“Shush!” Emily admonished him playfully. “The first carriage will be stopping momentarily. You cannot reveal my plan to them or else it won’t unfold naturally.”
He looked out toward the gate with her. “There’s still time to change your mind. Return the birds and hold a normal sort of party.”
It was a tempting prospect, in truth. The entire idea of matchmaking, which had seemed so exciting when she originally hatched it, now felt a little more…overwhelming. To hold in her hands the potential futures of all these couples…what if she did something wrong? What if she caused someone pain, rather than happiness?
No, that wouldn’t happen. She knew her theory of rakes and wallflowers was correct, and it would be proven in the next two weeks.
“What fun would that be?” she asked, and was pleased she sounded more certain about it then she felt.
He held her gaze for a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. Probably too late to cancel the fiddlers fiddling, at any rate.”
“Yes, they have a strict policy,” she teased. The tension felt like it was melting off her shoulders as they chatted. Exactly why she depended on this man.
He laughed. “Which reminds me—what are you doing today for the partridge in the pear tree? I see no flood of partridges to greet your guests with their calls or a grove of freshly planted pear trees lining your drive.”
She glanced up at him from the corner of her eye. “We’re having partridge with a poached pear sauce for our welcome supper, and a pear tart with vanilla cream sauce for the final course.”
He pivoted to face her full on. “A feast! Is that all?”
“Isn’t that enough?” she said with a laugh at the shock on his face.
“No.” He arched a brow at her, which drew her attention to those dark blue eyes. They really were lovely; no wonder women always cooed over them. “I’ll have you know I came out here for twelve days of birds shitting and squawking and I shall demand my money back if I don’t receive that entertainment.”
She pursed her lips. “You are the worst scoundrel, Cav, I swear it to be true.”
“And yet you keep me around,” he mused.
She knew he expected her to laugh, but instead something in her stomach felt a little…fluttery. She ignored it and said, “There will be plenty of excitement to come in the next few days. My more elaborate plans follow the simpler welcome tonight.”
He nodded slowly. “Ah, I see. Don’t want to scare off the victims.”
The carriage that had entered the gate a few moments before was rumbling to a stop on the drive, and Emily placed her hands on Cav’s chest to shove him back toward the house. A very firm, very warm chest, indeed. What was happening in her head? Was she so fluttery from this party that everything felt discombobulated and odd? That had to stop instantly.
“Go away, Mr. Cavendish,” she said. “I will welcome my guests, myself.”
He smiled as he pivoted toward the house. “Yes, best not make them confused as to why I’m here. There will be rumors about us, you know.”
He was gone then, disappearing inside where she was certain he would warmly welcome her guests, despite his never-ending ribbing. She could depend on him.
However, his parting salvo wasn’t that far off the mark. She knew people looked at them, with their close friendship, and wondered if there was more to it. Sometimes they wondered quite loudly. And often it was so hard to explain exactly what Cav meant to her without making the rumors all the louder.
“Lady Rutledge!”
Emily blinked and looked down at where the carriage was now open, her first guest already on the drive. It was the widow, Lady Hickson, and she was smiling up at Emily as the servants all bustled to unpack the carriage.
Emily shook off her odd thoughts as she came down the steps to greet her friend. She couldn’t get swept up in worrying about what other people thought about her and Cav. She had work to do and now it had begun.
* * *
Within a few hours of his arrival, Cav found himself seated at a table that was all too familiar to him. In the years Andrew had lived, Cav had come to supper at Crossfox many times, and broken bread and laughed with his late friend and Emily. Sometimes those gatherings had been large parties like this one, where he could observe the couple without being noticed. Where he could more easily pretend that his feelings for Emily were just as brotherly as his feelings for Andrew had been.
Sometimes the party had been smaller, though. Sometimes it was just him with the two of them. Just him with his adoration for them both, and his jealousy that always reared up and had to be shoved back down with all his might. That action had become second nature eventually. And if Andrew noticed Cav’s feelings…well, he had never said a word. It had certainly never damaged their friendship, for which Cav was eternally grateful.
Cav had joined Emily here a handful of times since Andrew’s death, too, though always with others. It had never felt the same. That first year, Emily had hardly been able to stave off the weeping. She had roamed these halls, walked the ones in her home in London, and her pain had been unbearable. Yet Cav had borne it, because she needed him to do so. He’d walked with her, held her up, talked her through the unthinkable loss of her husband, followed swiftly by her beloved parents.
That she could survive such grief was something he respected. That she was finally coming back to herself, to the light, was more than a relief.
She laughed in that moment, drawing him back to the present from those painful memories, as if to prove the point she couldn’t even know he was making. She gave the large room a sense of warmth with her mere existence. She was welcome and kindness embodied, and no one could feel less than embraced in her presence.
He was seated far down the table from her, but in some ways that position allowed him to watch her more closely. She was a butterfly, beautiful wings fluttering furiously as she chatted with her guests and nodded to the servants to move from one course to the next.
How many nights had he watched her like this, Andrew at his side, both in awe of her? Both loving her from afar as she brightened the room. And then, later, Cav would watch Andrew and Emily go up the stairs to their bed and he would…drink.
