Love's Folly

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  When the curtain fell for intermission, Emily had a hard time re-entering the world of reality. “Oh,” she breathed in answer to Dunstan’s questioning look. “He’s everything they say he is.”

  His lordship smiled dryly. “Well, the managers must be quite pleased. He is certainly bringing in a good gate.” He turned to Sarah. “The bucks and beaus will soon be trampling down the door to meet Miss Penthorne here. Before they start arriving, I believe I should warn you.”

  Sarah looked confused. “Warn me? Of what, milord?”

  “Among them will be a certain Viscount Bersford, an old friend of mine. And of yours.”

  Emily, watching this exchange, was shocked to see her friend turn white. “Sarah! Are you ill?”

  “No, no. I—I am just a little—taken aback.”

  “Aware as I am of the connection that once existed between you, I did not think it wise to let him come upon you unannounced.”

  “Yes.” Sarah nodded weakly. “That was most kind of you.”

  “Sarah!” Emily was quite concerned over her friend’s reaction. “Who is this Bersford? What is the viscount talking about?”

  Sarah raised a trembling hand to her lips. “Lord Bersford and I—we were about to be promised when Papa lost everything. The match was never made. I released Bersford from his promise and he went away to fight.”

  “Oh,” cried Emily. “How dreadful of him to behave like that. I suppose he then married some heiress.”

  His lordship intervened. “Au contraire. Bersford made no alliance.”

  Sarah started and clutched her shawl. “No alliance?”

  “That is correct,” said his lordship.

  “I still think his behavior was reprehensible,” said Emily. “If I loved someone, I should not let anyone stop me from being with him.”

  “You are not a man,” replied his lordship. “With a man’s responsibilities.”

  “I don’t care,” protested Emily. “Love is more important than money. Much more important.”

  “What do you know of love?” Dunstan asked sharply.

  Under the scrutiny of those dark eyes Emily flushed. “I—I know that it’s important. I know that.”

  The viscount looked relieved. She must not let him suspect that she had spent the winter hopelessly in love with a man. Not when he was that man.

  The door to the box opened. “I say, Dunstan,” drawled a lazy voice. “Who is that gem?”

  From the expression on Dunstan’s face it was clear that he did not regard this man as a friend. “Hello, Gilcrest. This is my Uncle Cyril’s ward, Miss Penthorne. I am presently serving as her guardian.”

  “Ah ha! I win my wager.” As Lord Gilcrest moved farther into the light, Emily saw a tall fair man with a lean, sharp face. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Penthorne,” he said, raising her gloved hand to his lips.

  “Lord Gilcrest,” she murmured, wondering how long the two men could stay in close proximity without coming to cuffs. They were obviously at odds over something and only the dictates of polite society kept them from tangling with each other.

  Fortunately the door to the box opened again to admit a stream of beaus, all of whom exclaimed over Emily’s beauty.

  In spite of the fact that she was thus occupied, Emily couldn’t help noticing that Sarah’s eyes turned constantly to the door. And then, just as she was receiving some silly compliment about the whiteness of her skin, Dunstan looked up and said, “Bersford! Come in, man. Come in.”

  Emily, her eyes flying to Sarah’s face, saw her friend blanch even more; then the man moved into the box. “My ward, Miss Penthorne,” said Dunstan. “And her companion, Miss Parker.”

  Bersford’s eyes looked deep into Sarah’s. “I already have the pleasure of knowing Miss Parker. How are you?”

  Somehow the question seemed far too personal and Emily waited for her friend to put the man in his place.

  “I am fine, fine,” Sarah replied, a break in her voice belying the word.

  Then Emily’s attention was drawn back to the line of men in front of her and she had little time to watch Sarah. She was surprised, however, to find when the box emptied out that Lord Bersford had remained.

  “If you would care to join us,” invited Dunstan. Bersford looked toward Sarah, and Emily saw her companion give the briefest of nods.

  “Thank you, Dunstan. I shall do that.”

  As Bersford pulled up a chair next to Sarah, Emily studied the man. He was of the same height as Dunstan, but there the similarity ended. In looks the viscount’s friend was nondescript. He was not ugly, but he had none of the rakish good looks that characterized Dunstan. Bersford was a plain, hearty-looking man. Nothing about him to make her heart beat fast, thought Emily. How could Sarah still love a man who had left her like that?

  But, then, love was a strange business. It was certainly not sensible for her to love Dunstan, knowing his character as she did.

  It was obvious that Sarah did still care for this man. Emily had never seen her cousin so distraught. Sarah twisted her lace handkerchief until it was almost in shreds. Her eyes shone with unusual brilliance, and they seemed always to be drawn to his face as she hung onto his every word.

  Emily moved to edge her chair closer. This tête-à-tête could not be good for Sarah. The viscount’s hand on her chair stopped her. He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “Your friend is entitled to some privacy.”

  “But—but I do not want her to be hurt again,” protested Emily.

  The viscount patted her gloved hand. “You can’t stop her from being hurt. Nor anyone else you love. Hurting is a condition of being alive.”

  “But he left her,” said Emily.

