Love's Folly

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  Her uncle waved a tired hand. “Do as you please, my dear. Though I should think your bones would be worn out with all that jostling.”

  Emily got to her feet “Have a nice nap, Uncle. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  She dropped a kiss on his forehead and then left the room. Perhaps they would see him on Bond Street, she thought, her heart beginning to pound. After all, he had been on his way to London.

  “Parks! Oh, Parks!” she cried as she hurried down the stairs. “Tell my driver to stay put. Sarah and I are going shopping directly our things are unloaded.”

  As Emily reached her, Sarah frowned and remonstrated. “Perhaps you had better wait and consult with your new guardian,” she said.

  “I see that you have heard the news,” cried Emily. “But, dear Sarah, don’t be a wet blanket. I’ve been waiting the whole of the winter for this day.”

  “It would hardly hurt you to wait one more day,” Sarah observed dryly.

  “I know, I know. But Uncle is going to take a nap. And really, Sarah, I feel that if I do not get to the shops immediately, I shall burst”

  To this Sarah had no reply, and as Emily was already mounting the steps to the carriage, she had little recourse but to follow.

  As they moved from shop to shop, Emily grew increasingly merry. “Oh, Sarah, do look at this darling little hat. I simply must have it”

  The hat in question was by no means little, being what is called a poke bonnet and having a brim that greatly resembled the bottom of a shovel On top of it danced a profusion of artificial daisies.

  Despite all Sarah’s protests the hat was purchased and added to the growing pile of bundles and boxes in the carriage.

  “Oh, oh, Sarah, do look at this material Isn’t this pattern most charming?”

  Several of the purchases caused Sarah to frown, especially the ordering of one gown. “What will the viscount say to a gown like that?” she asked, only to be met by a merry laugh.

  “Dear Sarah, he will not concern himself with my clothes. Uncle never has. And the money is mine to spend as I will. You know I have several quarters’ allowance.”

  This fact was incontrovertible and effectively silenced Sarah, but Emily could tell from her companion’s expression that she was not at all happy about the shopping expedition. “There, Sarah,” she said as they left the last shop in a row of several, “I have expended some of my energy and now I can wait patiently for another day. Shall we go home?”

  “Yes, let us indeed.”

  The dryness of her companion’s tone caused Emily to wrinkle her nose. No one seemed to understand. Life was exciting! There was so much to do. How could anyone bear to just sit, as Uncle Cyril did, with his gouty leg stretched out on a stool before him, and wait for visitors? Did no one remember how exciting it was to be young— with the world waiting before one?

  Looking at Sarah’s tired face, Emily felt a wave of contrition. “Oh, Sarah, I am sorry. I did not think about your being fatigued from the journey. Please forgive me.”

  Sarah shook her head. “I am a little tired, but it is nothing. I am concerned, however, about your shopping. It is my place to restrain you, and I did not.”

  “Dear Sarah, you worry far too much. I have plenty of money. Why shouldn’t I spend it?”

  Sarah shook her head. “Men are not all like your Uncle Cyril. Your new guardian may be much stricter with you.”

  “Do you know anything about him?” asked Emily. “Do you know if he’s a tyrant?”

  “Emily! I did not use that word.”

  “Well, it’s what you meant. I’m telling you now, Sarah, I won’t stand for it. I simply won’t. No man’s going to treat me like a child!”

  “Emily, my dear, calm yourself. I know very little of Viscount Dunstan. If I remember correctly, he distinguished himself in the fighting. He was wounded, I believe. But as to the rest of his character, I’m afraid I know nothing.”

  “Well, Sarah, we shall know about him soon enough. But let’s not borrow trouble, as Papa used to say. I shall meet with the viscount before dinner. Probably he is quite a pleasant man.”

  Sarah sighed. “I hope so—for both our sakes.”

  By this time the carriage had reached the house on St. James’s Square and they both gathered up some bundles. “Send some footmen,” Emily told Parks. “There are more packages in the carriage. Many more.”

  “Yes, miss. Right away.”

