by Regina Scott
So Lord Robert’s mother hadn’t known. “I wondered why she agreed to invite him,” Emily said. “I suppose I should be glad I wasn’t the only one in ignorance.”
“No indeed,” Ariadne assured her as the carriage passed the still, green waters of the Serpentine. “I gather Lady Baminger was just as shocked to hear about the matter. Poor Lady Wakenoak turned white when Lady Skelcroft told her after the ladies had left the gentlemen to their port and retired to the withdrawing room.”
“But never you fear,” Daphne put in. “Lady Skelcroft got her due. I heard her telling Lady Baminger how she’d lost her ruby brooch. Her husband feared it stolen and called Bow Street. That’s how she knew Mr. Cropper.”
Priscilla made a face and spoke for the first time. “You missed the end of that story when your mother called you to play the piano for everyone. Mr. Cropper found the brooch on the floor. Lady Skelcroft apparently only misplaced it.”
So she’d been right about that night. Emily frowned. “Odd. That’s the same thing that happened to Acantha Dalrymple and Aunt Minerva.”
“Well, they all love calling attention to themselves,” Daphne pointed out, “so I’m not entirely surprised.”
As they turned to cross the grass for Hyde Park Corner, Priscilla put a hand on Emily’s arm. “I also must apologize for not speaking last night, Emily.”
The ache in her voice pierced Emily’s pain. She turned her frown on Priscilla. “What do you mean?”
Priscilla’s hands fluttered before her, reminding Emily of Mrs. Tate’s fretting. “I wanted to tell you to fight, to refuse to marry the fellow just because your father wishes it. But I couldn’t very well say that, could I? I’m guilty of the same sin.”
Daphne reached out and patted Priscilla’s knee. “You’re only trying to help your family,” she assured Priscilla.
Priscilla straightened away from the kind touch as if she did not believe she deserved it. “That may be the case for me, but it isn’t the case for Emily. His Grace isn’t teetering on the brink of financial disaster, and she doesn’t have a Dreaded Family Secret to guard.” Her green gaze sought Emily’s, imploring. “You don’t have to do this. Say no.”
Emily shook her head. “It’s too late, Pris. I signed the settlement papers last night. I gave my word.”
Priscilla’s eyes were brimming. “Only because you didn’t wish to disappoint your father. You know that’s the truth. You don’t love Lord Robert. You couldn’t love someone like him.”
Tears heated Emily’s eyes as well. “What was it you said, Pris? ‘I imagine love and compatibility are very nice for those who can afford them.’ Apparently, even a duke’s daughter cannot afford them!”
“Nonsense!” Priscilla declared, dashing away her tears with one hand. “We’ll go back to your townhouse and send the footman for Lord Robert. I very much doubt he’s any match for the four of us when we set our minds to it. We’ll tell him that enough is enough. We’ll make him give you the Ball!”
Emily eyed her. Priscilla’s lips were tight, her skin pale, her eyes like great green circles of grief. Priscilla had no way of knowing that having the ball would not save Emily from marrying a monster or ease Emily’s broken heart.
But Emily could not bear to see her friend so concerned. If giving Lord Robert a piece of her mind would make Priscilla feel better, Emily was all for it.
“I suppose it’s worth a try,” she allowed.
And it was far easier than she’d thought, for when they arrived at the townhouse, Warburton announced that Lord Robert was waiting in the withdrawing room for a word with Lady Emily.
Emily and Priscilla exchanged glances, Ariadne nodded as if she’d expected the villain to show himself, and Daphne frowned.
“And as Lady Minerva is still abed,” the butler continued, motioning to the footman to take their pelisses, “I’m certain your friends will be only too glad to accompany you.”
Priscilla, Daphne, and Ariadne all straightened. Heads high, they marched into the sitting room to confront Lord Robert. Emily was surprised to find herself almost eager for the fight. Arguing with him probably wouldn’t improve her life, as he’d no doubt take it out on her later. But she had a feeling Priscilla wouldn’t be the only one relieved to lay into him.
