Georgina Devon

by The Rakes Redemption

  Reluctantly, Amy rose. ‘Yes, that would be nice.’

  Emma knew Amy’s smile was false and heard the displeasure in her sister’s voice. She hoped Mr Kennilworth did not. She said a silent prayer that things went well as she watched the pair leave.

  ‘Miss Stockton, please join me.’ There was an underlying tone of command in Mrs Kennilworth’s voice as she patted the seat Amy had just vacated.

  Emma moved, wondering what had brought about this order before deciding it was a way to ensure Amy and Mr Kennilworth sat together when they returned. The Dowager was definitely a matchmaker. Emma smoothed her skirt over her knees and turned an enquiring look on the older woman.

  ‘I wish to be perfectly open with you, Miss Stockton.’ Her tone was prim and bordered on censuring.

  Emma hoped her countenance showed none of the unease she began to feel. In her experience when someone wanted to be perfectly open, things were not going well. She shouldn’t be surprised. No mother wanted her son to marry into the ramshackle family the Stocktons were becoming.

  ‘Please be so, ma’am.’

  ‘Good. I have watched you closely and know you are a sensible young woman, and had hoped Stephen would fix his interest on you. But he has not.’

  Emma blushed even as relief filled her. While she would have accepted Mr Kennilworth’s courting had he been interested, she found herself unsettlingly glad that he was not. She did not want to look deep enough to find out why that was.

  ‘I am flattered,’ she managed to say in a stilted voice.

  ‘Yes, I thought you would be.’ The Dowager’s tone was smug. ‘But it is not to be. He is interested in your sister, who has shown herself to be flighty and…perhaps, too high-spirited at times. Particularly in her dealings with Mr Charles Hawthorne. I do understand this is her first Season and she is young, and he is a handsome rogue.’ She smiled, but it was tight. ‘I consider myself to be very free-minded in that regard. Once she and Stephen are married, Miss Amy will settle down.’

  Relief mingled with unease as Emma listened. Much as they needed Amy to marry well, she would not wish this dragon on anyone, least of all high-spirited Amy. But unless Amy said she absolutely, under no circumstances could tolerate marriage to Mr Kennilworth, it seemed their problems were about to end.

  Mrs Kennilworth cleared her throat and stared pointedly at Emma. ‘It is your brother who concerns me.’

  Emma’s shoulders tightened but she managed to remain smiling even though she had a good idea of where this conversation was headed. ‘Bertram is here to lend us countenance.’

  ‘Harrumph! Then he had best curb his proclivities.’ A hint of acerbity entered the Dowager’s tone. ‘Particularly if the rumours I hear have any truth in them.’

  Emma’s smile slipped. This was not the time or place she would have picked to discuss Bertram’s gambling. ‘I am afraid I don’t know what rumours you are referring to, ma’am.’

  Mrs Kennilworth’s blue eyes narrowed as she took a long minute to study Emma’s face. ‘Perhaps you don’t. But I must tell you, as they pertain directly to Stephen’s reason for inviting you and your lovely sister to join us tonight.’

  Emma wanted to look away from the other woman’s pointed gaze, but refused to do so. She was not a coward. She might be discomfited, but that would be nothing new.

  ‘Please do tell me.’ She was proud her voice didn’t waver. She made a conscious effort to unclench her fingers where they held her reticule in a death grip.

  ‘It seems your brother has lost a great sum of money.’

  Emma blanched. Still more losses. This was her worst nightmare and Bertram hadn’t been brave enough or concerned enough to tell her. She had to learn it from this odious woman. The large opera house suddenly seemed cold in spite of all the lit candles and hot bodies that crowded every box and every corner.

  ‘Bertram only arrived last week. Surely the rumours are exaggerated. He is here to lend us countenance.’ She laughed lightly, trying to make a jest of it, to include the other woman in her amusement. ‘It seems Father thought I was not old enough to be a proper chaperone.’

  ‘You are a very mature young woman, and I have no complaint about your ability as a chaperone. But I do wonder at your father’s judgement in sending a young man known for his gambling weakness to Town.’ She paused, her gaze boring into Emma. ‘Because, I assure you, the rumours are true. Stephen was there.’

