“Cut off!” she squealed. “What do you mean, cut off?”
Monteford pushed a pale lock off his forehead. “The old man says that I have to marry—now.”
Sally thought a moment, then relaxed a little. “Well, he has been after you to get married for years.” She hoped it was just the amount of liquor he had consumed that made him so dramatic.
“Yes, but this time he says he’s stopping the blunt until I present him with my intended bride.”
Sally tossed the magazine aside, jumped up from the chaise, and began to pace from one end of the room to the other.
“What about your mother? Surely she will see to your bills?” And what about my bills? she wondered in growing alarm.
Monteford shrugged and slid farther down the chair until his chin rested on his chest. “Perhaps, but not enough. There is nothing else for it—I’m going to have to find a wife.”
Sally stopped her pacing to stare at him with narrowed eyes. “Is this why you have been making a cake of yourself over Lady Fallbrook?”
At her sharp tone his expression turned petulant. “I have not made a cake of myself over her. It’s that blasted Jack Devruex.”
His odd reference to Lord Devruex did not deter her. “Do you want to marry Lady Fallbrook?” she demanded.
“I don’t believe she will have me,” he mumbled.
“So you do want her!” she shouted as she threw her hands up. “No! I will not have this. Anyone but Lady Fallbrook. There must be someone else you can marry.” This was terribly distressing. If Monteford married Lady Fallbrook it would be much too lowering. Everyone would know that he wanted the beautiful widow more than he wanted her. “You cannot want to marry her!”
“Of course I do. Who would not? Blast Jack Devruex. If he had not stepped in, I would have had a chance with her.”
She put her hand on her hip. “Why are you angry with Devruex? It is not his fault if she favors him. Besides, your grandfather will come around. How can he not?”
“Because that is how he is,” he said, sloshing some of the brandy onto his shirtfront. “I must find a wife as soon as possible—and she must have a decent dowry.”
Sally shook her head in dismay. “This is an odd and insulting subject to be discussing with me.”
“Who else would I talk to about this?” he said, looking up at her with an expression in his eyes that convinced her that this was serious business indeed.
Gooseflesh rose on her arms as she gazed around the room. Everything she had worked so hard to get was in jeopardy. She said nothing and he continued.
“My marriage, or lack of one at this point, affects you as much as it does me. I honestly do not know how long I can afford you, Sally.” He finished with a bitter laugh and took another swallow of brandy.
Sheer panic softened her scorn as she sat down next to him. “Surely, if you spoke to your grandfather again—”
“Hah,” he interrupted, “you do not know the old man. It’s not just that he wants me to marry—he has made it expressly clear that he is disappointed in me. He wishes I were more like Devruex,” he said through gritted teeth. “My God, if only I had Devruex’s money I’d tell the old man what he can do with his ultimatums. I must find a wife, but in the meantime, I must find a way to raise some capital before my situation becomes embarrassing.”
Sally frowned as they sat in silence for some time, Monteford gazing morosely into his brandy glass. Suddenly, something of great import occurred to her. Reaching over, she grasped his left hand in both of hers and looked beseechingly into his eyes.
“So, Monty dear, does this mean I cannot have a new ensemble for Ascot?”
Chapter Twenty-one
Emma awoke very late the next morning. Her head throbbed, but she forced herself to sit up when Milton quietly entered the room and opened the drapery. The maid said she would bring her mistress chocolate and fruit, and then quietly left the room.
Sitting up in the canopied bed, Emma gazed out to the garden, which looked so colorful and inviting in the late-morning sun.
Instead of enjoying the view, she was trying—with difficulty—to absorb last night’s events.
She cringed remembering the way she allowed the bitter, accusing words to spill out.
With a quick movement, she kicked aside the covers and padded over to the window.
And yet… somehow she felt different. To her amazement, the lump of nagging sadness and resentment that had sat in her heart like a stone for more than a decade had disappeared.
She checked again. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and felt a definite lightness that had not been there before.
“What an odd creature I am,” she whispered aloud.
But Jack Devruex was even odder, she thought as she watched a robin bathe in the fountain near a weathered iron sundial.
The way he had held her while she poured out her pain and anger had made her feel strangely safe and comforted. Even now her cheeks grew hot as she remembered the gentle way he had stroked her back as she told him how much she hated him.
It was the most intimate experience of her life, she admitted to herself as the robin fluffed, shook his wings, and flew away.
What must he think of her? she wondered in growing embarrassment.
Actually, she knew the very painful answer to that question. He pitied her. She had sounded like some pathetic woman who had been pining over him for all these years, when he had obviously gone on with his life without giving her a thought until she came to London again. Baring her soul last night had made him feel pity and guilt. Why else would he have made such a hasty offer of marriage?
No doubt he was thanking his lucky stars that she had not accepted him. Now, he could dismiss any belated sense of responsibility over abandoning her all those years ago, she thought, pressing her fingers to her closed lids to stop the flow of tears.
Suddenly, the words he had spoken after their kiss at Vauxhall Gardens came back to haunt her—you may hate me, but you want me just as much.
