Lady Emma's Dilemma (9781101573662)

by Woodward, Rhonda

  Monteford

  “I can see by your expression that it must be from Lord Monteford again,” Grandmère said with a chuckle.

  “Yes. How very tiresome he is,” Emma replied, handing her the note. “I would have thought that he would have given up by now.”

  Grandmère read the note and with a sniff set it aside. “Not to insult your very obvious charms, but I hear that Monteford is fishing for a bride with deep pockets. He has been making not so discreet inquiries about several young ladies with impressive dowries. I have it on good authority that the earl has cut him off until he comes up to scratch with a suitable wife. Evidently, he is not going to give up on you until he secures someone else.”

  A bright smile came to Emma’s face. “Indeed? He’s been cut off? I am surprised we cannot hear Mrs. Willoughby’s shrieks from here.”

  Grandmère laughed and Emma picked up the stack of letters. Sorting through them, she found several addressed to her.

  “Ah, another letter from Mama,” she said happily, pulling it from the pile and returning to her chair.

  “You must tell me how she fares in Brighton,” Grandmère said politely, sorting through her own pile of correspondence.

  Settling back in the comfortable chair, Emma opened the letter and read quickly.

  Dear Emmaline,

  You will forgive me for dispensing with the pleasantries, but I must be direct with you. I have just received the most distressing news that you are making yourself an object of gossip in Town.

  I cannot imagine what my mother-in-law must be thinking to allow such a thing.

  But what is worse, and I beg you to deny it immediately, is that your name has been connected to Lord Devruex’s. It cannot be so! Your uncle and I are quite alarmed, but are praying that the reports have been distorted.

  Need I remind you that your behavior could reflect poorly upon your brother, whose plans for a political career must be carefully nurtured?

  Lord Devruex, though I hear that he has redeemed himself somewhat over the years, is not the sort of man you should be seen associating with. I am surprised at you, Emma. After the scandal that was thankfully avoided in your youth, I would have expected you to be more circumspect.

  I do hate being harsh but I am left with no choice. Please write to me immediately and put my mind to rest. If it is just idle gossip, I apologize for the harsh tone of this letter.

  Your Loving Mama

  Emma read the letter again, shaken by the accusing tone lacing every black pen stroke.

  “Does your mother send you bad news, my love? You look quite upset.”

  Hardly knowing what to think, let alone what to say, Emma rose from the settee. She handed the letter to her grandmother’s outstretched fingers before moving to the window to gaze out at the sunny garden.

  Silence reigned for a moment as her grandmother read the short letter.

  “Humph.”

  Emma turned from the window to see the anger sparking in her grandmother’s eyes. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her own vexation.

  “Sometimes Mama forgets that I have long been out of the schoolroom. However, I am sure it would be distressing to hear such gossip about me. She is so set on Kel taking his place in government affairs that she has grown terribly cautious.”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” Grandmère said sharply. “It is only your mother’s provincial sense of morals that has her worried about the gossip. None of the people in my set pay such things any mind.”

  Emma’s brows rose in query. “So you have heard gossip about me and Lord Devruex?”

  This really was too awful, she thought, putting a hand to her forehead. Good Lord, gossip about her and Devruex had reached Brighton! She felt hot with embarrassment, recalling how easily just anyone could have come upon them as they kissed in Vauxhall Gardens.

  “Everything you do causes talk, my dear,” Grandmère said, “but only in the most delightful way. No one speaks of that dreadful Mrs. Willoughby anymore. It is so much more charming for everyone to gossip about you. Despite what your dreadful mother says.”

  Emma tried to hide her laughter by saying, “Well, that’s all very nice, Grandmère, but I do wish that you would not speak of Mama that way.”

  “Bah!” Grandmère said, waving the letter in disgust. “Your mother and I have never got on well, and we never shall. However”—her face cleared and her tone became thoughtful—“this letter provides me with an opening to speak with you about something that has long been on my mind.”

