leaders, and even Rome faced Boudicca with all the respect due any great warrior."
"And rightly so," Emily said, enjoying the ease with which she and Robert were able to converse. As she looked at him, sprawled casually in a leather armchair—legs outstretched and crossed in front of him and that wayward lock of hair falling inevitably over his brow—she was reminded of the warmth of their encounter the night before. But she
deliberately forced such thoughts to the back of her mind, and gave herself up to the pure enjoyment of his often lively conversation. While in Bath she had most enjoyed those discussions in which they disagreed. He was a man of strong opinions, but was also able to listen to opposing views with some objectivity and offer intelligent debate on the issues at hand. More than once she had thought how much she would like to hear him speak in the House of Lords, which she knew him to do from time to time. Out of sheer contrariness, Emily decided to bait him.
"I suppose," she said with a wistful sigh, "that one could mark Boudicca's defeat as the beginning of the end of the right of women to play an equal role in the destinies of their lands, their families, and even their own lives."
"Good lord," Robert groaned, eyeing her with some suspicion. "I hope you are not going to start preaching Wollstonecraft to me. That woman was a menace to society as far as I'm concerned. And hypocritical to boot, since she couldn't seem to live without the company of those same men she so vehemently denounced for their treatment of women."
"Regardless of how she may have conducted her private life," Emily replied, sitting forward in her chair, eager to explore this debate with Robert, "there can be no question as to the truth of her arguments about the emancipation of women. As a man, you cannot possibility appreciate the frustration and indignity of being required, purely on the basis of one's gender, to always identify oneself in terms of persons one neither admires nor respects."
"Do you condemn us all, then?" Robert asked. "Do you have no admiration or respect for any man?"
"Of course I do," Emily replied with some impatience. "But you must admit that in my own life men have done little to inspire admiration." She at once wanted to bite her tongue. She hadn't meant to turn the discussion toward personal matters.
"For example . . ." Robert prompted.
Candice Hern Page 15