Although Mr. Goodnight possessed little in the way of wealth, he’d been born into the gentry. He owned land and could ensure that his wife, born and raised on a tenant farm, would never have to work the fields or cook and clean again. When the young and beautiful Ethel Adams had realized she’d caught the attention of such a man, she’d taken full advantage of the situation.
Mr. Goodnight had lived under his beautiful wife’s thumb ever since.
“Darling girl, we’ve tried everything. You are dismal when it comes to conversation, you refuse to go without your spectacles, and you’ve sent the few men who have indicated a modicum of interest running with your incessant insistence in expressing your own opinions. Am I to believe this Season will end any differently?”
“But Aunt Gertrude is in Wales, Mother. I would never see any of my friends, or you, or Father…” And as scholastic as she was where science and literature were concerned, she struggled abysmally with the local language in Wales. When she’d visited the autumn past, she’d felt as though she’d been sent to another world completely.
Not to mention Aunt Gertrude was an absolute terror. She’d treated Emily no better than she did the chambermaids. She was never content with anything or anyone and gleefully informed them at her first opportunity. Complaining, Emily decided, was the only activity her Aunt Gertrude enjoyed.
She could not go back to Wales! She could not!
“I’ll wear the gown of your choosing and… I’ll not wear my spectacles to the garden party later this week. And… and… I’ll curb my tongue while conversing with gentlemen. I will find a husband this Season, Mother!” As frightening a thought as marrying was, it was not nearly as terrifying as the thought of living as her aunt’s companion.
For what remained of her aunt’s life.
Which, when she’d finally escaped last year to return for Sophia’s second wedding, Emily had sworn she’d never do.
Sophia!
Oh, dear, it was Wednesday!
“I nearly forgot, Mama. I’m meeting Sophia and Rhoda at the park.” Emily held her breath awaiting the response. Surely, she wouldn’t be forced to forgo the engagement. She knew her mother was aware that the girls met weekly. They fed the ducks and caught up on the latest gossip. It had become something of a ritual for them. “Don’t give up on me, Mother. Please? No letters to Aunt Gertrude?”
Ethel Goodnight pinched her lips, marring her natural beauty. “I’m not so sure you ought to continue your association with Miss Mossant,” she surprised Emily by saying. “The duchess is one matter, but I’ve heard unsavory mentions of your other friend.”
“About Rhoda? But that’s ludicrous!” Except… Rhoda had received an unusual amount of masculine attention at the Crabtrees’ ball last night. “What have you heard, Mother?”
Her mother focused once again on her embroidery. “Nothing I will repeat in your hearing. But you would be wise to limit appearing in public with her.”
Emily wondered what her mother would think if she’d known what her daughter had witnessed in the Crabtrees’ library last night.
But what exactly had her mother heard about Rhoda? When Emily had finally escaped from her hiding place last night and gone looking for her, she had been told that Rhoda abandoned her dance partner in the garden to be in the company of some other fellow.
Which had sounded like utter nonsense at the time.
But then Emily had discovered Rhoda outside the lady’s retiring room, looking less than pristine… her hair styled differently than it had been earlier and her gown somewhat wrinkled.
But surely, if Rhoda had been involved in a tryst she would have told her, wouldn’t she?
Wouldn’t she?
Of the four of them, Rhoda had always been the most flirtatious. But, no!
“I imagine someone has made something up to spite her, Mother. She’s drawn the ire of a few who were jealous ever since she was courted by St. John. You mustn’t give such gossip any heed.”
Her mother clucked her tongue. “Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. You know that, Emily. If I hear any more of it, mind you, I’ll not allow further association with that family.”
“But—”
“Not if you intend to land a husband. Unless, of course, you’d rather I write that letter after all…”
“You won’t hear anything more,” Emily promised as she stuffed her mending into her sewing basket. “Perhaps you misunderstood.”
Her mother harrumphed as Emily kissed her on the cheek before leaving.