  “Goodness, you sound so serious,” Emma said lightly as she moved back to the chair next to the couch. She welcomed anything that would change the subject from Jack.

  “Yes, I am rather, but it is long overdue.”

  With a vague feeling of unease, Emma settled into the chair and waited for her grandmother to continue. She could not remember when last the dowager had had such a solemn tone.

  Grandmère held her gaze for a moment before she spoke. “You must understand that the last thing I wish to do is to cause you distress by bringing up painful events from the past. But I must so that I can share my concerns.”

  Her voice trailed away and with a sudden sense of intuition, Emma knew the subject her grandmother was so hesitant to broach.

  Grandmère was right, she decided. This discussion was long overdue. And Emma intended to make it clear to her grandmother that she need not tread so carefully around the past.

  “It’s perfectly all right, Grandmère. You may talk to me of anything. I know the family has walked on eggshells regarding little Henry and Charles. Truly, though, it has been a very long time since the pain of losing my son has felled me. Do not fear that I shall crumble at the mention of his name. I have discovered I am made of stronger stuff than that.”

  Instantly, a sheen of tears glazed her grandmother’s fine eyes. When she spoke, a bit of a rasp marred her voice. “What a gallant spirit you have, my dear. I know your marriage to Charles was not a happy one. I will not speak ill of the departed except to say that he was not equipped to deal with a woman of your intellect and temperament. I did know that you separated from Charles after you lost your baby, even though you put up a good front during holidays and family visits. You seemed much happier once you were out of Charles’s house.”

  “Yes.” Emma sighed, feeling this subject seemed like a long-faded bad dream. “After we separated, I found solace and purpose in Melham working to build the school and the other things I became involved with. There, I met any number of women who had lost children, husbands, friends, and siblings. Grief is a strange thing—one feels so lonely, low, and bereft. But I learned that suffering is the one thing we all have in common.”

  Silence held them for a few moments, until her grandmother cleared her throat. “This has been my experience too. And your words bring me to the reason I have touched these old wounds. Henry has been gone for almost eleven years and Charles almost six. You have finally returned to Society, where you belong. Yet I feel the pain of your past makes you fearful of reaching out to the possibilities the future holds for you.”

  Emma listened to the quiet, serious tone of her grandmother’s voice and frowned a little in confusion. “I am afraid of nothing.”

  “Indeed? You have told me that you do not desire to marry again. I believe that is because of how badly you were hurt in the past.”

  Emma picked up the embroidered pillow from the chair next to her and held it close. “Forgive me, but I do not agree. Yes, I never again want to give a man the right to rule my life.” Amelia’s words about where there is love there is respect and protectiveness instantly came back to her mind, but she pushed them aside. “But even if that were not the case, no gentleman has captured my interest.”

  Grandmère’s lips compressed into a thin line. “It is time to tell you that I have always known of your attempted elopement with Devruex. I know you never wanted me to learn that you considered such a shocking action, but there is little I do not know about my
family. I do not know what occurred to end your relationship with him, but I was not against your marrying him then, and I would not be opposed to it now. My dear, do not let old fears ruin the chance of finally finding true happiness. Besides, I do not know how you can possibly resist his elegant rascality.”

  “Grandmère!” Emma said, shocked beyond words.

  Chapter Seventeen

  At nine o’clock the next evening, Jack entered the tobacco-scented sanctum of his club, looking to distract himself from the black mood that had been plaguing him for days.

  While at Woodhouse, he had worked his horses, studied detailed breeding charts, and even mucked out stalls. He had believed that the vigorous activity would put into perspective this ridiculous resurgence of his youthful passion for Emmaline.

  But upon returning to Town this morning, he found himself wondering if she had risen early again to ride in the park. He’d been on the verge of ordering his horse to be brought around, when it hit him that he was about to chase after her again.

  With a sense of self-disgust, he had spent the rest of the day attending to business papers and correspondence that had accumulated while he’d been away.

