Love's Folly

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  “Now, Emily, you are being unfair to the viscount,” soothed Sarah. “He really is concerned for your welfare.”

  “I don’t believe that,” cried Emily, by now completely distraught. “He hates me. I know he does. And I hate him! I hate him with all my heart and soul!”

  CHAPTER 5

  ‘When Emily went down to breakfast the next morning, she was still angry. She was not quite sure if her anger was caused entirely by the viscount’s insistence on returning her favorite gown. She was also angered, perhaps even more than by that incident, by his refusal to recognize her as a woman. It was insupportable that she should be so aware of him as a woman and so afflicted by that awareness and that he should insist upon seeing her only as a recalcitrant child.

  As she approached the breakfast room, she was surprised by the sound of footsteps behind her. She turned. “Milord.” Emily was aware that color flooded her face at the sight of him.

  “I did not mean to startle you,” he said, as if he had never thwarted and insulted her. “I thought I heard your steps on the stairs and I came to tell you myself.”

  “Tell me what?” asked Emily, fighting her anger and her feelings for him.

  “I have rented a box at the theater for tonight. To see Kean as Othello.” He paused to see how she would respond.

  “I hope you enjoy yourself,” she replied perversely.

  His face hardened. “You mistake me, Miss Penthorne. I rented a box for you and your companion to accompany me. Kean is all the rage now and this is his first time performing Othello. I thought perhaps you would enjoy seeing him. Also, it will give you a chance to be seen.” He eyed her sternly. “I believe you have come to London in search of a husband. That is the usual course for a young woman of your age.”

  “Of course,” she replied stiffly. “The sooner you find me a husband, the sooner you will be relieved of the irksome and galling responsibility of being my guardian.”

  His eyes raked her over. “Quite so. You are most astute. Kindly be ready for the theater on time. Since I am not one of those who go merely to be gawked at, I wish to see the play from its beginning.” Without waiting for her answer, he strode off.

  Emily stood trembling for several minutes. Why had she let her anger get the best of her? Certainly that had been a conciliatory gesture on his part. She had dreamed all winter of being in London, of going to the theater on the arm of a man. She had even dreamed of being with this man. But how different her dream had been. In it he had smiled and praised her beauty. Then she had smiled and clung to his arm.

  But it would not be like that. The way he was acting they would be at cuffs all evening. And they were going to see Kean.

  She turned toward the stairs and Sarah. The blue silk dress. She must ask Sarah to fix it, to put the lace in. He had said he liked her in blue. Maybe, just maybe if she kept her temper under control, if just this once she did everything the way he wanted it ... She lifted her skirts and hurried upstairs.

  By the time evening came, Emily had almost forgotten her anger in her excitement. Sarah had put the lace in the blue gown, quite high enough to please anyone. Emily’s hair had been tousled and teased into a mass of tangled curls that approximated the newest a la Titus fashion. She stood before the cheval glass and looked at herself critically. The deep blue gown fit snugly across the bodice and fell from its gathers in graceful folds to the floor. She did not look like a child, she told herself proudly. Anyone with half a brain could see that she was a woman—a full-grown woman.

  She checked the lace at the bodice; it must cover everything. Of course, she had looked more grown up before its addition.

  Jewels—that was it. The dress needed just the right jewels. She turned to go ask Sarah, but then stopped. Her companion was busy getting ready. She had spent a great deal of time in dressing Emily and now she would have to hurry to be ready on time herself.

  Emily moved toward the chest and her jewel box. She would pick out something herself, something that would make her look older. She opened the chest that held her mother’s jewels.

  What would an older woman wear to the theater? She lifted out her mother’s emeralds, but they did not go with the dress. She considered the opals and the tourmalines, then shook her head. No, they would not do. And then she saw them. The very thing! The diamonds. That ought to convince him.

  She hurried to the cheval glass and fastened the swinging diamonds onto her earlobes, put the gleaming pendant around her neck, and clasped the bracelet around her gloved wrist. There, now let him tell her that she wasn’t a woman.