Well, she was honest enough to admit that she no longer hated him, but what was she going to do with these even more disturbing feelings?
Just then, the door opened and Milton entered carrying a rosewood tray. “Your ladyship is in for a surprise,” she said, placing the tray on the table between the chairs by the fireplace.
“Don’t tell me there are more flowers from Lord Monteford,” she said dryly. His floral arrangements and beseeching notes had arrived every morning since his insulting behavior at Vauxhall Gardens.
“No. Lady Tunbridge is downstairs wanting to speak with you.”
Emma looked at her maid in surprise, then glanced at the clock on the mantel. It said half past ten. “Heavens, what is Penelope doing here? She usually isn’t out of bed for hours.”
“Shall I send her away?”
“Of course not. Bring her up and she can share my repast,” she instructed as she moved to the foot of the bed to retrieve her wrap, grateful to have a reprieve from her own company.
“Very good, my lady, I shall have another cup sent up.”
“Thank you.” Tossing the blush pink garment over her arm, Emma crossed the room to the door that led to the water closet.
By the time she had completed her ablutions and smoothed her hair, Penelope had entered the bedchamber.
“Well, this is a turn,” Penelope said with a wry smile.
“Indeed. I cannot recall when you have ever been up and out this early,” Emma said with a gentle laugh. “Will you join me? We have chocolate and lovely oranges and pears.”
“Oh, yes, please. I left the house without any breakfast,” Penelope said, removing her peach confection of a bonnet and tossing it on the bed.
Once both ladies were seated and holding delicate porcelain cups filled with fragrant warm chocolate, Emma took a good look at her friend.
Despite the warm color of her apricot spencer, she looked pale and there were shadows under her green eyes.
“As happy as I am
to have you share my breakfast, I know you came for a reason. Tell me what is wrong.”
Penelope sighed deeply. “When I awoke this morning there was a jewel box next to my pillow.”
Emma sent Penelope a look of understanding, for she knew this subject had long been a sore spot for her friend.
“What was it this time?” she asked, picking up an orange wedge.
“A whacking big emerald brooch,” Penelope replied glumly. “And again, no note. I just wanted to throw the thing across the room. I found it so patronizing I could not stand it another moment—so here I am.”
“I’m sorry, Pen. I know how much this upsets you. Have you ever considered telling Tunbridge that you would prefer that he not give you any more jewels?”
“I just cannot. It would sound so silly.”
Emma thought for a moment before replying. “At least explain to him how you feel.”
“What on earth could I possibly say?” she asked, setting her cup down. “After more than ten years of marriage, I cannot very well tell him that I would prefer it if he did not give me such extravagant gifts if he does not love me.”
“Why not? I think that is a perfectly reasonable thing to say, especially since that is exactly how you feel.”
Penelope bit her lip and remained silent for a moment or two. “I don’t know. It feels like such a ridiculous thing to complain about. How many women would love to be in my place? I do not wish him to think me churlish.”
Emma reached for the chocolate pot and refilled Penelope’s cup. “He is your husband, Pen. I believe if you explain your feelings to him, you just might be surprised. Have you ever considered the idea that the jewels are his way of expressing his love for you?”
Penelope shook her head sadly. “I used to wonder if that were the case. I have always loved him, even though our families arranged our marriage. There have been times when I hoped that he might have a higher regard for me than mere affection, but my hopes have always been dashed. He has never once told me he loves me.”
“That does not necessarily mean that he does not,” Emma said in an attempt to comfort her friend.
“How hard is it to say the words?” Penelope asked with a bemused shake of her head. “Surely, if he loved me, when our children were born he would have told me. But, no, a sapphire diadem appeared next to my pillow when Freddie arrived and a diamond demi-parure after Jane.”
Emma considered her words for a moment. She had always liked and admired David Tunbridge and felt his steady, confident nature was a good balance to Penelope’s more sensitive personality. Truly, anyone observing the earl and his countess together would be convinced that they were besotted with each other. Emma wanted to offer her friend support, but she did not want to sound at all critical of Tunbridge.
“But he does not give you jewelry only after important occasions,” she gently pointed out.
“No, sometimes jewels show up for no reason,” Penelope said with a shrug. “I just do not know if I have the nerve to approach him about this.”
“Good heavens, Pen, it is not at all like you to be so timid. Take the risk. The reward may be well worth it.”
Penelope stared at her with vulnerable green eyes. “Perhaps you have the right of it. I shall just have to be brave and tell him my thoughts and feelings. I am so glad you are here, Emma. Writing all this in a letter would have been impossible.”
Emma smiled gently. “Yes, this is much more convenient.”
Penelope picked up her cup again and gave a gusty sigh. “I am tired of myself. Let us speak of more pleasant things. I am so pleased that you will be staying at Longdown for the races.”
Emma’s brows rose in surprise. “You are under a misapprehension. I have not even received an invitation from the Duke and Duchess of Severly.”
Penelope’s knowing grin immediately raised Emma’s suspicions. “But your grandmother did. She told me last night at the ball that she accepted for the both of you.”
“Well! I wonder when she was going to see fit to tell me,” Emma said archly. “This is most vexing. I really have no desire to attend.”
