Something About Emmaline (21 page)

“Aye, my love, ’tis me,” he said. He shot an apologetic, indulgent glance at Lady Lilith and Hubert, whom he was positive had never shared an endearment between themselves in their entire marriage. “What is it? Are you unwell?”

She sighed and snuggled closer. “No, I fear it is so distressing. I don’t think I will be able to attend the opera this evening.” Glancing up at him, she gave him such a woeful look that if it hadn’t been for the ever so slight twitch of her lips he would have thought she was truly ill.

He shook his head and looked at his cousins. “Emmaline is too sick to attend this evening.”

“No, do not say so,” Hubert said. “Lady Oxley is most particular about her seating arrangements.”

“Yes,” Lady Lilith declared. “The box will be quite ruined with an empty seat. Mother will be completely put out.”

What she really meant was that the parsimonious Lady Oxley would be vexed by a seat for which she had paid going unused. If anything, the dowager countess liked to get her money’s worth.

“I fear she will be more than unhappy,” Alex told them. “For I cannot leave my wife in this condition.”

At this, Emmaline’s eyes popped open and she glared at him. And just as quickly, she regained her composure and went back to her state of semiconsciousness, moaning softly at her accursed state.

Once again he felt that suspicious twinge that she was up to something more than just this charade to escape the Denfords—but what it was, he couldn’t fathom.

Not that he wouldn’t find out the moment he got her alone.

“No, cousin, you must come along,” Hubert was saying. “Wouldn’t do for you not to be there as well.”

“Two unused seats would be unpardonable,” Lady Lilith declared.

Then, to his complete surprise, Emmaline rallied and added her support to the Denfords’ cause. “Sedgwick, dearest, you must attend this evening. I would be bereft to be the cause of so much unhappiness. Please, attend for my sake and give Lady Oxley my sincerest apologies. That way perhaps she won’t be as aggrieved.”

“But I—” he protested.

“There you have it, cousin,” Hubert said, pointing at Emmaline. “You heard your brave wife. You must come along now.”

Lady Lilith was nodding, and demmit, so was Emmaline.

He was of half a mind to drop her right there and then and lend her illness a more authentic ring.

“Perhaps you could have Lord John stand in my place,” Emmaline suggested. “He called earlier looking for you.”

Just then, Mrs. Simmons came out from the back of the house and saw Emmaline in his arms. She let out a howl of indignation that her ladyship was “dying again,” and prodded Alex up the stairs with her.

Once there, the housekeeper forbade him from entering the room and hustled him out of the chamber like a mother hen protecting her chick.

Before he could give Emmaline a piece of his mind for getting him caught in the evening’s entertainment, the door was shut in his face.

I am the master of this house! Let me in!
he wanted to bellow, but he doubted anyone was going to listen.

This, he decided, was what came of marriage.

Well, when she left, things would go back to the way they should be. He’d be the master of his house once again. And his life would be…well, it would be…

And there was only one word he could think of…

Incomplete.

The evening at the opera was far worse than even Alex could have imagined. Especially with Emmaline comfortably ensconced at home while he suffered alone and in silence.

To his chagrin, Mrs. Simmons had stood guard outside their door like a Beefeater at the Tower. Her ladyship’s health was too precarious for his “attentions,” she’d declared. And so he’d had no choice but to accompany Lady Lilith and Hubert, since he’d given his word and hadn’t Emmaline’s flair for the dramatic.

Along with the Denfords, Mr. and Mrs. Mabberly were part of the party, as well as a miserable-looking Miss Mabberly and, of course, the always pompous Lord Oxley sitting beside the poor chit, oblivious to her discomfort.

Lady Oxley had also invited the newly-arrived-in-town
Duchess of Cheverton, for she was so very desirous of seeing Emmaline “properly introduced,” as she told Alex.

Properly skewered,
he thought, for the Duchess of Cheverton had the sharpest tongue in the
ton.
Few dared cross her or cross paths with her.

Emmaline had chosen her fictitious employer well.

Her Grace’s arrival also had the effect of raising his suspicions about the Denfords and Lady Oxley as being the masterminds behind Emmaline’s arrival in his life. Could they have hoped the public setting would make for a good scene to discredit her, as well as him?