Lord Robert rose from where he’d been sitting on the sofa. As if he saw their intent written on their determined faces, he immediately held up his hands. Surrender? It couldn’t be. She hadn’t even opened her mouth!
“Ladies, how delightful to find you all together,” he said as Priscilla, Daphne, and Ariadne fanned out beside Emily, their gowns bright against the dark wool of her riding habit.
Emily crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, really, my lord? I cannot credit that you had something you wished to say to all of us.”
He must have grown used to her forthright speech, for he merely smiled as he lowered his hands. “Actually, I wished to speak to you, but I had hoped our discussion would end with an announcement of interest to your friends.”
Priscilla stepped closer to Emily with a frown. “And what would that be, my lord?” she demanded.
Emily eyed her, fighting a grin. She’d never heard Priscilla take precisely that tone with a boy before. In fact, Priscilla began to sound a great deal like Emily!
“I regret that I am not at liberty to say, Miss Tate,” he replied with a short bow. “If I could have a moment of your time, Emily?”
Emily exchanged glances with Priscilla again. “Watch out for sweet words,” Priscilla whispered in warning, then she stepped back and drew Daphne and Ariadne toward the door.
“We’ll be just in the corridor, Lady Emily,” Daphne assured her as Priscilla pulled her out. “Well within calling distance if you need us. And I know where you keep the fireplace poker.” She narrowed her eyes and glared at Lord Robert before disappearing around the door frame. Ariadne, white-faced and still speechless in front of a gentleman, hurried out as well.
“Such good friends you have,” Lord Robert said as Emily returned her gaze to him.
Though the words held no trace of sarcasm, Emily raised her chin. “You did not think so last night.”
“Ah,” he said, clasping his hands behind his dove-colored morning coat. “And that is why I had to see you this morning. I must apologize for my behavior last night. I said some things that I regret.”
Some things? She regretted every word she’d heard him speak. But she knew the others were waiting, and she could not let her friends down.
“You were a beast,” she said, setting her gloved fists on her hips. “You bullied me and belittled my friends. If I were a man, I’d call you out.”
His smile was all regret. “I understand how you might have taken my words amiss. I was not myself last night. It was the sight of Cropper. The fellow has been an enemy of my family since the day he was born. To find him in my home was a blow.”
She did not believe Jamie was the Townsends’s enemy; he appeared to dislike Lord Robert in particular. Still, it must have shocked Lord Robert to see his half-brother standing there last night. Small wonder the two had barked at each other like bulldogs eager for a fight.
“You both said some rather harsh words,” she allowed, letting her hands fall.
He lowered his gaze as if ashamed. “I would prefer that you not dwell on that. It does me no credit. I like to think I am a gentleman.”
He could pretend to the niceties all he liked. The mask had slipped last night, and she knew him for what he was. And he obviously thought he knew her. Did he truly find her so vapid as to believe this patter?
She put a hand on his arm, drawing his gaze to hers, and fluttered her lashes at him. “Oh, you cannot know how that eases my mind, my lord.”
He completely missed her sarcasm, smiling at her as if she’d performed as well as a pet pooch. “I apologize for maligning your friends as well,” he said. He took a step closer, and the sunlight from the window crowned his head with fire. She rather thought he knew
it.
“I can see they have your best interests at heart,” he continued in a soft murmur. “That’s why I had to see you this morning, before plans went any further. Perhaps I have been harsh in encouraging you to give up this ball.”
A gasp rang out from the corridor, followed by a scuffling noise, as if someone was being grabbed and hushed. Emily shook her head. She was having similar difficulty believing he meant what she thought. Surely this was some kind of trick to lull her into complacency. Why would Lord Robert give up now, when he’d won? He would think her at his mercy, little dreaming that she would never stop fighting.
“So, you’ll change your plans for me?” she asked, watching him.
“Of course,” he said smoothly, spreading wide his hands as if willing to give her the world. “Though I am uncertain whether I can attend. It will all depend on Mother. Last night wore her out, poor dear, all that pretending she was happy when she is so devastated by father’s loss.”