  They had barely gotten all the packages up to Emily’s room, where Rose had just finished unpacking their trunks, when a knock sounded on the door. Sarah opened it.

  “His lordship, the viscount, wishes to see Miss Penthorne in the library,” announced a footman.

  Emily scowled. “Oh, botheration. I did so want to unpack my things. Tell him I’ll be along in a little while.” She turned back to the cashmere she was unpacking, but to her surprise there came the sound of the footman clearing his throat. She looked at him. “Yes, what is it?”

  The footman was very young, a stripling almost, and he looked at her sheepishly before he managed to get the words out. “If you please, miss ... That is ... Well, miss, his lordship, the viscount, now ... he ain’t the sort as takes kindly to waiting. I guess it’s from him having commanded and all. But miss, well, when he says jump, why, folks is wise to jump.”

  Obviously a little dismayed by his own temerity, the youth colored and dropped his eyes.

  Emily felt herself bristling up. She did not intend to let any arrogant man run her life. Still, it might be wiser to go right away. “Thank you ...” She looked at him questioningly.

  “Jeffers, miss.”

  “Thank you, Jeffers. Please tell his lordship I shall be down right away.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Emily took off her bonnet and tossed it onto the bed. “I suppose I may as well see what the man wants.”

  Sarah raised a warning eyebrow. “You better not go with your hackles up,” she warned. “Jeffers is right. If the viscount is used to command, he may not take kindly to having a chit of a girl give him hard words.”

  “Sarah! Whose side are you on?”

  “Your side, my dear. You know it. I am just asking you to be sensible. This man has power over you. That’s a fact you would do well to recognize.”

  Emily shrugged. “We’ll see.” She cast a quick look in the mirror and hurried toward the door. “Mustn’t keep Lord High-in-the-Instep waiting.”

  She was gone before Sarah could remonstrate.

  After all, Emily told herself, this guardian was a man. She would just smile at him sweetly and he would see things her way. Papa and Uncle Cyril always had.

  She paused momentarily before the library door and put a bright smile on her face. Then she pushed it open and entered.

  The man who stood with his back to her was examining a book on one of the shelves. His shoulders were quite broad, she noted absently; even a coat that was a little threadbare could not hide that. His buckskins looked as though they had had hard wear too. He was rather tall and lean, and dark unruly curls overlapped the back of his cravat and the collar of his coat.

  “Parks said you wish to speak to me, mil—”

  The word died in her throat as the man turned and she beheld—the stranger! It was him! But it couldn’t be. Emily raised a shaking hand to her cheek.

  The stranger looked somewhat surprised, too, but he recovered more quickly. “Please sit down, Miss Penthorne. We have several matters to discuss.”

  “Yes, milord.” As if in a daze, Emily took the chair he indicated.

  He drew up another beside her. “I suppose Uncle Cyril has told you that he passed your guardianship to me.”

  Emily nodded.

  “It is not a task that I undertake willingly,” he continued. “But Uncle is ailing and I hope to spare him the trouble and aggravation.”

  In spite of her bemused state, this roused Emily. “I have caused Uncle no trouble or aggravation,” she felt compelled to reply.

  The v
iscount smiled grimly. “I’m afraid my uncle sees the case somewhat differently,” he began.

  “But I have never—” Emily protested.

  “Let us disregard the past,” interrupted the viscount. “I know what Uncle told me. He finds the care of a girl like yourself trying.”

  “I am not a girl,” cried Emily, now thoroughly incensed. “I am a woman! And I am not trying!” How could she have been so mistaken about this man? To think that she had spent months mooning over his memory. The thought made her even angrier.

  Dunstan shook his head. “You may protest all you please. I saw you earlier today.”

  “What do you mean?” Emily asked indignantly, although she was afraid she knew the answer already.

  “It is ill-advised for young women”—he said the word mockingly—”to be quizzing strange men by the roadside.”

  “But—” Emily could find no words to exonerate herself. The truth was her only defense, but she certainly could not tell this tyrant, this arrogant lord, that she had stared so because she had spent the winter dreaming of him. How that would amuse him.

