“Saturday,” he said. “They will be here on Saturday. I did not want them to come home,” he added defensively, “before the year of mourning was over.”
“Ah, yes,” said Emma, in response to this barb. “As most of you know already, I am still in mourning for my husband, who died just a little less than a year ago. But, with so many of our brave and noble military gentlemen here with us tonight, I thought it was important that I welcome you, since my son could not be here himself to do you honor. My husband, the late duke, was also a great patriot. I know that he would want me to be here tonight, to thank you for your service. Gentlemen, you have the thanks and the praise of a grateful nation. England, and, indeed, the whole world is better for your efforts. You have sacrificed so much for so long that the rest of us may live in comfort and security, and now, thanks to you, we are at peace. Let me assure you that your courage will never be forgotten.”
“Here, here,” said Otto, beginning the applause.
“I could say more,” Emma went on, when the cheers and applause had died down, “but I am sure you all must be very hungry! Eat and drink, gentlemen, and don’t spare the cellars! Carstairs, you may serve.”
Nicholas was waiting for her at the foot of the steps, his eyes shining with pride. “I do hate making speeches,” she confessed to him. “I hope I was not too nonsensical?”
“You were perfect,” he said simply.
“Thank you. Will you be good enough to escort me in to the dining hall?” she prompted, as he continued staring at her. “Everyone is waiting. No one can eat, you know, until I sit down at the table.”
“Of course,” he said, offering his arm. He felt like the luckiest man in the world.
Two by two, the other guests followed the duchess and her partner into the dining room.
“This is not the dinner I ordered,” Lady Susan complained loudly, calling down the length of the long mahogany table as the first course was brought in.
“No, madam,” Emma told her sharply. “It is the dinner I ordered. I am the Duchess of Warwick, or have you forgotten?”
“The soup is far too rich for the lining of my stomach,” Lady Susan pronounced, when she had finished her lobster bisque. “It will give us all indigestion. I had ordered a clear soup.”
Lady Harriet was seated next to Lord Colin Grey. “In my day, people did not shout down the table at one another,” she informed him, speaking loudly enough for her sister to hear. “One spoke only to those persons seated immediately to one’s right and to one’s left.” She twisted in her chair to look at Colin. “Well? What have you to say for yourself, young man?”
“Only that you’re looking very pretty this evening, Aunt Harriet,” he said chivalrously. “I still love your pixie cut.”
“It is not a pixie cut, young man,” she said indignantly. “As a young woman, I cut my hair in sympathy for the victims of the guillotine.”
“How cheerful,” said Colin. “It does wonderful things for your cheekbones, I must say. Why, if I were fifty years older, I’d definitely take a bite out of you, you ripe little peach, you.”
“Cheeky monkey,” Lady Harriet sniffed, flushing with pleasure.
Emma turned to Nicholas as the first course was brought in. Bemused, she watched him attack his soup. “I take the lobster bisque meets with your approval, my lord,” she said. “You do not find it too rich?”
“It’s delicious,” he said. “I could drown in it.”
“Better than a raw carrot?” she teased him.
He grinned at her. “Just. The cook is to be commended.”
“Chef,” Emma corrected him. “He’s called Armand, and I found him in Paris.”
“Paris? Paris, France?”
“Yes, of course, Paris, France,” Emma laughed. “The instant the war was over—that is to say, as soon as the navy had got out of my way—I flew to Paris like one of Mr. Congreve’s rockets. I was never able to go to Paris before because of the fighting. My younger son Grey was born during the Peace of Amiens, so I missed my chance there. He’s an unrepentant Bonapartist, I’m sorry to say. The chef, not my son,” she clarified.
“I’d like to go to Paris,” Nicholas said eagerly. “I think it must have been a very fine place before the revolution.”
“Now is the time to go,” Emma told him seriously. “The auction houses are bursting with the spoils of war, and no one has any money but we, the English. I bought some rather nice Christmas presents for my boys—a rather beautiful desk that once belonged to Old Boney himself, amongst other things.” She showed him her fan, taking it from her lap and spreading it open on the table. “This little fribble was the Empress Josephine’s. It is ivory set with amethysts. I gave my niece Aleta a harp that once belonged to Marie Antoinette.”
