Love's Folly

by Nina Coombs Pykare

“Yes, miss. Right away, miss.”

  Emily nodded and turned to go upstairs. She must find Sarah. She would burst if she couldn’t talk to someone. Angrily she stamped down the hall toward Sarah’s room and pushed open the door. “Sarah! Sarah! You’ll never know what that terrible man has done now.”

  Sarah looked up from where she was needle-pointing a firescreen. “Emily, Emily, my dear. Whatever is the matter?”

  “It’s Dunstan. Oh, Sarah.” Emily paced the room angrily. “It’s such a lovely day. I wanted to go shopping. I went to Parks to order the carriage. And—and he said—” She stopped and faced her cousin. “He said I couldn’t have the carriage without his lordship’s permission.” Tears of anger rolled down her cheeks as Emily resumed her pacing.

  “Now, Emily. Please, dear. Calm down. The viscount means well. You know he does. Last night he was very considerate.”

  “I know, I know. That’s what makes It so terrible. Last night he was so nice. And today—to do this to me today. Oh, Sarah, I hate him. I really do.”

  “Now, Emily.”

  Emily stamped her foot. “Do not treat me like a little child, Sarah. This is a terrible thing he has done. So humiliating.” She stamped her foot again. “He’s an odious, odious man.”

  Sarah laid aside her needlework. “Some of what he says is true,” she replied evenly. “At times you do behave childishly. I do not understand it myself. You were never quite like this before.”

  “It’s him!” Emily wrung her hands. “He drives me to distraction.”

  “It’s easy to see that,” Sarah continued. “The question in my mind is why.”

  For a moment Emily stopped her pacing. Dear God, Sarah must not know the truth. “I don’t see anything strange about it,” she said. “He’s so high and mighty. He treats me abominably.”

  “Perhaps he is a little high-handed,” admitted Sarah. “But I really do believe he means the best for you.”

  “I’m sure you do,” replied Emily. “After all, he’s been exceptionally kind to you.”

  Sarah’s face turned rosy red. “Emily! I would not let the viscount’s treatment of me influence my concern for you.”

  Sarah looked so genuinely hurt that Emily hurried contritely to her side. “Oh, Sarah, I know that. I truly do. It’s just—I feel like a prisoner. And I don’t even know what I’m being punished for!”

  Sarah shook her head. “I know it is hard for you, dear. You have never really been disciplined. But perhaps you will find a husband soon, and then you will be free of the viscount.”

  “Perhaps,” replied Emily, but she knew that such freedom would never be hers. For in spite of the intensity of her anger at him, she had still seen no man to match him. There was no man in all London—in all the world—who could usurp the place the terrible viscount held in her heart.

  It was not a happy thought and Emily made her excuses to Sarah and went to the back courtyard where she expended some of her energy in weeding the flower beds. Since much of the time her vision was blurred by scalding tears and since she neglected to provide herself with gloves or an apron, in the ensuing hour she brought more havoc than order to the flower beds and to her own person.

  The yellow-sprigged muslin grew stained and her hands became stiff and unsightly, swollen from such unusual activity and contact with the dirt. Still she continued in her self-imposed task. She simply had to do something.

  She had just wrestled with a particularly stubborn, long-rooted weed and wiped petulantly at her face, unaware that she left a broad streak of dirt on her cheek, when a voice behind her said, “Whatever are you doing on your knees in the dirt?”

  For a moment Emily wanted to run away, but then her anger took over and she struggled to her feet and turned to face the viscount. “I am gardening,” she said defiantly.

  His black eyes slid over her and she grew aware that her gown was stained, her hair awry, and her hands covered with dirt. The knowledge brought the blood to her cheeks.

  “So I see,” returned his lordship. “But is it necessary to go at it so violently? That gown appears to be ruined, you have dirtied your face, and look at your hands.”

  “I don’t care!” Emily could contain her rage no longer. Quite fortunately the house was built like most London town houses, so that the courtyard was surrounded by the house and therefore quite private. But even if it had not been, she could not have waited. “You have treated me abominably,” she cried, not caring if the servants heard her. “How dare you forbid me the use of the carriage?”