Emily located her sometimes maid, Hettie, to walk with her, and then worried all the way to the park. When she arrived at the edge of the water, Sophia awaited her, along with her small dog, Peaches, but Rhoda hadn’t yet arrived.
“A rumor of some sort is being spread about Rhoda.” Emily didn’t bother with pleasantries but immediately blurted out what her mother had said.
Unfortunately, instead of Sophia laughing and commenting how ridiculous it all was, she frowned and nodded, her blond curls bouncing. “Dev told me just before I left.” She glanced around to make certain no one stood within hearing distance—something Emily ought to have thought of before saying anything—and then stepped closer. “St. John spread falsehoods about her before his death. Nothing came of it over the winter, but with the Season starting up, some of the more disreputable bachelors are making bets at White’s. We need to get her out of Town, Emily. They’ve been betting on which one of them can… I cannot even bring myself to say it out loud.”
Oh, but this was horrible! That was why so many of them had swarmed about Rhoda at the Crabtrees’ ball.
“But how?”
“Dev has suggested I host a house party at Eden’s Court. If we can get her away for perhaps a few weeks, then hopefully…”
“Hopefully it will amount to nothing,” Emily finished for her.
But as they met one another’s eyes, they shared unspoken doubt. Gossip could be deadly, and the meatier the morsel, the longer the ton would chew on it. Unless something else—something equally as scandalous—came along in the meanwhile.
“But a house party, Soph? The Season is just beginning.” And then another thought struck her. “Your household is yet in mourning.” For not only Sophia’s first husband, but for his brother, uncle, and father, who had been the duke before Devlin. They’d all passed last summer.
Sophia shrugged. “I’ll take care of that. I believe I can convince Rhoda to attend as long as you are willing. You don’t mind, do you? I know your parents have been growing impatient with your marital state.”
Her mother would have an apoplexy! But Sophia was a duchess. And for Emily to be invited to a house party hosted by a duchess… Well, she couldn’t turn down such an invitation as that.
“Rhoda’s coming now.” Sophia began waving. “I’ll handle everything. Go along with what I say, and we’ll work out the details later.”
“Of course.” Emily’s heart dropped. How was ever going to land herself a husband in the country?
Anger coursed through Marcus as he strode along the pavement toward Prescott House. This morning, he’d been ejected from not only White’s, but Brook’s and Broodle’s as well. His memberships had all been inexplicably revoked.
Inexplicably! Ha!
To add to the insult, when he’d returned to his lodgings on Curzon Street, the landlord informed him that his room had been let to some other fellow. Marcus’ belongings had been packed by Crandall, his concerned valet, who anxiously awaited his return.
Damn his father and Quimbly to hell!
Marcus intended to leave town straight away. It irked him, though, thinking his father was taking the upper hand in this battle.
He’d collect his horse, hire a traveling coach for Crandall and his belongings, and leave for Brighton at once. Dev had insisted that Marcus board his cattle in the mews at Prescott House, and so he needed to stop by the ducal residence first.
The large house was set back off the street, hidden
behind an iron gate and extensively manicured shrubbery. Marcus made his way up the walk and knocked loudly. He stopped cursing under his breath just long enough to announce himself to Prescott’s butler.
Cooling his heels in the foyer, the temptation to turn around and head out of town was strong. His own father intentionally kept visitors waiting. Uninvited ones were frequently sent packing. Marcus studied an impressive painting while he contemplated making a quick exit.
“His grace will receive you. If you’ll follow me, my lord.”
Too late now. The butler led Marcus up the elegant staircase in the direction of the ducal study, where he then held the door open with a nod.
“Excuse me for not standing, Blakely.” Devlin Brookes, the former army captain, spoke softly while reclining on his chair with, of all things, a newborn infant sleeping upon his chest.
Marcus couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, vaguely aware of the doors being closed softly behind him. “Marriage has changed you. Last year at this time, weren’t you still active duty?”
Prescott nodded. “So much has changed.” Sadness sounded in his voice but also the pride of parenthood. In the last year, Devlin had inherited the dukedom because four others had died. Both of his cousins, his uncle, and his own father. “Did you resolve your membership with White’s?”