  “He was young and he had parents who controlled his purse strings. You do not understand the difficulties of being a man.”

  Emily met the dark eyes so near her own. “Men always think that life is more difficult for them. But they have control over their lives. Women do not.”

  Dunstan’s eyes probed deep into hers again, as though for an answer to something. “Women are weak. They need protection. They cannot care for themselves.”

  Something inside Emily snapped. “That’s not true. Women can take care of themselves. Look at that woman over there—the one with the auburn hair. She takes care of herself.”

  Dunstan frowned fiercely. “That is Harriette Wilson, London’s leading demi-rep. It is from a life like hers that marriage will protect you.”

  In her anger Emily forgot all propriety. “So for the privilege of being protected from a terrible life like hers—” She cast a glance across the theater where the infamous woman was laughing pleasantly. “I must give up control of my life to my husband.”

  Dunstan frowned. “That is the custom.”

  “The custom is odious,” protested Emily. “It makes women mere slaves.”

  Dunstan eyed her closely. “I think you have forgotten one consideration.”

  “And that is?”

  “Love.”

  “Love!” Emily snorted. “How many marriages are really made for love? Look out there.” She gestured imperiously. “I bet I can tell you whether the boxes contain ladies or—or other women.” Why couldn’t she just say incognita, she thought angrily. It wasn’t such a difficult word to say. “Do you know how I can tell?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “The ladies look universally bored and unhappy. And the—the incognitas—” There, she had got the word out. “The incognitas look happy.”

  Dunstan’s eyes quickly surveyed the crowd and swung back to her. “Your perception is rather accurate, I must admit. At least on the surface. But looks can be deceiving.”

  “Perhaps.” Emily would only concede so much. She found suddenly that being so close to him had quickened her breath again. What if he read her feelings in her look? She wrenched her eyes away and gazed once more across the theater.

  As she did so, her glance was caught and held by a fair, lean man—Gilcrest. She remembered h
im because of the obvious tension that had existed between him and Dunstan. Gilcrest’s eyes were frankly speculative, as Dunstan’s had been that night at Lady Cholmondoley’s ball.

  Suddenly the man beside her moved. “I thought I expressly asked you not to exchange glances with the beaus,” he said harshly.

  “But it’s Lord Gilcrest,” protested Emily. “I just met him. Besides, if I am forbidden even to look around, how am I to find a husband?”

  “You have a peculiar conception of how one achieves that,” he said sternly. “At any rate, bucks the like of Gilcrest are not good husband material.”

  “I don’t see why not,” said Emily innocently. “He’s a lord. He has good blood.”

  “He also has an overabundance of debts,” returned the viscount curtly. “Which he might like to pay off with your fortune.”

  “I thought that was the fashion,” replied Emily, continuing her role of innocent.

  “As I said when we were discussing clothes, what is fashionable may well not be right. I have no intention of letting you marry such a man.”

  “But if I love him?”

  The viscount absolutely glared at her. “I should hope you would have better understanding than to love a man like that.”

  Emily shrugged. “And what sort of man should I marry?” she inquired far too sweetly.

  “Hopefully someone with a little common sense who would not game away your portion and leave you destitute.”

  “Lord Gilcrest does not look destitute,” she protested, driven to harass him in this manner by some urge she did not understand.

  “Of course he does not. The man is not foolish enough to go about proclaiming his insolvent condition to the world, especially if he is looking for a wife to ease his financial difficulties.”

  “And how do you know all this?” inquired Emily.

  The viscount smiled cynically. “First, Gilcrest frequents White’s. I have been present when he lost great sums of money there. Second, my tailor complained to me of him when last I paid my reckoning. When a man like Gilcrest so neglects his tailor—any sensible person takes note.”

  “I see,” agreed Emily. She was wondering if she dared ask the reason for this so evident concern of his, but the curtain rose again and she returned her attention to the stage and poor Othello, feeling the tears rise to her eyes at his unfounded suspicion and murder of the woman whose only crime was loving him.

  The journey home was quite pleasant. Sarah seemed very happy, bantering with his lordship in a way she had never done before. There was no more unpleasantness between Emily and Dunstan.

  In fact, sitting beside him in the carriage, Emily could almost believe that her dreams had come true.

  When they reached the house on St. James’s Square, he handed her down with as much gentleness as any man with a partiality for a lady. Going up the walk on his arm, she wished that she could make this moment last forever.

  At the foot of the stairs he turned to Sarah. “I hope you enjoyed the evening as much as I did.”

  “I did, milord. I enjoyed it very much.” Sarah’s eyes were still brilliant and her voice held a buoyancy that was new to Emily’s ears.

  The viscount smiled gravely. “I am glad that you and my friend Bersford have settled your differences so amicably.”

  “We had no differences,” Sarah was quick to reply. “It was Bersford’s parents who objected.” The smile faded from her face. “They will still object.”

  “Do not let that cause you alarm,” his lordship said. “Bersford is a man now. He knows what he wants and it is not a rich heiress.”

  Sarah’s face turned rosy. “You are very kind, milord. Very kind.”