  The viscount viewed her nonchalantly, as though he were faced with raging women every day. “I did not forbid you the use of the carriage.”

  “You did! You did! And you didn’t even have the decency to tell me. You let me find out from the servants.”

  Her breast heaved under the thin muslin gown and she clenched her dirtied hands into fists. “You have treated me abominably.”

  “Really, Miss Penthorne,” he began in that laconic rake’s tone.

  Then Emily lost all sense of judgment and launched herself at him, doubled fists striking at his waistcoat. Since that article was buff striped with yellow, the assault of dirtied fists was immediately recorded.

  For a moment his lordship stood in stunned surprise and then, when she showed no signs of stopping, and indeed continued the attack with renewed vigor, he attempted to expostulate with her. “Miss Penthorne, stop this. Stop this instantly.”

  His words, however, had no effect and finally he grabbed her violently by the shoulders. “Emily! Stop!” He shook her harshly till her curls bounced. “Stop this instant.”

  All the strength went out of her then, all the pent-up rage seemed gone, and she went so limp in his hands that he was forced to draw her against him to support her. There, her cheek against his dirtied waistcoat, she burst into tears.

  Now she had disgraced herself even further. How could she convince him that she was a woman when she kept acting like a little girl? There against his waistcoat, she sobbed out her frustration. He simply stood and held her.

  Finally the tears ceased. Emily felt completely emptied. There was no rage inside her now—only a terrible void. With his heart beating under her ear, she admitted the truth. She would never, never love anyone but Dunstan. As long as he refused to return that love, she would have to live with this gnawing emptiness inside her.

  Finally he put her from him, took a cambric handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped her face.

  With his arm still around her, he led her toward a small stone bench and seated her there.

  “I am truly sorry to have caused you so much grief,” he said in a very gentle tone. “I had intended to tell you about the carriage myself. But I was called away on some business. I do not forbid you the use of the carriage. I merely want to know ahead of time where you plan to go and with whom.”

  “But why?” Emily felt a small resurgence of anger.

  “I want to protect you,” he said. “The city is still rather new to you. You might plan to do something dangerous without being aware of it.”

  “I only wanted to go shopping on Bond Street. And I meant to take Sarah. I mostly wanted to look. I would not exceed my allowance.”

  The viscount nodded gravely. “I know that. But please believe me, this measure is for your own safety.”

  Emily forced herself to nod. She supposed he believed what he said and perhaps he could not understand how humiliated it made her feel.

  “Good.” He smiled at her warmly. “Now you are behaving like a sensible girl.”

  The anger that Emily had thought dissipated suddenly reared its ugly head, given new strength by that detested word—girl.

  She sprang to her feet and drew herself erect.

  “I am a woman,” she said, her tone daring him to deny it. “And I wish to be treated like one.”

  The viscount’s features hardened and he too got to his feet. “In that case you must begin acting like one.” Raking her over once more with eyes like
glowing black coals, he turned on his heels and strode away.

  Once more Emily sank back on the bench and gave way to tears. For a moment she had felt really close to him, and then he had spoiled it all. With that one word he had spoiled it all. Would he never cease regarding her as a spoiled little girl?

  CHAPTER 8

  The days passed as days do. They saw Kean play Iago, a pleasure vaguely disconcerting to Emily, who could not banish the picture of his Othello. They went to Covent Garden to see the great Kemble play Macbeth, which he did with consummate style. On both these occasions they were accompanied by Lord Bersford and Sarah. Emily, watching her friend’s happiness grow, could only hope that this time there would be no heartbreak to follow.

  She herself could not get into the spirit of the coming Victory Celebration. She had managed to avoid meeting the eye of Lord Gilcrest on both occasions at the theater. She had dressed in a manner the viscount would approve. She had learned gracefully to ask for the carriage in advance (and true to his word Dunstan always let her have it); but she had not succeeded in getting him to treat her differently.

