Candice Hern

by The Regency Rakes Trilogy

  "At least he is useful in entertaining Augusta from time to time. I tell you. Jack, it's a trial having to dance constant attendance on one's future bride."

  "I warned you, Rob. This betrothal business was an idiotic notion."

  "Yes, I seem to recall you told me so once or twice. But I have my reasons, as you know, and I truly believe the marriage will work out just fine. If I can only survive the betrothal."

  "You won't survive the fury of the lovely Augusta if you can't keep your eyes off the golden beauty with Sedge. Who is she?"

  Robert's eyes strayed back to Emily and Sedge. "My grandmother's companion," he said. "Miss Emily Townsend."

  "Your grandmother's companion?" Jack's eyebrows raised with interest. "That beautiful creature is residing under your roof, Bradleigh? And you never told me?" He raked Emily with a gaze that was nothing short of a naked caress. Robert suddenly wanted to plant his friend a facer.

  "Forget it, Jack," he snarled.

  "So. Sedge has your approval whereas I do not," Jack said in that blood-chilling tone he often used to such advantage.

  "She's a lady, Jack. Granddaughter of an earl. Pentwick's niece, if you can believe it."

  "You're joking!" Jack's momentary anger was replaced by intense curiosity.

  Robert shook his head.

  "That means Faversham must be her cousin," Jack said. "I had noticed him buzzing around her hive. Well, this is most interesting, Rob. But where does Sedge fit in?"

  "I'm not sure. He seems genuinely interested in her."

  "And that bothers you?"

  "Of course not," Robert snapped, "as long as he's serious. Emily would never countenance a dalliance. Besides, Grandmother would have his head."

  "The beautiful Augusta will surely have your head, or more likely your horns, if you're not careful. If you will drag your eyes from the blonde for five minutes you will see your betrothed flirting outrageously with Haselmere."

  Robert turned his attention once again to Augusta. "As I said before, Jack, I am happy for Ted to take her off my hands now and then. I tell you, it ain't easy being engaged."

  "Look again, Rob. The puppy's besotted with her."

  "Ted? Besotted? I don't believe it. He hasn't been out much. He's just susceptible to a little flirtation from a pretty young girl."

  "If you say so," Jack said, grinning.

  Robert watched in fascination as Ted actually took Augusta's hand to his lips.

  Chapter 16

  Emily's eyes strayed once again from the scrawled pages in front of her. She couldn't seem to concentrate on these latest chapters sent by Sir Percy Whittaker for her opinion. Whereas once the adventures of Sir Percy's damsels in distress had amused and entertained her, she found her thoughts more often than not drifting toward the events in her own life. Emily smiled as she realized that this was the first time she could remember when her own life held more interest for her than that of some gothic heroine.

  She had certainly been kept busy. The last few weeks had found Emily's days occupied with plans for the engagement ball. The dowager knew exactly what she wanted in order for the affair to be a highlight of the Season, and Emily was charged with the overall organization. She had interviewed musicians, linen drapers, furniture rental agents, and carpenters. Five different florists were consulted before one was found who agreed to provide all that the dowager required.

  "But, my lady," Emily had pleaded, "it will be prohibitively expensive. Are you absolutely certain—"

  "Gammon!" the dowager had said with a decidedly Gallic flick of her fingers. "It is of no consequence. I know what I want and I shall have it."

  Never altogether comfortable with such a cavalier attitude toward expense, Emily had given a disparaging cluck and gone on to other items on her employer's list.

  At least she needn't worry about hiring a caterer. Anatole and Mrs. Dawson had both flown up into the boughs over such a suggestion, claiming that with a few additions to the kitchen staff they could manage very well. The two chefs had developed the complete menu, which was approved without modification by the dowager.

  If Emily's days were filled with ball preparations, her evenings had been no less busy. The dowager insisted on Emily's company on every occasion. They had attended routs, balls, soirees, musicales, suppers, and card parties. Emily smiled as she considered the seemingly indefatigable constitution of her elderly employer. The dowager apparently thrived on the constant social whirl of the London Season. More than once she had told Emily that she might consider coming to Town more often, since Bath was such a bore these days.

