Emily
frowned. Mr. Fennington had been one of her latest suitors, and according to
her brothers, the man had obviously chosen the wrong woman to woo. She held no
interest in any particular man, but nothing she could say was going to change
her brothers' wretched plan to find her a husband.
However,
the more she thought about it, the more she realized Mr. Fennington had the
qualities of a husband who would grant her the freedom she needed. He was a
simpleton, as her father would say, a man a woman could wrap her ringlets about
in one turn of the room.
"You
smash that idiotic piece of rubbish or was that Roderick's doing?" Stephen
turned his beguiling smile up a notch as he spoke to Clayton.
"Smash
the piece?" Roderick chuckled, his demeanor obviously lightening with talk
of a man who dared to run past the blockade of the Elbourne brothers. "We
did no such thing. Chap would have no notion how to walk straight without the
blasted piece hanging from his eye."
"Besides,"
Clayton added, "the fool needed the fanciful piece to see his way back to
Town."
All four
brothers roared with laughter.
Emily
grasped the back of her chair in outrage. "Mr. Fennington was quite
agreeable, and you four popinjays have no business jabbing your noses into my
life."
The
laughing stopped abruptly. Yet it was Roderick's smoking glare that made Emily
flinch. She dropped her hands, wondering if she had gone too far.
"Agreeable?"
Roderick snapped, his gaze narrowing in rage as he deliberately rose and strode
toward her.
"For
all it's worth," she said, backing toward the door, trying to ignore
Roderick's approach along with the hardened glares of all her brothers now
weighing heavily in her direction, "I t-told the gentleman that he should
not have come to visit me here."
Roderick
slapped his hand against his thigh. "Here or any other place! Confound it!
James Theodore Fennington is a drunk and a cad. I will not have you wed the
man, and that is final."
Emily
lifted her head in outrage. "For your information, Papa said that I may
choose."
"Papa
is dead," Clayton snapped out. "He left you in our care, as your
protectors in a way. We are of one mind on this, Em. You may not marry without
our consent."
"Truly,
this idea of yours is absurd," she went on, wringing her hands on her
gown. "You cannot do this."
Roderick
shook his head and walked back to his chair. "We can and we will."
His tone was calm, but firm. "We have a say in this whether you like it or
not. Fennington wants to wed you for your dowry, and we won't have it."
Pausing,
he cleared his throat and gently pointed his finger toward her seat. "Come
now, Em. I daresay, if you had been there, you would have heartily agreed that
it was rather comical the way Fennington gaped at me, eyes bugging out of his
sockets like a pig ready for slaughter, especially after I told him that if any
of us found him within earshot of you, I would call him out. The insolence of
the man to think he could come a half day's ride from London and court you
without our consent."
"Call
him out?" Emily was horrified. Roderick's threat was absurd. He was a
crack shot, and anyone who tangled with the Duke of Elbourne would be
dreadfully stupid, or dreadfully maimed for life.
Stephen
tipped back on his chair, popping an olive into his mouth. "Good riddance,
I say. Man's an odious creature, not to be wed to any damsel I should think.
Way I see it, we should all take to Town. Yes, that's the way of it. We find
this mysterious suitor for Em before any more adventurers try to seek her out
and be done with the whole matter before Christmas."
Emily
turned toward Stephen, her eyes locking with his. Her strongest ally's betrayal
squeezed her heart. One moment he seemed to be on her side, the next moment
not. "I cannot believe that you would abandon me."
Stephen
dropped his gaze to the table, fiddling with his fork. "Christmas is less
than nine months away, Em. A long time to look over the prospects."
Her
breath left her. So this was the meaning of that sly wink. He would find her a
suitable husband. The traitor! "And what will you do if I do not comply
with your wishes? Send me to Bedlam? I should sooner live in Paris as a
milliner with my own little shop than marry a man you have chosen for me!"