After all, Lady Oxley had given her blessing to her daughter’s marriage to Hubert because she believed (like most everyone else in the
ton
) that it was unlikely that Sedgwick would ever wed, thus leaving the barony to Hubert or his offspring to inherit. Even his marriage to Emmaline hadn’t dampened the countess’s hopes, given that Alex’s bride was sickly and never seen.

Still, a living, breathing Lady Sedgwick—especially
this
Emmaline—would have cost them too much just to see his marriage discredited. And one thing Alex knew for certain—neither the penurious Lady Oxley or his miserly cousin Hubert would have hired such a spendthrift, such an unpredictable minx.

And to top it all off, Jack, who had agreed to come along—if for no other reason than to take another gander at a new dancer he had his eye on—had yet to make his bow. So Alex was alone to face the duchess’s ire at not getting to meet Emmaline and Lady Oxley’s vexation at having a seat in her box go unused.

He glanced at the empty seat and thought of who should be sitting there. Emmaline. What the devil was she about?
He just couldn’t shake the notion that she was up to something.

He tugged at his cravat and glanced around the crowded theater again. There was more to Emmaline’s feigned illness than avoiding the Denfords. He’d be willing to bet the last vowel he’d signed for Jack on it.

“I have heard much of your wife, Lord Sedgwick,” the duchess said in a loud whisper, pointing her fan in his direction. “And I’ve only been in town for a day.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Lady Oxley huffed. “The gel is quite of her own mind.”

“She must be quite extraordinary to have gained the attention of society so quickly, not to mention gained your favor,” the duchess said. “From what I’ve heard, you barely leave her side. She must be extraordinary, I do say.”

“She is that,” Alex told her, trying to be polite.

“He’s besotted,” Hubert said, leaning over from his chair.

Alex flinched. He was becoming convinced that was the only word his cousin knew how to utter of late.

The duchess waved her fan at Hubert. “Well, it has been my experience that when a Sedgwick baron finally gets around to seeking a bride, he usually marries because he is besotted. Never caring a fig for propriety—marrying for love, and damn the consequences.” If it was possible to believe it, the Duchess of Cheverton smiled. “Keeps the line interesting, I say. And I wish you all happiness, Sedgwick. It appears your wife has put a twinkle in your eye. Much like your grandfather possessed when he returned from Paris wed to your grandmother. I never saw the need to shun her because she was an opera dancer, but—”

“A wha-a-at?” Alex and Hubert both sputtered at once.

“An opera dancer,” the duchess said, as if such an outrageous notion were common knowledge.

“Your Grace,” Lady Oxley said hastily, “you must be mistaken. The dowager was from a long line of French nobility. She was even related to the old King.”

The duchess snorted. “Genevieve Denford may be able to claim royal blood, but it was from a relation born on the wrong side of the blanket. An opera-dancing blanket, I would guess.”

Lady Oxley’s mouth opened and closed several times, as if the words just couldn’t get past this unbelievable revelation.

The duchess ignored her stammering and instead turned to Alex. “Your grandfather loved your grandmother passionately. There wasn’t a woman in London who didn’t envy her his attentions. Give your wife the same measure of love, and you will die a contented man, like your grandfather before you, and I daresay your father did.”

Alex could only nod mutely at this sage advice. Besides, the duchess had turned her attention back to the stage and dismissed the stunned crowd around her.

Grandmère had been an opera dancer?

That explained much. Her reluctance to come to town wasn’t born so much out of her grief for her husband, but her fear of having her past revealed, of being shunned before her family.

Instead of the outrage that appeared on Hubert’s face, the duchess’s revelation had an opposite effect on Alex. He wanted to laugh aloud.

He understood perfectly what his grandfather had done—more importantly, he understood why he’d done it.

He’d married the woman who captured his heart. The one he couldn’t live without.

Couldn’t live without her
…Like Rawlins had asserted.

Meanwhile, Lady Oxley, Lady Lilith and Hubert were all trying to explain to the duchess how she must be confused about the dowager. To regain some negligible piece of family honor that had obviously mattered not to his grandfather.

And suddenly Alex saw the two choices before him. To live like Hubert and Lady Lilith and Lady Oxley, clinging to the good opinion of society no matter the cost, or live as Jack had urged him—on his own terms, and damn society.