  She grabbed up her cashmere and hurried to Sarah’s room. She tapped at the door. “I’m not quite ready, Emily,” called Sarah through the door. “Go down so as to keep his lordship from being angered at you.”

  “Yes, Sarah. Right away.”

  Emily threw the shawl over the arm and moved carefully down the stairs. No higgledy-piggledy scurrying for a grown-up lady. She held her head high and moved as gracefully as she could.

  She was near the bottom of the stairs when she heard the viscount approaching. His eyes were upon her as she finished the descent and she smiled at him. “Good evening, milord.” Her hand moved to her bodice where his eyes lingered. “Sarah fixed my gown. Does it meet with your approval?”

  She asked the question lightly, in a bantering tone, and so was not prepared for the sternness of his reply.

  “I see that. The gown is quite adequate. The jewels are not.”

  “These are my mama’s diamonds,” she replied.

  “It’s too bad that your mama is not here to advise you that young women do not go about blazing like that.”

  “My mama has been dead these three years,” she replied over the lump in her throat. “She did not instruct me in the wearing of jewels.”

  “Your companion should have known better. Innocent young women do not wear diamonds.”

  Emily swallowed again. “Sarah did not see me. She was still dressing and sent me on without her so I would not be late.”

  “That explains it.” The viscount regarded her soberly. “If you hurry, you can change your jewels in time.”

  Emily stared at him, her anger rising again. Must he always be right?

  “Go now and change,” he repeated. “Have you a string of pearls, one strand?”

  Emily nodded.

  “Put them on. Them and nothing else. Do you understand?”

  Emily nodded. She did not trust herself to speak; the tears were too close. Why was everything she did going wrong? She had meant to make him notice that she was a woman and instead she had convinced him more than ever that she was an irresponsible child. The tears rose to her eyes and she blinked rapidly. She could not cry now. There was no time. Besides, she must be able to see to find the pearls.

  Pearls! Only schoolroom misses wore pearls. But she put the diamonds away and fastened the pearls. She could not understand why he wanted her to wear pearls, but she wanted to be with him, so she wiped the tears from her eyes and hurried back down the stairs.

  He stood where she had left him, and for the first time she noticed what he was wearing. His new coat of corbeau color with covered buttons accented the breadth of his shoulders. His inexpressibles of sage-green kerseymere clung to an admirable leg. His waistcoat was of white marcella and his cravat boasted the mathematical tie. All in all, he was a fine figure of a man. A prime article, as Cousin Percy would say. Fleetingly Emily wondered how the ebullient Percy was faring at Cambridge.

  Then the viscount spoke. “That’s better. You look like a young woman your age should look--very lovely.”

  Emily felt the color rush to her cheeks. “Thank you, milord. You look quite nice yourself.”

  The viscount gave her a surprised smile. “Thank you.” He flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. “My tailor did an excellent job. He was recommended to me by the Beau.”

  “Beau Brummell?” asked Emily.

  Dunstan nodded. “Yes, I ran into him at W
hite’s the other day.”

  Emily found herself staring at him. He looked so fine. If only there were not so much anger between them.

  His eyes met hers and seemed to probe them. It was almost as though he sought some knowledge there, the answer to some question. He seemed about to say something to her and then the sound of Sarah’s voice came floating down the stairs. “Milord, I am sorry to keep you waiting.”

  Dunstan turned to greet her. “Good evening, Miss Parker. We shall be quite on time if we leave now.”

  “Thank you, milord. You are very kind.”

  The viscount shook his head. “Miss Penthorne and I have been having a little talk. Getting to know each other better.”

  Emily gave him a surprised glance. He had not mentioned the diamonds at all. He was smiling at her pleasantly, quite as though they had never quarreled.

  He reached out and took her shawl. “The carriage should be waiting out front. Allow me.”

  He put the shawl carefully around her shoulders and just as carefully adjusted it. Emily felt a shiver through her. How often in the last winter had she dreamed of such a scene—except that in her dreams she had taken his lordship’s arm and smiled up at him with eyes full of adoration, a thing she dared not do now.