Marcus
flew from his seat. "You will obey us," he countered. "There is
no question of noncompliance. Dare you take one foot outside England and I will
take you over my knee."
Emily
flinched when the brothers instantly stood, as if agreeing that Marcus's plan
had a bit of sense to it. The deafening silence that followed sent her heart
racing. Never in her life had she opposed all siblings at once. Well, not like
this, and she usually won any kind of argument regardless.
Drat and
double drat! Now all could be lost. She should have used her brains instead of
her anger.
Ever
since that day Roderick caught her merely conversing with his cronies in Hyde
Park, all her brothers seemed to have acknowledged that she was no longer the
innocent child they remembered and treated her accordingly.
As if
realizing the full force of his angry outburst, Marcus moved around the table
and gently tipped Emily's chin with his finger. "Come now, dearest, we
have no wish to attack you, but do not believe us addlepated nincompoops. Any
man would do anything for the coin attached to you and your name."
Emily
was about to open her mouth when her mother, the Duchess of Elbourne, sashayed
into the room. She was draped in a gown of blue silk and lace, holding her
snow-white cat, Egypt, close to her breast as she peered over her spectacles.
"Forgive me children, so very sorry to be late. Cannot believe I read
through dinner. My new Radcliffe novel, you know."
With a
frown, the lady floated across the rug toward Marcus, tapping him on the
shoulder. "But indeed, my absence does not suggest you may use that
nincompoop language at the dinner table, young man."
"Mother,"
Clayton said, hiding his smile. "Em has one of the richest dowries in the
country and is a beauty besides. Her good looks have caught the attention of
every rake we know."
Emily
burned with rage. So that was it. Their friends were vying for her hand.
"That is ridiculous. I can handle any rakes that come my way. You
cannot—"
"Em,
please do not interrupt. Not ladylike at all." Clayton sent her a warning
glance and continued to speak to his mother. "See here, if we dare let Em
choose her own husband, Elbourne Hall will be infested with every pest known to
mankind. By the by, get a good look at that Fennington fellow? Looked worse
than Stephen here."
Stephen
snorted in response. "I say!"
Ignoring
the sibling rivalry, Emily paced beside the table. "I am not a stupid
girl, making stupid decisions. I am a woman of sound mind and body with every intention
of leading my own life. I know you want the best for me, but I ask every one of
you to trust me in this." One man had destroyed her girlhood dreams, and no
man ever again would determine her destiny.
The
duchess frowned as she stroked her cat. "Though Emily is beautiful, it
takes no great talent to realize her dowry alone will fetch a grand husband.
And he must be grand. I won't have my grandchildren running around like little
peasants."
At the
mention of grandchildren, Emily froze. "Mama."
Stephen
came around the table, patting Emily's hand. "Now, now. We can work all of
this out to everyone's satisfaction." He set his gaze on Roderick and
grimaced. "Why be so hard on the poor girl. It's not as if she has fleas.
Even females have the right to make some decisions."
"Fleas?"
The duchess narrowed her eyes on her son.
"I
don't mean she has fleas, Mother," Stephen said.
"You
have no inkling to what I want," Emily said, tears clogging her throat.
She was no longer able to fight the four of them, five along with her mother.
"I beg you to excuse me," she said tartly. "My head is beginning
to pound." She departed from the room before anyone could say another
word.
"Whatever
is the matter with the child?" the duchess asked, concerned.
"By
Jove," Clayton replied as Emily's slippers slapped up the stairs. "Do
we dare believe that our sweet little Em had some affection for that Fennington
fellow?"
Roderick
frowned, clasping a fist about his napkin. "The devil. We need to find a
suitable husband for her as soon as possible. If Fennington were the least bit
decent, I would consider him, but the man's a scoundrel. Women, drinking, and
gambling are the only things in life he knows."
The
duchess pressed her lips together and stared at Emily's full plate of food.
"Should we call the doctor?"
Roderick
glanced toward the open door. "No."
