by Eloisa James
To his relief, Quill heard a scratching at the door.
It was Codswallop, whose eyes widened a bit when he realized that the study held not only the master’s son but also a somewhat disheveled Miss Jerningham. And he had distinctly heard the key turn in the door after he knocked.
He held out his silver tray. “Lord Breksby’s card, sir. His lordship has indicated that his visit is urgent.”
Quill nodded to Codswallop. “Please show Lord Breksby to the study. And ask Lady Sylvia to join us,” he added.
“Oh, goodness, no,” Gabby said. Patting her hair had confirmed that most of it was lying down her back. “I shall leave you to entertain your guest, Quill.”
“He is calling for you,” Quill remarked.
“What?” Gabby, in the middle of replacing a hairpin, looked sharply over her shoulder. She didn’t seem to realize that the greater part of her hair was falling down to the right.
“Let me,” Quill said. He pulled five or six hairpins out, so that a great mass of hair fell down Gabby’s back. Then he swiftly twirled it into a bun and stuck it back on the top of her head.
“Oh, thank you,” Gabby said, clearly taken aback. “Where did you learn to do that? No, don’t tell me.” She turned around. “Why does Lord Breksby wish to see me? And who is he?”
“Lord Breksby is England’s Secretary for Foreign Affairs,” Quill remarked. “He approached me just after you arrived from India, wishing information about the whereabouts of Kasi Rao.”
“Oh, no,” Gabby breathed.
“Yes,” Quill said dryly. “Perhaps you should tell him, Gabby. The Foreign Office is not the same thing as the East India Company, and I believe that Breksby is a man of honor. If he believes that Kasi is unfit to rule, he will ensure that the boy is kept safe.”
But Gabby shook her head. “I doubt he’s to be trusted, Quill. My father’s experience with representatives of the British government has been almost as unsatisfactory as his relationships with East India men. The government seems to have no ability to control company officials. Look what happened at Bharatpur. Hundreds of people died, and yet my father said the company had no authority for an assault on Holkar territory.”
It was Quill’s turn to look rueful. “I am very sorry to say that I agree with you for the main part. But Breksby himself is not a bad sort. And he has a great deal of power here in London. If he decides that Kasi is not an adequate ruler—and how could he decide otherwise?—then the company will have to leave Kasi alone.”
“They will not do so,” Gabby retorted. “I am quite familiar with the machinations of East India men, Quill. They will lie and steal and bribe to get control over territory that does not belong to them. Kasi would be naught more than a pawn to them. And I don’t believe they would show any mercy if it came to putting him on the throne, not if they thought they could gain more territory as a result.”
Quill watched his newly betrothed warily. She had an unexpected side to her. He hadn’t anticipated such steely rationality from someone who at first glance seemed little more than a chatterbox.
“Do you agree with me, Quill?” Gabby asked impatiently. She could hear footsteps approaching in the hallway outside.
Quill bent his head. “The East India Company would do well to accept female directors.” And found himself surprised again.
Lord Breksby declared himself enchanted to meet Miss Jerningham in person. “I am the Secretary for Foreign Affairs,” he announced.
Gabby sat down and clasped her hands together. “Lord Breksby, I would be delighted to aid the English government in any way possible.”
“We understand,” Breksby said, “that your father may have had a young visitor in his household while you were growing up, the son of the ruler of Holkar. The directors of the East India Company are under the impression that Lord Jerningham may have sent Kasi Rao Holkar to England. It would have been a natural action, given that your father has many contacts in this country.”
“I’m afraid that I have no information about Kasi’s whereabouts,” Gabby replied sweetly.
Her eyes didn’t even flicker, Quill thought. His future wife was quite an accomplished fibber.
“Well,” Breksby announced, “certain representatives of the East India Trading Company appear to believe that the prince has been—”
At that moment Lady Sylvia entered the room and gave a crow of pleasure at the sight of Lord Breksby. To Gabby’s dismay, it transpired that Breksby and Lady Sylvia were old friends, since Lord Breksby’s wife had grown up in a village next door to Lady Sylvia’s country estate. It wasn’t until Gabby decided that Breksby was going to describe every single one of the fourteen bedchambers in the cottage he and his wife had just bought in the same village that she lost her patience.
