“They do say love is blind, but at least I shall have no secrets from him.”
“You plan to accept him, then?” Nick asked, and held his breath for her answer. He knew he should be relieved. Sanichton was an excellent
parti.
He had chosen him himself. Emma couldn’t be in better hands. Yet he was not pleased. Something bitter caught in his throat at the very thought of them together.
“I don’t know,” she said simply, and looked at him trustingly. “It’s true James has been behaving more sanely recently. It is very difficult making the right match. It’s especially important for a lady, you must know. She depends totally on her husband for her welfare. Is James likely to squander my estate?”
“I shouldn’t be at all surprised,” Nick said.
“Nor should I. When all is said and done, Sanichton is the better match. I shall watch him closely and see if he improves on longer acquaintance. And by the by, you are still leading Lady Margaret astray. She was glowing during the waltzes, Nick. What on earth were you saying to her?”
“We were discussing our costumes for the masquerade. She plans to come as a shepherdess. I told her she would make a charming shepherdess. Is that cause for a lady to glow?”
Emma considered it a moment before speaking. “That would depend on how you said it. Did you gaze into her eyes and murmur softly, or did you just glance over her shoulder and say it offhandedly?”
“I didn’t murmur at all! I believe I looked at her. It is only common courtesy.”
Emma nodded. “It would be the look that did it. I remember you used to look at me like that. To flatter John, I mean. I realize now you didn’t mean anything by it. What a little fool I was. I actually thought you were in love with me.”
Nick listened and tried to recall those early days of his acquaintance with Emma. He didn’t remember trying to flatter John by flirting with his wife. He had been impressed by Emma’s beauty. Perhaps he had let himself get a little carried away.
“Why are you looking like that?” she demanded.
“Like what?”
“Frowning, as if you don’t remember. You know perfectly well you were a wicked flirt, so long as you knew I was safely married.”
“I admit nothing of the sort!”
She gave a derisive look. “No doubt it, like everything else, is to be blamed on my naiveté. I misinterpreted your leers for flirtation.”
“I never leered at a lady in my life!”
James came sauntering up to them. “What a dead bore you are, Cuz, never leering at a lady. I have worn my eyes out with leering. I’ve just been leering at Lady Margaret. She’s looking well this evening. I do believe she has found herself a beau. Or perhaps she was trying to flirt with me.”
“What did she say?” Emma asked, interested.
“She called me a wicked boy. All I did was pinch her. There is nothing so flattering as being called wicked by an older lady.”
Nick gave a
bah
of disgust.
“Don’t flatter yourself it’s you she has in her eye. She is in love with Nick,” Emma said. “She asked me a dozen questions about you this afternoon, Nick. The sort of subtle questions a lady asks when she’s interested, but doesn’t want to reveal it. She supposed your family must be eager to see you settled, and wondered about when you might be likely to oblige them, and that sort of thing.”
“A fellow could do worse,” James advised his cousin. “For a wife, I mean. Well to grass and not pretty enough to cause any scandal. Once she was settled in at Waterdown with a parcel of brats, you could enjoy your flirts during the Season in London.”
Emma listened and began to think James was not at all the sort of husband she wanted. Nick glanced at Emma and saw the disenchantment on her lively face.
“Very edifying, James,” he said.
James looked aghast. “I didn’t mean that was the way
I
would carry on! Good God! I only meant—As if Emma would be content to sit at home. Naturally you shall come with me to London every Season. I shall insist on it, my pet.”
“Will you, Master Jackanapes? I doubt very much you will ever be in a position to insist upon anything, where
I
am concerned.” She rose and flounced from the room.
“What a gauche thing for me to say,” James exclaimed, crestfallen. “And just when things were going so well. I shall rush off and re-enchant her.”
Nick sat on alone a few moments, pondering the muddle of romance. Then he recalled that he was to have the next set with Emma and went chasing after her. He found her in the ballroom, sitting in a corner, looking sullen. He joined her.
“Sit down. I’m hiding from James,” she said. “I’ve come to a decision. Nick.”
His heart clenched like a fist. Following her gaze, he noticed it was Sanichton she was looking at. She had decided to accept him, then. “I see,” he replied, in a tolerably calm voice, considering the state of his emotions.