  “There’s—there’s nothing wrong with quizzing someone,” she asserted. “The ladies of the ton do it constantly.”

  He sighed in exasperation. “In London perhaps. At the theater or the opera. But not on the road. Such conduct is not only ill-advised, it is dangerous. I forbid you to behave in this fashion again.”

  “Forbid!” Emily half rose from her chair in indignation, but he merely nodded as though she had agreed with him.

  “And now, I understand that you went shopping today.”

  “Yes, I did. But it was my money.”

  The viscount’s face took on a pained expression. “I am quite aware of that. That is not the issue here.”

  “Then what is?” Emily was growing more and more truculent. How dared he treat her in this abominable fashion!

  “The issue is that as your guardian it is my duty to oversee your purchases. Shall we go upstairs and look them over?”

  This time Emily rose to her feet. “You cannot mean it!” She was very angry now. It was extremely irritating to be treated like this—like a stupid little girl.

  “Au contraire,” said his lordship. “I do mean it. I intend to see every item you have purchased and to ascertain whether or not-it is suitable for my ward.”

  “I—I am not a child,” sputtered Emily, glaring at him fiercely.

  “Then I suggest you stop acting like one. One of the marks of maturity is having the sense to accept the inevitable.”

  As he then rose and moved toward the stairs, there was little for Emily to do but follow. It was quite unbelievable, she told herself. The man she had spent the winter dreaming about had turned out to be the world’s greatest tyrant. To think that she had once believed herself to have formed a partiality for this man! To think that she had once wished for the chance to be leg-shackled to him for life!

  CHAPTER 3

  The viscount went directly to her room and Emily followed, fuming. As the door opened, Sarah looked up from beside the bed where, knowing that her charge would wish to examine every purchase, she had been laying them out. “Emily!” she exclaimed.

  “Sarah, this is Viscount Dunstan. He insists on seeing what we have bought.” Emily’s rage was barely under control.

  “Your lordship,” said Sarah. “I am Miss Penthorne’s companion, Sarah Parker.”

  “So my uncle told me,” said Dunstan. “I’m sure you’ll be pleased to have some help taming our wild one here.”

  Emily bridled further. What a condescending way to speak of her.

  “Emily is not wild,” said Sarah evenly. “She is perhaps a little thoughtless at times—as we all are. But she will learn.”

  That ought to show him, thought Emily, but he merely smiled as though placating a child and looked around the room for a chair. He chose one and settled himself comfortably, stretching his long legs in riding buckskins out before him. “Now let me see what you have bought.”

  Behind his back Emily made a face, but Sarah ignored it and motioned her toward the bed.

  And so every item from a pair of gloves to a shawl had to be examined by his lordship.

  “Let me see that bonnet on you,” he said when Emily showed him the bonnet she had found so delightful. Obediently she put it on.

  The viscount frowned. It considerably marred his good looks, she thought grimly as she stood before him waiting. Angry as she was at such terrible treatment, there was no denying that Dunstan was a prime article. Any woman could see that. No wonder he had been so often in her thoughts. Of course, she told herself, that had only been before she knew anything of his character.

  The viscount eyed her carefully, his head tilted to one side. “That bonnet should go back,” he said finally.

  “But why?” In her anger and humiliation Emily found herself close to tears. No man had ever regulated her purchase of wearing apparel. Papa had left that task to Mama, and when Uncle Cyril had become her guardian, he had left it to Sarah.

  “The bonnet is too old for you,” he said soberly. “It’s too large for the slenderness of your neck. And those bobbing artificial daisies are atrocious.”

  “I like it,” she retorted stubbornly, swallowing over the lump in her throat. “The milliner assured me it’s all the fashion.”

  The viscount shrugged. “That may well be. The point is this—the bonnet does not become you. Send it back.”

  “Yes, milord,” interjected Sarah, giving Emily a warning look. “We’ll do so immediately.”

  Emily removed the maligned bonnet and was about to throw it rather violently onto the bed when Sarah rescued it by almost snatching it from her hands.