The
duchess rested her purring cat across her shoulder, imparting a regal glare
upon her sons. "Then I implore you to look for the minimum of an earl.
This talk of marriage gives me a wretched headache. Your father would have
known what to do. Daniel always had a way with Emily.
"Then
again, Daniel doted on Emily as if she were his only child. He would have
granted her anything her heart desired, including that despicable Fennington.
Oh, this entire matter vexes me to no end. I cannot eat a thing now. I must
have a cloth put to my head." Frowning, the duchess swished past the door
in a flourish of blue and white, her sons staring helplessly at one another and
sinking back into their seats.
Stephen
combed a hand through his unruly dark hair. "Roderick's correct. We must
make our lists for a reasonable match as soon as possible. This entire
situation is maddening."
"Maddening
is the way Em has been acting." Roderick stared at his sister's empty
chair. "We need a reasonable man. Someone who will not travel the world at
a moment's notice. A man with our political views, a man who sees that she
stays away from those daft female notions of independence."
"Speaking
of reasonable," Stephen added speculatively, "believe Jared returned
from India. Now, there's a decent chap."
"Brother
died in that carriage accident a while ago," Clayton added, frowning.
Roderick
shook his head. "Not Jared. Man's too much like us. Not even his late wife
could make him stay in one place."
"Blasted
shame about his brother," Stephen added. "Saw Edmond last year at Brighton."
He shook his head. "But I have heard gentlemen do settle down a bit after
having a wife. Might work, you know. Maybe Jared and Em—"
"Never,"
Roderick said, interrupting with a steely edge to his voice. "Jared Ashton
is not on the list. We need to find Em an agreeable fellow, not shackle her
with a man like us."
Stephen
made a fist. "Hell's bells, Roderick. Why not Jared? He may be a bit like
the rest of us, but what man worth his weight in salt does not have a bit of a
rake in him? Jared could be the answer to our prayers. Did Emily not meet him
years ago? Believe she fancied him then. Could be perfect."
"Father
was not impressed," Clayton cut in. "Em liked any gentleman who paid
her attention. But Father wanted a title for Em, and nothing short of that
would do, especially not Mr. Jared Ashton, the second son of an earl. Took the
wind right of out of Em's sails. Good thing Jared had no interest in her
then."
"Yes,
but some of those men in Town did have an interest," Marcus added
thoughtfully. "The girl almost had me fighting in her corner with that
Queen of Sheba act, not to mention those ebony locks and violet eyes. Strong
willed, she is. Needs a firm hand. Sooner we find her a husband, the
better."
The
sound of pensive sighs filled the room.
"Needs
to be sent away," Roderick said. "Agatha Appleby's is a good place
for her until we decide on a suitor."
Clayton
pursed his lips. "But ain't Agatha Jared's aunt?"
Roderick
nodded. "If we keep Em here, no telling what type of guttersnipes will be
waiting for her in the bushes, ready to drag her off to Gretna Green. And with
her independent streak, I don't want to leave that possibility open. More I
think about it, the more I believe Agatha's the best place for her. In fact,
Jared owes me a favor. He's staying there now. I'll see to it that the man
keeps an eye on our sister and shoos off any would-be suitors. Won't like it
above half, but he'll do it."
Clayton
frowned, rubbing a finger thoughtfully against his chin. "Hear tell, man's
searching for a wife. Won't like settling with an old maid and Em for the
Season. As the new Earl of Stonebridge he has estates to tend, tenants to visit
. . ."
"Estates?"
Marcus put in. "Man has a steward for that. Besides, last I heard he was
on White's books, and odds are favored toward a Miss Susan Wimble for a wife.
Engagement almost carved in stone." Marcus snickered over his wineglass.
"No pun intended. Also hear he is without funds."
Roderick
drummed the table with his fingers. "Ah, Miss Susan Wimble. From personal
experience she is not the sort—" He stammered, cutting himself off. The
brothers stared back in awe, as if indeed this was a new revelation.