Lady in Lace: Regency Timeslip

by Joanna Maitland

  She sighed out a long breath. "Do you know, Bailey, that I am at a loss to decide? You will have suggestions, I am sure. Show me what you would recommend and I shall chose one. Your taste is always impeccable."

  Bailey grunted again, but she was flattered all the same, Emma could see.

  Round two to me, I think. On points.

  Bailey produced three elegant outfits for Emma to choose from. Each had a matching hat.

  Not one of the hats had a veil.

  ~ ~ ~

  Emma's open barouche drew up outside the Sinclair-Smythe house at precisely one minute to four in the afternoon. The door opened immediately. A footman came out to greet her and to invite her to step inside to meet the ladies. Emma declined. She did not wish to keep her horses standing, she told him, loftily. She would wait in her carriage for Miss Sinclair-Smythe to appear.

  It was, as she intended it to be, a rebuke. She was not at all sure why she had allowed herself to be manoeuvred into this tête-à-tête with Patience Sinclair-Smythe, but she would certainly not allow herself to be manoeuvred any more. A drive at four o'clock had been agreed. And if guinea-gold Patience kept her waiting for more than ten minutes, Emma would drive to the park on her own.

  It was just after five past four when the door opened again and Patience Sinclair-Smythe came out. She was all smiles – until she clapped eyes on Emma's carriage. Her smile became a little forced then, for Emma's glossy black barouche was upholstered in golden velvet.

  Not the best contrast for those guinea-gold curls, Emma thought triumphantly. Whereas Emma's dark red hair looked remarkably well against a gold background.

  Miss Sinclair-Smythe quickly recovered her poise and allowed the footman to help her up into the carriage. Emma offered her hand. "Good afternoon, Miss Sinclair-Smythe. Do sit here beside me. There is plenty of space. May I say that that is a most fetching hat?"

  Over her flounced white carriage dress, Patience was wearing a forest green pelisse that flattered her colouring. Her tall Leghorn hat was decorated with leaves, and perched jauntily on the side of her head so that most of her golden hair was on view for any gentleman who cared to admire it. She was well aware of her best features, Emma decided. Her sarcenet pelisse swayed beautifully to catch the light, showing off her slim, elegant figure. Emma placed a silent bet with herself that, once they reached the park, Patience would suggest they leave the barouche and walk for a while. Especially if there were eligible gentlemen around to see.

  Why am I so suspicious of this woman? Emma wondered. I don't know, but there's definitely something about her that doesn't ring true. Emma had learned, over the terrible years with Julian, that her gut instincts were seldom wrong, even when reason, or Julian, insisted on overriding them. So, with Patience Sinclair-Smythe, she would definitely be on her guard.

  Emma nodded to her coachman and the carriage moved off in the direction of Hyde Park, where everyone who was anyone would be on show at this hour in the afternoon. Although the sun was shining, Emma took care to ensure that her guest was well wrapped up, for it was too early in the year to be truly warm. She kept up a flow of light conversation, about the weather and other harmless subjects, as they bowled along through surprisingly light traffic. But Patience responded only just enough to be polite.

  As they approached the entrance to the park, Emma found she had very few acceptable topics left.

  Your turn, Miss Guinea-Gold. I've made all the running so far. You, and your mama, were the ones who wanted this outing, after all. Time to tell me what the Sinclair-Smythes are really after.

  "That is a most becoming gown you are wearing, Miss Sinclair-Smythe. As was your ballgown last evening. If I may venture to say so, your style is somewhat, er, different from your mama's. Do you and she patronise the same mantua-maker?" When the woman made no move to respond, Emma persevered. "Your mantua-maker, Miss Sinclair-Smythe?"

  "Oh, please, won't you call me Patience? For we are going to be such good friends, are we not?"

  Out of the blue, this woman was asking to be on Christian name terms with Emma. But why? And should Emma agree to such intimacy? Lady Emma was, after all, some years older than Patience, and a widow, besides. Not to mention that she was the daughter of an earl, at the least. No, a woman such as Lady Emma Groatster would not allow a mere Miss Sinclair-Smythe to presume to call her by her given name on such a slight acquaintance. Double-barrelled Patience was trying it on, Emma decided. For her own reasons. Emma did not trust the chit further than she could throw her.