  Unable to stand his own company any longer, he’d come to his club this evening for a welcome distraction. He intended to broach a fine bottle of brandy, perhaps play a bit of cards and spend the rest of the evening with a few friends.

  Passing through the foyer, he walked into the dark-paneled main room and scanned the deep chairs and sofas scattered throughout the space. Immediately three men on the other side of the room hailed him. The Earl of Edgebrooke, Sir John Mayhew, and Mr. Phillip Collard were seated around a table playing cards, dressed in formal clothes. With an acknowledging nod, he crossed the room.

  “Good evening, Devruex. Why don’t you join us for a few hands before we break up?” the earl offered, pushing a chair back from the table with his black-slippered foot.

  After exchanging greetings with the other gentlemen, Jack sank into the well-upholstered cognac leather chair and eyed his friends’ attire.

  “Gentlemen, are you coming or going?” he asked as the unobtrusive waiter brought him his usual brandy.

  “Going,” the earl supplied as he shuffled the deck of cards. “I have a family obligation to attend the Litchfield crush. However, I don’t intend to put in an early appearance.”

  “I’m going as well,” said the fair-haired Mr. Collard.

  “I’m tagging along with Edgebrooke,” Sir John said and grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it because it is rumored that Lady Fallbrook will grace us with her presence. I’ve been trying to gain her notice, with little success. Maybe my luck will change tonight.”

  Realizing he was gritting his teeth at the mention of Emmaline’s name, Jack picked up the crystal tumbler and took a substantial swallow of the warm, mellow liquor.

  Edgebrooke dealt the cards with quick, expert fingers and said, “She is perfection. There is a vague rumor going around that you are acquainted with the lady, Devruex.”

  Devruex picked up his cards and a negligent glance told him he held a queen and a ten, suited. “Lady Fallbrook and I have a number of friends in common.”

  “I have heard that she favors Monteford,” Mr. Collard said, picking up his cards and wincing.

  The memory of Emmaline kicking Monteford returned. He could not prevent a derisive laugh. “No, she does not.”

  Suddenly, the affable atmosphere changed and three pairs of eyes lifted to him with varying expressions of interest and speculation.

  Lord Edgebrooke’s rich chuckle broke into the silence and his hazel eyes sparkled with wicked amusement. “I have always said you were a deep one, Devruex. Shall we change the topic, gentlemen?”

  “Certainly,” Sir John said quickly. “Your Circes is causing quite the stir. Do you believe she will be in prime form by the Severly?”

  “I do,” Jack said, relieved to talk of anything other than Lady Fallbrook. “She is an amazing animal. Over the last few weeks it’s almost as if she senses that something important is about to occur.”

  “The odds have certainly been shifting,” Sir John said. “It would be an amazing coup if she could best Grafton’s filly. I always wait until the last minute to decide where to place my blunt. I look for some sort of sign.”

  “Such as?” Devruex asked, always curious about gamblers’ superstitions.

  Sir John shrugged. “I never know until I see it. I bet a monkey on Minuet when she ran in the Oaks a few years ago because a butterfly lit on her ear for a moment. She won.”

  “Your method certainly beats cross-referencing racing records,” Edgebrooke said, discarding a card.

  “Saves time as well,” Devruex added.

  Conversation continued among the four in a desultory fashion as Devruex played several hands. At a quarter of an hour to eleven, the earl glanced up at the ormolu clock on the massive mahogany mantel and tossed his cards into the center of the highly polished table. Sir John and Mr. Collard looked patently relieved, for neither man had won a single hand.

  “I believe I have lost enough for one night,” Edgebrooke said dryly, “and duty calls me to Litchfield house. Too bad you are not dressed, Devruex. No doubt we could hoax a quiz or two at such a squeeze.”

  “No doubt,” Jack replied with a smile, rising as well. “But I believe I shall spend the evening here, where it is much less crowded.”

  The three men then departed and Jack moved to his usual chair by the fireless grate. He was taking his time with his second brandy and speculating on whether Emmaline would attend the ball. Inexplicably, his mood had not much improved since arriving at his club. He picked up this morning’s paper from the table next to his chair when a familiar drawl drew his attention to the entryway.