“Yes. I shall definitely not accept James. His character is too unsteady. He’s a lecher, and he has no notion of giving up his ways after marriage. No one is perfect, of course. One must choose the lesser imperfection. I should prefer Sanichton’s prudishness—and it will be easier to change,” she added.
“So you have decided to accept Sanichton?”
“I didn’t say that! I said I shall definitely
not
accept James. I shall tell him so when we get home. It is only fair.”
“Fair—but is it wise, when he’s already arranged his Ares costume to match your Aphrodite?”
“You’re afraid he’ll make a scene?”
“I’m afraid he’ll use the excuse of a broken heart to fall into some wretched hobble, while he is under my roof.”
“He’s already been carrying on with a light-skirt and had his eyes darkened by her husband. What worse can he do?”
“That is what I don’t care to find out.”
“I’ll be gentle with him. He doesn’t really love me, you know. He merely likes the idea of a lady who isn’t terribly ugly or ill-natured and has a fortune besides.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Hansard asked, in a rhetorical spirit.
“I can think of one gent who didn’t,” she said, with a pert, meaningful smile. Then she rose and took his arm to join a set on the dance floor.
As they drove home after the party, Emma wondered what it was in her that Nick disliked. Her head reeled with compliments from the other gentlemen she had stood up with. Derek, James, and Sanichton had been smitten from first glance. She knew her fortune and estate were a part of her charm, but the estate should be of particular interest to Nick, as it marched with his own acres.
The feeling was growing in her that no other gentleman would suit her so well as Nick. He was good and kind and honorable without being strait-laced. She could talk to him freely without fearing he would either try to seduce her or read her a lecture.
When she had proposed to him, she hadn’t felt this way at all. She hadn’t really cared what he thought of her then. He simply was a good
parti
and a good neighbor, who would have made a good-natured husband to keep Aunt Hildegarde at bay. Now she would no more propose to him than she’d go calling on the queen. She wished with all her heart that she had never made that foolish offer, for she felt that was at the root of her problem.
And to have said to a gentleman who needed an heir that she only meant a marriage of convenience on top of all the rest—why, he must think her a complete idiot!
Chapter Seventeen
Emma asked Hansard to leave her and James alone a moment when they reached Berkeley Square. “I want to get this over with, or I shan’t sleep all night,” she whispered.
“I’ll be nearby, in case he turns violent.”
Nick went to his office and waited, listening for the breaking of china and crashing of chairs that would indicate Emma had turned James off.
James, as was only to be expected, refused to take any blame for her decision. It was the fault of that prosy old bore, Sanichton; of Hansard for having presented the fossil to Emma; of Emma herself for being so easily swayed. When Nick heard the first crash, he went darting to the saloon, afraid the crockery might have been aimed at Emma.
“There is no need to carry on as if you were heartbroken, James,” Emma said blandly. “You’ll find another girl.” She turned to Nick. “Sorry about the vase, Nick, but it was only that ugly old blue one from the mantle.”
“I don’t want another girl! I want you!” James cried.
Nick picked up the shattered remains of a Chinese ginger jar and dumped them in the grate.
“Next time you set out to con a lady, I suggest you behave yourself until you have the ring on her finger,” Emma said. “Late hours and black eyes are not attractive, James.”
James reached for a silver candlestick. Nick removed it from his fingers as he took aim at the mirror.
“Go out and get drunk,” Nick suggested. “It’s easier on the knickknacks. That was a valuable Chinese vase you destroyed.”
“Papa will repay you,” James said stiffly. “And who is to repay me for my suff—agony?”
“Rubbish. You’re enjoying yourself thoroughly,” Emma said. “The next best thing to pretending you’re in love is pretending you have a broken heart.”
“What would you know of love?” James asked grandly. “At least the gods will be happy. Plato tells us they enjoy a good joke.” On this speech he stalked from the room.
“Well, it’s done,” Emma said. “Sorry about the vase, Nick. I shall replace it. His juvenile behavior makes me appreciate Horatio. I really am dreadfully sorry that this occurred in your home.”
Nick poured two glasses of wine and handed Emma one. She sat down, and he sat beside her.
