She barked out a laugh. “I’m not sure you do, boy. I don’t know that I’ve ever been witness to a pair going so far out of their way to make unseen eyes at each other.”
Zach laughed and sat in the matching chair across a small table from her. He admitted, “I’m not entirely sure I care to know exactly what that might mean, ma’am.”
She sighed and gave him a look riddled with exasperation. “I’ll leave off commenting on that bit of nonsense and allow you to tell me where you came upon so dangerously pitiable an ingénue.”
Zach cocked a brow. “Pitiable? Emma?”
“I don’t care how remarkable you think she is, that girl is no match for you,” barked the dowager, finally taking a moment to fix her tea, the set having sat untouched between them until now.
He debated this, considering the context of the lady’s statement against what he knew of Emma Ainsley’s stubbornness.
“My father left her a pretty sum in his will.”
This raised the mighty woman’s brow, until it lowered and her lips parted. “Pray do not tell me she is the imp from some inn down near Hertfordshire.”
“He told you about her?” Zach was aghast.
But Lady Marston quickly shook her head. “I’d taken him to task for having defaulted on a dinner party I’d had. Said he’d been waylaid down there—but wait, he specifically said by a charming and dimpled blonde. Those were his words. Oh, I gave him hell, told him he was too old for things of that nature. But your Miss Ainsley, while admittedly alluring, is neither blonde nor dimpled.” Her eyes skinnied with shrewdness.
Zach was rather pleased to be able to baffle his godmother with the news, “Ah, but her daughter is.”
Lady Marston sat back in her overstuffed chair, while so many manifestations of emotions crossed her face: jaw gaping with disbelief; eyes narrowing with calculation; nose wrinkling with displeasure.
“Bloody Hades, what did he do?”
To save her further erroneous assumptions, Zach laid out the truth of Emma’s tale, and his father’s connection to her, or at least the truth as he understood it. His father had happened upon her while his carriage was stuck. He’d been perhaps initially taken with Emma’s decency, and then more so by darling Bethany, that he’d visited often, regularly, and had benevolently thought to increase her circumstance by way of his final bequest.
Lady Marston rolled both her eyes and her head when the telling was done.
Another sigh preceded her assessment, “He was a fool. I say that with love, you know that. God’s wounds, he was softhearted. But there is good news, in that the child is not his. Are we sure about this?”
Zach shrugged. “Relatively.”
The blue eyes rolled again. She considered Zach for a long moment, giving him a good glare while she assessed the situation and her thoughts on it. Finally, she said, “So where are we now? You’re aloof and brooding, boy, but you’ve not quite managed to hide your simmering—dare I say, longing?—glances at the poor thing.” She sounded particularly displeased about this part. “Why bring her to London? Why not leave her tucked away down there in that cottage? You can’t marry her. And I know you’d not stoop so low as to despoil that sweet thing. So what, then?”
“My intention was twofold,” he said, and added sheepishly, “but only part of it was not entirely selfish.”
“Not surprising.”
Zach briefly sketched his purpose in bringing Emma to London. He focused more on the assistance her very presence might give to his hopes of avoiding the hindrance of Lady Prudence Kingsley while still garnering her father’s support. Stubbornly, he put less emphasis on his plan to briefly expose Emma to the beau monde, that she might not so much forfeit any part of herself but rather gain a bit of an understanding about people outside her own little sphere of life.
“So you’ve said all that and I’m telling you right now that’s the grandest load of twaddle I’ve ever heard. I’m supposed to believe your stated altruistic intent, when I personally witnessed how you absolutely chewed her up with your eyes. Don’t you dare insult me, Zachary Benedict. You’ve brought her here for my approval. You want me to somehow change the laws of polite society, or give you leave to ignore them, so that you can...what? Marry her?” She scoffed. “You are the Earl of Lindsey. You may not marry a commoner. A country cousin, maybe, and even that I would advise against. But a chambermaid? You’ve a fine future in politics, boy, that shouldn’t be driven off by some trifle, who are—let’s be honest—ten a penny.”
“Are they, though? Ten a penny?”