  Emily looked down at the pages in her lap. Perhaps Sir Percy should come to Town more often as well, she thought. His weepy, helpless heroines had definitely begun to bore her. Besides, there was quite enough excitement in Town without the need to escape into tales of dungeons and haunted castles and mysterious murders. If she were Sir Percy, Emily thought, she would pen tales of modern heroes and heroines set in the drawing rooms of London. Perhaps she would recommend the idea to him in her next letter.

  If she were the heroine of such a tale, she knew precisely how she would model the villain. It would have to be her cousin Hugh, Lord Faversham. Her brow furrowed at the mere thought of him. Truly, he had been the only blot on an otherwise thoroughly enjoyable time.

  At almost every gathering, Emily was sure to be approached by her cousin. Although perpetually charming, his constant attendance had become an annoyance. He also called frequently in the afternoons and sent large bouquets of flowers several times a week. Despite his repeatedly expressed good intentions, Emily was becoming heartily sick of the man. Besides, something about him made her feel uncomfortable, and she simply could not like him.

  But who, then, should be the hero of her London tale? Lord Bradleigh? He was certainly handsome enough. Of course, he had actually rescued her that time at the Rutland ball. But, no. He was Miss Windhurst's hero, not her own. She must choose another.

  Her other two most constant admirers, Lord Sedgewick and Mr. Hamilton, had also continued to shower Emily with attention, though with considerably less obsequiousness than her cousin. She continued to enjoy both gentlemen's company, until Mr. Hamilton's enforced departure to his Norfolk estate gave Lord Sedgewick a decided edge.

  Knowing Emily had never before been to Town, he had often taken her to popular amusements, attractions, and galleries. Just yesterday she had accompanied Lord Sedgewick and his sister, Mrs. Ingram, on a visit to the Tower of London. Emily had been fascinated by the armories, the weaponry collections, the Bloody Tower, Traitor's Gate, and the charming Norman chapel inside the White Tower. She had been less impressed by the Crown Jewels, which had inexplicably left her cold. She had been visibly distressed as well when viewing the menagerie with its collection of pitiful, mangy-looking creatures, including an ancient elephant and a sad-eyed bear.

  "How I would love to set the poor things free," she had muttered.

  Lord Sedgewick had patted her hand, resting on his arm, and smiled. "They would probably not stir an inch, even if you were to fling the gates wide." He had then taken her chin in his hand and looked deeply into her eyes. "You have a tender heart, my dear. Perhaps you will soon have a more worthy object for your affections."

  Emily had been unsettled by the comment, which had been spoken in a low voice out of the hearing of Mrs. Ingram. Before she could react, his face had broken into a wide grin, and his eyes had all but crinkled shut. She could never resist that grin and found herself unconsciously smiling in return.

  She did not mistake his meaning. He had spent a great deal of time in her company and yesterday had made a special point of bringing along his only sister, whom he obviously held in great affection. It was clear, at least to Emily, that she was to be the object of Mrs. Ingram's inspection and that Lord Sedgewick sought his sister's approval. Fortunately Emily had taken an immediate liking to Mrs. Ingram, who was much less gregarious than her brother, but very friendly and pleasant nonetheless. The
three of them had spent a very comfortable afternoon together.

  When Lord Sedgewick had escorted her to the door of Bradleigh House, he had taken her hand to his lips and held it just a bit longer than was absolutely proper.

  "I hope you have enjoyed the afternoon," he had said.

  "Indeed, I did my lord. How fortunate we are to have so much history, right here in the heart of London. It is most humbling."

  "Ah, dear lady," he said, still holding her hand, "you humble me. You have caused me to see much of our city through fresh eyes. I have never so enjoyed touring our local attractions."

  "And I thank you for taking the time to show them to me." She discreetly retrieved her hand, conscious of Claypool's presence behind her, holding open the door. "Thank you as well for introducing me to Mrs. Ingram."

  "You liked her?"

  "Very much."

  "I'm glad. I'm very fond of her and I was hoping you would like her. I know she liked you, too." He flashed a grin. "I trust in time you two will become bosom friends. Almost like sisters, you might say."

