Love's Folly

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  “A marvelous expedient, a headache,” he said, relaxing in his chair. “But even better is the simple statement that you are out.”

  “You are quite right,” returned Emily crisply. “But unfortunately, I did not expect unwanted callers and therefore had left no word with Parks. This being the case, he was constrained to announce my visitor.”

  “I see.” For several long moments Dunstan remained silent, his eyes fixed on the fireplace painting.

  In vain Emily waited for some further word of approbation. Couldn’t he at least say well done?

  “Lord Gilcrest informed Parks that he would return tomorrow,” she added and waited.

  His lordship did not resume his upright position. He remained perfectly still, and yet he no longer seemed relaxed. It was some moments, however, before he asked, “And how will you greet him?”

  “I shall be out,” said Emily firmly. “I shall be out whenever Lord Gilcrest calls.”

  Again the viscount did not move, yet she was aware that he was no longer tense. She waited until she could stand it no longer and then asked, “Does that decision meet with your approval, milord?”

  Suddenly Dunstan got to his feet. “It does. And I hope you stick to it.”

  How like him, thought Emily angrily. Even when she did the right thing she was suspect.

  She, too, stood and moved to face him. “It would be truly kind of you, if one day you should give me credit for a little common sense.”

  He stared at her in surprise, as though there were no reason for her anger. “I do not understand.”

  “I should think that under the circumstances you might at least say well done. I was quite taken by surprise when Lord Gilcrest called, yet I had sense enough to come up with an excuse not to see him.” She did not think it necessary to mention Parks’s part in the matter. After all, the decision had been hers. “Knowing your antipathy for the man, I refused to see him. I respected your wishes in every way. I even refuse to see him in the future. Yet do you give me any praise, any indication that you are pleased with my behavior? No. Instead you still eye me with suspicion. It is insupportable!”

  As she spoke, she worked herself into a state of agitation. Of course it was not merely the viscount’s stupidity in this regard that infuriated her, but also his general refusal to see her as the woman she was. But she dared not voice that.

  She stood before him indignantly, her breast rising and falling with the force of her emotion. He eyed her carefully for a moment and then he spoke soberly. “I beg your apology, Miss Penthorne. I have been lax in my behavior. I thank you for pointing it out to me. Certainly one who attempts to guide another into better paths should indicate his pleasure when that guidance is followed.”

  Somehow these were not the words Emily had wished to hear, and she continued to glare at him until suddenly he chuckled and his dark eyes grew warm with laughter. “All right, Emily. Well done, very well done. There, does that please you?”

  She nodded, though the truth was she still felt like hitting him. “That’s better,” she said stiffly. “But it would have been much nicer if I hadn’t had to prompt you.”

  He continued to smile at her. “Come, Emily, relax. You are not following your own advice.”

  This surprised her into asking, “Why, what do you mean?”

  He drew his features into a picture of woe. “I have done what you wanted and yet you continue to treat me as an ingrate.”

  Suddenly Emily burst into laughter. She was quite bewildered by it herself, for only moments ago she had been very angry with him. Yet there was truth in what he had said, a great deal of truth.

  “There now,” he said as she finished laughing. “I’m sure we both feel better. Not only that, we have reached a better understanding.” He took her hand in his. “Have we not, Emily?”

  He was so very close to her; her heart pounded in her throat and her fingers trembled in his. “Have we not?” he repeated, his dark eyes probing hers.

  Emily managed a little smile. “Yes, milord, we have.”

  “Good. In the future we shall deal much better together. You shall see.” With a squeeze he released her hand.

  “Now, I must go. I have an appointment some distance away. Has your new gown arrived yet for Lady Cholmondoley’s ball?”.

  Emily shook her head. “Not yet, milord. I expect it tomorrow.”

  He nodded. “That’s fine. I look forward to seeing it on you that night.” Then he was gone, out the door and down the hall before the import of his words struck. He looked forward to seeing it on her the night of the ball, he had said. That meant that he did not intend to pass judgment on it first.

