by Jane Ashford
Alasdair Crane embraced her with one arm while gazing around the room with a mixture of contempt and amusement. “Hullo, Julia,” he said. “Duke.”
“Alasdair,” responded the former in a faint voice. “Where is…?”
“Right here,” said Olivia Crane, walking gracefully into the dining room. “I beg your pardon for descending on you unannounced.”
Emily transferred her hug to her mother, who returned it full measure.
“Alasdair was in a hurry,” she added, looking amused.
“Hurry?” bellowed Alasdair. “Damned right I was in a hurry. What the devil have you been up to, Julia?”
The duchess raised her eyebrows and gave him a look that would have withered any member of society on the spot.
It had no effect whatsoever on her brother-in-law. “We send Emily to you, against my better judgment, mind.” He glowered at Olivia, who smiled serenely back. “And before she’s been in London a month, we hear she’s engaged.”
As she watched her aunt struggle with her temper, Emily was overwhelmed with relief and affection. She was incredibly glad to see her parents. Though it had been only a few weeks, she had missed them far more than she realized.
“Engaged!” roared Alasdair. “Without so much as a by-your-leave. To some fellow I’ve never heard of. It’s insupportable.” He had stepped close to Aunt Julia and was looming over her in a way that she clearly disliked. “Nothing to say for yourself?”
“I see that your manners haven’t improved, Alasdair,” was the cold reply.
“Not likely to, since I haven’t any.”
“Indeed,” murmured the duchess.
“Are you Philip or George?” Emily’s mother said.
Her cousin made a strangled noise in his throat. “Er, George.”
“I am your aunt. Your other aunt.”
“I know.”
His stunned expression seemed to amuse Olivia a good deal. “Hello, Henry,” she said to the duke.
The latter nodded. Of all his family, only he seemed unperturbed by the interruption.
“I am sorry for the sudden arrival, Julia,” she added. “But once we got the news, we had to come up, of course.”
“How did you get the news?” wondered her sister faintly.
A good question, Emily thought. She hadn’t had time to write herself, and she was certain her aunt had not done so.
“Not from you,” exploded Alasdair. “Is there something havey cavey about this business? Because I’ll have you know I won’t stand for any…”
The duchess went pale. George choked again. Emily’s mother seemed to be enjoying herself. “I still have a few friends in London,” she said. “Cynthia sent me the notice.”
Her sister’s lips turned down. “She always was a little sneak.” Her expression showed that she regretted the remark as soon as it was made.
“What’s there to be sneaking about?” demanded Alasdair. “I’ll have the whole story, by God. And if there’s anything smoky about it, someone will pay.” He glared around the room pugnaciously. George gulped.
“It was rather…soon for an engagement,” said Olivia.
Alasdair growled.
“Emily is lovely,” countered the duchess. “Can you be surprised that she captivated a young man…”
Another rumble from Alasdair made her falter briefly.
“And there was a prior acquaintance,” she added. “So it is not really…”
“What?” Alasdair glowered. “Emily wasn’t acquainted with any young sprigs of fashion.”
“It was the gentleman who had trouble on the road,” Olivia told him, clearly not for the first time.
“Eh?”
“The one you wanted to paint as Samson,” explained Emily, then wished she’d held her tongue as her father’s irate gaze swung in her direction.
“That vagabond?” He looked incredulous, then enraged. He turned on the duchess again. “You’ve engaged my daughter to some wandering scoundrel who can’t even keep a horse under him?”
This seemed unfair even to Emily. “He is Lord Warrington, Papa.”
As usual, he ignored any point that might weaken his argument. “This will all have to be gone into in detail. I have not given my consent, and I think it highly unlikely that I will do so.”
“We will certainly talk with the young man,” said Olivia soothingly. She smiled. “And as long as we are in town, we can renew some old acquaintances. You can put us up for a few days, Julia?”
Her sister looked horrified.
“I…that is…are you sure you would not be more comfortable…Papa…”
“Well, Papa did say that I was never to darken his door again,” Olivia pointed out. “And he and Alasdair have never really gotten on.”
From the way her aunt’s eyes widened, Emily took this to be a considerable understatement.
“And with Emily here…” Olivia let her voice trail off and fixed her sister with a steady gaze.
The duchess looked wildly around the room. Her son evaded her gaze. Her husband shrugged, disavowing responsibility. Emily kept her eyes on the floor. While she felt some sympathy for her aunt, her longing for her parents’ company was far greater. “Of course you are…welcome,” she murmured at last.
Her sister gave her a genuine smile. “Thank you, Julia. Really, we won’t trouble you in the least.”
If the duchess believed that, Emily thought… But clearly, she didn’t.
Later that evening, a more expected arrival was taking place as Lady Fielding greeted her late husband’s niece. Richard returned from dinner at his club in the midst of these effusions and in time to admire Lydia Farrell’s dashing traveling costume and the favorable changes time had wrought in his relative by marriage.
