by Jane Ashford
Richard attempted a facade of amiable innocence.
She rejected it with a look. “The important thing is to prevent any similar episode.”
“Exactly.” This time he met her gaze with no qualms. “I shall do everything in my power to prevent it.”
Olivia seemed to approve of his tone. “That will be sufficient, I would think.”
“I’m still here in the room,” said Emily.
“Of course you are, dear. You should sit down. I expect you are still a bit weak.” Olivia took a seat and waved Richard into another. “Nan is bringing a tray. You ought to offer guests some refreshment, Emily.”
Richard nearly laughed at the look this roused. Emily was not used to being lectured on manners by her mother, he saw. “You have set up your household very quickly,” he commented.
Olivia’s smile was impish. “Julia was a great help. She even lent me servants and some bits of furniture.”
“She would have given you all her best plate to get us out of her house,” said Emily.
“My dear, you mustn’t give Lord Warrington the wrong impression about our family.”
He had to stifle a laugh at Emily’s incredulous expression. When he caught Olivia’s eye the next time, he began to suspect she was teasing her daughter. It was a family like no other.
Thirteen
Sitting opposite his mother and Lydia Farrell in the former’s fashionable barouche, Richard watched other members of society parade through the park in the daily display of the season. The stream of carriages, showy hacks, and carefully dressed walkers reminded him of a circus. There were the trainers of dangerous animals—duennas escorting rapacious young debs; the jesters—dandies padded and pomaded into ludicrous shapes; the jugglers—those who had staked every cent on some precarious social scheme. And himself? Some days he felt like a tightrope walker, teetering on a thin line between various sorts of disaster.
“There is Jane Townshend,” said his mother. “Look, Richard. In the carriage with the wheels picked out in red.”
Automatically, Richard looked. A thin dark girl sat beside an older, stouter version of herself in the carriage.
“A lovely girl. And they say she has four thousand a year, at least.”
“Which makes her even lovelier,” murmured Lydia Farrell with a sardonic look.
“Drive over that way, Ben,” Lady Fielding urged the coachman. “I will introduce you, Richard.”
“No thank you, Mother. Ben, stay as we were.”
The team swung back into line, and the barouche moved on, passing the Townshend carriage at a distance.
“You are being thoroughly exasperating, Richard,” commented his mother. “If you have made up your mind to marry, you should take some thought for…”
“That matter is settled.” He was already weary of this argument. It would be a great relief when his engagement to Emily was ended. His mother would be delighted. But somehow, the thought didn’t comfort him.
“Speaking of which,” said Lydia. At her companions’ questioning looks, she pointed.
Richard’s spirits rose at once. “Pull up, Ben. There is someone I wish to speak to.”
“Richard!” objected his mother. But he stepped down from the barouche without responding.
Emily, he was pleased to see, was walking with her mother. When she saw him approaching, she smiled, and Richard’s mood lightened further.
“You see I am following everyone’s advice,” she said when he reached them. “I have not taken a step out of the house alone in three days.”
“Commendable.” Richard made his bow to Olivia Crane, who carried a sketch pad under her arm. “You are going to draw the parade of fashion.”
She made a face. “No. I thought I would do some studies of the flowers, until Emily goes mad with boredom, that is.”
“Mama! Of course I am happy to sit while you sketch.”
“You know you find it horridly tedious.” She turned to Richard. “I have never understood how Alasdair and I could have had a child so utterly uninterested in painting. We got her a watercolor box when she was three, you know, and she—”
“There is no need to tell that story again, Mama.”
“But I would like to hear it,” Richard said. And it was true, he realized. He was curious about the youthful Emily.
“She ate them.”
“I did not!” Emily gazed at her mother in laughing exasperation. Olivia raised her eyebrows. “One,” conceded Emily. Now, she turned to Richard. “The colors looked just like some candies I had seen in a shop window. Papa did not explain what they were for when he gave me the box.”
“He thought you would know instinctively,” put in her mother.
“It tasted quite nasty.” Emily looked wistful. “I would have liked some of those candies.”
Richard couldn’t contain a laugh.
“You, of course, have never been a disappointment to your parents,” Emily accused.
“I…”
“Well, until now,” she added, with a look that told him she was referring to his connection with her.
“You are not a disappointment,” declared Olivia, whose gaze had begun to roam over the flower beds nearby. “You know your father thinks the world of you, as do I.”
“I know, Mama.” The look Emily gave her was fond and forgiving.
“Those roses are rather fine. The color!” She wandered off the path toward the spill of blooms.
“Perhaps Miss Crane could walk a little with me while you draw?” said Richard.
Olivia agreed with a wave of her hand. She spread her shawl on the grass and sat down on it, pulling a pencil from her reticule, already lost to her surroundings.
“It is providential that they found each other,” said Emily. “Can you imagine how unhappy a conventional man of fashion would be with my mother?”
