Emily sighed. There was no use in having such daydreams; Dunstan never saw her as a woman.
The sounds below grew louder and she looked out in the direction from which the dignitaries were supposed to come. “Look, Sarah, I think that’s the emperor coming now.”
As the group grew closer, Emily could make out more of the emperor’s looks. His uniform of bright green velvet marked him as an important person and the decorations blazing on his chest were embedded with diamonds. As the carriage moved slowly through the packed streets, he bowed graciously this way and that.
Beside him in the carriage sat a woman. It was difficult to see her features, especially as she wore a great straw bonnet shaded by a broad pendant feather, but she held herself quite proudly. Emily had heard that the emperor’s sister, Catherine, Duchess of Oldenburgh, was noted for her independence and liveliness of mind, for her sharp tongue and mocking vivacity. She certainly held herself as though she thought she was of high value. She, too, bowed graciously toward the clamoring throng.
Emily rose from her chair and leaned over the balcony to get a better look. Was the emperor really as handsome as everyone said? she wondered. As her hand closed over the railing, it met something wet and slick and she felt the handkerchief slip from her fingers.
At that precise instant the emperor’s carriage passed beneath her and the white cambric square edged with lace floated down right into the hand with which he was saluting the populace. Emily stood rooted to the spot as Alexander stopped the carriage and regarded the slip of material in his hand. Then he turned his eyes up toward the balcony where Emily still stood. Even from that distance she could feel the heat of his eyes as he surveyed her. She knew she should move away from the railing, but somehow she was paralyzed. She simply stood there as Alexander’s gaze held hers for some moments. Then he raised his hand in a gay salute and ordered the carriage on.
Emily did not return his salute and indeed it was some moments before the paralysis left her limbs. She noticed that he turned to one of the dignitaries that rode beside him, as though asking a question. Then she grew conscious that Sarah was beside her. “Emily! Emily! You must come sit down.”
Silently Emily allowed herself to be led back to the chair. She was only now realizing what a horrendous thing she had done in calling the czar’s attention to herself. If Dunstan heard of this ... She shivered. He would surely never believe that the handkerchief had slipped from her fingers accidentally. Nor would anyone else in the ton.
She began to laugh hysterically. How could she have ever planned something so well? To make a handkerchief fall right into the czar’s outstretched hand? No one could do that. Yet everyone would believe that she had.
“Emily.” Sarah was looking at her anxiously. “Emily, whatever is wrong with you?”
Emily shook her head, her laughter turning to hysterical sobs. “Nothing, Sarah, nothing at all. Haven’t I just succeeded in getting the Emperor of Russia’s attention? Won’t that make Dunstan happy?”
She continued to sob until Sarah thrust her own handkerchief into her hand and said sternly, “Emily Penthorne, stop that this minute.”
“Now,” said Bersford as Emily’s sobs quieted. “I must get the two of you home.”
Emily turned woeful eyes to him. “Please, please, don’t tell Dunstan what happened. It was not my fault, truly it wasn’t. The handkerchief slipped. He will be so angry with me, so angry.”
Tears stood out in her eyes as Bersford looked down on her. “I’m sorry, Miss Emily, but I don’t see how I can possibly keep it from him. Someone will spread the word. After all, there are many people around here, many members of the ton. Everyone will whisper about the woman that the emperor stopped to salute.”
“Dear God,” wailed a distraught Emily. “He will never let me out now. Oh, what shall I do?”
Sarah patted her charge on the shoulder. “Come dear, you are making too much of this. The viscount is a reasonable man, isn’t he, Bersford?”
Sarah’s friend nodded, but even to Emily’s tear-blurred vision it was apparent that he didn’t think the viscount’s reaction was going to be good.
“Come, we must be getting back. The crush below has dissipated somewhat. We will go down the stairs to the alley in back. We should be able to get out that way.”
“Come, Emily,” said Sarah. “Dry your eyes now and come along.”