Earlier in the day, Marcus had been enjoying a drink with Prescott and Mr. Justin White, another of the duke’s cousins, when the manager had escorted him out.
“As a matter of fact, I have not,” Marcus explained the events that had occurred since they’d parted, trying not to get angry as he did so. He’d no wish to wake the baby and be forced to listen to squalling on top of everything else. “Figured I’d head down to Brighton. Maybe take a packet across to Belgium.”
But Prescott was shaking his head. “Don’t let him chase you that far. Stay here. You know we’ve more rooms than we can ever fill. And then come with us to Kent. We’ll be there for a few weeks. Give you time to rethink matters with Waters. There must be something you can do to thwart the bastard.”
Marcus leaned forward, resting his head in his hands as he contemplated the invitation. He hated any loss of independence. But perhaps Prescott was right. Normally more rational than most fellows, Marcus had allowed his emotions to rule his decisions where his father was concerned.
He nodded slowly. “So, the duchess will be hosting her house party after all?” Devlin had confided to him the duchess’ panic over the gossip about her friend, Miss Mossant. Her grace had suggested removing the poor gel from society until the cloud of scandal passed.
Marcus doubted it would be enough but found himself in no position to judge.
“Yes, she’s making plans now.” Ah, that explained why the infant had been left in her father’s care.
Marcus wondered who amongst the ton would be willing to leave London at the beginning of the Season. Prescott was a duke, after all. And Eden’s Court, his country estate, a considerable showplace. Even so…
“I’ll take you up on that offer, then.” The idea to consider matters more thoroughly struck him as sensible. “Maybe find myself a country lass or two…”
CHAPTER FOUR
Four in a Carriage
The duke rode his own mount alongside the carriage.
As did the Earl of Blakely.
Which, of course, disturbed Emily in ways she’d rather not dwell upon.
When she’d first glanced outside and realized the identity of the gentleman riding beside the ducal carriage, her heart had done its normal flip-flop inside her chest. But then she recalled the drama she’d watched unfold in the Crabtrees’ library.
Although a respected gentleman, a wealthy and good-looking earl, Lord Blakely’s situation had become rather pathetic.
She shook her head.
She wouldn’t dwell upon the Marcus Roberts’ predicament right now.
Instead, Emily needed to do find a way to resolve her own troubles. If she couldn’t land herself a husband—and quickly—she very well might be forced to live out the remainder of her life isolated and alone, a virtual slave to dear Aunt Gertrude in Wales.
That could not happen.
She’d snare a husband, by George, if she had to drag him to the alter kicking and screaming.
Hopefully, she’d find someone who wouldn’t re quire such drastic handling.
Perhaps she’d net one while at this ill-timed house party.
When explaining the invitation to Eden’s Court to her mother, Emily did not inform her that Rhoda would be in attendance. What with all of the gossip, her mother had forbidden her to be seen with her dearest of friends.
Ridiculous.
Furthermore, Mrs. Goodnight had refused to leave London so early in the Season. She’d accepted several invitations from her friends, she explained, and it would be rude to cancel on such short notice.
Rather more likely her mother was relieved to not have to squire her bluestocking of a daughter about. Which left Emily with mixed feelings.
Most of her life, Emily had failed to garner her mother’s approval or affection, and yet her mother’s lack thereof worked in her favor this time. Her mother need never know the nature of this house party, and what she didn’t know, certainly ought not to cause her any concern.
Emily’s gaze was drawn once again out the window to settle on the backside of a magnificent looking… mount. Peaches was distracted by a toy, and the baby had just fallen asleep. Perhaps Emily would finally have her friend’s full attention.
“Sophia,” she said, getting down to business. “You promised the duke would lure some bachelors out of London but have yet to provide me with any actual names. This house party is necessary, I realize, but my mother is threatening to send me to Wales again. Aunt Gertrude wants me as her companion, but I cannot do it. I must marry, even if the man is ninety and poor as a church mouse. All I require is a male person who is breathing and willing to provide me with a home of my own. There must be somebody.”