  Monteford, dressed in black evening clothes, walked in. The instant he saw Jack, he caught himself and hesitated.

  Jack eyed him coldly, as Monteford approached and seated himself in the chair opposite him.

  Anger warred with disgust within Jack and again he lamented the fact that Monteford had been too craven to accept his challenge. He continued to stare at Monteford as the nervous-looking man settled into the chair and crossed one leg over the other.

  “Good evening, Devruex. I see you are not going to the Litchfields’. I thought I would have a drink or two before putting in an appearance,” he said with a brittle little laugh, but Jack did not mistake the wary glint in his eyes.

  The waiter approached with fresh glasses of brandy, and after Monteford accepted his, Jack waved the man off and sent Monteford a level look.

  After taking a generous swallow, Monteford chuckled again. “Come now, Devruex, do not tell me that you are willing to let a woman—any woman—damage our years of friendship.”

  At the cavalier words Jack felt his body tense.

  The look of amused hauteur left Monteford’s fair features and he lowered his gaze to the glass in his hand.

  Weaving his fingers together, Jack watched Monteford squirm for a moment longer. “I can think of nothing else important enough to cause such a thing to come to pass,” Jack said bluntly. “Certainly not any petty misunderstanding over cards or horses could ruin a long-standing and valued comradeship. No. I judge that if two old friends are about to sever their friendship a lady certainly ought to be behind it.”

  As Jack spoke, Monteford’s head slowly came up. Jack felt that at any other time he would have been amused at his gasping fishlike expression.

  “Dash it, Dev, this is ridiculous. Lady Fallbrook is an attractive filly but I vow I was only up for a little fun—no harm done. She is certainly not worth this dustup.” This time, his attempt at a dismissive chuckle failed miserably.

  Pushing his chair back with such force that Monteford flinched, Devruex stood up, his black brows drawing together in a harsh line.

  “Gad, Monteford, when did you turn into such an ass? If you ever insult the lady again be prepared to name your second. Is that clear enou
gh?” he said in a calm voice.

  “You know I’m not proficient with either swords or pistols,” Monteford sputtered, staying seated.

  “Then your choice is simple,” he said and strode out of the room, leaving Monteford gaping after him with a look of alarm blanching his features.

  As Devruex crossed the foyer, the major domo quickly approached. “Shall I call your carriage, your lordship?”

  “No, I’ll walk. Be so kind as to send my coach home,” he instructed, accepting his hat and walking stick from the precise little man.

  He left the building, and long strides took him through the lamplit streets of this fashionable part of London back to Leicester Square.

  As soon as his butler opened the black lacquered front door, Devruex swept past him and crossed the foyer to the staircase. Taking the stairs two at a time, he saw his valet on the landing looking down at him with an expression of surprise on his round face.

  “Bring me some evening clothes, Preston,” Jack directed. “The double-breasted jacket with the claw-hammer tails will do.”

  “Right away, your lordship. You shall certainly make an entrance at this hour,” he said with the familiarity of long service.

  “The late hour won’t matter. I am going to the Litchfield ball,” he said, loosening his neckcloth as he continued to his bedchamber.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Good Lord, it’s warm in here,” Emma said, putting the back of her hand to her cheek.

  “Lud, yes,” Amelia agreed. “Have you ever seen so many people crowded into one room? But it is one of the balls of the Season.”

  They stood on the edge of the dance floor, between two tall pedestals supporting massive urns filled with wilting flowers. The twelve-piece orchestra could hardly be heard above the din of six hundred people talking and laughing. Even so, the most important members of the Polite World filled Lord and Lady Litchfield’s massive octagonal-shaped ballroom.

  Emma had lost’ sight of her grandmother shortly after they had arrived an hour ago. Thank goodness she and Amelia had found each other or she would have been utterly bored swimming around in this packed pond.