She was no longer skinny and diffident. Quite the contrary. The years had generously rounded her figure. Her face was slightly fuller as well, which became her, her complexion was ruddy rather than pale, and her dark brown hair gleamed with vitality. All the country air, he decided. “How do you do, Lord Warrington?”
“Oh, you must call him Richard,” exclaimed his mother. “We are all family here.”
“I don’t think I could do that,” was the cool reply.
The look that went with it told Richard that he had been even ruder than he remembered when they had met years ago. “Please do,” he said.
She seemed surprised, and examined his expression before saying, “Then you must call me Lydia.”
“Good,” said Lady Fielding as she led the way to the drawing room. “I’m so glad you’ve come. It has been so long.”
“More than ten years.” Lydia threw him another sidelong glance. “I believe Richard was still at school the last time we met.”
“A scrubby schoolboy, in fact. And you were barely out of the schoolroom.”
She smiled ruefully. “It has been a long time. But I don’t think I ever called you scrubby.”
“Even though I richly deserved it.”
He had startled her again.
“You were extremely polite,” he added.
“I expect I was a mass of nerves. My upbringing was very retired, you know. I had no idea how to go on in society.”
“You grew up in Wales?”
She nodded, turning away. “What a lovely room.” She sank gracefully down on a sofa. “And how wonderful not to be bouncing in a carriage any longer.”
Lady Fielding prepared to pour tea; and Richard leaned back in a chair, taking a cup when he was offered it. Lydia raised one brow. Clearly, she had expected him to excuse himself.
“How is your family?” asked his mother.
“Very well, thank you. Jeremy and Thomas—my sons—are at school now. William is deep in the spring planting, as he is every year. I tried to convince him to come with me, but he hates soci
ety. He said he would rather be shut in a cellar for a month than trapped in a ballroom for one night.”
Richard smiled at his mother’s incredulous expression.
“But you must… Surely even in Wales there is some society?” she said.
“Oh yes. We dine with friends, and there is even an assembly hall not too far away.” She gestured as if dismissing this topic. “Tell me about London. I have only been here once before, when I was presented years ago.”
As his mother began to relay all the latest gossip, Lydia appeared amused and interested. His mother was more animated than he had seen her for a long time. This visit was really a fortunate accident. Perhaps it would solve one of the host of problems that beset him.
* * *
Emily signaled a hack near the duchess’s town house, and quickly climbed in. The household was in disarray this morning as her parents settled in and her aunt brooded about the consequences of their visit. No one had seen her slip out alone, and no one was likely to miss her for an hour or two.
The cab let her out at the Fitzgibbons’ house.
“Have you heard anything?” she asked when they were seated in the drawing room.
Daniel looked solemn. “There’s a whisper—no more than that, mind—that some bullyboys have been after your Lord Warrington.”
“He is not my…”
“We saw the announcement in the paper,” put in Mrs. Fitzgibbon. She smiled at Emily over her knitting.
“Oh.” It was public knowledge now. Emily’s heart quailed when she remembered the evening party they were to attend tonight and all the attention the news would draw. Her parents would probably want to go along. A small shudder shook her.
“We wish you very happy,” added Mary Fitzgibbon.
“Oh. Er, thank you.” Mary was eyeing her dubiously. She would have to learn to do better than that. She would be pelted with congratulations—sincere or not—tonight. “Bullyboys?” she managed.
Daniel shrugged. “The sort you can hire to cosh a bloke or slip him into the river.”
“Killers, you mean?” Her voice squeaked a little on the words.
Her host nodded. “Nobody we would know, you understand. Or our friends, either. I don’t hold with violence, so I don’t hear, you might say, directly. Can’t vouch for the truth of it.”
“He has been attacked, though.”
“Well, there you are then.”
Emily sat still for a moment, trying to take it in. It was one thing to have suspicions, and quite another to have them confirmed. Confronted with actual flesh and blood killers, she felt daunted.
“So that’s that,” added Daniel. “Happy to have been…”
“Can you find out anything more about these men? Particularly who hired them?”
Daniel shook his head. “I don’t care to get mixed up with…”
“We could ask the Bruiser,” suggested Mary.
He glared at her and made a gesture as if cutting off further talk.
Mary absorbed it placidly. “It’s her promised husband. We can’t just let it go.”
“The Bruiser’d be no help,” was the response. “And dealing with the likes of him ain’t what I like at all.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” began Emily.
“You’re exaggerating, Daniel,” declared Mrs. Fitzgibbon. “And the boy was a great help when Jack had his…little problem.”
“Boy!”
“You know quite well he is little more.”
Daniel looked extremely unhappy. “There’ll be a price.”
“I would be happy to pay whatever…”
“If money’s all he asks,” growled Daniel.
