The Dandy and the Flirt (The Friendship Series Book 6)

by Julia Donner

  A memory returned—not a pleasant one—of his mother saying they had arranged for her marriage into a respectable family, one that did not mind her small dowry. The match secured her future, and she’d been grateful for that, but she’d felt somehow betrayed. It wasn’t until years later that George had haphazardly mentioned that Sir Marcus had paid off his debts as a part of her dower. George had assumed that she had known. A vague feeling of shame got added to the betrayal.

  Hugh had said nothing, could have said nothing about it, since it wasn’t his place, and he was away at university. He came to her wedding, stood silent and stoic as ever, but she remembered with a poignant twinge of her heart that he’d been all smiles at his own wedding to the beautiful and rich Beryl.

  His marriage helped her to comprehend the meaning of jealousy. His happiness had made her think about her own disgruntlement. Hugh had been her brother and friend, the protector of her youth. She had made fun of his fussy ways, his insistence on being careful, but he had always been there, making sure she was safe. Then she was turned out and over to the sterile arrangement of a proper connection, while Hugh received a loving wife and children. He’d penned a long and heartfelt letter to her when George was killed. She had been out of the country at the time of Beryl’s funeral. Her condolence letter had not been as effortless and caring as Hugh’s had been.

  She smoothed the wrinkles from the linen over her lap. If somewhere there were a definition of a gentleman written in a learned tome, Hugh’s name and image should be the illustration used. He’d married her to protect her and her child. If she could offer nothing else that he would value, she would give him her loyalty. He valued his reputation, and she would not allow it besmirched by her actions. Meeting in a public venue with a former lover, only days after she’d returned to London, was bound to set tongues wagging.

  There must be a way to end Langston’s obsession, and she wasn’t going to placate his revolting conceit by taking back her explicit insult of him being a tedious bed partner. She would find another way to foil the man’s attentions.

  She picked up her knife and fork with determination. No, a pistol shot was too good for Langston. The whip more appropriate. She imagined whacking the smug smile he always affected right off his face.

  “Emily?”

  She carefully set down the silverware when she noticed how she held the knife and fork, tines and blade pointing up, as if ready to stab something. A hot rush of embarrassment and regret made her take a quick sip of wine, which helped to steady her voice for an answer. “Yes, Hugh. An unwelcome and uninvited guest. The boys told you?”

  “Waldo expressed concern. He noticed that you were agitated. Apparently the uninvited guest attempted to win their favor by offering to take them to meet the performers.”

  “They were so crestfallen when I initially declined that I had to give way. That is why we were longer than expected in returning from Lambreth. And there was a great deal of traffic at that time of night. Theater patrons arriving early, you know. I was relieved that dinner had not needed to be set back.”

  The subject was let go of as the next course was served. Emily asked to excuse herself before the end of the meal, and Hugh surprised her when he followed her out. Her heart thumped when he took her arm as they climbed the stairs.

  In front of her bedchamber door, he stopped her. He used a crooked finger to lift her chin. “Emily, is there a reason for me to make an appointment with your uninvited guest?”

  She looked away from his probing gaze. “I cannot think of any reason that you should be so inconvenienced.”

  “Very well. As long as you are not feeling importuned or harassed. Then I shall bid you a good night and pray your health is restored in the morning.”

  “I am quite well, Hugh. Good night.”

  Lamps had been lit but there was no sign of Ferris. Emily sat down in the nearest chair and placed a shaky hand over her tummy. If only Langston would cease with his attentions. A scandal was the least of it. No duels, please Lord, no duels.

  Did Hugh know anything about swords or pistols? Was he proficient? He had training. She recalled that much, and a man of his position had to have had some understanding of the gentlemanly arts.

  She recalled speaking with Lord Deverille at the rout. At the time, she’d been amazed to hear that Hugh had knocked someone down. Had it been Langston? That was what Deverille had insinuated.

