by Amanda Quick
Determined to behave like the adult she was, Emily forced herself to participate in the labored conversation that was going on around her. The others had finally managed to develop a somewhat uninspired discussion of the influence of the Lake poets and Emily did her best to assist the effort. The earl sipped tea in silence for a while.
Emily was feeling much more her normal self when, out of the clear blue sky, Simon put down his teacup and dropped a bombshell into the small parlor.
“Speaking of Byron and his ilk,” the earl said calmly, “has anyone here had a chance to read Lord Ashbrook’s latest piece, The Hero of Marliana? I thought it rather a poor imitation of Byron, myself. Which is certainly not saying much. Fellow simply is not as interesting as Byron, is he? Lacks a solid sense of irony. But there is no question that Ashbrook is quite popular in some circles at the moment. I am curious to hear your opinion.”
The impact of the seemingly innocuous comment was immediate. The Misses Inglebright gasped in unison. Miss Bracegirdle’s mouth trembled in shock. Miss Hornsby and Miss Ostly met each other’s eyes across the room. Emily looked down at her hands, which were folded very tightly in her lap.
Even Simon, for all his cool sophistication, looked slightly startled by the leaden silence that descended on the parlor. This silence was quite different from the others that had preceded it. Those had been awkward; this was downright hostile and accusatory.
Simon glanced around with an expression of mild concern. “I take it you have not had a chance to read the Ashbrook epic, then?”
“No, my lord. We have not.” Emily averted her eyes, aware of the fierce heat in her cheeks. She reached for her cup and saucer again in a desperate effort to occupy her trembling fingers.
“No great loss, I assure you,” Simon said languidly. His golden eyes were dangerously curious, those of a dragon who had spotted possible prey.
The ladies of the Thursday Afternoon Literary Society suddenly came to life. As if the mention of Ashbrook’s name had galvanized them into action, they took complete charge of the conversation. Their voices rose loudly, filling the parlor with a long, prosy discussion of a recent work entitled Patronage by Maria Edgeworth. Even the Edinburgh, which normally fawned on Miss Edgeworth, had had difficulty finding good things to say about it. The ladies of the Thursday afternoon salon tore it to shreds.
With a cold, unreadable smile, Simon leaned back in his chair and let the discussion rage around him. “Forgive me,” he murmured to Emily. “I seem to have said something unfortunate.”
Emily choked on her tea. “Not at all, my lord,” she got out between quick gasps for air. Her eyes watered. “It is just that we are not very familiar with Lord Ashbrook’s works here.”
“I see.” Simon reached over and quite casually slapped Emily between the shoulders.
Emily rocked beneath the force of the blow and then caught her balance and her breath. “Thank you, my lord,” she managed.
“Anytime.” With a sardonic tilt to his mouth, the earl rose to his feet. Instantly another hush fell over the parlor, this time a distinctly hopeful one. He raised a brow. “If you will forgive me, ladies, I must be on my way. I told Lady Gillingham I would be back early. I trust I shall have the great pleasure of meeting you all again. I assure you, this has been a most informative afternoon.”
There ensued a few minutes of polite chaos as Simon was hastily shown to the door of the cottage. He bowed politely and walked down the little path to the gate where his stallion was tied. He mounted, tipped his hat, and cantered off down the lane.
Relief immediately swamped Rose Cottage. As one, the other five women turned toward Emily.
“Thought he’d never leave,” Priscilla Inglebright muttered as she flopped down into her chair. “Lavinia, pour us all another cup of tea, will you?”
“Certainly.” Her sister lifted the pot as the others resumed their seats. “Such a shock when Lord Gillingham sent word that Blade wished to visit today. One could hardly refuse. Gillingham told me the earl is an extremely powerful man in London.”
“Blade is well enough in his way, I suppose,” her sister said, “but he hardly fits into our little group.”
“Hardly.” Miss Hornsby sighed. “It was rather like having to entertain a large beast that had somehow wandered into the parlor.”