He hoped this party wouldn’t lead to the same. Pining was unattractive. He was well aware of that.
The Earl of Allington was seated at his right, and before Cav could descend into even more maudlin musings, the earl elbowed him. “An interesting party, isn’t it?”
Cav blinked and glanced again at Emily, looking over her gathering like a queen. She had not been subtle in pairing off the potential matches, despite all her talk of easing the group into her madcap scheme.
“Lady Rutledge always makes things interesting,” Cav said carefully. “Do you remember that party she and Rutledge threw all those years ago with the snail races? The competition got ferocious.”
Allington arched a brow at him. “I’m not talking about snail races or bygone times.”
Cav knew exactly what he was talking about, but refused to admit it. “Then what?”
“You mean you haven’t noticed the pattern in the seating chart?” Allington huffed out. When Cav remained silent, he grasped his arm. “Look again: gentleman, lady, gentleman, lady.”
Cav glanced down the table as if he had not noticed this and shrugged. “Well, there are more ladies than gentlemen, to be fair.”
“Because of the chaperones,” Allington said with a roll of his eyes. “All of them sharpening their blades at the thought of landing one of the men in this room.”
Cav chuckled at the look of desperation in his companion’s eyes at even the thought of being caught in such a scheme. Poor Emily would have her work cut out for her if this was the reaction to a mere seating chart. And what could Cav do but try to help?
“But you and I are seated next to each other, and I am not a lady,” he said. “Does that not ruin your hypothesis?”
A long glare was his friend’s response, and th
en he sighed. “You are thick as thieves with Lady Rutledge and you are awfully quick to dismiss my observation. So I will ask you directly, man to man: is she playing matchmaker with this gathering?”
Cav shook his head with a stifled laugh. Poor Emily. She never did anything by half. It was her nature to run up to cliffs and jump off, arms outstretched and filled with belief she would either sprout wings or land safely away from any rocks below. It was one of her more charming qualities. But her exuberance meant she was not very good at subterfuge. Perhaps that was a way he could help her as they went along. God knew he had practice in lying.
“I’m sure she isn’t doing something so bold,” he lied. He leaned forward and glanced around Allington at Lady Thea. She was talking to her mother softly. “Would it be so bad if she were, though? She’s placed you next to Lady Thea, and she is pretty enough. I’ve heard she’s smart as a whip, too.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Allington grunted. “She has hardly said two words to me tonight. Aside from a barely polite greeting, she only glares at me, as if she is offended by my very existence.”
“Not an auspicious start,” Cav muttered. “Perhaps Lady Rutledge will seat you beside someone else tomorrow. Until then, I am not the worst tablemate, am I?”
Allington gave another glare, this one more pointed than the last. “You can afford to be nonchalant about this. The lady doesn’t seem to be arranging you beside anyone, does she? Don’t you wonder why that is?”
As the final course was placed before them, Allington was distracted. Cav was just as happy, for he wasn’t in the mood to discuss Emily’s reasons not to match him. He knew what they were, after all. She saw him as a friend, nothing more. She expected him to always be there, holding out a hand to steady her when she stumbled. Offering a shoulder when she needed to weep.
He’d allowed himself to be placed in that position for so long that despite his reputation, he wasn’t certain how to move from it. Either away from her or toward her.
He pushed the thoughts aside and the meal concluded shortly thereafter. The men and ladies parted company, the men heading to the billiard room with Cav for port and talk. He led them inside and poured the drinks as the conversation started.
“How long has Lady Rutledge been out of mourning?” Adrian Powell asked as he lined up the balls for a game.
Cav fought the urge to stiffen and finished handing out the drinks in silence. Of course no one else avoided that subject, as he did. It was bound to come up with her as hostess for this event.
“Several years,” Lord Weatherall mused. “Though she’s only been back in Society for…how long is it now, Cavendish?”
“Eighteen months,” Cav said softly.
Nathan Hayward took a shot at the billiard table and swore as it bounced wrong. Then he straightened up. “Took Rutledge’s passing hard, it seems. But tonight she was lively.”
“And lovely,” Weatherall said with a chuckle and a raised glass. “I wouldn’t mind making merry chase with that one.”
That resulted in a rousing laugh for the rest of the men. Cav fought to remain impassive. They weren’t being disgusting or threatening. Rakes though they might be, none of the men Emily had invited to her soiree were cruel of heart. He would have intervened if that were the case.
But their casual implication that they’d like to pursue Emily still hit something…raw in him.
He’d stood by, quiet when he had longed to shout his feelings, patient when he’d wished to be bold because she needed a friend, not a man sniffing after her heels. But now these others were talking about her as if she were available.
And wasn’t she? Enough time had passed, certainly, to make any move not untoward because of Andrew. What held Cav back?
Of course he knew the answer. Fear stopped him, just as it always had. Fear of rejection. Fear of damaging a friendship he held dear. Fear of hurting her…of breaking his own heart.
He was a coward when it came to her, that was all.