  Chapter 17

  Hugh went up the steps to Asterly House, an imposing dwelling of granite and glass that overwhelmed the surrounding residences. Every window blazed with light. Something about the sight irritated his already aggravated condition.

  While dressing for the evening, Ulrich had discreetly mentioned that servant gossip had linked Emily’s name with another’s. Hugh maintained a membership in the club where the comment had been generated. He knew the members and frequent guests and quickly deduced the source. That was one of the reasons he’d asked the boys and Emily about the outing to Astley’s.

  Ulrich’s remarks this evening and her delay in returning from Lambreth last week had his imagination stirring up uncomfortable suspicions. She and the boys had arrived just in time for dinner. He’d been about to ask to have the time set back, something he disliked doing, since it disturbed the kitchen and invariably ruined the meal. It wasn’t so much that he minded dried out courses but that he didn’t like his cook’s efforts ruined. No matter how he rolled the particulars around in his head, he couldn’t calm his sense of something being off kilter. After days of thinking about it, he admitted to himself that the weakness was in himself for mistrusting her.

  He paused on the Asterly doorstep to frown at his town coach. It had been brought up near the door. Was Emily unwell?

  In the wide, marble-paved vestibule, a footman took his outerwear. Another led him up the stairs. Voices and music filtered down the steps. He construed a suitable apology for missing dinner and not sending a note ahead of time. He’d have to think of a believable reason for his breach of etiquette. Elizabeth Asterly would forgive, he knew, but Lord Asterly took exception to any slight or disturbance involving his wife. He could be touchy about her, and Hugh would never blame a husband for that.

  It would have been better to have sent a note and not shown his face, but that strange urgency that filled him every time he was separated from Emily made him helpless to stay away. He felt driven to find her, assure himself of her safety. Even though he couldn’t bring himself to ask her about the unsavory insinuations being spread by Langston Blake, the compulsion to find her, to be with her and confirm her place with him, drove him onward.

  Then what to use for a suitable excuse to Lady Asterly? He couldn’t say that he’d been on the hunt for the lout who dared to encourage the rumor that his wife pined for a former lover. Nor could he explain that honor had spurred him to seek out Blake and silence his spurious remarks. Unfortunately, he’d missed his prey, having been told by an usher that Blake had left thirty minutes earlier. The miss was annoying but not disappointing. He’d run the vermin to earth tomorrow.

  Informed that he was too late for dinner, he followed in the wake of a white-wigged footman. He asked to be taken to the ladies, not the gentlemen enjoying an after dinner smoke. Subdued chatter and the clink of china floated through the open, double doors of the withdrawing room. A movement at the end of the well-lit corridor where a man entered a room brought him to a halt.

  “Is my wife inside with the ladies?” he asked the footman.

  “Why no, sir. I recently showed her into the book-room. I believe she wished to write out a note for Lady Asterly.”

  “The book-room. I see. Where is it?”

  “At the end of this passage, sir. May I show you the way?”

  “No. I believe I know exactly where it is.”

  He’d caught the barest glimpse of the man who’d entered the book-room, but since the fellow had striking features and a substantial figure, he had no doubt that the man behind a closed door
with his wife was Langston Blake.

  Chapter 18

  Could anything else this evening possibly not go her way? Hugh never arrived, and his absence created the nuisance of juggling the table seating arrangement. Lady Asterly, too kind and ever sensitive to the needs of her guests, immediately instructed her staff to make the necessary table setting changes. It wasn’t Emily’s fault that Hugh didn’t show his face or take the time to send a note, but she couldn’t help but feeling that it was.

  She’d been given a seat four places down from Elizabeth, Lady Asterly—the placement so near the hostess an explicit honor—which made Hugh’s embarrassing absence even more exquisite.

  An elderly, unmarried duke sat on Lady Asterly’s right, a peer Elizabeth had at one time thought Emily might consider for a husband. Marriage to a gentleman with sons her own age did not appeal, and Emily had no interest in the pampered, restricted life of a duchess.