Lady Marston gasped. “Dear Lord, you’re in love with her.”
Zach said nothing. His jaw tightened. Something inside would not allow him to refute her supposition, even as that precise idea had never so much as entered the periphery of his mind.
He could literally see his godmother composing herself, forcing slow breaths, straightening her shoulders. Levelly, she pronounced, “No, they are not, I suppose, not ten a penny. They are rare, and wasn’t I and your parents lucky enough to know it? But Zachary, dear, this is different. She is worthy only in your eyes. They’ll eat her up. She would never rise above it—they wouldn’t allow it. Is that what you want to do to her? It wouldn’t end well.”
He sat silent, frustrated.
“I know it’s not what you wanted to hear. But you are to be a great statesman. You need a partner of strength and wiliness, someone willing to play the game at your side. She’s not it. It would wipe out everything you love about her now.”
Zachary gave in to his own thoughtful perusal of his godmother, chewing the inside of his cheek as he did. “All that, gathered in so short a meeting? Quite remarkable, even for you, my lady.”
When the dowager only smacked him with a withering glare, he waved a negligent hand. “Be that as it may, I need an invitation for her for Kingsley’s dinner this evening,” he said. His godmother was no great fan of Lady Kingsley, but she was a society matron few would dare to refuse. “Additionally, I need you to sponsor her tomorrow night at Clarendon’s ball.”
A slow, calming blink of her eyes preceded her nod. “Very well. I will collect her at eight. And you will not arrive until nine. At least give some show of insouciance.” As an afterthought, her forefinger raised swiftly from her cane, she added, “And you may dance only once with her! In that regard, I will not be budged.”
Zach grinned at his godmother. “Honestly, my lady, I haven’t any idea if she even knows how to dance.”
Thin, arched brows rose nearly into her hairline. “You are going to be the death of me, boy,” was issued in a slow and seething tone.
Zach left shortly thereafter, having amused himself greatly at the woman’s expense. But once seated inside his carriage and driving away, his grin faded.
In love with Emma Ainsley?
She tried very hard not to let the earl see exactly how nervous she was, how close to begging him to release her from her promise to help him.
As ever, he seemed to read her so well, though she’d not said a word within the confines of the carriage as of yet.
“Miss Ainsley, please do not trouble yourself,” he said into the darkness. “It is simply a dinner. Perhaps only twenty people or so.”
Emma attempted a smile and was glad for the shadows and the probability that he actually could not see what she was sure emerged as a pained grimace.
He added, a bit consolingly, “Think of it as similar to being in the midst of the crowded dining room or taproom at the King’s Arms Inn. Filled to the brim with persons infused with an appreciation for their own importance, who will want to talk about themselves, who will no doubt not give any regard to any answers you might make to the indifferent questions they may or may not put forth. You should expect to be bored to tears for all the talk of politics, and I apologize in advance for that.”
Only a few minutes later, they stood just inside the terraced house of Lord and Lady Kingsley. The foyer was a study of classic English design; b
lack and white tiled floor, pilasters of rich marble, and wall coverings of muted gold silk.
The earl assisted her in the removal of her cape, which had arrived today with the gown she now wore. When her shoulders were freed of the luxurious sky blue cape of soft and light velvet, Emma turned to the earl but gave her gown a swift perusal, brushing away what she thought might be wrinkles in a certain spot in the skirt. Never in her life had she owned or worn silk, and here she was surrounded by it tonight. The sweet silk of the dress was of a summer blue, the skirt and bodice generously adorned with embroidered fleur de lis, fashioned with shiny gold threads. The peasant bodice was trimmed with a gold cord and the hem of the skirts, touching just at her ankle, showed a single layer of gold fleur de lis lace. Beneath her gown, her legs were caressed by sumptuous silk hose and her feet were tucked into low-heeled slippers of gold satin.
She felt like a princess and had delighted at the earl’s initial response when she’d joined him in the foyer of his Mayfair home earlier. His gaze had raked her with fascination, the smile that had lifted his gorgeous lips had come slowly and had thrilled her so much more than it should have.