“A dragon,” Emily suggested softly.
“A dragon is a very apt description,” Miss Ostly agreed at once. “Blade is a rather dangerous-looking man, is he not? There is something about those odd eyes of his that makes one extremely cautious. Very chilling, those eyes.”
“We should be quite flattered that an earl came to call and I am sure we all are, but, quite frankly, I am enormously relieved to have him gone. Men like that do not suit little country parlors such as ours,” Priscilla Inglebright declared. “So exhausting having a man like that underfoot.”
“His family used to live in the neighborhood at one time, I believe.” Lavinia frowned thoughtfully.
Emily was startled. “Are you certain?”
“Oh, yes. It has been more than twenty years, now. Priscilla and I had only recently moved here. The earl’s family owned a fair amount of land around here, as I recall.” Lavinia suddenly broke off with an odd expression in her eyes. “But, as I said, that was twenty years ago and I really do not recall the details.”
“Well, I must say, it was especially disconcerting to have him show up today of all days,” Miss Hornsby remarked. “Here we have been waiting this age for a report from Emily and we had to spend the last hour discussing the latest literary reviews. Extremely frustrating. But now at last we can get down to business.” She turned faded, expectant eyes on Emily. “Well, my dear? How did it go?”
Emily pushed her spectacles more firmly onto her nose and picked up her reticule. She felt much more clearheaded now that S. A. Traherne was gone. “Ladies of the Thursday Afternoon Literary Society, I am pleased to bring good news.” She fumbled around in the reticule while she spoke, drawing out some papers. “The navigable canal shares we bought have been sold at a respectable profit. I received Mr. Davenport’s report in the morning post. He has already taken the drafts to the bank and deposited them in your account.”
“Oh, my,” Miss Bracegirdle said, her eyes glowing. “I might just be able to afford that little cottage at the foot of the lane, after all. What a relief to know there will be a roof over my head when the last of my charges goes off to school next year.”
“This is so exciting,” Miss Hornsby declared. “Just think, Martha,” she added to Miss Ostly, “we are well on our way toward securing a decent pension for ourselves.”
“Just as well,” Martha Ostly retorted, “seeing as it has become quite clear neither of our employers is going to be bothered to supply us with one. What a relief not to have to contemplate an old age spent in genteel poverty.”
“At this rate, Lavinia and I will soon have enough money to open our seminary for young ladies,” Priscilla Inglebright said happily. “It seemed like an impossible dream for so long and now it is almost within our grasp.”
“Thanks to Emily,” Lavinia Inglebright added with a warm smile for the youngest member of the group.
“I shudder to think what would have become of all of us if you had not suggested this marvelous plan to pool our money and invest in shares and funds, Emily.” Miss Hornsby shook her head. “I, for one, was dreading having to become the companion of one of my aging relatives. They’re a miserable lot, my relatives. Every last one of them. Make one grovel for every scrap of charity.”
“We are saved and we owe it all to Emily,” Miss Bracegirdle said. “And if there is ever any way we can repay you, Emily, you must tell us at once.”
“You have all repaid me a thousandfold by being my friends,” Emily assured them earnestly. “I will never forget what you did for me after I made a fool of myself five years ago.”
“Nonsense, my dear,” Miss Bracegirdle said. “All we did was insist you continue
to attend our little Thursday afternoon group as usual.”
And thereby made it clear to one and all that the decent folk of Little Dippington were not going to ostracize the Faringdon girl simply because of the Unfortunate Incident, Emily thought with a rush of affection. She would always be grateful to the ladies of the Thursday Afternoon Literary Society.
Lavinia Inglebright got to her feet, eyes sparkling. “Do you know, I believe this calls for a celebration. Shall I fetch that bottle of claret we have been saving, Priscilla?”
“A lovely notion,” Priscilla exclaimed.
Simon was obliged to walk his stallion aimlessly among the trees for the better part of half an hour before his quarry had the grace to appear.