“No!” Nicholas said, wide-eyed.
“Yes. I plan to go back next year, for the King’s auction.”
“The King’s auction?” Nicholas echoed. “The King of France is having an auction?”
“Poor fat Louis!” said Emma. “Imagine for a moment that you are he. You’ve been away from the Tuileries for many, many years. Finally, you are allowed to return home, only to find that some strange little Corsican fellow has been living in your house, putting his feet up on all the furniture, and painting bloody great Ns all over everything. Ns on all the cushions. Ns on the door handles. Imperial bees on all the carpets! A positive swarm! My God, wouldn’t you throw it all out and have yourself a nice auction, too?”
“I might burn the lot,” said Nicholas, laughing.
“Oh, but His Majesty needs the money. France is bankrupt. I bought my house in the Faubourg St. Honore for next to nothing.” She laughed suddenly. “It just occurred to me, my lord, that your Christian name also starts with a big N, just like the Corsican’s. You definitely should go to Paris and get yourself something with a big N on it. Oh, but, of course, you won’t be able to go, will you? You will be in London for your presentation.”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m rather nervous about it. Will you be there?”
Emma shook her head, laughing. “No, indeed! I shall be in Paris.”
He looked crestfallen. “I would feel better, if you were there—if I had a friend at Court. Lord Scarlingford says I should imagine everyone naked,” he added, chuckling.
“Lord Camford!” she chided him. “And this is why you want me at Court so badly?”
“No, ma’am!” he cried, his face red with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean you! I would never presume to—to imagine—” he broke off, stammering, and reached for his glass.
“You just did, didn’t you?” Emma laughed. “Well? How did I look? Delightful, I hope.”
Nicholas choked. “Ma’am, I beg of you!” he gasped.
“You’re right,” said Emma. “It is indeed most unbecoming to beg for a compliment, particularly when one is only being imagined naked.”
“I did not mean that either,” he protested, now unable to even look at her.
“I know; I’m only teasing you,” she said gently. “But it’s your own fault for blushing so readily. No woman can resist teasing a man who blushes so readily. I had thought, too, that it was something of a difficult task to make a sailor blush. Am I so wicked or are you so susceptible? Either way, you will change my opinion of the navy.”
The strain of conversing with her seemed almost too much for the young man. He could think of no answer. To relieve his embarrassment, Emma summoned the next course.
As it was brought in, she turned to speak to Monty, who was seated at her left. Nicholas then was obliged to speak to the lady on his right, and he was as much gratified as he was piqued to spend the next twenty minutes without once blushing.
Chapter Six
Three hours after they had sat down, Emma rose from her chair. The ladies filed out of the room, leaving the gentlemen to their port. “You have made a conquest there, dear Emma,” said Lady Susan, when the ladies were settled in the main drawing room, a long, well-lit chamber with
walls paneled in shimmering blue-gray silk. The floors were inlaid with black and white marble in a bold chessboard pattern.
At one end of the long room, servants were setting up the card tables in anticipation of the gentlemen. At the other end of the room, the Fitzroy sisters were preparing to entertain the company with a little musical exhibition. The majority of the ladies clustered in the middle of the room at the fireside waiting for their coffee.
Surrounded by the wives of her husband’s officers, Lady Susan watched jealously as the duchess poured the coffee out into little cups emblazoned with the Duke of Warwick’s coat of arms. Lady Susan felt that Emma had usurped her authority, and she was eager to put the duchess back in her place. “How pleased you must be with your latest prize!” she exclaimed.
“I can’t imagine what you mean, Aunt Susan,” Emma said pleasantly, as she passed out the cups. “What prize?”
“Why, Camford, of course!” shouted the general’s wife, watching with satisfaction as Lady Anne, who was seated in obscurity to one side of the door, flinched. Lady Susan delighted in tormenting her sister-in-law, whom she regarded as a spineless weakling. If Emma was made uncomfortable too, then so much the better. “And Lord Ian, too—though I couldn’t help but notice that you showed a marked preference for the earl—very marked. But, then, the earl is so good-looking. Much better looking than a man has the right to be. And he is head over ears for you. It was as plain as the nose on my sister’s face, and that is very plain indeed.”