  Emma drew herself up a little, as befitted a high-ranking aristocrat. "I think, Miss Sinclair-Smythe, that we need to know one another somewhat better before we indulge in such informality." Patience looked disappointed, but only a little. So she had known perfectly well that she was pushing her luck.

  "But you were going to tell me about your mantua-maker," Emma continued in a slightly friendlier tone. "Your style seems to me to be quite the latest thing. French, even. Does your mama permit you to choose all your own gowns?"

  "There is a considerable difference in age between Mama and myself, you must understand," Patience said baldly. "So it is not to be wondered at if our tastes differ also. Mama has had her gowns from the same dressmaker for ever." She sniggered unpleasantly. "I have recently given my patronage to Madame Élise. She is, you may know, the most sought-after modiste in London."

  This woman was making no attempt to conceal her disdain for her mother's fashion sense. And it was surely quite outrageous to share such disloyal opinions with someone she had only just met. Did she not consider the risk that her indiscreet comments might be repeated back to her mother? Patience was, after all, a single woman living at home with her parents and dependent on them for every penny.

  "I had forgot. You do not know about my family, do you?" Patience continued, suddenly seeming very keen to confide. What had happened to the monosyllabic woman of a few moments earlier? She leaned across to Emma and lowered her voice. "The whole of London knows it, so it will do no harm to tell you, dear Lady Emma. And it will explain why Mama is so very much older than me and why our tastes, er, do not always agree. Mama says that she and Papa waited many years for a child. I imagine you will understand how she felt. You and Sir John were not blessed with children, were you? Such a pity."

  Emma pursed her lips and looked away, saying nothing. It was not surprising news, but it was a little sad.

  "As I said, Mama and Papa had all but given up hope when I was born. Mama says that when they were blessed with a baby girl, she could think of no other name but Patience, since that's what she and Papa had had to show for so long."

  "How, er, how very interesting," Emma said quickly, trying to hide her shock at such indiscretion. "I had wondered about your given name, I will admit. I had thought such names had fallen out of use centuries ago. I understand now. You were obviously a much-wanted child." And clearly a much overindulged one. Patience Sinclair-Smythe might well be an only child. Was she an heiress, too? Judging by her expensive wardrobe, there was no shortage of funds in the Sinclair-Smythe household. So why was double-barrelled Patience still unmarried in her mid-twenties?

  Miss Sinclair-Smythe did not seem to have twigged that any of her confidences might be disconcerting. She burbled on, regardless. "You may be wondering, dear Lady Emma, about the fact that the only child of a wealthy family, such as mine, is unwed, at such an age. I am almost four-and-twenty, you know. Actually, it is all a great secret. But I am sure I can trust you with it. A marriage has been arranged." She paused, a dramatic pause, waiting for a reaction.

  "Really?" Emma dutifully responded. "How splendid."

  "Yes, indeed. It is a family arrangement, as such things so often are. Perhaps yours was also?"

  When Emma remained silent, Patience shook her head and continued, "Well, even so. Mine has been arranged between the families. For years, as it happens. Because he… Well, he was not here. The wars, you understand."

  "He was with Wellington's army? In Spa
in?"

  Patience chortled and shook her head decisively. "No, no." There was still a laugh in her voice as she continued, "No, my intended was in His Majesty's Navy, where there were rich prizes to be won. He took many enemy ships, over the years, and returned with a very respectable fortune. Papa was most gratified."

  "Oh."

  "Indeed, you know him, I collect. You danced with him last evening. Sir William?"

  "Oh." Emma's heart stuttered to a stop in her breast. And then it raced away, pounding painfully. She took a deep breath. She must not show how much this revelation had stunned her. After a moment, she managed to say, in something approaching her normal voice, "Really? How very interesting. I had not heard that Sir William was betrothed."

  "It is not public knowledge. In fact, no one knows, apart from the closest family members."