The earl fumed silently. Matters had not gotten off to the smooth start he had anticipated when he had arranged to attend the Thursday afternoon salon. Obliged to stage a strategic retreat, he had decided to lay in wait for Emily as she rode back to St. Clair Hall.
He had fully expected the literary society meeting to break up shortly after he took his leave but obviously the good ladies of the group had finally found something to talk about after he’d gone. He was getting damn cold, although it was an unseasonably warm afternoon. There was no getting around the fact that it was late February, after all.
Lap Seng whickered softly and pricked up his fine ears. Simon stopped pacing and listened. In the distance he heard the sound of a horse trotting down the lane.
“About time,” he growled as he remounted. Then he frowned as he heard Emily’s voice lifted high in a cheerful, off-key song sung at full volume.
“What good is a man, now, I ask you, kind ladies?
If we had any sense, we would send them to Hades.
They say there’s a use for each creature, e’en leeches,
But to discover the use of men, my dears,
A woman must look in their breeches.”
In spite of his foul mood, Simon found himself grinning. Apparently the members of the society had gotten into something a bit stronger than weak tea after his departure.
He tightened the reins and urged Lap Seng out of the trees and into the center of the road. He was ready a moment later when Emily’s dappled gray came bouncing around the bend.
Emily did not see him at first. She was concentrating too intently on her bawdy song. Her spectacles sparkled in the sunlight and her red curls bobbed in time to her tune. Simon was seized with a sudden desire to know what that mass of fiery hair would look like if it were unpinned and allowed to fall around her shoulders.
“Damn it to hell,” he muttered under his breath as he waited for Emily to realize he was directly in her path. The last thing he wanted to do was find himself physically attracted to the woman. He needed to keep a clear head for what he intended. Cold-blooded revenge required cold-blooded thinking.
“Good afternoon, Miss Faringdon.”
With a startled expression Emily brought her horse to a shambling halt. “My lord, what on earth are you doing here?” Her face was flushed and there was anxious alarm in her elfin eyes. “Did you lose your way? The Gillinghams are directly over that little rise. You merely turn left at the stream and go straight up the hill.”
“Thank you,” Simon said. “But I assure you, I am not lost. I was waiting for you. I had begun to fear you had taken another route home.”
She looked at him blankly. “But you said you were expected back early at the Gillinghams.”
“I confess that was an excuse to enable me to leave early. I received the distinct impression my presence was having a dampening effect upon the good ladies of the literary society.”
Emily blinked owlishly. “I fear you are right, my lord. We are not accustomed to entertaining dragons—” she looked horrified and immediately tried to recover, “I mean, earls on Thursday afternoon.”
“A dragon, hmm? Is that how you see me, Miss Faringdon?”
“Oh, no, my lord,” she assured him quickly. “Well, perhaps there is a faint resemblance about the eyes.”
Simon smiled grimly. “What about the teeth?”
“Only the smallest degree of similarity. But it does not signify, I assure you, my lord. You are exactly as I had pictured you from your letters.”
Simon exhaled slowly, holding on to his patience with a savage grip. “Would you care to walk with me for a ways? We have much to discuss.”
“We do?”
“Of course. We are old friends, are we not?”
“We are?”
“Correct me if I am mistaken, Miss Faringdon, but I had the impression we have been corresponding for several months.”
She was instantly flustered. “Oh, yes, my lord. We most certainly have. Definitely.” Emily’s red curls bounced beneath her bonnet as she nodded her head in swift agreement. “I feel I have known you for ages.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
“The thing is, I never expected to actually meet you in person.”
“I see. What do you say to a stroll down by the stream?” Simon dismounted and strode determinedly toward her, leading Lap Seng.
She looked down at him with unconcealed longing. “I should like that very much, my lord, but I fear it would not be quite proper.”
“Nonsense. Who will see us? And even if someone did notice us together, he can hardly complain too loudly. After all, we have just been quite properly introduced at a local meeting of the literary society.”