  Emma’s stomach clenched and she wished more than anything she could stop Mrs Kennilworth from saying more. She couldn’t call Mrs Kennilworth a liar. That would be beyond the pale, and the woman was likely correct. Emma’s worst fears about Bertram’s visit had happened.

  ‘Bertram has many fine qualities,’ she finally managed to say, determined to defend her wayward brother.

  ‘I am sure he does. But his penchant for losing money, while similar to many in the ton, is a handicap for a family such as yours.’

  Emma’s hands clenched automatically at the criticism. She might berate Bertram, but it was not this woman’s place to disparage him—even if Mrs Kennilworth was right.

  She pasted a cold smile on her face. ‘I can see you think so, ma’am, but Bertram only does what many others do. Nor can I believe it is of import to you.’

  The Dowager sniffed. ‘Then you aren’t the intelligent young woman I had thought since I told you from the first that my son is honourably interested in Miss Amy.’ Under her breath, she added, ‘Perhaps it is better that Stephen is interested in your flighty sister.’

  Emma’s nails bit into her palms. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Since Stephen is considering asking for your sister’s hand, I feel it is my duty as his mother to look out for his best interest.’ She sniffed and her expression took on a look of love and pride. ‘While we are very well off financially, Stephen—and very few men for that matter—should not be burdened with the amount of debt your brother has incurred during his stay in London. I wanted to make you aware of this. I am sure you understand.’

  Emma stared at the woman, wondering at her audacity in discussing this situation at all, let alone in a public place. She wanted to tell the Dowager not to bother but knew she had to keep her expression and voice cordial even though anger simmered through her.

  ‘I am not ready to discuss this here or at all, Mrs Kennilworth. It seems to me, Mr Kennilworth should talk with my father.’

  The words were close to a verbal slap and shock narrowed the older woman’s eyes. Emma knew she had cut too close to the bone for this woman who wanted to meddle freely while trying to make her interference appear as helping.

  A knock on the door to the box came as a relief. Emma did not want to know what Mrs Kennilworth would say or do next. She only hoped their visitor had not heard any part of the discussion.

  Mrs Kennilworth angled in her chair to see who was there and turned a bright shade of puce. ‘Mr Hawthorne. Do come in.’

  Emma’s stomach seemed to drop to the floor. Resisting the urge to turn and look at him, she kept her face pointed toward the stage and wondered why she felt so glad to have him here. It was because she did not want to hear another word about Bertram. Nothing.

  ‘Mrs Kennilworth, how pleasant to see you here tonight.’

  His rich voice flowed over Emma and his presence felt like a hot coal at her back. Perhaps she would look at him. What could it hurt? Not to do so would be rude. She turned to him and immediately felt heat rise in her face.

  He was impeccably dressed. His Corinthian style suited the lean, muscular lines of his body. His black hair shone from the many candles, and his blue eyes looked almost as dark as jet and just as sharp. She licked dry lips.

  ‘And you, Miss Stockton.’

  He bowed to both of them. Emma managed to keep the smile on her face. To her right, she noticed the Dowager flick open her fan and start rapidly cooling herself. The other woman’s reaction was exactly what Emma needed to realise how silly they both were. Charles Hawthorne was a very attractive man
, but he was just a man.

  ‘Mr Hawthorne, how nice of you to visit,’ she paraphrased Mrs Kennilworth.

  He gave them a wicked grin. ‘It seemed the two of you were having a cosy chat, and I thought I might join.’

  Emma kept the smile on her face and wondered exactly what he meant. The man was a cipher.

  Mrs Kennilworth coughed. ‘We were discussing matters that need to be resolved, but nothing that can’t be settled later. Please have a seat.’

  Instead of sitting, he gave her a brilliant smile—the one he had used to good effect on Lady Jersey and the Princess Lieven. Mrs Kennilworth was no more immune than the previous two. She simpered at him.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am, but I find myself hoping Miss Stockton will stroll with me during the intermission.’ He turned to her, his expression devilish. ‘Miss Stockton?’