“Dear sir,” she implored Lord Breksby. “Please, may we return to the subject of Kasi Rao?”
Breksby smiled genially. “My apologies, Miss Jerningham. I was so caught up in conversation with this charming lady”—he smirked at Lady Sylvia—“that I forgot your natural distress. As I was saying, representatives of the East India Trading Company appear confident that the Holkar heir is to be found in London.”
Gabby chewed on her lower lip but said nothing.
“Now, I cannot say where or how they came by their information,” Breksby commented. “Nor, of course, can I venture a guess as to its reliability. But I did wish to inform you, Miss Jerningham. Because in my view—only in my view—it would be far better for the English government to discover Mr. Kasi Rao Holkar than it would for representatives of the East India Company to do so.”
Quill waited.
Gabby gave Lord Breksby a sad little smile. “I most certainly agree with you, sir. I fear that representatives of the East India Company wish to find Kasi for their own nefarious purposes.”
“No question about that,” Breksby replied promptly. “They love the idea of putting a half-witted ruler in the Holkars. Give them a handle into the whole Marathas region, no doubt about it.”
“Couldn’t you stop them?” Gabby pleaded.
A rare look of chagrin flitted across Breksby’s face. “The company has been one of the few failures of my tenure,” he admitted. “We managed to pass the India Bill in ‘84, but it has been a dismal failure in terms of curbing their territorial greed.”
Gabby seemed to have made up her mind. “I certainly wish I could help you, Lord Breksby,” she cooed, tilting her head to the side.
Quill watched cynically from the other side of the room as Breksby melted in front of his eyes. At least he wasn’t alone in being bowled over by Miss Gabrielle Jerningham. Although he rather thought he, Quill, hadn’t been lied to yet. If so, he reminded himself, it was only a matter of time.
Lady Sylvia turned about the moment the door clicked shut behind Lord Breksby and shot Quill a steely glance. “I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, Erskine, but I won’t have you handing yer brother damaged goods. It isn’t the work of a gentleman.”
Hot color rushed up Gabby’s neck. “Oh, Lady Sylvia, I…Quill …” She faltered.
“You may be the first to congratulate us,” Quill said calmly. “This morning Miss Jerningham agreed to be my wife.”
Lady Sylvia gave him another scathing look. “Well, then, I won’t have you trotting damaged goods up to yer own altar either.”
Quill met her eyes steadily. “You need have no fear of that, Lady Sylvia. I should prefer, however, that you do not impugn the honor of my betrothed.”
“Oh?” She gave Gabby a monstrous frown. “Miss Jerningham, I clearly instructed you not to spend time alone with a man, any man. Yer gown is crumpled in the back, and there are hairpins all over the hearth rug. If you two haven’t been tumbling about on the floor, then I’m a monkey’s uncle!”
Gabby thought it wasn’t possible for a person to feel so embarrassed. But Quill spoke before she could try to defend herself.
His eyes were icy with fury. “I’ll tumble my fiancée
any damned place I please.”
Lady Sylvia drew herself up sharply. “Gabrielle is not a milkmaid, and there will be no such behavior while I’m her chaperone. We’ll see what yer father has to say about this!”
Silence fell as all three people realized that Viscount Dewland would have nothing to say, given his incapacity.
“I suppose poor old Thurlow can’t complain,” Lady Sylvia said after a moment. “But he won’t like it if you have a six-month child. I won’t like it. I’m supposed to stop this sort of thing.”
Gabby rushed forward and took her chaperone’s hand. “Please, Lady Sylvia, forgive me for my behavior this morning. I will not spend any time alone with Erskine before our wedding, that I promise you. And…and I’m not damaged goods!” she finished in a rush.
Lady Sylvia gave a reluctant little smile. “I thought as much,” she admitted. “Erskine here may be a hothead, but he isn’t a debaucher.”
“I should not have spoken to you in that fashion,” Quill said. “Please forgive me, Lady Sylvia.”