  So why are you telling me, a stranger? Emma thought. But she knew the answer to that, so she said, quietly, "This betrothal will be announced soon, I collect?"

  "In due course. Mama says— Mama has made it clear that William must be allowed to sow his wild oats before any formal declaration is made."

  "Wild oats?" Emma could barely get the words out.

  "William was with the Navy for many years, you will understand, Lady Emma. Years and years at sea, with no female companionship whatsoever. He has been… Shall we say he has been deprived of what a normal man needs?"

  Even modern-day Emma was shocked at that. This was straight talking with a vengeance. Patience Sinclair-Smythe might be a spinster, but she was far from naïve when it came to sex.

  "Mama says William must be given space to sow his wild oats. And that he deserves it, after having been such a hero in the late wars."

  "I see," Emma murmured. She was over the shock now, she told herself. Time to pay this woman back in kind for the hurt and embarrassment she had caused. "And these wild oats are…?"

  "I do not trouble myself about what he does with women of a…a certain stamp. It is no concern of mine. Believe me, once we are married, there will be no more wild oats."

  "Really? You will allow me to say, as an older and more experienced woman than yourself, my dear, that married men do very often indulge in a little dalliance, away from hearth and home. Their wives usually learn to turn a blind eye."

  "There will be no such thing in our marriage," Patience declared stoutly. "William shall vow to be faithful to me. And only to me. I will not permit anything else."

  "Very wise, my dear," Emma said. "Very wise."

  And if you can achieve that, with a man like Will Allmay, you will be a very remarkable wife.

  They drove on, in silence, for a good ten minutes. Patience was looking around, rather smugly to Emma's mind, and clearly satisfied that she had delivered the message, and the hands-off warning, that she and her mother intended.

  Emma was trying to process the astonishing news that Patience had delivered. Will Allmay might promise eternal love and devotion to Lady Emma Groatster, but he was promised, and had been for years, to his godmother's dreadful daughter. Well, if he were prepared to go through with a marriage like that, he would deserve every miserable moment it would bring him.

  At least Emma knew, finally, what this special outing had been all about. Patience, and her scheming mama, must have seen the way Will danced with Emma and deduced that she might be a threat to their plans. They would know that Lady Emma Groatster was a widow with a spotless reputation. They would assume that such an upright lady would never stoop to becoming Will's mistress but that, especially now he had a large fortune of his own, she might try to entice him to the altar. And, as long as the betrothal to Patience was unannounced, any other marriage prospect for Will was a real danger. So Emma had to be warned off, in no uncertain terms.

  Was she prepared to heed the warning?

  Being honest with herself, Emma admitted that she did not know. She had lived with a serially unfaithful man in the twenty-first century. Was she prepared to become involved with another, in the nineteenth? Will was probably a deal less manipulative than Julian but what did that matter? Emma was not prepared to become the long-term mistress of Patience Sinclair-Smythe's husband.

  And short term?

  Short term, he was not Patience's husband. Not yet. Nor even her betrothed.

  For the moment, he was free. And available.

  I love him, Emma thought, and I want him. I will not share him, but I do want him now. This designing woman does not have him yet. And she shall not, not ever, if I have any part in it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "It is such a beautiful day, Lady Emma. Might we stop the carriage and walk a little?"

  Yup. Knew she'd do that. She's seen those splendid military types coming towards us and she wants them to admire her face and figure. She's a fast little piece, as the Regency gossips would say.

  "Certainly, if you wish, Miss Sinclair-Smythe," Emma said courteously. "It will be easier for you to greet your friends and acquaintances when you are down on their level, will it not?"

  Patience's eyes narrowed for a second but she quickly smiled again. If she had caught Emma's poorly concealed barb, there was nothing she could do about it and she probably knew it was unwise to try. Instead, she made a great show of allowing the footman to hand her down from the barouche and then fiddling with her straw-coloured parasol which – she said – would not open properly. "It is new and stiff. It needs a man's strong fingers. I fear mine are not up to the task. Stay, here is Captain Musgrove. I'm sure he will be able to help me."