  Emma’s heart skipped a beat before speeding up. ‘Yes, thank you.’

  She rose, telling herself she accepted only to escape the Dowager and the mortifying conversation the woman insisted they have. After the trouble Mr Hawthorne had caused between her and Amy, she was not interested in the man.

  He extended his arm. ‘They are roasting chestnuts just outside the entrance.’

  She hesitated a second before setting her fingers on him, afraid of what her reaction would be. Her touch was light and his evening coat was thick, yet she felt as though his skin scorched her. The breath caught in her throat as though a searing wind swept over her.

  It took great difficulty to speak. ‘I like chestnuts.’

  He smiled down at her and the world ceased to exist. ‘I thought you might.’

  Vaguely, Emma heard Mrs Kennilworth clear her throat. ‘I trust you will return shortly, Miss Stockton.’

  Somehow Emma managed to take her gaze from Mr Hawthorne’s face. ‘Of course, Mrs Kennilworth.’

  The older woman moved her fan rapidly, her bright blue eyes moving from Emma to Charles and back again as though she weren’t quite sure what she saw and had to study the situation carefully. A shiver of unease rolled over Emma’s shoulders. The last thing she needed after her siblings’ antics was to have rumours start about her. It was bad enough the two women at Princess Lieven’s had talked about her and Charles Hawthorne.

  Yet, she wanted to go with him, if only to escape the Dowager and their private conversation. She began to realise how perverse she was.

  He swept her from the box and into the crowd of people milling about in the aisle and in the foyer. Heads turned and eyebrows rose. She kept her attention straight ahead.

  ‘Another Hawthorne after being jilted by the older one?’ she heard a man mutter in an aside to the woman beside him. Mortification flooded Emma’s cheeks at the reference to her broken engagement to Charles’s brother. She lifted her chin and continued walking without looking to see who had spoken.

  Charles stopped. ‘Ah, Mandeville. I see you are socialising after your long sequester in the country.’

  The man turned brick-red. ‘Escortin’ m’ sister.’

  ‘Yes, I believe I understand.’

  Emma listened to Charles’s condescending voice and wondered if the other man realised he was being mocked. The dark glitter in Mandeville’s eyes told her he did.

  ‘May I introduce Miss Stockton?’ Charles asked. ‘This is Mr Mandeville.’

  Emma made a small curtsey as the man made a slight bow. ‘How do you do.’

  He studied her. ‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Stockton.’

  She forced a smile to brittle lips. This night seemed to go from bad to worse.

  ‘We are looking for her sister, Miss Amy Stockton,’ Charles added, his tone bored and piqued at once, as though they were truly looking for her sister.

  ‘She is with Mr Kennilworth,’ Emma supplied.

  ‘Saw him with her just minutes ago,’ the woman beside Mandeville said, humour lacing her words.

  The voice was familiar and Emma looked at the woman for the first time. Harriette Wilson, with a glitter in her dark eyes that said she was enjoying the situation immensely. Definitely not Mandeville’s sister.

  ‘Miss Wilson.’ Emma acknowledged their prior introduction, knowing she should have ignored the woman, but unwilling to do so.

  ‘Miss Stockton,’ the courtesan responded.

  ‘You know one another?’ Mandeville’s tone was intrigued and slightly scandalised.

  ‘We have met.’ Emma felt nothing but contempt for the man and it showed in her voice.

  ‘Interesting,’ Mandeville said.

  ‘No more so than your being in her company, Mr Mandeville.’ Emma narrowed her eyes. ‘At least I have the courage to acknowledge my acquaintance.’

  For the second time in the encounter Mandeville turned an ugly shade of red, but said nothing. Satisfaction surged through Emma even as she wondered at her own audacity to speak so to a man she didn’t know. She was never this bold in defending herself. Her brother and sister, yes, but not herself.

  Mandeville had tried to shame her and to her regret she had been ready to let him. Now, seeing how he treated the woman at his side, she wondered that she could have walked by without confronting him for his insult. She owed Charles Hawthorne for doing the brave thing and forcing her to follow his lead.