He offered her the crook of his arm now, tucking his other hand over the fingers she placed on his sleeve and they moved as one to be received by their hosts.
Emma almost forgot to be nervous then, as the earl ducked his head and whispered at her ear, his breath teasing the curls there, “You are ravishing, Miss Ainsley,” which Emma personally thought entirely more exhilarating than his earlier generic, albeit appreciative statement of, “Well done, Miss Ainsley.”
“Lindsey,” said their host, a portly man not much taller than Emma herself. Lord Kingsley was easily twice the age of the earl, with thinning hair and a face that seemed to be folding in around its features, compressing his eyes and lips inside his puffy skin.
“Lord Kingsley, may I present Miss Emma Ainsley,” said the earl.
The elderly man arched a thick and untamed brow, throwing the earl a look of quickly tamped down displeasure before he flashed a thin smile to Emma. Taking his slowly proffered hand, she sank into a respectable curtsy.
Next to her squat husband, Lady Kingsley appeared quite long, though was stuffed so harshly into her silk gown of tangerine, Emma feared any sharp exhale might send buttons or flounces or trim scattering away from the ensemble. Likely, the gown had fit the lady perfectly a decade ago, but tonight it appeared its purpose was not so very different than that of the butcher’s sausage casing. She looked about as pleased as her husband with Emma’s introduction, casting a narrowed glance all over Emma’s fine gown.
The lady recovered quickly, however, and accepted Emma’s greeting and curtsy with a pinched and painted-lip smile. Inclining her head, she said to the earl, “I was pleased to be able to accommodate Lady Marston’s request for the addition of one guest to my table.” Her next words, and the lofty tone in which they were delivered, shriveled Emma’s excitement fairly quickly. “Even as it befuddled my numbers, as it would have any hostess with such short notice.” She tittered then, as if that additional sound would have eased the severity of her statement.
The earl responded smoothly, “Lady Marston did not misspeak about you, Lady Kingsley, having assured me of your generous charm and hospitable spirit.”
Emma glanced sharply up at the earl, never having heard such a pretentious and servile voice from him. However, this seemed to effectively mollify the woman, if only for the time being. Emma began to imagine that Lord Kingsley and his daughter, the Hindrance, were not the only ones eager to entice the earl into their family.
They were directed to the upstairs drawing room, where other guests gathered and milled about, awaiting dinner. This room had not the tall ceilings or classic design of the immense foyer but was charming, nonetheless, with its pretty Queen Anne furniture and soft hues of blue and ivory.
Emma thought she detected a slight and brief hush to the room as the earl, with his hand at the small of her back, guided her within. There were perhaps a dozen people already assembled. Several heads turned their way, several gazes abandoned the newly arrived couple when Emma moved her eyes over these persons.
A lively, nervous laugh reached her, and a young woman stepped before her.
“You look as if you were made—or dressed—specifically for this room,” said the young lady. She indicated Emma’s blue and gold dress and then the room in general, showing similar shades, before pointing specifically to a settee of a gold striped pattern, enlivened with soft blue fleur de lis.
Emma laughed at this happenstance, meeting the pretty green eyes of the young woman.
“I am Lady Margaret,” said the girl, her smile seeming both genuine and friendly.
“Emma Ainsley,” she introduced herself, as a young man had pounced upon the earl and had his ear to her right.
“And that’s Lindsey?” Asked Lady Margaret, whom Emma decided might be several years younger than herself.
Emma lowered her voice as Lady Margaret had, ducking toward her a bit. “It is.”
“My sister will be happy for his coming,” she said. “Good heavens, but that’s all she’s talked about today. Oh my, and apologies to you, but she will not appreciate the challenge you represent.”
“Challenge?” Emma wondered.
Lady Margaret took Emma’s hand and pulled her away from the earl, still engaged by the other man. “Challenge for the earl’s affections. Are you in love with him as well?”