  He was invariably polite and kind. Sometimes Emily almost wished for a quarrel. It might be worth being yelled at if she could end up in his arms as she had that day in the garden. But, since there was no way of insuring such a good outcome, she decided it was wiser to forego such action.

  May moved into June and all of London was agog over the expected visit of the Emperor of Russia and the King of Prussia, England’s allies in the great struggle against Napoleon.

  One morning Sarah picked up the Morning Chronicle and announced, “They’re here.” She began to read: “His Imperial Majesty, Alexander of Russia, his Prussian Majesty, and the illustrious princes and princesses in their respective suites, arrived yesterday in London, at different hours, and by different routes, to avoid the eclat of a public entry, and, consequently, to avoid the pressure of the multitudes who had assembled to welcome their approach.” She paused and scanned the page, then continued. “The Emperor of Russia arrived at half-past two o’clock, at the Pulteney Hotel, in so private a manner that the post boys did not know who they were driving. He traveled in Count Lieven’s carriage without a single attendant; he passed all the attendants in the lower part of the Hotel without his being known, and had run up to the first flight of stairs, when Prince Gargarine announced that it was the emperor. At the same instant his sister, the Grand Duchess, met him on the stairs, and they saluted each other in the most affectionate manner. The Emperor afterwards embraced the interesting child, Prince Alexander.”

  As Sarah paused, Emily asked idly, “Has the emperor no wife?”

  “He has one,” replied Sarah. “The Princess Elizabeth of Baden. He did not bring her along.”

  Emily looked rather grave and seemed to be debating with herself before she spoke. Apparently she then decided that Emily was of an age to be informed. “They say she is rather delicate.” There was a long pause. “The emperor has the reputation of having an eye for the ladies. He is quite a handsome man, they say—tall and lean, with fair hair and deep blue eyes.”

  Emily shrugged. “Well, that explains leaving the princess behind. He wouldn’t want to be hampered by a wife.”

  Sarah frowned. “Emily, you are becoming quite cynical, not at all like your old cheerful self. The emperor is here on state business, not for pleasure.”

  Emily contented herself with a nod. She would not bother to contradict Sarah, but she was rather sure that the emperor, being a man, would not turn down any chances he might encounter. Since he was an emperor and attractive, there was no doubt that chances would abound.

  Perhaps even Harriette Wilson … Unaware, Emily frowned. Harriette Wilson was often on her mind these days, especially when his lordship dined away from home. She could not forget the look those two had exchanged that night at Drury Lane. Certainly his lordship went somewhere in the evenings, many evenings. He had said that he did not game heavily, so why would he spend that much time at White’s?

  Emily sighed. She had fought and fought with herself over her partiality for Dunstan. It was ridiculous, the worst kind of folly. She told herself so repeatedly, but none of that did any good. She had even cast her eyes around surreptitiously at the theater and other places they had been, to see if there might not be somebody who could take her mind off the man who persisted in seeing her as a child. But beside him, every other man seemed insignificant.

  “Emily.” Sarah’s voice sounded annoyed and Emily realized that she had not been listening.

  “Yes, Sarah?”

  “I said, I should like to see the emperor. Perhaps we can find a place in a building and see him go by. It says here: ‘The joyful tidings of the arrival of the emperor resounded, not only throughout the house, but in the street, where there was an immense concourse of people, who expressed their joy by repeated huzzahs and “Long live the emperor,” etc., etc. He, in consequence, appeared, a short time afterwards, at the balcony, and bowed in the most condescending manner, which he continued to do at intervals, till eleven o’clock at night, the people rending the air with shouts of applause.’“

  Emily considered this. It might be interesting to see the emperor. It might be something to do to relieve the ennui she sometimes felt. Bond Street’s shops held no more allure for her and sometimes she was driven by a terrible need to do something exciting. The problem was that she did not know what. “What else does it say?”

  “They are fitting up a bed for him in St. James’s Palace, a new state bed of crimson velvet with gold lace and fringe, a crown at the top, and appropriate ornaments.”