“Yes, Sarah.” Emily managed to stifle the tears, but she could not stop the ache in her heart. He was going to find her conduct indefensible and she knew it.
Dunstan was not in the house on St. James’s Square when the little group arrived there. Emily went straight to her room to wash her tear-streaked face and to compose herself. But, as she sat in the light of the window with her needlework, she could not concentrate on it. She knew he was going to be angry. Her mind was so absorbed with the coming disaster that she pricked herself sharply with the needle and muttered a small oath. The worst of it was that it was so unfair. She hadn’t the least desire in the world to be noticed by some woman-chasing emperor. She only wanted to be noticed by Dunstan.
It was half an hour later when the knock sounded on the door. “Yes?” called Emily, her heart in her mouth.
“It’s me, miss,” said Jeffers, opening the door slightly.
“Yes, Jeffers.”
“His lordship is just home, miss.” Jeffers looked more than a little uncomfortable. “And he wishes to see you in the library, miss. Now.” The way in which the footman pronounced that last word was all the indication Emily needed. Dunstan was certainly very angry.
“I’m going right away,” she said. “Thank you.” She dropped the needlework and was out the door.
She almost tripped on the stairs in her haste not to keep him waiting, but by the time she had reached the library she slowed her steps. The whole thing was so miserably unfair. Well, she told herself, she would just keep calm and tell him the truth, that it was not her fault.
She stepped through the library door. “Milord?”
He turned from where he was looking out the window and scowled at her. She had seen him angry, but never this enraged. “Come in, Miss Penthorne. We have a matter to discuss.”
Emily advanced on trembling legs. “Yes, milord?”
“Please be seated.” The viscount indicated a chair and Emily sank into it, grateful for the support.
“I think that I have been fulfilling my duties as guardian adequately,” he began. “I think that I have not refused you the carriage for any reasonable request. Is that correct?”
“Yes, milord.” Emily forced herself to sit up straight and look undismayed.
“I think that I have bent over backward to be amenable to your wants. And now, now you have rewarded me with the most reprehensible behavior.”
“To what behavior do you allude?” asked Emily, speaking in her grandest manner in order to hide the fear she felt.
“To your behavior near Whitehall Stairs this morning,” he replied curtly. “To behave in such a hoydenish fashion.” He shook his head. “I cannot believe it.”
“I did not do anything,” asserted Emily, quite aware that she was not convincing him.
“Not do anything!” he cried. “You dropped your handkerchief into the hand of the Emperor of Russia. He stopped his carriage to salute you and learn your identity. And you say you did nothing.”
“I did not drop my handkerchief on purpose,” Emily replied, determined not to cry. “It fell from my hand.”
“Most conveniently when Alexander was passing below.” Dunstan looked at her in disbelief.
“Can’t you see?” cried the distraught Emily. “No one could drop a handkerchief so purposely like that and have it land so well. It was pure chance. The railing was wet and slippery and the handkerchief fell from my fingers. That was all.”
From the look on his lordship’s face it was quite apparent that he did not believe her. “Certainly you were not unaware of the emperor’s penchant for an attractiv
e woman.”
Emily’s heart leaped momentarily at the word woman.
“Surely you must expect him to want to discover the identity of the one who had so brazenly brought herself to his attention?”
“I did not bring myself to his attention,” insisted Emily, a spark of anger in her igniting at his obstinance. “Why will you not believe what I say? The handkerchief fell from my hand.”
“And you stood there, returning his look, until he moved on. If it was all an accident, why didn’t you retreat from his sight?”
“I couldn’t.” Emily paused. This explanation was not going well at all. “My legs would not work. I was so startled and surprised by what had happened.”
The viscount frowned fiercely. Obviously he did not believe this either. “Emily, Emily, what am I going to do with you? This kind of behavior is extremely dangerous. To quiz me on, the London Road, that was bad enough. You were fortunate in the fact that the man was me. But Alexander … He has no scruples where women are concerned. Now that he knows your identity, he will seek you out. Then what will you do?”