Somehow, she doubted Lady Wakenoak was so consummate an actress. Lord Robert’s mother had seemed rather happy to have so many people about, to be dressed in finery. Which hadn’t a stitch of black in it, come to think of it.
No, Lord Robert had to be the one acting a part. Anyone else might have been convinced by the sorrowful gaze, those down-turned lips. She only wished she could shake the feeling that he was playing some deep game, and by agreeing to attend the ball, she had just dealt him the winning hand. If only he would speak the truth, just once!
She blinked. Of course! Last night, when he’d been in shock to see Jamie in his house, he’d spoken the truth. And Jamie had spoken the truth back. And in doing so, they had handed her the last piece of the puzzle.
She smiled up at Lord Robert so brightly he blinked as if the sun had blinded him.
“You must come to the ball, my lord,” she told him. “Your presence will be the highlight of the evening, I assure you.”
He smiled, obviously assuming her joy had to do with his gift. He had no way of knowing that she’d just discovered his secret, and she intended to unveil it before all of London.
At the ball.
Chapter Twenty
Jamie kept an eye on the Southwell townhouse over the next few days. He wasn’t entirely sure why. Wednesday marked the end of the week his superior had given him to clear up the case, and he knew another laid waiting for him at Bow Street. Besides, it wasn’t as if he could help Emily. She’d be preparing for her wedding. He imagined that would entail trips to Bond Street for fittings, perhaps consultations with the vicar. He didn’t much want to watch, to be constantly reminded she was about to give herself to another man. But he’d made a promise to Lady Minerva, so he loitered along the street, kept out of sight, and followed the coach whenever he saw Emily enter it.
But instead of shopping or visiting the church, both times she and Lady Minerva left the house the carriage took them to the stews, near where Jamie had followed her and her friends that day the beggar had accosted them. Both times they entered Messiers and Sons, the first time bringing a package, the second leaving with one.
Why were they going to a pawn shop? He could not conceive His Grace to be lacking in funds.
The other thing she did was dispatch notes, several a day. At first he followed the footman to see where they might be going, which led him to the homes of the Tates and Viscount Rollings. Clearly she was communicating with her friends. But when the footman ventured out of the Southwell townhouse again, the fellow looked both ways, then scampered across the street.
“Sorry, Mr. Cropper, sir,” he said to the tree Jamie had ducked behind. “Lady Minerva thought you might have more luck if she steamed open the notes before I deliver them.” He held out four missives, three of which clearly showed where the wax had been melted. “She says she’ll reseal them when you’re finished. And you’re to read her note first.”
Jamie could only shake his head at the lady’s ingenuity as he stepped out from behind the tree and accepted the parchment from the footman.
“Mr. Cropper,” Lady Minerva had written. “Lord Robert has delayed the wedding to allow my niece to attend the ball she and Miss Tate have been planning on this Friday. You would do well to attend.” Her signature was a mere scrawl at the bottom.
She advised him to attend as if his badge of office would be enough to see him through the doors. Bow Street Runners did not attend the balls of the aristocracy unless they had been hired as security.
Still, she’d given him an opportunity with these notes, and he’d be mad not to take it. He glanced at the first note Lady Minerva had opened. It was to a Lady St. Gregory, informing her that a painting would be displayed at the ball. Emily wrote the word with a capital B as if it were the most important event in London. Perhaps it was, from her point of view. She’d wanted to show the art world what she could do. This must be her chance. And it might well be her last night of freedom before marrying. He forced that thought from his head.
The second note was to Lady Skelcroft, asking her to wear the ruby brooch that had been stolen to the ball. Why would Emily care what Lady Skelcroft wore? Why was the brooch so important?
Frowning, he handed the two notes back to the footman and glanced at the last. It was to him. His fingers tightened on the parchment as he opened it.
“My dear Mr. Cropper,” Emily had written. “I believe there has been a misunderstanding. Please come to Miss Tate’s Ball at nine on Friday at the Elysium Rooms near Kensington Palace, and all will be explained to your satisfaction. Your friend, Lady Emily Southwell.”