  Emily had felt the heat of a blush color her face and had quickly made her way into the house. It was impossible to ignore the implication of Lord Sedgewick's comments. Emily felt sure he was going to offer for her. She was less sure of her own feelings. Would she accept?

  A page floated unnoticed from Emily's lap to the floor. Should she accept? She was fond enough of Lord Sedgewick. She enjoyed his company, his conversation, his grin. But when he had kissed her hand yesterday, there had been no warm, tingling sensation running up her arm and down her back—the sort of sensation she felt whenever Robert touched her, or, truth be told, whenever he so much as looked at her.

  But, no, she would not compare Lord Sedgewick to Lord Bradleigh. Lord Sedgewick was a wonderful man, and she would be foolish to overlook his advantages in favor of something that could never be. No, she would not be such a widgeon.

  She retrieved the page that had fallen to the floor and found its proper place among the rest. As she stacked the pages neatly, she determined that Lord Sedgewick would indeed be the hero of her London tale. But for now, she must concentrate on the perils of Sir Percy's gothic heroine.

  She gave a sigh and continued to read.

  * * *

  This had all been his idea, so if he was less than pleased, it was his own fault. When Robert had suggested to his grandmother that he might host a small party in his box at the Opera, she had latched on to the idea with enthusiasm. It had been her idea to include Sedge.

  "For Emily's sake," she had said.

  When he had cocked a questioning brow, she had glared at him as if he were some kind of idiot.

  "You cannot have failed to notice," she had drawled, "his partiality toward Emily. His attentions have been most particular."

  "Have they indeed?" he replied, matching her drawl.

  "Oh, don't be so provoking, my boy. I have not missed your scowling presence in the background whenever he comes to call or to take her out, or even when he dances with her. I thought he was your friend. Why do you so clearly disapprove?"

  Robert had turned away from his grandmother, unable to meet her steely gaze. Had he really been so blatant? He hoped only his grandmother with her keen perception had noticed any difference in his manner. He must be more cautious. Damnation, he must be more than cautious. He must stop altogether feeling, and apparently behaving, in such a possessive manner toward Emily.

  He had no business interfering in her life. She was not even a relation. Besides, what possible objection could he have to Sedgewick? The man was one of his closest friends. Emily would be fortunate to snare such a prize.

  And, of course, Sedge would be the most fortunate of men.

  He cleared his throat and turned back to face the dowager. "It's not that I disapprove, Grandmother. It's just that I know Sedge so well that I have been unable to imagine he intends anything more than a ... a dalliance."

  "A dalliance? With Emily?"

  "Or perhaps only a light flirtation," he added quickly. "I just don't want to see Miss Townsend hurt."

  "Well, neither do I, Robert. But I think you are wrong about Sedgewick. I believe he is serious. He even brought his sister along yesterday."

  "The devil he did!"

  The dowager smiled and nodded.

  "Well, then," said Robert, forcing a smile, "I must have been mistaken. Sedge wouldn't bring along Mrs. Ingram unless he was serious. You must be quite proud of yourself, my dear."

  "I am pleased." There was a definite note of triumph in her smile. "He's a fine young man, and Emily deserves some happiness in her life at last. Sedgewick will do very nicely."

  Robert could not help but recall that earlier conversation as he watched Emily and Sedge, seated next to each other in his box. They spoke quietly together, their shoulders almost touching, while Emily's hand rested on Sedge's arm. There was something different about them this evening. Or perhaps he was simply more attuned to every nuance of their behavior, in light of his grandmother's comments.

  The truth was, though, that Sedge did appear more attentive than usual. His conversation had not been as gregarious, encompassing the whole party, as was Sedge's usual manner. He stuck to Emily's side and spoke almost exclusively to her. His grandmother must have been correct, thought Robert. Well, good for Sedge, then. Good for him.

  Robert turned his attention back to the stage but could not for the life of him have recounted later what he had seen.

  At the interval he rose and offered his arm to Augusta seated at his side.

  "Shall I get you some punch, my dear?" he asked.