Sophia adjusted little Harriette up to her shoulder, listening intently. She nodded slowly as Emily ended her plea. “I thought as much, Em. And I realized it might be inconvenient for you to leave London.” She patted the baby’s bum softly. “Dev has, as a matter of fact, invited a few prospects for you. But you’re going to have to make somewhat of an attempt at being… alluring. We’ll need to style your hair differently, and I am hoping that Rhoda can assist you in your… demeanor around gentlemen.”
Flirting.
Emily cringed but was willing to agree to anything. Wales would be akin to being sent to Purgatory for the rest of her life. “Who?”
“Mr. White, Justin, is a lovely man. Dev’s cousin on his mother’s side. He is also a vicar. He was so very helpful last year when Harold… Well, when Harold met with his accident.” Sophia smiled sadly. Her first husband had died tragically but amazingly enough, she had been given a second chance at happiness with the duke. Brushing off the memory, Sophia forged ahead. “But Justin is handsome as well. I think you would like him immensely.”
Upon mention of the vicar’s good looks, Emily groaned. She did not deceive herself into thinking she could attract a handsome man. Humanity was much like the animal world in that beauty was attracted to beauty, strength to strength.
“Who else?”
Sophia laughed. “There’s Lord Blakely.”
“Do be serious.” Everyone knew he was one of the least attainable bachelors in all of London. Emily more so after witnessing his tryst with Mrs. Cromwell and then overhearing his conversation with the Duke of Waters. She was tempted to tell Sophia all about it but the bleakness hovering over him gave her pause. The ton knew Lord Blakely as an intelligent and rational fellow. Emily didn’t wish to expose this other side of him, even to Sophia.
“One of Dev’s army comrades, a Lieutenant Langdon, will be in attendance. I’ve not met him, but Dev said he’s an unassuming gentleman who’s recently returned to civilian life. He’ll be arrivin
g next week sometime. Dev said he has a small holding up north and may very well be in search of a wife.”
“Hmm,” Emily pondered. Up north? She’d go to Scotland if it would save her from pandering to Aunt Gertrude. “He isn’t handsome, is he? I’d feel more confident if I knew he was merely just agreeable to look at. More like me.”
“Oh, Em, why do you persist in denigrating your looks? It’s because of your mother, isn’t it? Just because you don’t look like her doesn’t mean you aren’t attractive in your own way.” Sophia’s pretty blue eyes flashed.
Emily hadn’t been fishing for compliments; she was simply trying to be practical.
“And I’m not saying it to be kind, Emily. You have wideset, soulful brown eyes. Your hair has the prettiest golden glints that sparkle in the sunlight, and your figure is slim and petite with just the right amounts of curves. What more could any man want?”
“But my spectacles, and I’ve no shape—”
“You don’t wear spectacles while making love, Emily. And you most certainly do have some shape to you. You simply hide it beneath drab clothing made up of unflattering fabrics. I’ve an abundance of dresses at Eden’s Court. First thing when we get there, I’m going to ask my maid to alter some to suit you. Like I said, your hair can be styled differently, less severe, and you can stand to learn a few things from Rhoda.”
“Not too much!” Emily couldn’t help but point out. Rhoda’s flirting had gotten them into all of this to begin with.
Sophia laughed but then nodded in agreement. “Agreed.”
“Who else is attending?” Emily didn’t like discussing her failings. Although Sophia’s observations complimented her, Emily doubted their accuracy.
Her mother had well abused her of any notions in this direction long ago.
“Rhoda, her mother, and both of her sisters. Of course, Cecily and Mr. Nottingham, ah, Lieutenant Langdon, Mr. White, Lord Blakely, and Dev’s steward shall even out our numbers. We cannot appear overly festive, mind you, or the locals will be offended. Mrs. Mossant will be the only odd number, but if Cecily’s father chooses to attend, the numbers will be even.”
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