“It’s I who should be apologizing. I had no idea James was such a fool when I sicced him on you. The family manages to keep his folly under wraps.
It
must be a full-time career for them.”
“It was kind of you to try to find me a husband. It’s the thought that counts. I hope you won’t think it horrid of me, Nick, but after John’s death—after the shock of it wore off, you know—I used to imagine what it would be like, being free to go about with other gentlemen. I never had any beaux at all before my marriage. I missed all that—romance,” she said, tossing her hands vaguely. “I thought it would be so lovely, but it’s really difficult. It seems everyone wants something from me. Not Sanichton! I’m not disparaging him. You asked me before if I had decided to have him, and I said I wasn’t sure. Now I’m sure. He’s the best of the lot.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Nick agreed. “But don’t you feel you’re rushing things? You ought to give yourself a Season.”
She drew a deep sigh. “I should love it of all things, but I don’t have any relatives who could sponsor me. I’m getting rather old to try to masquerade myself as a deb, and besides, Papa would never sit still for it.”
“I daresay Aunt Gertrude would act as your sponsor, now that she’s got her own daughter launched. You’re a little older than the debs, but hardly hagged,” he said, studying her youthful face. He read the yearning in her eyes and the softly curving lips, drawn into a half smile.
“You don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head. “Papa would be on the doorstep within twenty-four hours if he ever heard of such a thing. And there would be no keeping it secret. The papers publish lists of the ladies being presented. Aunt Hildegarde simply devours all the court news. Papa thinks London quite wicked, you must know. Besides, I’m too provincial. I always say the wrong thing and do the wrong thing. With Sanichton and Lady Margaret to watch out for me, I shall do better.”
Nick thought a lady about to accept an offer should look happier. Emma wore a sad, resigned face, like a child on her birthday who’d been expecting a bright, new doll and had to settle for a pair of stockings. He felt an odd twisting in his chest that he ascribed to pity. He was quite sure of one thing. Emma didn’t love Sanichton. She was just determined to marry. He felt sorry for her, and frustrated. It seemed hard that a young lady couldn’t have even one real romance in her life. Emma might be a hoyden, but there was no vice in her. He had misjudged her.
Before he could reply, Emma said, “It’s strange James hasn’t left. I didn’t hear the door slam, did you?”
“He went abovestairs.”
“I wonder what he’s up to.”
Nick felt a frisson of alarm himself. “I’ll find out,” he said, and went darting upstairs. He returned in a few minutes. “He’s gone to bed,” he said.
“That’s odd.”
“He asked the butler for a sleeping draft.”
“Good God! He’s letting on he’s committing suicide. He might take the wrong dose and kill himself.”
“Simms gave him only a small dose, so we needn’t fear he’ll lumber us with a corpse.”
“Then I suppose we might as well retire, too.” Nick rose and gave her his hand to help her up. “Once again, I apologize, and thank you for all your help, Nick.”
On an impulse she reached up and placed a light kiss on his cheek. The brush of her velvet-soft lips against his cheek set off a buzzing in his ears. A warmth grew within him, softening his insides until he felt weak. The delicate scent of a flowery perfume wafted over him—feminine, alluring. He took her hand and raised it to his lips. A warm kiss brushed her hand.
“Good night, Emma,” he said softly. He watched as she walked away, with a gentle swaying of her hips. She wore her hair up that evening. Tendrils of raven curls had escaped to nestle against her ivory neck. He stood watching until she disappeared through the door. Then he raised his fingers and drew them slowly over his cheek, still warm from her kiss. He wore a puzzled frown, as if trying to figure out a difficult problem.
In the morning Lord James had resumed his modest clerical attire and manner. “Good morning Lady Gertrude, Miss Foxworth, et al,” he said, bowing to the company assembled at the table. “Sorry I’m late. I slept poorly last night.” A darkly accusing gaze swept over Emma, but he said no more.
“What are you up to today, James?” Lady Gertrude asked.
“I am calling on Dean Stanton, a friend of Papa’s, to ask his opinion on a certain matter.”
This was assumed to indicate he was about to resume his interrupted career. Emma, studying him, expected to see a faux-noble mien and was dismayed to discover a sly light in his eyes as he peered at her. Dean Stanton my eye, she said to herself. He’s up to something.