Startled, and slightly unprepared for having to respond to questions about her relationship with the earl so soon into the evening, Emma gulped and said, “Well, he and I are—”
Lady Margaret giggled and interrupted. “Oh, it will be so much fun to see Prudence thwarted. Ever has she talked as if he loved her already when anyone with even half a brain inside their head might tell you that he has yet to notice her existence.”
“I’m sure that the earl—”
“Prudence makes excuses for all the opportunities he has had to call upon her, or make a date with her, failing to embrace the truth that he is not interested.” Lady Margaret snickered again. “Tonight is going to be very entertaining after all!” Still holding Emma’s hand, she pulled her along, moving further into the room. “Come, I’ll introduce you to the people who matter.”
As she was led away, Emma threw a glance back at the earl, not quite sure if she wanted to be separated from him so soon. Now surrounded by two gentlemen, he watched her yet, inclining his head just enough to let Emma know he would offer no objection to her being so hastily whisked away and paraded around by the Lady Margaret.
Lady Margaret proved to be her own little whirlwind, interrupting her introduction of Emma to a statuesque woman named Lady Stanhope with the query, “Is it your own maid who so cleverly arranged your hair, Miss Ainsley?” And when Emma was presented to an oily middle-aged man titled Lord Shirley, Lady Margaret followed the introduction with, “You should limit your conversation to only the hello, my lord, as she has come on the arm of Lindsey.”
Emma was sure she had never met anyone quite like Lady Margaret. And when ten minutes had passed, and Emma had thankfully been saved from having to answer any questions about herself, or her arrival with the earl—Margaret having answered many queries herself—she stood in front of the Hindrance, Lady Prudence, Margaret’s older sister, and the reason Emma had been brought to London.
Lady Prudence was taller than Emma, with shiny blonde hair and a rosebud mouth. Emma’s initial impression was, very handsome even as she wished she were beautiful; deliberate; outwardly confident.
And then she opened her mouth.
In a tone laced with reprimand, she first chastised her sister to kindly use her polite indoor voice, and then turned an inhospitable smirk onto Emma when her sister introduced her.
“Was it your aim, then, Miss Ainsley, to upstage your hostess with your choice of dress, or was it your intent to remain unnoticed?”
Emma recalculated. Angr
y, insecure, and similar to Alice, in the sense that she’d likely put a person down if she thought it would increase her own significance. But Emma had dealt with enough of her type over the years at the inn, Alice included, that she needed only a moment to collect herself and reply with, “I do rather blend in, do I not?” And then, pointedly, “I shall take Lindsey to task for the frightful fact that I might well be mistaken as only the draperies.”
Lady Margaret giggled uproariously at this quip.
Lady Prudence minced no words. “And what, pray tell, is your relationship with Zachary?”
Emma smiled at the lady’s very transparent attempt to presume a more intimate relationship with the earl than was real.
“The earl and I are cousins—”
“Barely, I would imagine,” the imperious woman charged in, “as the Benedicts are quite a small—”
“On his mother’s side,” Emma finished evenly and then lifted a polite and curious brow to Lady Prudence. “Are you acquainted with any of the Morrissey relations? Oh, but you must be, as we are such a prolific family.” And she laughed, as charmingly and as innocently as Lady Margaret had. This only saved her further verbal condemnation, but not so much from the lady’s scornful scowl.
Lady Kingsley, having joined her guests in the drawing room with her husband, strode with some purpose toward her daughters and Emma just as a low gong of a bell was sounded. Two footmen pushed open the double doors, insinuating that the party would now be going down to dinner.
“Oh, Mr. Pickering,” called Lady Kingsley, her eyes on Emma even as she said to the man who strode toward her, “Won’t you be so kind as to see Miss Ainsley down to dinner?”
Emma’s gaze was suspended upon the straining bodice of Lady Kingsley, wondering if the seams might survive the meal. When Mr. Pickering stood before her with a pleased smile and proffered arm, Emma met his warm gaze and gave him a gracious smile.
“Thank you, sir.” She set her hand atop his and not through his elbow, as she’d noticed Lady Stanhope had done in front of her, and they followed the other pairs out of the drawing room.
If I Loved You (Regency Rogues: Redemption Book 2) Page 13