  Dunstan shook his head. “I’ve seen Bersford through many a scrap. He’s been a sort of younger brother to me. I’m very pleased to see him so happy.”

  Sarah flushed again at this and muttered another thank you before she turned and went up the stairs. Emily gave his lordship a smile that reflected her pleasure in his concern for her friend. “Good night, milord.”

  “Good night, Emily.”

  Something in the tone of his voice, something almost like a caress, caused her to tremble violently. Somehow as she turned, she caught her toe in the hem of her gown and tripped. She would have fallen right at his feet if the viscount had not reached out and caught her in his strong arms.

  She came up against his white marcella waistcoat with a thump that quite knocked the breath from her body. “Oh!” The word was jolted from her.

  For several moments he kept her there against his chest. She got her breath back, but then she lost it again. The strength of his arms around her, the sound of his heart beating under her ear, the warmth of his body close to hers, all combined to leave her breathless. She fought the urge to move closer, to burrow into his arms.

  Then he put her from him gently and smiled down at her gravely. “I hope you did not suffer any injury.”

  Emily shook her head. “No, milord. I am—fine.” His face was very close to hers and she felt her heart thudding in her throat. She knew she should wrench her eyes away, but something in his held her captive.

  Then he spoke again. “Sleep well, Emily.”

  There it was, that strange caressing tone to his voice. “You, too, milord,” she managed to mumble before she turned and made her way up the stairs, feeling as though her slippers barely touched the carpet.

  CHAPTER 7

  When Emily woke tile next morning, she stretched and smiled. She had rather enjoyed their trip to the theater in spite of the slight altercation with Dunstan. Curiously she wondered what it was that made his lordship so angry with Gilcrest. After all, one could not go to the theater without being ogled. Anyone knew that. And other men had ogled her in the course of the evening.

  Then she thought of that tender moment when she had almost fallen. Could it be possible that that look last winter had meant something? Could his lordship really care for her? His actions of the night before could be taken that way. Of course, she had to stretch things a little to do it. Oh, why couldn’t he see her as a woman? Why?

  She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. There was no use thinking such thoughts, they would only make her sad again. And, really, she had a lot to be happy about. She and Dunstan had dealt well together last night. Perhaps they could do better now. Perhaps they needn’t always be at cuffs with each other.

  She would get up and have her breakfast. The sun was shining through the window. It looked like it would be a lovely day, too lovely a day to spend mooning about inside.

  She clapped her hands. That was it! She would ask Sarah to go shopping again. Of course she would be very careful. She would only buy things that she was sure he would approve. Perhaps she would not buy anything, but just get out in the fresh air and sunshine, see a few people. She felt a real need to move around.

  She put on a dress of yellow-sprigged muslin, ran a brush through her tangled curls, and went to find Parks and order the carriage. This was going to be a very good day.

  “Parks, oh Parks,” she called as she almost skipped down the stairs.

  “Yes, miss.” The butler smiled at her obvious good spirits.

  “Oh, Parks. It’s such a lovely day. Please order the carriage round. Sarah and I are going shopping.”

  Parks’s face changed rapidly, his smile fading to be replaced by a look of dismay. “Ah, miss—”

  “Yes, Parks. What is it?”

  “It’s the carriage, miss. I can’t order it round.”

  “Why not? Has his lordship taken it?”

  “No, miss.” The old butler shook his head.

  “Then the carriage is here.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Then order it round.” Emily was getting confused. There was obviously something that Parks didn’t want to tell her. “All right, Parks,” she demanded. “Will you tell me plainly why I cannot have the carriage?”

  “Yes, miss.” The servitor hesitated. “It’s-it’
s because of his lordship. His lordship said ...” It was plain that he didn’t want to continue, but Emily stared at him until he did. “His lordship said you weren’t to have the carriage without his permission.” Parks looked highly uncomfortable.

  “He what?” Emily knew that her voice had risen shrilly.

  “He said you weren’t to have the carriage without his permission.”

  “And when did he say this?”

  “Just this morning in the library, miss.”

  “I see.” Emily forced herself to remain calm. “Thank you, Parks. That will be all.”

  “Yes, miss.” Parks was clearly glad to be dismissed.

  For a moment Emily stood, not believing what she had heard. Just when she thought things were going well between them, he did a terrible thing like this. She had always had a carriage at her disposal. He had no right, no right at all, to forbid her the use of it. She would tell him so.

  She strode off angrily toward the library. This kind of behavior was absolutely insupportable.

  At the library door she paused and then, taking a deep breath, pushed it open. “Milord, this has got to—”

  Emily stopped suddenly. The library was empty.

  She stormed out and down the hall. “Parks! Parks! Where are you?”

  The aged butler hurried into the hall. “Yes, miss. Right here, miss.”

  Emily strove to speak calmly, but her anger was so great that she had trouble getting the words out. “Parks, where is the viscount? I wish to speak to him.”

  “His lordship is out on business.”

  “And when will he return?” asked Emily.

  “I don’t know, miss. He didn’t say, but he’s often gone all day.”

  “I see.” Emily had to swallow twice before she could continue. “Please inform me as soon as his lordship arrives home. I have a matter to discuss with him.”