  "If you wish," she replied in a surprisingly petulant tone.

  Robert looked more closely at his betrothed. Her blue eyes were dark with some emotion, and her chin was tilted at an indignant angle. What on earth had vexed Augusta this evening?

  "I'll just be off, then," he said. "Perhaps while I'm gone you would prefer—"

  "Oh, la, you mustn't worry about me, my lord," she interrupted in a suddenly girlish voice. "I am sure Lord Haselmere will keep me company while you're gone."

  The ubiquitous marquess had appeared at Augusta's side, and she had actually taken his arm, much to that young man's astonishment. What game was the little vixen playing? If she meant to make him jealous, Robert thought, she was far off the mark. He would have to care first.

  "I will leave you in good hands, then, my dear," Robert said, nodding toward his cousin.

  Augusta hunched a pettish shoulder and then turned away. Robert smiled as he contemplated the chit's hopeless attempt to stir his jealousy. His smile faded as he watched his cousin gaze longingly at Augusta. She would indeed make him angry if she trifled with poor Ted's feelings. The man was an innocent, unaccustomed to the flirtatious wiles of Society misses. True, he must eventually learn how to go about, but Robert would have preferred that his own future bride not be the cause of Ted's first broken heart. Robert gave a rueful sigh and turned to leave the box.

  The box had become crowded with friends and acquaintances come to pay their respects to the dowager, and it was therefore a slow progress toward the door. Before he reached it, Lord Faversham had entered and shouldered his way to Emily's side. Robert instinctively made a move toward them but was stopped by the crush of bodies. He was determined to protect Emily from Faversham, as he was more than ever convinced that the man was a rogue with less than honorable intentions. Emily was bound to receive him, as he was her cousin, but her sweet nature would not recognize him for the dastard he was. Robert must protect her.

  As he watched, he noticed Sedgewick kept Emily's hand firmly attached to his arm and placed himself between her and Faversham. Robert gave a resigned sigh as he realized Emily did not need his protection. She had Sedgewick's.

  Robert gave himself a mental shake as he left the box and headed down the crowded corridor toward the refreshment stall. He would accept the situation between Emily and Sedgewick like a gentleman, he told himself firm
ly. He would relinquish all feelings of protectiveness or possessiveness toward her, as he had no right to them. He would go on with his life, marry Augusta, and forget about Emily.

  No, he would not forget about her. He would want to keep her friendship. He found that he relied on that much at least.

  In the spirit of friendship, then, he really ought to tell Emily and Sedge what he suspected about Faversham. He had received a note from James Huntspill stating—rather too enigmatically, Robert had thought—that he was returning from Cambridgeshire with "interesting news" regarding Miss Townsend. His note hinted that she might have a more prosperous future than expected. Damn Huntspill's circumspection! Robert wanted facts. Huntspill should return in a few days, and then he would have those facts. In the meantime, it was probably best to keep his suspicions to himself. He might be completely wrong, but he doubted it. Nevertheless, he would wait until he had proof before going to either Emily or Sedgewick.

  Until then he was reluctantly forced to admit that Sedgewick seemed to be handling Faversham well enough. Although they had never spoken of it, Robert was sure that Sedge was aware of Faversham's reputation. Sedge would protect Emily.

  He'd bloody well better, or Robert would have his head.

  Chapter 17

  "Well, my dear," the dowager said as she patted Emily's hand, "you've been a terrific help in organizing the ball. Everything certainly seems to be in order." She peered through gold spectacles, nodding as she scanned the list in her hand. She was ensconced among a mountain of satin pillows beneath the tented canopy of her bed. Charlemagne's black eyes peeked out from beneath one tiny lace-edged pillow. "You're sure the florist understands what I want?" she asked, looking up from the list.

  "I am sure he does, my lady," Emily replied, half reclining on the blue silk duchesse en bateau situated next to the bed. The dowager had sent for her after she had already undressed for the evening, and she was wrapped in an old, comfortable, and somewhat shabby dressing gown of dark forest green merino. The white smocked muslin gown beneath, and the white satin slippers, however, were new—another gift from her employer.