She shrugged. “The way you’ve been wearing your heart on your sleeve, Erskine, I should have expected a little plain talk. I suppose you’re going to want the wedding set within the next week or so.”
Quill had fully intended to have an engagement that lasted a good three months, just as Peter had advised the night before. But he had no illusions about the source of his current bad humor. Every inch of his body was instructing him to tumble Gabby on the hearth rug again. And he wanted a sixth-month child no more than would his father.
“Absolutely not,” he replied stiffly. “Gabby and I shall have a formal announcement and wait a suitable period of time before solemnizing the wedding. Perhaps a month,” he added.
Lady Sylvia laughed. “You’re far gone, Erskine. Not that I dislike seeing it. My Lionel was that eager to get me into bed! He swore it was time to measure a casket when my father refused to have the ceremony for six months.
“At any rate, you’ve chosen your new bridegroom just in time, Gabrielle. I’ve a note here from Kitty. She says she’s coming to London, and I expect she wants to see Peter married quickly. You’ll have to inform your brother that he’s lost his heiress, Erskine.” Lady Sylvia gathered up her reticule and fan. “Gabrielle, come with me, please. Your hair needs immediate attention, and I suggest you spend the next hour or so composing yourself. Now that you’ve not only been introduced to society but created your first scandal, I warrant we shall have a flood of callers this morning.”
So Gabby meekly set off, leaving behind her one frustrated fiancé and seventeen pearl-tipped hairpins.
LADY SYLVIA PAUSED at the door to her bedchamber. “I’m not such a bad chaperone as you suppose,” she said suddenly. “I could see as well as any that you and Erskine were the better match.”
Gabby blushed. “I’m truly sorry about this morning. I should not have visited Quill’s study by myself.”
“There’s a time and place for chaperones too,” Lady Sylvia replied. “And giving a hand to a wedding proposal isn’t one of them. Looks as if Erskine did just fine on his own.”
Gabby couldn’t help smiling at the roguish look the older woman was giving her. “Yes, he did,” she said.
“A good boy, he is. All heart, and don’t let the fact he doesn’t say much change your opinion. He’s a good boy.”
Gabby nodded.
Lady Sylvia pranced into her room, instructing Gabby to lie on her bed for at least forty minutes, so as to prepare herself for the onslaught of gabsters they could expect for morning calls.
“Mind you,” she scolded, “given that your bodice gave up its moorings last night, quite a few of them will be here simply to crane their necks. I’ve no doubt but what that tale has spread all over town. Still, if the men of the town could have chosen a bodice to drop, I daresay that most of them would have chosen yours. That will irk the ladies. Pure and simple jealousy.”
Gabby walked into her room and dutifully lay on her bed, but it was impossible to relax. Finally she sat up and took out Peter’s miniature. But his gentle eyes and soft brown hair had lost their allure. She’d lost her appetite for perfectly arranged curls and a gentle manner. Quill’s eyes were stormy and his hair was never perfectly arranged—if indeed his valet did more than draw a comb through it. And yet she only had to think about him to feel a rush of happiness. He talked with his eyes, and they told her that she was beautiful and desirable—yes, and intelligent too.
LUCIEN STOOD IN THE ENTRYWAY of Emily’s small house feeling tongue-tied, a most unusual emotion for a man known for his eloquent compliments. “I came to ask whether you might accompany me to a small party being given by Lady Dunstreet,” he said. “I much enjoyed our evening together.”
“As did I,” Emily murmured. But Lucien couldn’t see any trace of pleasure on her face. Then she raised her eyes. “I must speak to you, Mr. Boch. Will you spare me a moment?”
Lucien’s heart sank as he followed Emily into the sitting room and sat down opposite her.
“Mr. Boch, I am afraid that I shall not be able to see you again,” Emily said decisively. “While I greatly enjoyed the ball—” She broke off. “I am responsible for my small household, which now includes Phoebe. I am most grateful to you for inviting me to Lady Fester’s ball. But I must not make a habit of such pleasures.”
Lucien shook his head. “Can you not think of it in the way of business?” he said, hoping that there wasn’t a plea in his voice. “I was under the impression that attending social events could only help your writing.”