  She sat down suddenly, a curious weakness in her legs. That meant that he trusted her judgment in choosing the gown. What an important thing that seemed to her. It meant a great deal to be deemed worthy of his trust. Now she might have hope for the future. Some day he might recognize her for the woman she was. The thought sent her heart pounding.

  But the serpent of suspicion stirred in her breast. He had seen the modiste, and told her what was acceptable. He had no reason for concern. He could afford this magnanimous gesture of respect. It cost him nothing.

  All Emily’s elation fled. And why was he dining out? she asked herself bitterly. Would he be with Harriette Wilson and her brilliant incognitas? Or was he somewhere else, in the apartments of that young woman in blue who had so captivated him at Almack’s?

  Emily rose from her chair and moved to the window. She was being ridiculous, she told herself sternly. Every time Dunstan left the house he need not be going to an assignation. Certainly he had other affairs to attend to. Yet he was such a fine figure of a man. At the theater and at Almack’s it had not escaped her notice that more than one woman was taken by the viscount’s dark good looks. He was a man and he knew Harriette Wilson. There remained little more to be said.

  Emily’s joy of a few moments previous turned to ashes as she sighed and went to seek out Parks. Regardless of her anger at Dunstan, she did not wish to see Lord Gilcrest. There was something very disquieting about the man, something more than Dunstan’s dislike, that made her wish to avoid him altogether. She went to inform Parks that in the future she was always to be out to Lord Gilcrest.

  CHAPTER 12

  Finally the evening of Lady Cholmondoley’s ball arrived. Standing before her cheval glass, Emily was filled with excitement. Critically her eyes examined the self-ruching at the neck of her gown. Yes, all was well there. The gown fit perfectly. She ignored the other jewels in her chest and took out the pearls. Tonight she must do nothing to offend him. Tonight must be perfect.

  She had her hair done m a new style—Roman it was called, with the tresses brought together and confined at the back of the head and ending in ringlets. She hoped the viscount would like it. With one last look, she turned away and picked up her cashmere threaded with blue. It would do no good to stand around wondering about his reactions. Far better to go down and discover them.

  As she made her way down the stairs, his lordship came out of the library and stood watching her. She felt the color flood her cheeks, but she continued to descend steadily. He was wearing his corbeau-colored coat with covered buttons, his white marcella waistcoat, and black Florentine silk breeches. Her heart beat faster at the sight of him. Surely every woman at Lady Cholmondoley’s would envy her. And for so little, she thought with a sigh. For no matter what she did, she could never get him to look at her as he had that first time—purely man to woman.

  His eyes moved slowly over her and she fought to keep her composure. If there was something wrong with her gown—or her hair ... She held her breath.

  Then he smiled and gave her a slight bow. “Your dress is quite becoming. You chose well. And you have done your hair a new way.”

  “Yes, milord.” Emily waited. He liked the gown, but what about her hair? Suddenly it seemed important to know. “Do you like it?” she stammered.

  The viscount nodded. “It suits you
admirably.”

  This compliment so took her breath away that she could not think of a reply. Fortunately Sarah appeared at that moment.

  His lordship took Emily’s cashmere from over her arm and placed it carefully around her shoulders. As he did so, his gloved fingers touched the nape of her neck and sent a shiver coursing down her spine.

  She considered her reaction as the carriage moved through the streets of London. Why was it that when he touched her these strange feelings arose m her? Did every woman feel that at the touch of his fingers? There were no answers to these questions, of course, but they served to occupy Emily’s mind until the slow pace of the carriage aroused her. Looking out, she saw that the crush of carriages before Lady Cholmondoley’s mansion was terrible, but eventually the driver maneuvered them into place and the viscount helped the women from the carriage. The links blazing in their wrought-iron holders made the scene bright. Diamonds and other jewels sparkled as lords and ladies hurried up the walk.

  “So many people,” murmured Emily.