  Emily smiled. “The emperor should look quite well in such luxury.”

  Sarah did not smile. “Do you suppose we could go to see them pass?”

  “I don’t see why not. I shall ask his lordship for the carriage. And why don’t you ask Bersford to accompany us?”

  Sarah’s face glowed at this thought and Emily sighed again, wishing that she were, like Sarah, assured of the love of the man she cared for.

  At that moment the door opened to admit Dunstan. Emily felt the color rush to her cheeks and bent her attention on her teacup till the color faded.

  “Good morning,” said the viscount.

  “Good morning, milord,” echoed Sarah and Emily.

  Emily felt Sarah’s eyes upon her and so was forced to look up to where his lordship stood. “Sarah and I were just reading the account of the allied sovereigns’ arrival.”

  Dunstan nodded. “I understand the streets were packed.”

  “Yes. And—well—” Now that the task was upon her, Emily did not find it so easy. “Well, Sarah and I wondered if we might have the carriage and go see the emperor. After all, it isn’t often that we get such royal visitors. We might ask Viscount Bersford to accompany us.” She paused and realized suddenly that underlying the suggestion that Bersford accompany them, was her wish that Dunstan make up one of the party.

  His lordship seemed to be considering, and Emily waited rather anxiously. She did not care much about seeing the emperor; she did care about keeping Dunstan’s approval.

  Finally he spoke. “If Bersford is available, I approve. I do not wish you to expose yourselves to the crush without having a man along. Unfortunately I am rather busy at this time and will be unable to accompany you myself.”

  Emily fought to keep her disappointment from showing on her face. Was this business with Harriette Wilson?

  “You had best check out the emperor’s itinerary. Perhaps Bersford or I know someone with a place along the intended route.”

  “That would be nice,” agreed Sarah. “We may be above the crush and still have a good view.”

  Dunstan nodded. “An excellent idea. I will speak to Bersford about it directly.” He consulted his watch. “In fact, I must be on my way now.”

  Watching him stride off, so lean and handsome, Emily realized that she had just let out a great sigh of relief. If he was seeing Bersford, the
n he would not be seeing Harriette Wilson.

  A few days later Bersford arrived quite early in the morning to escort them to a house near Whitehall Stairs where the illustrious visitors were to embark for a trip by water to Woolwich.

  Emily clutched her handkerchief as Bersford helped them into the carriage. She was glad to be doing something; she looked forward to seeing the visitors.

  However, being with Sarah and her Bersford had grown daily more trying. It was not that they excluded Emily from their conversations, though they did that sometimes. It was that in their partiality for each other they were so ecstatic, so glowing.

  Emily certainly wished her friend every happiness, and on closer acquaintance she had grown to approve of Bersford. But the sight of their happiness increased the terrible yearning within her, a yearning that could only be silenced by Dunstan’s love.

  But this day Bersford was busy. He led them up the stairs to the balcony that he had gotten for them. As the two women settled on the chairs he had put there, Emily saw that the street had begun to fill with people. The buildings across the way showed open windows and balconies where ladies waited. She looked toward the river where carved and gilded barges sparkled in the sun. There were certainly enough of them. All the City Companies must have their barges out, as well as those of the Admiralty, the Navy, and the Ordnance Board. Their gay bunting and silken flags provided a festive air. She could also see the launches of the ship Enterprise; and from the distance floated the sounds of martial music, produced no doubt by bands aboard some of the boats.

  Emily felt a certain sense of excitement as she watched the crowds continue to gather. But when she turned to speak to Sarah, her companion and Bersford were engaged in a quiet conversation. Emily turned back to the street. If Bersford could only persuade his parents to consent, she would soon lose her companion.

  Her mind drifted away to thoughts of how pleasant it would be if she and Sarah could be married at the same time. She could see herself at the altar, resplendent in a dress of white satin and Brussels lace, looking up into Dunstan’s face, finally able to let him read her devotion for him, his own face reflecting love for her.