Emily twisted her gloves in her lap.
“Did you not enjoy it?” he added—and he knew that there was desperation in his voice.
At that Emily looked up quickly. “Oh, I did! It was more…more lovely than I would have dreamed. But I cannot do it again, Mr. Boch. I do not belong in that world. I am a working person.”
“As I said, could you not—”
“Absolutely not,” Emily said with quiet certitude.
Lucien opened his mouth, but she raised her hand. “Mr. Boch, I will be frank with you. I cannot afford to live as a woman of the ton. My sister and I sewed late every night last week to make the gown I wore.”
“It was exquisite,” he said promptly. “I was accompanied by the most elegant woman in the room.”
Emily colored but shook her head. “I do not belong in that world, nor can I afford to masquerade in it. I have Phoebe to care for, as well as my sister. Even my evening gloves were beyond our means.” She rose.
Lucien perforce rose as well. He walked behind her to the door, suppressing an angry wish to complain. But what could he say? He could hardly offer to buy her a ball gown. It would be a grossly impertinent breach of etiquette.
“May I call on you in the future?”
Emily had the most open, candid eyes he had seen in his life. “I shall not be at home if you call,” she replied gently, disengaging her hand from his.
Lucien bowed once more, his heart a leaden stone in his chest. “I much regret your decision.”
Only Louise knew how much Emily regretted her own decisiveness; she came down the stairs to find her sister brushing away tears.
“Did you send him away?” she asked.
Emily nodded, her chin wobbling in an undignified fashion.
Louise sighed. “Why, Emily? Why should you begrudge yourself a few evenings of pleasure? You have most certainly earned them.”
“He has no serious intentions…. And I have no time for frivolity. I have Phoebe to care for,” Emily said.
“Pooh!” Louise replied.
“I am too fond of him,” Emily said.
“Is that such a problem?”
“I do not wish to become a kept woman.”
“You never would,” Louise said stoutly. “So why not just enjoy what is offered and refuse the carte blanche when he offers it?”
“Because…because I am afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
&
nbsp; “I might wish to become his mistress,” Emily whispered miserably.
There was a moment of silence.
“That is a problem,” Louise acknowledged.
Emily’s chin wobbled, but she managed a small smile. “Isn’t it just?”
Louise gave her a tight squeeze. “I will say one thing, Emily.”
Her sister paused, looking back from the stairs.
“If you are truly honest, you will note in your next column that a certain young woman accompanied by a former French count wore the most beautiful costume at the Fester ball.”
“Lucien is a marquis, not a count,” Emily corrected. But she smiled.
GABBY SPENT THE REMAINDER of the morning in a stranglehold of anxiety. When should she tell Peter that their engagement was off? Or would Quill prefer to tell Peter himself? She would forget this nerve-racking problem only to find her heart beating rapidly as she imagined Kasi Rao being forcibly dragged from Mrs. Malabright’s arms.
The only positive aspect of her paroxysms of worry was that her dropped bodice faded in her mind from a dire humiliation to a mere embarrassment.
Lady Sylvia’s prediction about the number of callers they might expect proved to be absolutely correct. By the time Gabby returned downstairs, the Indian Drawing Room was crowded with people come to see the fashionable lady with the indecent gown—or the indecent lady with the fashionable gown, however one wished to phrase it.
Sophie, the Duchess of Gisle, arrived just after visiting hours commenced. “I thought if we were in the same chamber, we could accept commiseration together.” Her eyes were dancing with laughter. “I do believe that we ought to complain to Madame Carême, don’t you, Gabby?”
The assembled ladies quickly noted the duchess’s familiarity with Miss Jerningham and adjusted their opinions accordingly.
“I, for one, will never patronize that particular modiste.” A thin, waspish-looking lady shivered dramatically. “Obviously, it was her design that was at fault.”
“You wouldn’t have to worry,” Lady Sylvia snapped. “No gown is going to fall off yer chest, Amelia. And if it did, there’s nothing to expose.” Lady Sylvia was proving herself a formidable opponent, taking off the head of any person brave enough to insinuate that ladylike behavior did not include disrobing in public.