  “The top of the ton,” said his lordship with a lazy smile. “London’s best. Lady Cholmondoley always insists on the best,” He cast her a strange look as he said this, and Emily’s heart skipped a beat. Could he be referring to the first time he had seen her in this very house?

  Her heart pounded at the thought, but surely she must be mistaken. Most likely he did not remember that evening at all. She sighed. If only he did, perhaps things would be different.

  They were greeted by Lady Cholmondoley, whose diamonds, if possible, outshone those of her guests, and then they were left alone in the gathering throng.

  Emily, on Dunstan’s arm, tried to see if there was anyone present that she knew. She fully intended to refuse to dance with Lord Gilcrest, just as she had refused to receive him when he called. Hopefully he had not been invited. Nor the Emperor Alexander. She wished never to be bothered with either of them again.

  The orchestra had already begun to play and the intoxicating rhythm of the waltz beat in Emily’s blood. Perhaps Lord Byron was right about it inducing wantonness in young women. Certainly it was a great deal of fun. She turned to Dunstan, but almost as though he knew her thought and intended to forestall her, he disengaged his arm. “I see someone with whom I must speak. I shall return shortly.”

  He left her with Sarah. Emily attempted conversation with her companion, but Sarah was waiting for Bersford’s arrival and her conversation reflected this fact.

  Finally Emily turned her attention to the dancing. And then she saw it! Dunstan was waltzing— with that brazen creature from Almack’s! This time her dress was of palest green and clung to her in a way that spoke most eloquently of damped petticoats.

  Emily’s heart sank. He had abandoned her in order to dance with that terrible creature—and after she had done everything possible to please him. It just wasn’t fair! Her body yearned for a waltz. Even more than that, she yearned to be close to him, to feel his heart beating under her ear and his arms around her. Now he was holding someone else.

  She turned away in disgust. “Come, Sarah, let us look in the other room.” Sarah followed, but her eyes kept straying toward the entrance.

  The card room was more than half filled, mostly with dowagers intent on their games of piquet and loo. There was hardly a youngish woman in the room. They were all in the ballroom enjoying themselves, Emily thought enviously.

  She sighed deeply and turned away again. She was even more conspicuous here than in the ballroom. She would dance with anyone who asked her, she thought somewhat angrily—even with Gilcrest.

  At that moment she heard Sarah’s muted cry of delight and knew that Bersford had arrived. For a few minutes Emily forgot her discomfort in considering how soon she could reasonably expect Uncle Cyril to respond to her letter. Shortly after that, Emily assumed, Sarah would be making wedding plans and she would have to look for a new companion.

  She was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of a male voice and looked up to see a strange, elegantly dressed young man standing before her. It was a moment before recognition dawned. “Cousin Percy?”

  The young man nodded. “And you are Emily.” He shook his head. “What wonders three years’ growth can do for a scrawny girl.”

  Emily grinned. She and Uncle Cyril’s son, Percy, had been childhood companions, but in the last few years had not seen each other.

  Percy took her hand. “Shall we have a waltz for old times’ sake? You have made it to Almack’s, I presume.”

  Emily nodded. “Yes, I may waltz without censure.”

  She felt her spirits rising. She and Percy had always had fun together. Some of it had been almost mischief, in fact.

  “And so,” said Percy, as he guided her expertly around the floor, “you have been making a name for yourself.”

  In her surprise Emily almost missed a step. “I?”

  Percy chuckled. “You’ve got Dunstan for a guardian. Half London’s young ladies and a goodly portion of the older ones are out to snare him. And you’ve got the Emperor Alexander hot on your heels. Really, Coz, that was an excellent idea. To drop your handkerchief right into his hand! And such excellent aim!”

  “Percy, I didn’t! It was an accident, really it was.”

  Percy laughed. “If it really was an accident, Coz, then I counsel you not to say so. Your reputation is already made.”

  Emily sighed. There was no use in telling Percy that she did not want such a reputation. It was clear that he had adopted the values of the worst part of the ton and would not understand her feelings on the matter, let alone those of the viscount.