The officers’ wives laughed in appreciation of Lady Susan’s wit, none laughing louder than Mrs. Camperdine, who seemed glued to Lady Susan’s side.
“I thought it perfectly adorable the way he tried to follow you out of the dining room—like a lovesick little spaniel. He is completely besotted with you. It was truly pathetic to watch. I tried to warn him about you, but he would not listen.”
Emma smiled. “Oh, I am sorry to hear that, Aunt Susan,” she murmured. “If he is going to fall in love with me, then, perhaps it would be better if I see no more of him.”
“Do you mean it, your grace?” cried Lady Anne, half rising from her chair.
Emma glanced at her. “Christmas is just around the corner,” she said. “I’ve so much to do in preparation, and, of course, Harry and Grey will be home soon. They will keep me busy. I do so want everything to be perfect for them. From now on, Anne, I’m afraid you will have to look after your nephew yourself. I have balls and dinners to plan. I can’t be bothered with training up a mooncalf.”
“Are you really going to give Nicholas back to us? You’re teasing me,” Lady Anne accused, her voice fading into despair. “You are cruel!”
Privately, Emma marveled at the woman’s lack of discretion. “I’m sorry, Anne,” she said solemnly. “I simply don’t have the time for lovesick spaniels. If I were you, I’d hand him over to one of your daughters for safekeeping.”
“I must say, I’m amazed you would give him up, Emma,” said Lady Susan. “It’s not like you to give up a handsome young man, after all. I am all astonishment!”
Her ladies tittered encouragingly.
“Lord Camford is very nicely put together, I grant you,” Emma answered languidly, playing with her beautiful ivory fan. “But he is not handsome enough to tempt me. Perhaps it is only his youthful ignorance, but I find him rather a bore, I’m afraid. For a man to be really attractive, he must have more than good looks. He must have wit. He must be knowledgeable. The ability to make conversation is essential, do you not agree, ladies? Why, Lord Camford has never read anything but Shakespeare, the Bible, and Nelson’s biography!”
Lady Susan interrupted. “You find him lacking in conversation, do you?” she snorted. “Why, the pair of you were thick as thieves down at your end of the table!”
Emma laughed lightly. “I was just explaining his dinner to him. He was a little confused by the ragout. Oh, he is a very pleasant young man, to be sure,” she went on, “but, perhaps, a trifle gauche? Not really my sort, is he?”
Mrs. Camperdine giggled. “Perhaps your grace prefers Lord Ian?” she suggested. “He was also very attentive at dinner.”
Emma waved a hand. “Oh, these overgrown boys don’t really interest me.”
“Look to your husbands, ladies,” Lady Susan cried boisterously, smacking the ladies on either side of her with her fan. “If you lose them to this creature, you will have no one to blame but yourselves. You have been warned!”
“I shouldn’t worry too much,” said Mrs. Camperdine, chuckling. “Her grace did say she prefers a man of wit, after all! Such as Lord Byron, perhaps?” she added, with a knowing smile.
Emma blinked at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I did hear that the poet was one of your grace’s many lovers,” Mrs. Camperdine said archly. “Is it true?”
“And the Prince Regent?” another wife asked breathlessly, curiosity overcoming propriety. “Was his highness also your lover?”
Cecily could bear no more. She started up from her chair. “How dare you!” she said, her fists clenched at her sides.
Emma only laughed. “What a sordid conversation!” she remarked. “May we at least leave the Royal Family out of it? Is nothing sacred? Let us have no more of this unseemly talk. We are not all married ladies, you know,” she added. “There are at least five virgins in the room deserving of our protection.”
“Six, if we count Harriet,” Lady Susan chortled.
Lady Harriet glared at her indignantly.