  Lord Ravenswold, a close friend of the Asterlys, sat on Elizabeth’s left. Emily happened to know that a special chair had been made for the earl to accommodate his uncommon height. Elizabeth placed Ravenswold near at hand whenever possible to practice their shared interest in foreign languages. Emily had a slight understanding of French and wasn’t sure what language they were speaking. It had to be Italian, since the duke joined in and he came from Naples.

  From under hooded eyelids, Emily peered down the long dining table to its opposite end. Asterly covertly watched his wife, while on his right sat Countess Ravenswold, a fiery beauty, reckless speaker, and close friend of the host. The baron had a charming style, much like his famous brother, Sir Harry, but Emily had been present on more than one occasion when the baron’s startling alter personality surfaced. When that happened, Asterly looked every inch the dangerous spy he had been during the Peninsular Wars.

  Tonight, there was an edge to Lord Asterly’s mien that gave her the feeling his hostile side was about to emerge. Something displeased him. She doubted jealously was at play. Ravenswold and his wife were close friends, and the Earl of Ravenswold was known to be—even though he never showed it—wildly in love with his countess. The elderly duke would be no cause for worry.

  And yet Lord Asterly eyed his wife as if seeking her attention. Emily felt sure she understood the cause when Asterly’s gaze flicked to the middle of the table, to a conversation she’d been strenuously working to ignore.

  Emily squelched the urge to cringe when Langston Blake’s booming voice and pompous tone penetrated her protective wall of reserve. His self-importance had captured the attention of the guests seated at the center of the table. How could anyone so dense and lacking in talent as Langston have so much self-assurance? He oozed conceit.

  “Yes, my lady, I am quite delighted that the Sutherlands have asked me to join them in their highly successful enterprises in the Highlands.”

  “Dreadful sort, those Highlanders,” a male, blocked by Langston’s bulk muttered. “Barbarians, the lot of them.”

  Blake agreed with an unctuous laugh. “Cumberland did his best, you know, but the Sutherlands have their own method of finishing the job.”

  “Clearances,” a regal but bored female intoned. “I cannot think it anything but a prodigious excellent notion. My father was martyred at Culloden Fields. Erasing the tribal clans from the land can be nothing other than justifiable recompense. I’ve heard talk of cannibalism.”

  Emily tamped down her rising temper. This sort of viciousness wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before. The previous king had taken such a fright from what could have happened at Culloden that he’d favored a campaign to blacken the Scots for all time. She sensed Elizabeth’s curious and concerned regard, not for her guests, but for Emily herself. Immediately upon meeting, they had formed a strong bond through their shared love of music. Even though Emily wasn’t a Highlander, Elizabeth knew she’d lived her youth in Scotland and had grown up sensitive to the Northern Scot’s plight.

  She mustn’t make a scene. To settle and distract from her outrage, she put her hands in her lap and dug her nails into her palms. It wasn’t enough. To stop the retort begging for release, she clamped her teeth together. It took all of her will not to rant insults at the fools surrounding her, while images of burned villages, of beaten women, starving children and men’s bodies hanging from trees filled her thoughts.

  Langston continued to expound. He only needed the slightest encouragement, and at present he had listeners who agreed with his position. There could be no argument that the clearing of the Highlands of its people and cattle made way for sheep, which were cheaper to maintain and more profitable.

  A wave of grief swept over her. She desperately wanted to go home, not to the house in London, but all the way to Coldstream Manor, away from these heartless, self-righteous creatures. But railing against the horror that was happening in the north would find no support here. She swallowed her outrage and pretended an interest in the pheasant in wine sauce, while Langston took advantage of having everyone’s attention.