“You worry far too much,” said his wife. She smiled at Emily. “It’s what’s kept us one step ahead of…difficulties. But this is quite all right.”
“If you’re sure.” Emily frowned at Daniel’s woebegone expression.
His wife gave him a look.
“I reckon it’ll be all right,” he conceded.
She let out her breath. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without your help.”
“Happy to do it, my dear,” answered Mrs. Fitzgibbon. Her husband merely grimaced.
In the hack on the way home, Emily thought over what she had heard. The worst sort of ruffians were apparently after Richard. She must tell him this right away. She would have to get him alone, make him listen.
Then she remembered; they were engaged. They would be expected, and allowed, to talk privately together. She relaxed a little in the seat. She had been right to go along with the betrothal. The matter was even more urgent than she’d known. But now she would be able to really help Richard resolve it. And then, of course, she would break off the engagement. It wasn’t going to do anyone any harm. It was all going to work. There would be difficulties, but she would overcome them.
She was feeling quite sanguine as she slipped back into the duchess’s house and made her way upstairs. It wasn’t until she heard her father’s bellow from an upper room that she remembered the difficulties might be greater than she knew.
Eight
“Oh dear,” said Emily when she walked into the party and discovered the hostess’s scheme of entertainment. She was calling the event “Homage to the Arts,” and she had various examples stationed around the edges of the reception rooms. Emily could see a burly man in the far corner applying a chisel to a block of stone and a group of actors playing a scene on the other side. There was music in the air. Undoubtedly a painter sat in some other part of the house plying his craft. Nothing could be more calculated to enrage her father, who was already out of sorts at the mere thought of attending a ton party. She moved quickly into the crowd, putting some distance between herself and the inevitable explosion and callously abandoning her aunt, whose worst fears were about to be realized. Several acquaintances offered their felicitations as she moved through the rooms. Emily accepted them without pausing, searching for a refuge from complications.
Richard was standing in the far salon, watching a pair of dancers stationed in the corner, in an area set off by velvet ropes twined with flowers. In this constricted space, they were taking poses from a ballet, unable to really execute the steps. Richard looked torn between amusement and disgust at the sight.
Emily went to stand beside him just as a young sprig of fashion offered the dancers a bottle of champagne, which they eagerly accepted. “That should make it a bit easier for them,” she said.
Richard turned and discovered her.
“Perhaps we should do the same for all the ‘arts,’” she added.
“You don’t approve of our hostess’s scheme?”
“It’s insulting.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“She’s exhibiting artists as if they were animals in a zoo. And all these people”—she indicated the crowd around them—“are treating them just that way.”
“You are an unaccountable creature.”
Emily was taken aback.
“Your conversation is a muddle of inanities and impertinence. But then you come out with an interesting observation—like that one. I cannot make you out.”
“Inanities?” she glared at him.
He was nodding when the festivities were interrupted by a roar and clatter from another room.
“What was that?” Richard moved in the direction of the sounds.
Emily sighed. “I expect it was my father.”
“He is here?”
“He and Mama came up to town yesterday.”
“Ah.” His expression hardened. “Come to see the new son-in-law, have they?” His tone was cutting.
“To thrash him more likely,” Emily couldn’t help answering. At his startled look, she added, “My father is… He is not like other people, you know.”
“I did ob
serve that. His arrival must be very awkward for you.”
“Oh, I’m used to him.” She had to smile. “My aunt is in quite a taking. When he said he was coming here tonight, I thought she would faint.”
“I thought you wished to conceal your parentage.”
“What?” She drew herself up straighter.
“You asked me not to speak of them—not to gossip, if I recollect correctly.” His voice implied that he certainly did.
All of her aunt’s fears would be realized now, Emily realized. If Aunt Julia were right, her own debut in society might be wrecked by the gossip. She looked around the room at the glittering crowd. It would be too bad; but the truth was, she had much more important matters on her mind. “My aunt was worried. And she convinced me that I must be too.”
“But you have changed your mind?”
Emily nodded impatiently. “I must speak to you about something important.”
“Now that you have snared a husband,” he added.
“What?”
“You needn’t care about society’s opinion, since you have gotten what you came for?”
Emily struggled briefly to contain her outrage. He didn’t understand anything, she told herself. Taking a calming breath, she bent a little toward him and lowered her voice. “I have some information that you must hear.”
“Information?”
“Yes. There are—”
“You are a mass of contradictions.”
“You must listen to me.”
“Either you are the most devious, heartless little schemer I have ever encountered…”
Emily glared at him.
“Or you are demented. I suppose, given your upbringing, I should be charitable and choose the latter. But it is difficult for a man who has been entrapped into marriage to be charitable.”
She stood very still, telling herself again that he had a right to be angry. But his words and contemptuous expression still cut her to the quick. “I did not mean…” she began, and found she couldn’t continue.
“You do understand that I have no fortune?”