Emily straightened her shoulders even further. “I am quite capable of taking care of myself,” she said stiffly. “I shall just tell Alexander that the whole thing was a mistake. He should have sense enough to believe me.”
The viscount laughed harshly, the sound grating on her ears. “You are trying to fool me. No man of Alexander’s stature—and looks—would believe such a thing. Why, every woman in the ton is eager to get close to him.”
“Certainly I cannot help that,” replied Emily stiffly. “I am not responsible for the actions of the ton.”
Dunstan eyed her strangely. “You say that you can take care of yourself, but I do not believe it. You are young and innocent. I hope!” He glared at her again. “I warn you, have a care how you behave. This is more important than you think.”
Emily sighed. “I am grateful for your concern,” she said in a voice utterly devoid of gratitude. “But it would be much more acceptable if you had some faith in me. I am not the silly girl you believe me to be.” She drew herself up to her full height. “What happened this morning was an accident—pure and simple. I did nothing wrong. I do not believe an apology is in order. Therefore if you are quite finished, I should like to go to my room for a while. This whole thing has been rather disturbing to me.”
She blinked rapidly to keep back the rising tears. How utterly stupid it was to want to throw herself against his waistcoat and plead for forgiveness.
The viscount returned her look gravely and then shook his head. “I have done all that I can,” he said solemnly. “The rest is up to you.”
“Then,” replied Emily with great dignity, “I assure you that I am quite safe.” With that she turned on her heels and left the room. No longer daring to stay in his presence, she sought the sanctuary of her chamber, where she threw herself onto the bed and sobbed out her anger and her anguish. She loved him. She loved him madly. And the Viscount Dunstan still saw her only as a spoiled, ungrateful chit.
CHAPTER 9
The next several days Emily stayed indoors. She did not want to risk being anywhere near Alexander. In spite of her brave words to Dunstan about being able to care for herself, she was not certain as to how she would handle a meeting with the emperor.
But finally she grew extremely bored and restless, and one evening she approached the viscount with a request for permission to use the carriage to go to Bond Street the following day. After a rather hard look, he granted it.
When Sarah and Emily were on their way to go shopping, Sarah shook her head. “I do not understand you, Emily. First you refuse to leave the house and now you insist on shopping.”
Emily shrugged. “I do not understand myself, Sarah. I only know that I must be doing something.” She paused. “I think we’ll go to the modiste. I need a new gown for Lady Cholmondoley’s ball, and I have not yet replaced the one that Dunstan sent back.”
Sarah sighed. “Just be circumspect about it, will you?”
Emily smiled. “Of course I will. I don’t like to have scenes with the viscount. They just happen.”
Sarah nodded soberly. “I know, dear. Well, we shall do the best we can. What color do you have in mind?”
“Perhaps something in celestial blue,” Emily replied, thinking of how his lordship had said blue was becoming to her.
“You do have a lot of blue,” began Sarah, but at that moment the carriage drew up before Madame Ferre’s establishment.
Emily sprang out quickly and stood waiting for Sarah. Another carriage waited in the street, an open carriage. As she passed it, Emily gasped. “Look, Sarah, it’s lined in blue satin.”
Sarah frowned. “I have heard that such a carriage belongs to Harriette Wilson. We had best get back in our own and move on.”
Emily did not turn back. “Nonsense, Sarah. I merely want to order a new gown. I cannot help it if someone else is there.” Without waiting further, Emily continued into the shop. There was nothing for Sarah to do but follow.
As Emily entered she looked quickly around. A few nondescript women were examining material. A young shop girl fluttered quickly to the fore and greeted them.
“I wish to order a new gown,” said Emily.
“Yes, miss. If you’ll just look around a little, Madame Ferre is busy with another customer. She’ll be with you shortly.”
“Very well,” said Emily. “I will wait.” She busied herself with examining the various bolts of material around the room. She especially liked a pale-blue satin and was rubbing it gently between her thumb and fingers as Sarah stood by when the door to the inner chamber opened.