Frowning curiously, Penelope asked, “Why? Because Devruex will be there?”
“Frankly, yes,” Emma replied as she brought the cup to her lips.
“But why? I thought his gallantry over Monteford’s insults had smoothed over the past.”
Emma contemplated the dregs of the chocolate lingering in the bottom of her cup before answering. “Not exactly. Jack asked me to marry him last night.”
Penelope’s cup rattled in its saucer. “What? Are you joking?”
Emma spread her hands wide. “Would I joke about this?”
“I suppose not. I am just so shocked. How could you let me rattle on the way I did? Apparently, you have been withholding a great deal from me.”
“Yes,” Emma sighed, “I have.”
“Well, I am going to sit here until I know all the details,” Penelope said, settling more comfortably into her chair with an expectant look on her face.
Emma hesitated, but the determined set of Penelope’s jaw convinced her that she meant her words. With a sense of unburdening herself, Emma relayed the main points of her recent encounters with Jack as her friend listened with rapt attention.
“Wait a moment,” Penelope said when Emma had finished speaking. “Are you saying that you believe that Devruex asked you to marry him out of some belated sense of guilt and honor?”
Emma pulled her dressing gown closer, wrapped her arms around her waist, and looked away from Penelope’s serious gaze. “Why else? I have not so much as caught a glimpse of him in the last thirteen years. Why else would he offer marriage in such a precipitous manner?”
Penelope gave a wry laugh. “The one thing that I have learned after more than a decade of marriage is that I have little understanding of how the male mind works. Perhaps Devruex has never completely fallen out of love with you?”
“Hogwash! Love does not work that way,” Emma said, feeling sad and vehement all at once.
“Who is to say how love works? I certainly do not know. I do know that Devruex has never married in spite of being chased by any number of desirable ladies over the years. I do know that he has never kept a mistress for more than a Season or two and that they have all been blondes or redheads.”
Emma looked at Penelope in complete bafflement. “What does the hair color of his mistresses have to do with the price of spices in India?”
“Because,” Penelope replied impatiently, “none of them have had your coloring. It’s as if he could never bear to spend time with women who resembled you. That has to mean something.”
Emma could not help smiling at her friend’s rather strange logic. “I do not care if it does mean something. You are very mistaken if you think I would consider that he meant his proposal.”
“Can you honestly tell me that since coming to London none of your old feelings for him have returned? I have seen for myself the way you look when he is around.”
After the intensity of her encounter with Jack last night, she could no longer pretend that she was indifferent to him. “That may be so. I cannot deny that he is an exceedingly attractive man. But I would be ten times a fool to risk my heart with him again.”
Penelope affixed her with a perceptive green gaze. “I am going to use your own very wise words, my dear. ‘Take the risk. The reward may be well worth it.”’
Chapter Twenty-two
On Thursday afternoon, Jack rapped on the dowager Duchess of Kelbourne’s door and waited impatiently for her exquisitely correct butler to answer. This was the third time this week that Jack had called and he wondered if it would also be the third time that he would be told that the dowager duchess and Lady Fallbrook were not at home.
Not only had he visited three days out of the last four—he had also taken early-morning rides in Green Park every day since the Litchfield ball, but he had yet to encounter Emma. To his growing frustration, she seemed to have disappea
red from London, which only made everyone gossip about her even more.
As he tapped his silver-tipped walking stick against his gleaming black Hessians he decided that if he was turned away again, he was going to have to come up with another plan to speak to Emma. He did not know exactly what his next move would be, but he intended to speak to her.
Finally, the heavy door swung open and Jack was amused to see that the butler did not look at all surprised to see him.
“Good afternoon, Simms. Need I ask if the duchess and Lady Fallbrook are receiving visitors today?”
Simms performed a very correct bow, and when he straightened, Jack did not mistake the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“Her grace and Lady Fallbrook are in the drawing room, my lord.”
Simms stepped aside, obviously expecting Jack to enter, but Jack was so surprised that he paused outside for a moment before stepping onto the black-and-white marble floor in the grandly appointed foyer.
The butler took his stick and black beaver topper and handed them to a young footman, then led Jack up the stairs and down a wide hall. Jack fought his impatience at Simms’s measured pace.
Finally, Simms came to a door and opened it wide. Jack strode in as the butler announced him. He scanned the room and his gaze immediately lit upon the dowager duchess’s white head and then—to his surprise—the Earl of Pellerton, who was seated next to her on the blue upholstered sofa.
Turning, he saw Emmaline seated across from them, dressed in a pale violet-blue gown that made jewels of her eyes. His pulse quickened.
Her posture was rigid and her beautiful features were utterly serene, he noticed with some annoyance.
The only thing hinting that all was not well with the elegant Lady Fallbrook was the unusual pallor of her cheeks.
For an instant, his gaze held hers, but he could not gauge any emotion in their cool depths.
“Lord Devruex!” The duchess cried in delight as she held out a fragile, beringed hand for him to salute. “How good of you to visit. I am sure you know Lord Pellerton,” she said with a wave in the earl’s direction.
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