“If you truly were interested in protecting my innocent nieces, Emma,” Lady Susan went on, “you wouldn’t be here. Your very presence is poison; they may be tainted by association.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Aunt Susan,” Emma said with mock sorrow. “It pains me that I can’t seem to win your approval. But do rest assured, I have no intention of hanging about here all evening. As soon as Carstairs tells me the plate is counted and safely put away, I plan to retire—hopefully before your innocent nieces begin their little concert,” she added.
“And I really must look in on my children in the nursery,” Cecily said quickly.
Lady Susan scarcely waited until they had quit the room before congratulating herself on having chased the duchess away. “One feels so sorry for poor Lady Scarlingford, of course,” she added disingenuously. “To be saddled with such a sister-in-law.”
Leaning forward, she called to Lady Anne. “How fortunate we are to have you, dear Anne. Indeed, you are as dear to me as my own sister. Are we not fortunate to have Anne, Harriet?” she called to Lady Harriet, who was pacing up and down in front of the fireplace.
Lady Harriet snorted, refusing to be drawn into Lady Susan’s false picture. “I am ready to play cards,” she announced. “What the devil is keeping the men?”
When the gentlemen at last rejoined the ladies, Lady Anne hurried to claim her nephew for her daughters’ concert before her husband could herd him to the card tables. Augusta sat at the harp. Cornelia sat at the pianoforte. Flavia stood behind Cornelia, ready to turn the pages.
“The girls have worked so hard,” their mother boasted. “I daresay, you will hear nothing better in the drawing rooms of London,” she added unbelievably, inviting Nicholas to sit beside her on a small settee.
“May I join you, ma’am?” Lord Ian Monteith asked Lady Anne. “I dearly love music.”
“But I was depending on you to be my partner, Lord Ian,” Lady Susan protested. The general’s wife was an avid card player. She took little pleasure in anything else.
To her annoyance, the Scotsman declined.
“You prefer music to cards, Monteith?” the general snorted.
“I confess I do, sir,” said Monty.
The general seemed willing to accept his answer, but Lady Susan was more tenacious.
“But I’m an old friend of your father’s,” she told him. “Has he never mentioned me? I would have been Lady Susan Fitzroy back then.”
“I beg you will excuse me, ma�
��am,” Monty said faintly, giving her a bow.
“Well!” said Lady Susan, much offended. “I suppose when one’s father is a marquis, one need not rely on the influence of friends! He will fly up the ranks without anyone’s assistance, I am sure!” Tossing her head, she flounced off to play cards.
Lady Anne became flustered as Monty sat down next to her. With Nicholas on her other side, it was a tight squeeze. The little French settee really was not made to seat three. They managed to sit without touching, but it was a near thing. Lady Anne could feel the curiously strong warmth emanating from the male bodies on either side of her. It made her feel light-headed and uneasy. She was terrified they would start fighting over the duchess again at any moment, and that she would be caught in the middle of an internecine battle.
Upon entering the room, Nicholas had looked for Emma in vain. “Shouldn’t we wait for the duchess to return?” he asked his aunt, as his cousins began to play.
“Oh! Her grace has excused herself for the evening,” Lady Anne explained in whispers.
“She is not ill?” he asked, concerned.
“Oh, no,” his aunt assured him. “The duchess has a great deal to do in preparation for Christmas, you know. There are several balls to plan. The Christmas Eve Ball. The St. Stephens’ Day Ball, for the servants. There’s a tenants ball at the new year, as well. And, of course, Twelfth Night. Her grace was very sorry to miss the girls’ concert, but she gave us leave to enjoy ourselves without her.”
Monty shushed them, and they sat, listening politely until the song was over. Nicholas thought the performance, at best, mildly pleasant. Monty, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy the performance very much. At the closing note, he jumped to his feet, applauding. Nicholas thought this was perhaps overdoing it, but, then, he did not know much about music; his preference was a sea chanty accompanied by a concertina.
Suddenly, in the midst of his applause, Monty cried out in pain, and clutched his thigh. White faced, he collapsed onto the settee. “It is nothing,” he said, through gritted teeth, as Cornelia dashed toward him. “It is just my old wound coming back to haunt me. I took a French musket ball to the leg at Talavera, you know. It likes to sting me now and again.”
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