Richard gazed at Olivia, settled on the ground, her pencil busy, oblivious to the stares and snickers of passersby. “I would find it rather…challenging myself.”
The look Emily gave him was incandescent with emotion. He couldn’t read it all; gratitude seemed to be part of it, and relief. But there was more than he could grasp in a fleeting instant. Nonetheless, the intensity of it shook him. “And your father,” he said as a diversion.
Emily laughed. “Aunt Julia wanted to murder him after only two days in the same house.”
“Perhaps two such spirits were bound to come together.”
She looked surprised; which was no wonder. He was surprised himself. Where had those words come from? He offered his arm. “Would you care to walk?”
“Not to the Grecian temple.”
“Indeed not.” He smiled back at her, feeling an unexpected twinge of something very like joy.
They strolled along the gravel path in silence for a few minutes. The sun set her hair afire, Richard thought. It made her skin glow like pearls. He needed to say something before he lost himself in…
“I have arranged something I hope you will like,” said Emily. “I think you will.”
Richard dragged his thoughts from the grace of her form with great difficulty.
“It’s about Herr Schelling.”
“What?”
“I know you don’t approve of him and…and you wish your mother would not go there.”
She had his full attention now.
“I believe I have a way to stop her.”
“You? How?”
“Sarah Fitzgibbon, Daniel’s daughter, works for Herr Schelling. And she has agreed to help.”
Richard was having trouble taking this in.
“She needs to speak to you about some of the…details.” Emily faltered a little under his fixed gaze. “If…if you wish her to do this,” she stammered.
“This was your idea?”
S
he nodded uncertainly.
“You persuaded Miss Fitzgibbon to go along?”
“She didn’t need much persuading.”
A tightness in Richard’s chest kept him silent.
“I…I saw that you disliked your mother’s association with Schelling,” Emily hurried on. “Well, Sarah noticed it too. And so, since she is there and knows all his shifts and she is going to be leaving anyway, I just thought…”
“You concocted this whole scheme for me.”
Emily gazed up at him, looking a bit apprehensive.
“You saw my distaste for the man, and you put yourself out to do something about it,” he marveled.
“I didn’t really…”
“You had no obligation to do anything.”
Emily had flushed a little. “It seemed a simple service for a…a friend.”
He couldn’t take his eyes from her face. He felt an unsettling mixture of gratitude and excitement and disappointment. “A friend? Of course.”
“So you will see Sarah? So she can set it up?”
“Of course,” he repeated.
“Good. I’ll speak to her and tell you the day.” She moved slightly, tugging on his arm.
They had stopped walking, Richard realized. They were standing stock-still in the middle of the path, forcing others to go around them and drawing amused or irritated glances. He moved on at once. “Wherever did you meet the Fitzgibbons?” he said with an attempt at lightness.
Emily’s smile was wry. “My father is always bringing home some…unusual acquaintance.”
“Ah.” Where would Alasdair Crane draw the line? he wondered. Capital crimes? Convicted felons?
They turned a corner in the path and walked back the way they had come. “Oh dear,” said Emily.
“What?” He followed her gaze and found that Olivia Crane had attracted a small group of onlookers. As he watched, one of them pointed to her drawing and made a comment.
Emily walked faster. “She hates that.”
“No doubt.”
When they reached her mother, she was gathering her things. “I can’t work here. These people are incredibly rude and will not move on.”
Richard wondered if she would expect him to disperse the crowd. Her husband would set on them with his walking stick, he supposed.
But Olivia said only, “Let us go.”
“You selling that picture of the roses?” asked a man nearby. “It’s dashed good.” Olivia was looking slightly less annoyed, when he added, “My little girl could color in the lines.”
Olivia drew herself up. Her lack of height didn’t detract from the impression of freezing dignity, Richard thought. “You may wish your daughter to be a mindless copyist,” she declared, “but I will not be a party to it.”
The man goggled at her. Gathering Emily with a glance, Olivia walked away, every inch an aristocrat. If she had chosen the stage rather than the brush, she would have been a sensation, Richard thought, moving to catch up.
There was little conversation up to the gates of the park, where he saw them into a hack and on their way. When they were gone, Richard looked about for his mother’s carriage, but as he expected, she had departed as well. He would walk home, he decided. He got little enough exercise here in London.
Strolling down the busy streets, watching the clerks and shopgirls and servants on errands hurry past, Richard’s eye was caught by the display in a confectioner’s window. There was a box of multicolored candies lying open to tempt passersby. The reds and blues and greens were as brilliant as paints. He looked at them for a long moment, then went into the shop, bought the box, and directed that it be sent to Emily at home. When he came out again, he was smiling.
A different, but perhaps related impulse stopped him at an elegant shop a bit farther along. He examined the display rather longer this time before moving on.
* * *
The meeting of Richard and Sarah was soon arranged, but as the hour approached Emily found herself unexpectedly nervous. Richard had reacted so strangely when she told him the plan. And she wasn’t at all certain how the two would get along. What if they disliked each other?