  “Yes, do have your man of business invest in sheep ventures, Lady Justine. The Cheviot breed is doing marvelously well. Now that the lands are being cleared, more sheep may be put to grass. Kelping is also a fine investment, but certainly sheep will provide you with an excellent return of your investment.”

  “But what of the beef cattle?” another asked.

  “Too much bother, according to my esteemed patroness. And the herds must be driven to market. That was an illegal business in itself, you know. Only look how the MacGregors ruled the roads. Everyone had to pay them to drive the cattle to market. Disgraceful business. In any event, most of the drovers were on the side of the Highland traitors. All dead now, I’m sure.”

  Emily bit her inner lip to stop the tears. Didn’t these people care that families were being torn from lands and homes where they’d worked and resided for generations? They were using political reasons to justify their virulent hatred for the Highland Scots. It wasn’t enough to destroy the clan culture, they had to kill off the families also?

  Then she had to ask herself why she thought herself better than the people sitting at the table. She had slept with a man about to go north and destroy without mercy the lives of a people already downtrodden and starving. Blake would carry it out with supreme righteousness, and she had allowed him access to her body. A gagging push of nausea threatened to erupt.

  Her exit from the dining table wouldn’t be the first time for such an occurrence in the course of a dinner party, but she’d always suffered a sense of shared sympathy when a female was forced to do so. Every man had to immediately set down his silverware or glass and get to his feet. She’d seen it before, a room full of men standing, while the flustered female escaped for whatever reason. Even though not a particularly unusual occurrence, the action invariably brought the escapee under close inspection and speculation. She didn’t need that sort of scrutiny right now, what with so much else going on, especially the unsettling presence of Langston only four seats to her right.

  There was nothing else for it. She had to excuse herself from the dinner table. The subject of the clearances and mutton course made her stomach churn, pushing the little she had put in it up her throat. She abruptly stood.

  Concern flashed over Elizabeth’s face. She wouldn’t have invited Blake if she thought Emily would suffer any discomfort and was under the impression that Emily had completely put aside the affair as unimportant. Before the discovery of her pregnancy, the brief affair had been regulated to the inconsequential.

  Lord Asterly moved to escort her, but she waved him back. As she left the dining hall, her flesh shrank from embarrassment of what they must think. Everyone knew about the affair. The exclusivity of the ton made for overlapping interactions and relationships. Discreet but similar match-ups had been made that involved many of the now odd-numbered guests presently gracing the dinner table. Some were well-known and others not. That was old news. What she was doing now was fresh grist for the gossip mill
.

  From what she’d overheard and understood, Langston had received a lucrative position that also brought significant influence. He would take his cue from his powerful and wealthy patrons, Lord and Lady Sutherland. They were the objects of the Asterlys’ interest, not their hireling. Lord and Lady Asterly rarely allowed an opportunity to inveigle information from a guest or use a social event to draw another into their political camp, which was sort of neither here not there in this instance. The Asterlys were about to learn that Langston Blake’s backbone had a tendency to flex, depending on the subject. Of course, Langston was as oblivious to that reality as he was to his own failings.

  After taking in some air on the terrace, she felt no inclination to return to the dining hall. If she loitered long enough, the ladies would be taking seats for after dinner refreshments until the gentlemen joined them for the amusements slated for the rest of the evening. Perhaps she could dash off a note of explanation to Elizabeth and leave early.

  A footman directed her to what he called the book-room, a cozy-sized library with an impressive mahogany desk. Lamps were lit, ink, quill and note paper provided. She sat at a small writing table instead of the intimidating desk and began to devise a note. She looked up when a low, male voice said something behind her. Turning in her chair, she saw the footman go out, leaving the door slightly ajar, in front of which, stood Langston Blake. He shut the door.

  Chapter 19

  Emily dropped the quill and sprang up. “What are you doing here?”

  Blake strolled to a huge wall mirror and studied the arrangement of his neckcloth. Turning with a smirk on his full lips, he answered, “Following you, of course. You made it quite obvious that I should.”