His grandfather’s words a few weeks before rang in his ears as he sipped his port, that this was his last chance. Would he take it at long last? Or would this gathering end up being yet another regret on the pile of regrets when it came to Emily?
Chapter 3
Two Turtle Doves
Emily looked over her guests milling on the drive in their winter cloaks and coats. They were lucky it was a mild afternoon, perfect for what she had in mind. She counted the group in her head and then frowned. They were missing one partygoer: Cav. He’d acted very strange after the gentlemen rejoined the ladies last night. Almost like he was avoiding her.
But that couldn’t be true. Cav would not avoid her.
As if to prove the point, he strolled from the house in that moment and her breath caught. Never before had a man worn a greatcoat with such flair. It fitted his broad shoulders perfectly and the bottom hem swept across thick, muscular calves encased in shiny black boots.
“Forgive my tardiness,” he called out, all friendliness and nothing awkward, so she must have been seeing things last night. “I forgot my gloves.”
As he said the word, he tugged fawn gloves over his lean fingers. He winked at her as he passed, and she smiled at his cheek. She was glad whatever was troubling him had passed.
“Most excellent,” she said. “Then we may begin. It’s a wonderful day, and I thought a brisk walk around the estate would be bracing for all in attendance. But since today is our second day of Christmas, I thought we would stay close to the theme.”
She was trying not to bounce as she whipped a handful of colorful ribbons from her pelisse pocket. “Did you know that turtle doves can see color?” she asked as she handed one ribbon out—carefully selected, of course—to each of the ladies in attendance. “And can be trained to come to a specific hue?”
She stepped back and lifted her hand as signal. There was a whooshing sound of wings from just around the corner of the house and then the turtle doves swept into sight. Six of them, rather than two, but each flying to the lady whose ribbon matched the one tied around its delicate leg.
The crowd oohed and ahhed, just as she had hoped. Though the twins, Ladies Honoria and Prudence, did squeal a little more in fright than pleasure.
“You will note the card for each lady around the leg of your new friend. Remove it and open it to see which gentleman will escort you around the estate today,” Emily said with a quick glance toward Cav. He stood at the back of the crowd, arms folded, and when their gazes met, he gave a little flutter of soundless applause. A thrill worked through her at his impressed expression of surprise. It was hard to throw him off, and doing so flooded her with pride.
She refocused her attention on her victims. Damn, had she just thought of them as victims? Cav’s ridiculous word. Her guests! They were opening their cards, laughing as they paired off, and then the birds flew away, back to their handler behind the house.
“Off you go, just down the path,” Emily called out as they began to move away. “You’ll see markers to guide your way!”
Eventually the last coupling walked away, the chaperones gathering as a group to follow, and that left her with Cav. He arched a brow at her. “Well played. Now where is your cloak?”
She glanced down at herself. Though she wore a spencer, it wouldn’t be warm enough. “Oh, I am a goose,” she said with a giggle. “I was so excited for my reveal of today’s theme, I left it inside.”
“Geese are Day Six,” he called out as he hustled up the stairs. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” He returned a moment later, her black cloak with the stunning red lining in his hands. He motioned her to put her back to him and she did. “My lady,” he said.
He placed the cloak over her shoulders, and for a moment his hands rested there, warm even through the heavy woolen fabric. She had a sudden urge to lean back, rest against that broad chest. Let even more of his warmth seep into every part of her.
She blinked. What was she thinking? Why was she so aware of Cav and his presen
ce? She staggered forward, nearly depositing herself off the steps. It was only that he caught her elbow and steadied her that kept her from making such an inelegant display.
“W-We should go,” she stammered, refusing to look up at him. “The others will get too far ahead with our dawdling.”
He stood there for a moment, long enough that she forced herself to meet his gaze. It was even and steady on hers, his expression one she could not read. Then he nodded and the intensity faded, her friend returned and the tightness in her chest relaxed a fraction.
“Of course.” He swept out a hand. “After you.”
They walked together in the same direction as the others had taken. Swiftly at first, but they quickly met up with the retreating backs of the others and she made herself slow down, take a breath, even though she couldn’t seem to find a full one. What was wrong with her? She was acting like a schoolgirl.
She cleared her throat and broke what she could not rightly call a comfortable silence. “Do you think it is going well?”
He glanced down at her. “It has hardly begun, so it is hard to judge. No one has devolved into fisticuffs, so that may be the best we can hope for on Day Two of this endeavor.”
She frowned. He was teasing her, as he often did, but in this moment what she was doing felt very serious. She shook her head. “Cav.”
He cleared his throat. “The doves were a lovely trick. Turtle doves have such beautiful rainbow markings on their wings—the ribbons were the perfect touch.”
“Thank you. Though it was really Mr. Jennings who trains the birds and was kind enough to allow me to borrow their talents for a few moments.”
“They will be talking about it for years to come. I’d wager a few of the mamas might steal the idea for one of their parties.” He winked at her. “Though likely not Countess Mulberry.”
She had to laugh at that. “The twins did seem more terrified than pleased when two birds swooped down to land on their hands.”
Mismatched Under the Mistletoe Page 3