As agreed, Sarah arrived first.
“Is it all set?” Emily wondered.
“Lady Fielding’s due tomorrow night,” was the cheerful response. “We’ll be ready.”
“Thank you,” said Emily, meeting her friend’s eyes.
“Can’t have your betrothed unhappy,” Sarah teased. “Who’d send you sweets then?”
Emily felt herself flushing. The box of candies had been an unexpected, and unexpectedly affecting, gesture.
“Good ones, too,” added Sarah.
The parlor door opened, and the maid appeared. “Lord Warrington,” she announced.
Emily and Sarah rose as he walked into the room. “Good day,” he said, surveying Sarah with obvious curiosity.
“This is Sarah Fitzgibbon, Daniel’s daughter,” Emily said quickly. “Sarah, Lord Warrington.”
“I’ve seen you at Herr Schelling’s,” Sarah declared.
“Yes.” Richard examined Sarah more closely. She returned the favor. Emily sank down on the sofa again.
“I understand I owe you my thanks,” Richard said. “I hope you are not jeopardizing your…position.” His tone made it clear what he thought of her line of work.
“I’m not staying with Schelling much longer anyway,” replied Sarah. “I’ve learned all his tricks.”
“Going to set up on your own, are you?”
Emily bristled at his tone. “What do you know about it? Sarah is—”
“Not likely,” interrupted Sarah. “I expect I’ll go back on the stage.”
“I thought you disliked it,” said Emily, startled.
“Not traveling players. Something here in London.” Sarah grinned again. “Perhaps I’ll join Flora at Covent Garden and become the next Mrs. Patrick Campbell.”
“Laudable.”
Emily frowned at Richard’s drawling response.
“But before you make your debut…”
“Right.” Abruptly, Sarah was all business. “There’s a few things I need to know before tomorrow night.”
Richard looked surprised at the change in her.
“This Sir Walter Fielding we’re supposed to be contacting—what was he like?”
Richard looked at the carpet, frowning. “He was a good man,” he said finally.
“He spoke like you, I suppose? His accent, I mean?”
“Yes.”
Richard didn’t look as if he was enjoying this, Emily thought.
“Were there any expressions he used often?” asked Sarah. “Pet names about the house?”
“Why must you know such things?” demanded Richard, looking revolted.
“We want to make it as convincing as possible, before we blow the gaff,” answered Sarah.
His mouth hard with distaste, Richard said, “He called my mother ‘dear heart.’ And he often said ‘by thunder.’”
Sarah nodded. “Good.”
“This is intolerable,” he burst out. “This kind of deception and trickery…”
“It’s for the last time,” Sarah pointed out. “If you’d rather Herr Schelling pulled the strings…”
“No.” Richard looked grim. “What else?”
“That will do for me.” Sarah rose. “I’ve got to get back before they miss me. And to see to some things.” Her smile was wicked.
Richard stood also. “Thank you,” he said stiffly.
Sarah gave him a mock salute.
“I’ll see you out,” said Emily. She wanted a word with her friend.
“No, no. I wouldn’t want to separate an engaged couple.” Sarah went out, leaving the engaged couple looking self-conscious.
Silence fell over the r
oom. Emily’s pulse speeded up, and her mouth felt a little dry.
“An unusual young woman,” Richard said finally.
“I think she’s splendid.”
He held up a hand in defense. “No doubt you’re right. It was certainly kind of her to offer to detach my mother from…her employer.”
“She is only working there because…” Emily broke off, not wanting to betray any of Sarah’s confidences.
“I’m sure she has her reasons.”
Silence descended again. Stealing a look at Richard, Emily couldn’t interpret his expression. He looked very handsome this morning. His simple blue coat and buff pantaloons set off his athletic figure to perfection. And the bronze of his skin was striking against his snowy neckcloth. She had first imagined him as a gladiator, she remembered suddenly, and flushed. “Thank you for the candies,” she said to erase this image.
He smiled. “I thought they looked like the watercolors your mother spoke of.”
Her answering smile came without conscious bidding. “They did. But they tasted much better.”
“I’m glad.”
Their gaze held as the smiles slowly faded. Emily looked away first. “I’m sure Sarah will do the thing just right.”
“She seemed very capable.”
They were repeating themselves, Emily thought. Why didn’t he take his leave? He had gotten what he came for, hadn’t he?
“You’ve known her a long time?” he asked, in the tone of someone making polite conversation in difficult conditions.
“Most of my life. We used to see each other every year when the Fitzgibbons’ acting troupe came to our town.” She smiled reminiscently. “They always came—wherever we lived.”
“You moved about a great deal?”
“Papa is always looking for new places to paint. And escape from irate neighbors. We were rarely more than a year in any one spot.”
He frowned.
“It was great fun,” lied Emily. “I got to see all sorts of country.”
He made no reply. Another silence fell. She would just say she had an appointment, Emily decided. But she didn’t move.