Emily knew she should not stare. Indeed, she knew she should turn her back to the beautiful Harriette Wilson. But she did not. She ignored Sarah’s pulling at her arm. Here was her chance to see what Harriette Wilson looked like—the Harriette Wilson that she suspected was the cause of Dunstan spending so many evenings away from the house on St. James’s Square.
She found herself looking up just as the celebrated demi-rep passed. Her gown was of coral-sprigged muslin and she wore no jewels. Her rich auburn hair tumbled in the fashionable style and a poke bonnet swung from her gloved hand. Then, suddenly, Emily found herself meeting the infamous woman’s eyes. They held a certain merriment and, as Harriette smiled and inclined her head slightly, Emily did the same.
She heard Sarah’s quick indrawn breath, but she continued to watch as the Queen of Hearts passed out of the shop, saying to Madame Ferre, who hovered at her heels like an anxious puppy, “I shall expect the gowns Tuesday next then.”
“Oui, mademoiselle. They shall come.” The modiste clasped her hands. “You will like. I am certain.”
Then the incognita was gone and Emily looked back to the blue satin in her hand. What had that look in Harriette’s eyes meant? And why had she nodded as she had?
“Mademoiselle,” repeated the anxious little modiste. “You like your gowns? You do not return more?”
Emily, her thoughts pulled back to the present, nodded. “I like the gowns I ordered. The return of the blue muslin was not my wish. My—guardian did not approve it.”
Now why, thought Emily, had she paused like that before the word guardian, as though she wanted to say something else?
The modiste nodded. “The viscount, he was right. I should not have sold you such a gown. It was— was— impudique— immodest. I apologize to the viscount. He say he understand.”
In spite of the viscount’s understanding, Ma-dame Ferre looked anxious. Emily hastened to reassure her. “It’s all right, madame. The other gowns were quite beautiful. I wish to order a new one—for Lady Cholmondoley’s ball.”
“Oui, oui. You like this blue satin?” The modiste looked down at the bolt before them.
Emily considered it. “Yes, show me some patterns. Something that the viscount would approve.”
“Oui, oui, mademoiselle. You will come sit down?”
“Yes.”
Sarah, too, was called in for consultation. “I do like this silk,” she said, but it was obvious that her attention was elsewhere. The meeting with Harriette Wilson had disturbed her.
“Come, Sarah,” said Emily. “Do not go woolgathering now. This gown must be beautiful—and correct.”
Sarah nodded and seemed to make an effort to concentrate on the task at hand.
“I like this neckline,” she said, and Emily agreed. It was certainly high enough to meet the viscount’s approval, yet it would show her throat nicely.
“And I believe the little sleeves with self-ruching. And the same around the neck. Don’t you think so, Sarah?”
Her companion agreed. “And several rows around the skirt, say three or four.”
Madame nodded enthusiastically. “Bon, bon. That is the very thing. Mademoiselle will be parfaite, tres belle. All eyes will be upon her.”
Emily felt the color flooding her cheeks. “We must be sure, madame. The viscount must approve this gown.”
Madame Ferre nodded vigorously. “He will approve. This I know. Certainement. The gown-the other gown he brought back to me himself. He explain what is correct for Mademoiselle. This will be most fine. Magnifique.”
Emily felt a little twinge of elation. Had he cared so much that he had visited the modiste himself? Then suspicion raised its ugly head. She had seen Harriette Wilson in this shop. Perhaps Dunstan’s acquaintance with Madame Ferre’s establishment had begun long before Emily Penthorne became one of her customers.
“Emily.” Emily grew aware that Sarah was repeating her name.
“Yes, Sarah. I’m listening.”
“I believe your blue kid slippers will go with this gown.”
Emily nodded and turned to Madame Ferre. “You will have it ready before Lady Cholmondoley’s ball, won’t you?”
“Oui, oui. Mademoiselle is not to worry. It will be delivered on time. Mademoiselle will be—how you say it—belle of the ball.”
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