  The waltz was soon over and Percy returned her to Sarah’s side. From the sort of looks that her companion gave him Emily could see that news of Percy’s reputation had gone before him. Evidently Sarah knew more about him than Emily did. It was obviously not good.

  “I will leave you to the rest of the bucks now,” said Percy with a devilish grin that told her he was quite aware of Sarah’s disapproval. “I must go in search of a little bird I am currently pursuing.”

  Sarah shook her head as he strode away and Emily found herself hoping that the little bird was not an innocent one. Percy’s charm could disarm one to the point where it absolutely befuddled the line between right and wrong—as she had known more than once, and to her regret, when they were children.

  She looked around for a sign of Dunstan, but before she could spot him in the crowd, another man was waiting to dance with her. Emily accepted him with a smile. There was little point in wondering about Dunstan. Here she did not have to compete with Harriette Wilson, since incognitas would not be invited to such a place. But, of course, that brazen creature from Almack’s probably still had him in tow. For the hundredth time Emily wondered who that young woman could be.

  She did not see Dunstan during that dance nor during the several sets of quadrilles that she danced with other partners. But sometime toward the middle of the evening as she was being whirled around the floor, she saw him again. He was waltzing with a small, delicate woman with a tumble of jet black curls and with dark brown eyes under thick lashes. The Princess Lieven. Emily remembered having seen her at Almack’s. A person was apt to remember a patroness; they wielded a great deal of power. Why did Dunstan dance with her? What was she to him? Emily immediately began to torment herself with such wonderings.

  This kind of thinking was absolutely futile, she told herself as the music stopped. It was ridiculous to be so suspicious of Dunstan. At any rate, he had a perfect right to have a woman. The thought gave her cold shivers and she pushed it away.

  As her partner began to lead her back to where Sarah waited, there was a sudden hush in the room. Looking up, Emily saw the reason for it. Alexander the First, Emperor of Russia, had arrived. He stood in the doorway, resplendent in his green velvet uniform, blazing with jeweled orders. He was quite an attractive man, thought Emily dispassionately. But to her he meant nothing, nothing at all.

  She saw th
e Princess Lieven move to meet him and close behind her went Dunstan and that creature from Almack’s. Anger blazed high in Emily’s heart. He was very good at issuing orders to her, she thought bitterly, but he had no care for his own reputation. The woman beside him clung to his arm in a way that to Emily’s shocked eyes seemed openly wanton. He did not even reprimand her.

  Emily turned away. Let Alexander ask her to dance. Oh, she hoped he would. She would say yes. Let Dunstan think about that for a while!

  She accepted invitations to dance from several more men and then she looked up to find Alexander standing before her. “You are quite lovely tonight, Miss Penthorne,” he said, his heavily accented voice carrying to those who stood nearby. “The most beautiful woman in the room.”

  “You are most kind,” said Emily, feeling the color flood her cheeks. If only Dunstan would say things like that to her. How pleased she would be.

  “Will you join me in a waltz?” asked Alexander with a warm smile.

  Emily hesitated. She knew Alexander was dangerous, but what could the man do on a crowded dance floor? And there was Dunstan, with that brazen creature hanging on him, daring to criticize her.

  “Of course, your majesty. I should be honored.” Emily put her hand in his and allowed him to lead her onto the floor.

  As he gathered her into his arms, she felt an instinctive urge to draw back, but she conquered it. She must learn to appreciate the attentions of other men, for it seemed that she would not get those of Dunstan.

  Alexander swept her expertly around the floor and Emily was aware that many eyes were upon them. She certainly hoped that the viscount was getting a good look.

  “So,” said Alexander. “We are the subject of much talk.”

  “We are?” replied Emily softly. “Why?”

  Alexander laughed. “You are very good, Miss Penthorne. How well you play the innocent young miss.”

  “I am innocent,” protested Emily.

  Alexander laughed again. “The world thinks otherwise. The world is quite sure that we have already been, as they say, tête-à-tête”