So here was his invitation from the lady herself. Yet she’d called herself his friend, as if that relationship would possibly be satisfactory. And what did she hope to explain? That she’d bowed to her father’s wishes and agreed to marry Lord Robert? That anything more than a friendship between a Bow Street Runner and a duke’s daughter was unthinkable?
That she had feelings for him after all?
What a coxcomb! Very likely she only meant to explain that Lord Robert wasn’t the man he thought him. He didn’t much want to hear that. Yet there were a few matters he wanted to explain as well, that he had faith in her, that no matter what happened he would always stand beside her when she needed him, if only to cheer her as she flew.
“Will you have an answer, sir?” the footman asked, watching him.
Oh, he had an answer all right, but not one he wanted the footman or the canny Lady Minerva to intercept. He took the pencil from his pocket and carefully wrote his response, then handed the letter to the footman.
“Give Lady Emily that, if you would, and not a word about the others.”
The footman nodded. “Aye, sir. And may I say those of us on the staff are very much hoping you might win the day.” He ducked his head and hurried back across the street before Jamie could answer.
And what would he have said to that either? He very much hoped the same thing, despite the fact that he knew it to be impossible.
*
Emily stared at the note the footman returned to her. Jamie’s response was only a combination of numbers and letters written in pencil in a strong male hand: ER 9, L JC. The ER, 9, and JC she understood: He was confirming that he’d meet her at the Elysium Rooms at nine by including his initials. But that L. Her heart started beating faster. What could that possibly mean? Could he have forgiven what he must see as her betrayal? Did he have feelings for her after all? Oh, she could pin all her hopes on that letter!
By the time she walked into the entry hall of the Elysium Rooms Friday evening, she felt as frayed as the ends of an old shawl. She could only hope she looked better. Having had no time to commission a ball gown for the evening, she’d retrieved her mother’s gown from the attic and had Mary pin her into it. Mary had also styled her hair into complicated braids and curls, with wisps escaping to tease her cheek. The weight of the Emerson emeralds pressed down on her chest, cool, solid, impressive in their gold settings.
“You look lovely, de
ar,” Lady Minerva had assured her as she and Emily alighted from the coach on the drive before the assembly rooms.
So did their destination. The Elysium Rooms glowed like a stone lantern in the clear spring night. Carriages crowded the drive, the rattle mixing with the sound of voices raised in excitement. Knowing what tonight might mean, she could not catch her breath. The marble stairs to the door seemed too high, the entry hall impossibly long. But there was Priscilla, waiting for Emily in the receiving line.
Emily could only smile. Not a fellow was going to be able to keep his eyes off her friend tonight. Priscilla’s delphinium blue gown was edged in white satin ruffles, with four parallel rows around the full skirt. It shimmered with light as she curtsied to her guests. The simple blue sapphire pendant around her neck called attention to the expanse of creamy white skin showing on her shoulders, and her golden curls were piled high with pearled combs to cascade down the back of her head. She was the fairy princess, presiding over her court. If she was not the toast of London by tomorrow, there was no justice in the world.
Mrs. Tate sniffed back a sob as she clutched His Grace’s hand in the crowded, bustling receiving line. “So, so, good of you to come,” she warbled.
“What,” Lady Minerva whispered to Emily, “did she doubt that we meant our acceptances?”
Priscilla had more important news to relate. “Neither Lord Robert nor Mr. Cropper has arrived so far,” she murmured to Emily as they hugged in line. “And I’m still waiting for Daphne and Ariadne.”
“Then I’ll wait by the door,” Emily murmured back as they parted. “Did the Duke of Rottenford arrive?”
Priscilla nodded, eyes bright. “One of the first! And he actually kissed my hand!”
Oh, but the night could only get better. She hoped.
Waiting by the door, however, proved to be more difficult than she’d thought. First, she had to deposit Lady Minerva on the couches with the other older ladies, and her aunt’s narrowed eyes told her that she suspected Emily was up to something. Then she had to detour around the arrivals, all of whom seemed to want to shake her hand and offer congratulations. And once she positioned herself at the door, she had a good view of those arriving but an abysmal view of the ballroom itself. And where among all the silks and satins and velvets was Lord Robert?