He glanced up at the duchess, and the old gel had the audacity to cast him a saucy wink, as if she knew of the revolution that was going on within him.

He’d marry Emmaline. Marry her tonight if he could. And damn society. Damn propriety. He’d have the woman who left him utterly besotted, and not care a whit what anyone had to say.

No, the intermission couldn’t come soon enough, for then he’d make his apologies and explain that he couldn’t enjoy the evening while his wife was so ill. He’d use his besotted reputation to its advantage and be home in a thrice.

And when the act ended and the curtain closed, he bolted to his feet. “My apologies, Your Grace, Lady Oxley,” he said, bowing to the pair of matrons. “But I fear my concern for my wife prevents me from staying.”

“Harrumph,” Lady Oxley snorted, her brow arched with skeptical regard. “Your wife is well enough, I suspect. Lilith was saying earlier that she was in fine enough health this afternoon to spend you into debtor’s prison on Bond
Street and ride about in Templeton’s carriage. Why, I think…”

But Alex wasn’t listening. Emmaline was riding in Templeton’s carriage?

His old stodgy sense of family duty rose to the forefront.

You don’t even know this gel and you want to marry her? Madness! Folly!

He tamped down his doubts and clung to his new resolve. Dull no more, he was a new Sedgwick. A man of daring and dash.

All because of her…If he knew Emmaline, she had a reasonable explanation, and if she didn’t, she’d make up a bouncer that would be just as delightful.

The duchess eyed him through her lorgnette. “Bring this wife of yours around to visit me, Sedgwick, day after next. I would like to meet the woman who has so obviously captured your heart.”

He bowed again. “I fear that may not be possible,” he averred. “Her health—”

The lady drew herself up in her seat. “Day after next, Sedgwick.” It was an order, not a request.

As he turned to make his apologies to the rest of the company, he found he wasn’t the only one beating a hasty retreat from the Oxley box.

Miss Mabberly was leaving, her mother behind her and, from the way the lady’s tongue appeared to be wagging, reproaching her daughter for not being more attentive to the earl.

He wanted to point out to Mrs. Mabberly that he doubted the earl even noticed her daughter’s disinterest, nor did he think the man would care that his bride finds him offensive—she was bringing a small fortune to the Oxley
coffers with her dower, and for a boor like Oxley, Miranda Mabberly’s opinion on the subject of their marriage was naught to him.

Making his goodbyes and ignoring Hubert and Lady Lilth’s protests that Mrs. Simmons would take good care of Emmaline, he departed.

Hurrying down the crowded aisles, he nodded to acquaintances and friends, until he quite literally ran into Jack.

His friend stumbled heavily. “I do say, watch out—” he said, his words thick and followed closely by a cloud of brandy. Blinking his rummy eyes, he appeared to struggle to focus them. “Alex!” he finally called out. “Been looking all over for you. It’s a demmed disaster, it is. I’m done for. Ruined.”

Passersby shot shocked glances at them, probably assuming they were both in their cups.

Rather than add further to his already
au courant
state of affairs with the
ton,
he caught his friend by the arm and steered him to a secluded alcove.

“What the devil is wrong with you?” he asked, giving the man a thorough shake for good measure.

“Ruined. I’m absolutely ruined,” he complained.

“You will be if your brother hears about this. You know what a stickler Parkerton is about public drunkenness.”

“Yes, well it matters not now,” Jack said woefully.

“Why? Whatever has happened?”

“’Tis all your fault,” Jack complained. “Your bloody fault. Went and got yourself a bride.”

Alex lowered his voice. “If you recall,
you
made her up.”

“Yes, so I did,” Jack said. “But I never thought the chit would put me into such a fix.”

“What has Emmaline got to do with this?”

“My purse-tight, moralistic brother has decided that if my good friend Lord Sedgwick has found his felicitations in marriage, then so should I.”

Oh, I haven’t got time for this,
Alex thought, glancing around the crowded halls to make sure no one was listening to their conversation. “Then make up a bride.”

“I would,” Jack said, “but my brother is one step ahead of me and has already found one. Some right and proper vicar’s daughter.” Jack groaned as if he were being dragged over a spiked wheel. “Did you hear me? A
vicar’s
daughter.”