Her momentary hesitation vanished immediately. She gave him a glowing smile. “You are quite right, my lord. I must tell you, I can hardly believe we have finally met. It is the culmination of all my hopes.”
She started to slide down off the mare and Simon reached up to assist her. This time she did not lose her balance and tumble into his arms. He realized he was a little disappointed. A part of him wanted to feel that soft, lithe, feminine body against his own hard one again.
“I am sorry for catching you unawares this afternoon,” he said as he led the horses into the trees. “I had hoped to surprise you. I know how you like surprises.”
“That was very thoughtful of you,” she assured him. “I do like surprises.” She paused. “Most of the time.”
He smiled wryly. “But net always.”
“It is just that I would have liked very much to have been looking my best when we met,” she admitted. “You cannot imagine how I have been agonizing over this event since I got your letter this morning. I assumed I would have weeks to prepare. Not that it would have made all that much difference, I suppose.”
He looked down at her and realized she only came to his shoulder. She was small but there was an entrancing, airy grace about her movements. “You must allow me to tell you that you are in excellent looks, Miss Faringdon. Indeed, I was charmed the moment I saw you.”
“You were?” She wrinkled her nose, clearly amazed by this pronouncement.
“Absolutely.”
Her eyes gleamed with pleasure. “Thank you, my lord. I assure you I was equally charmed. By you, I mean.”
This, thought Simon, was going to be almost too easy. “But I would not have willingly upset you or the ladies of the literary society. You must forgive me.”
“Yes, well, you see, we had not actually planned to discuss poetry or the latest reviews today,” Emily explained as she stepped lightly along beside him.
“What were you intending to discuss?”
“Investments.” She gave a vague little wave of dismissal.
He glanced shrewdly at her. “Investments?”
“Yes. I realize that must strike you as terribly dull.” She looked up at him anxiously. “I assure you that today was rather unusual. I had some excellent news to report in regard to the investments I have made on my friends’ behalf. They are all most concerned with their pensions, you see. One can hardly blame them.”
“You are seeing to their future pensions?”
“I have some ability in financial matters, so I do what I can. The ladies you met toda
y have all been very kind to me. This is the least I can do to repay them.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “But I promise you that normally we devote ourselves to a lively discussion of the latest books and poetry. Why, just last week we were involved in the most intense analysis of Miss Austen’s book, Pride and Prejudice. I was going to write you a letter on the subject.”
“What did you think of the novel?”
“Well, it is all very pleasant in its way, I suppose. That is to say, Miss Austen is certainly a very fine writer. Wonderful gift for illuminating certain types of character, but …”
“But?” He was curious in spite of himself.
“The thing is, her subject matter is so very commonplace, don’t you agree? She writes of such ordinary people and events.”
“Miss Austen is not Byron, I’ll grant you that.”
“That is certainly true,” Emily agreed in a rush of enthusiasm. “Her books are quite entertaining, but they lack the exciting, exotic qualities of Lord Byron’s works, not to mention the spirit of adventure and the excess of passion. The literary society just finished The Giaour.”
“And enjoyed it, I take it?”
“Oh, yes. Such marvelous atmosphere, such remarkable adventures, such a thrilling sense of the darker passions. I adored it fully as much as Childe Harold. I cannot wait for Byron’s next work.”
“You and most of London.”
“Tell me, sir, have you heard precisely how the G in Giaour is to be sounded? Hard or soft? We spent a great deal of time discussing the matter last Thursday and none of us could be certain, although Miss Bracegirdle, who has an excellent command of ancient history, believes it should be soft.”
“It is a topic which has not yet been resolved, to my knowledge,” Simon hedged. He had not yet had a chance to read the poem and had no plans to do so. He had only dipped into romantic literature and poetry long enough to bait his trap. Now that the trap was about to close, he did not care if he ever read another epic poem of passion and adventure. He had far better things to do with his time.