  Three military gentlemen were, by this time, close enough to have heard her words. One of them, very fine in scarlet regimentals, strode forward and saluted. "Miss Sinclair-Smythe. Good afternoon. I believe I may have heard you asking for my help?"

  Patience made doe eyes at him. In a pathetic little voice – the voice of a child rather than a woman of twenty-three, Emma thought – she explained her problem. Predictably, Captain Musgrove opened the parasol with no trouble at all. As he restored it to her, he said, very politely, "I think I have not had the honour of being introduced to your companion."

  Emma bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from laughing, for Patience had miscalculated there. She'd wanted the officers' attention all to herself. But now she would have to share. And after that nasty bombshell about the betrothal, it was time for Patience to be put in her place. Emma fancied that a few lessons in top-class flirting – where Georgette Heyer had given her plenty of inspiration – might be in order.

  So she took a step forward, looked Patience squarely in the face and waited for the inevitable. It came, but several seconds too late for good manners. "Oh. Oh, yes, of course. Lady Emma, may I present Captain Musgrove of the— Oh dear. I fear I have forgot the name of your regiment, Captain."

  "No matter, ma'am. It is the 44th." He saluted very smartly, keeping his eyes fixed on Emma and clearly appreciating the view.

  "Oh yes. I will try to remember," Patience said quickly. She stepped between them and gestured towards Emma. "Captain Musgrove, this is my very good friend Lady Emma Groatster, lately returned to town."

  Very good friend, eh? Cheeky little madam. Well, she's made one mistake too many. She deserves her comeuppance. And she's about to get it.

  "Your servant, Lady Emma," Captain Musgrove said politely.

  Emma opened her eyes a little wider and beamed at Musgrove, as if she, too, liked what she was seeing. Then she tipped her head to one side and extended her gloved hand. "I am delighted to meet a member of the gallant 44th, Captain Musgrove. Were you at Waterloo? Your regiment performed distinguished service there, I know, and the whole country was grateful."

  Captain Musgrove blushed and stammered a little that, yes, he had been in the battle, but no, he had not done anything particularly heroic. It had been all down to the other fellows.

  "I am sure you did your duty right honourably, sir, whatever you may say."

  Musgrove was now gazing at Emma with glowing eyes. He must be young
er, and less experienced with women, than she had supposed. Time to let him off her hook. "Will you introduce your fellow officers, Captain? I should be very pleased to make the acquaintance of your friends."

  "As would I," said Patience tartly, lifting her chin a little.

  Unfortunately for Patience, Captain Musgrove was not paying her any attention at all. He beckoned his friends over and presented them to Emma. One was a younger colleague from the 44th, Lieutenant Taylforth. The second, in the green and black uniform of the Rifles, stepped forward in his turn and saluted.

  Emma smiled warmly at him. "Ah, that is a uniform I recognise. The green of the intrepid 95th, I collect?"

  Musgrove agreed that it was and proceeded to present his friend, Captain Grimond, who declared himself delighted to meet a lady who knew so much about military matters.

  "Well, not as much as I should like," Emma said, extending an arm to include Patience in the conversation. "Miss Sinclair-Smythe, on the other hand, knows exactly how to dress to match the uniform of the Rifles. Allow me present you to her."

  So, in the end, it was Emma who presented the pair to Patience, who had been beginning to look more than a little put out. She soon swallowed her ill-temper, though, once she was able to chatter gaily with the officers.

  Poor kid. She may be going on twenty-four, and she has the mother from hell, but she really doesn’t have a clue.

  "I say, you chaps," muttered Captain Musgrove suddenly, indicating the path behind him, "here is Will May All." Sure enough, Will was striding towards them. "Oh dear." Musgrove coughed nervously. His neck had gone very red. He seemed to be struggling to get his words out. Luckily, Patience did not seem to have heard his hasty comment and Emma was able to pretend that she had not, either.

  "Perhaps the ladies would like to walk?" said Captain Grimond quickly, turning his back on Will and offering his arm to Emma.

  Clearly the officers were all familiar with Will and had suddenly remembered his unsavoury reputation. They were trying to prevent Emma and Patience from being forced to acknowledge a man they should not wish to know.