  The several cashmeres she had bought passed his lordship’s appraisal, though, and when he hesitated over her favorite—the one with the deep blue threads in the border—Emily held her breath. She let it out with a sigh of relief when he finally nodded.

  It was demeaning, she thought as she folded the shawl and turned to the other items, to be treated like this. He acted as though she were a child— and one without much understanding at that.

  The viscount approved her dozen pair of white kid gloves for evening wear, her six pair of lemon, stone, and lilac for walking, and her York tan ones for riding. He approved her mantle of gray cloth with a hood and front ties, lined in blue; her satin slippers in various shades; her kid half-boots for walking; her pagoda-shaped parasol with the telescopic steel stick; her two dozen handkerchiefs edged in lace; her reticule of black velvet and those to match her gowns; her beehive bonnet of plaited straw—without artificial flowers. As he approved each item, Emily felt her tension lessening. Perhaps they would be able to deal together after all.

  Finally she and Sarah stopped; nothing remained except one small pile of nightwear and underclothing. “I presume you also ordered some gowns,” said Dunstan, lazily tapping his knee.

  “Yes,” replied Emily. “Half a dozen, I believe.”

  One of his bushy black eyebrows rose sharply and Emily was immediately on the defensive again. “I haven’t had a new gown for a whole year,” she began, wishing that she didn’t sound so young and childish. “I did not exceed my quarterly allowance either.”

  “No one has suggested that you did,” replied Dunstan with a look that one might give a naughty child. “You will inform me when the gowns come, as I intend to see them.” He looked at her sharply. “I have been away at war,” he said. “And so I have been a little out of touch with the world of the haut ton. Also, I have never approved of its addiction to certain addlepated notions of fashion. Therefore, I give you fair warning. If any of these new gowns are designed to be worn with damped petticoats, you may as well cancel them now.”

  In spite of all her efforts, Emily colored and glanced at Sarah. She had ordered one gown of the sheerest pale blue muslin, with the idea of damping her petticoat

  “But the ladies of the ton,” she protested. “Surely they know wh
at is right.”

  The viscount smiled, a cynical smile that did not reach his eyes. “In the first place, many of the ladies of the ton are not ladies. They may know what is right, but, if they do, they do not practice it. The damping of petticoats is a trick for an incognita, a means of puffing her charms. It is not for a decent woman.”

  Emily had no answer to this. Perhaps those incognitas had the right idea, she thought grimly, though she dared not say so. Such a woman could do as she pleased. Men paid for her favors. But for a decent woman marriage was the only course open, and marriage only meant that instead of obeying her father she obeyed her husband. To think that a woman must have a dowry, in order to get herself in such an unprofitable position! The world seemed cruelly unfair. Men had all the power.

  Since Emily did not answer him, the viscount rose from his chair and moved toward the big bed. “What does this pile contain? I haven’t seen its contents.”

  Even Sarah flushed. “Milord, please. Those are Miss Penthorne’s”—her voice fell to a low whisper —”nightdresses and—and—”

  Since Sarah could not seem to get the word out, Emily spoke it. It resounded loudly in the quiet room. “Those are my new chemises, milord,” she said. “And since no one sees them but myself I suppose they can be left to my discretion to choose. However,” she watched his face carefully, hoping to score a hit, “we’ll be glad to show them to you. Each one. I should never want to offend your sense of decency.”

  “Emily!” Poor Sarah’s face had turned beet red.

  “Why, Sarah, dear,” replied Emily with exaggerated sweetness. “I am only trying to do as his lordship wishes.”

  Sarah shook her head and sighed, but the viscount regarded Emily steadily, a strange look in his eye. “I quite believe you are ready to do such an outlandish thing in the hope of embarrassing me.” He smiled grimly. “Let me assure you, my dear, that the effort would be in vain. Ladies’ chemises, whatever

  their design, are no novelty to me. As long as you wear yours, I shall leave their design to you.”

  “You are too kind, milord,” Emily replied, the acid quality of her tone giving the lie to the acquiescent words. She felt the tears dangerously close and that made her even angrier. To cry before this impossible man would be absolutely humiliating.