  Then he turned to Sarah, but she had already managed her shawl.

  Emily noticed little of the city during the trip to Drury Lane. She was too busy drinking in the presence of this new viscount. He could really be quite charming when he was not playing the over-zealous guardian. She wondered idly how many hearts he had broken before he went away to the wars. Then her own heart gave a great lurch in her breast. Perhaps he loved someone. Perhaps he only wanted to get her off his hands to marry himself. Her heart thudded in her throat.

  But then she calmed herself. He had just returned to London after many years away. He had no time to form a partiality for anyone. And besides that, she told herself grimly, it didn’t matter. The viscount might make whatever alliance he pleased. It was of no concern to her.

  A sick feeling invading her stomach at this thought immediately contradicted it. Well, she told herself stubbornly, there was nothing she could do about it that night. She would simply enjoy Kean.

  CHAPTER 6

  As they neared Drury Lane the streets grew more and more crowded. The hoarse cries of coachmen jockeying for position resounded through the air and now and then an oath could be heard. One of these was particularly profane and Emily saw Sarah flinch. His lordship, however, appeared not to notice.

  “I hope you will enjoy seeing Othello,” he said. “This is Kean’s first appearance in the part.” He frowned. “I hope he does it justice. Critics have long held that there is no character for which a good voice and a fine figure are more indispensably requisite than Othello. And Kean is certainly not a man of great stature.”

  “Have you seen him do Iago?” inquired Sarah.

  Dunstan nodded. “Yes, several times. He is quite superb in the part. The man is a born actor, there’s no denying that. But Othello—I hope we shall not be disappointed.”

  “The crush in the street seems terrible,” said Emily. “I do not remember it being like this last year.”

  “Most probably it was not,” agreed his lordship. “As I said, this is Kean’s first time in the part. He is quite the rage this year. Some say the man will rival the great Garrick.”

  From what she had read, this hardly seemed possible to Emily. Everyone knew that Garrick had been the greatest actor in the history of the theater. “What do you think, milord?”

  The viscount smiled. “I am withholding my judgment until I have seen more of the man’s work. There is no disputing the fact that he is excellent.” The carriage came to a halt. “Well, here we are. And half of London, too, it appears. Kean is a great favorite.”

  He opened the carriage door and preceded them out. As she laid her gloved hand in his, Emily felt herself color again, but fortunately no one could see.

  Around them the press of people crowded. In the light of the torches Emily surveyed the crowd. Everywhere diamonds blazed. They dripped from the ears, throats, and wrists of richly dressed women. They shone from the noble decorations adorning the chests of splendidly dressed men. Emily had never seen so many gems. Her hand moved self-consciously to her throat and the single strand of pearls. Amid all this brilliance she looked even more the schoolroom miss.

  The viscount took her arm in his and shouldered a passageway through the crowd while Sarah followed closely.

  The inside of Drury Lane was a little less crowded, but almost as noisy. His lordship led them up the stairs to a nicely decorated box. “There,” he said as he seated them. “We shall be able to get a good view of Kean and let others get a good view of us.” He frowned. “The ton has more than one custom that I find quite annoying. Among them is the pernicious habit of ogling one another. One would think the theater had been built for that express purpose.” He turned a stern face to Emily. “Should your eye happen to meet that of some smart young buck, simply cut him dead. I trust you know how to do that.”

  “Yes, milord,” replied Emily. “But isn’t it natural for people to want to be looked at? I mean, here are crowds of people all dressed up. Of course they want to be noticed. It is only human.”

  The viscount considered this. “Perhaps you are right. But at any rate, do not exchange glances with any young oglers. Most of the bucks are merely amusing themselves. If a man wants to consider an alliance with you, he can do it in the proper way—by calling.”

  Emily did not reply to this. She was lost in the memory of the first time she had exchanged glances with a man—with his lordship himself. She felt her cheeks warm at the memory of the speculation in his eyes.

  “Emily,” said Sarah. “Emily, his lordship just asked you something.”

  Color stained Emily’s cheeks again. “I—I was daydreaming. I’m sorry.”

  “I merely inquired if you should like an orange.” Emily shook her head. “I think not,” she said, “I’m afraid the juice may stain my new gown.”

  The viscount nodded. “And you. Miss Sarah?”

  “No, thank you, milord. I am fine.” As the two talked, Emily allowed her eyes to travel over the pit. Everything looked as usual there. Orange girls were hawking their wares, smiling roguishly at their customers. Now there, thought Emily with a suppressed smile, there were bodices to remonstrate about. Even at this distance it was easy to see that the orange girls’ bodices used the very minimum of material. Her imagination flashed her a picture of his lordship’s outraged expression should he find her in such a bodice. Then the blood rushed to her face again at the thought of his eyes lingering there.

  Once more she concentrated on the antics of the bucks in the pit. Some strolled nonchalantly about parading their finery. Others cracked nuts with gusto or ate oranges and tossed the peels gaily over their shoulders.

  Emily raised her eyes from the pit to the boxes across the theater. There sat the beautifully clad ladies of the ton. Jewels blazed from ears and wrists, and from above necklines cut much lower than hers had been without the lace. She considered pointing this out to the viscount, but then thought better of it. They were dealing together reasonably well at the moment. She wanted it to remain that way.

  Slowly Emily let her gaze move around the boxes. In one, surrounded by elegant and attentive men, sat an auburn-haired beauty whose only jewels were long emerald earrings. Her pale shoulders rose above a dress of cream-colored satin. Emily was just about to ask Dunstan about her when she recognized one of the other women in the box. She was one of those Sarah and she had seen in the carriage the day they arrived in London, one of the young women Sarah had said were incognitas. So the auburn-haired one must be an incognita, too, and rather a well-liked one, it seemed from the look of things.

  Emily was suddenly startled by seeing the woman nod in her direction and she turned toward Dunstan just in time to see him incline his head slightly. Her heart jumped into her throa
t.

  Dunstan knew that woman! Perhaps she had even belonged to him. The thought made her tremble. Compared to such a woman, what had she to offer Dunstan? Beside such a woman she was just a chit. She was consumed with curiosity, but she dared not ask his lordship who the woman was.

  She forced herself to consider the rest of the theater. The women were certainly richly dressed and bedecked with jewels. She studied the women in several boxes, trying to deduce their status. Were they ladies of the ton or incognitas? There was simply no way to tell. All were richly dressed and bejeweled and all carried their heads quite high.

  Perhaps there was another way, thought Emily, intrigued by the puzzle she had set herself. Perhaps she could learn more about the status of the ladies from the conduct of the gentlemen. First she studied those in the box of the known incognitas. One and all, the gentlemen were polite and quite attentive, eagerly hanging on to the ladies’ words.

  In several other boxes she noticed similar activity among the gentlemen. But in most boxes the case was otherwise. The ladies and gentlemen both appeared bored, and both seemed much more interested in quizzing those around them. Emily could not help recalling her comment to Sarah that the incognitas seemed very content. How strange that such reprehensible ladies appeared to enjoy life a great deal while the decent ones did not.

  She was still mulling this over when the great curtain rose. Emily leaned forward to see and hear better. As Iago revealed his treachery to his master Othello in the words, “I follow him to serve my turn upon him,” she shivered. The treachery of Iago was beyond belief. For a simple man like Othello to penetrate such dissimulation was too difficult.

  Emily’s heart ached for the gentle Desdemona, lured into loving this simple giant. Kean was not a large man, yet he appeared big and warrior-like. At first she might have agreed with Brabantio that nothing short of witchcraft could have made his daughter love such a man as Othello, yet before very long she had entirely forgotten Kean’s stature. Caught up in the magic of the play, she did not realize that the man beside her spent more time watching her face than he did the stage.