  Emma wanted to turn her back on him and finish her response with the cut direct, but knew better than to add fuel to the gossip she was sure he would start. Harriette Wilson’s face mirrored Emma’s thoughts.

  ‘Mandeville,’ the courtesan said tartly, ‘Miss Stockton is too much of a lady for you to say anything snide about her.’

  He snickered. ‘I don’t have to say a thing. Everyone who is watching us will say more than enough.’

  Emma glanced around to confirm what he said. Not many people looked at them, but the speculative or scandalised expressions on the ones who did told her more than enough. When the curtain went up on the next act, the topic of conversation wouldn’t be the opera.

  Still more to lay at Charles Hawthorne’s door. She was appreciative that the man had insulted Mandeville for his slight to her, but that was outweighed by the continuing difficulties he caused.

  She smiled at HarrietteWilson and ignored her companion. ‘I believe I must continue looking for my sister. Excuse us.’

  Charles shifted to allow her to move toward the entrance. She moved forward briskly.

  ‘You said nothing,’ she accused him.

  ‘I didn’t need to, Miss Stockton. You and Harriette were doing a much better job than I could have ever done.’

  ‘Ha!’ She smiled at his compliment in spite of herself. ‘Being linked with the most famous courtesan in England will not do wonders for my reputation.’

  ‘Then you should have ignored her presence.’ His face was solemn as he maneuvered her through a small group of people near the entry doors. ‘Wait here. I will be just a moment getting the chestnuts.’

  She watched him go while his words rang in her mind. Why hadn’t she pretended the other woman wasn’t there? Everyone she knew would have.

  He returned with a paper cone filled with the hot nuts and held it out to her. ‘Have one.’

  Still pondering her reaction, she took a chestnut, peeled and nibbled. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Here you are!’ Amy’s voice was an accusation. She stopped beside Charles but looked at Emma. ‘I thought you and Mrs Kennilworth were staying in the box.’

  Mr Kennilworth stood beside her, looking bewildered and disapproving at the same time. Emma pitied him, having often felt that way around her sister.

  ‘Mrs Kennilworth and I were talking when Mr Hawthorne joined us, Amy.’

  Charles smiled devilishly at Amy. ‘Miss Amy, it is my fault. I wanted to get hot roasted chestnuts and wanted company.’ He held out the cone, his eyes telling her to help herself to what he offered.

  Emma wanted to yank the chestnuts from him, her pleasure in the treat gone. How dare he continue to provoke reactions from Amy that were unacceptable in a gi
rl her age.

  ‘Why, thank you, Mr Hawthorne.’ Amy batted her blond eyelashes and took a nut.

  Charles offered the nuts to Mr Kennilworth. His expression was bland now. Against her will, Emma admired his social proficiency.

  ‘No thank you, Mr Hawthorne.’ Stephen Kennilworth looked as though the last thing he wanted was something from the infamous rake. ‘I believe it is time Miss Amy and I returned to my mother.’ He turned to Emma. ‘Will you join us, Miss Stockton?’

  Emma knew the polite question was more of an order to join them. In Mr Kennilworth’s world, single ladies did not stay with men of Charles Hawthorne’s stamp. Just as respectable ladies didn’t know or acknowledge courtesans. She thought she would stay with Mr Hawthorne out of pique if nothing else.

  One black brow lifted as Charles watched her. ‘I must be leaving.’ His amused voice held the hint of an emotion Emma couldn’t identify. ‘My party awaits me.’

  Disappointment lay heavily in Emma’s stomach even as she admitted to herself that he had saved her from making still another bad decision. By all rights she should return with Mr Kennilworth.

  They said their goodbyes, Amy doing nothing to hide her disappointment. ‘Do call tomorrow, Mr Hawthorne,’ she said sweetly, ignoring Emma’s frown.

  Charles Hawthorne darted an amused glance at Emma. ‘I fear I am busy tomorrow, Miss Amy. Perhaps the day after?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please do.’

  Amy beamed and Emma wanted to scream.

  Hours later, Emma watched Amy take her leave of Mr Kennilworth and his mama.

  ‘Thank you, sir and ma’am.’ Amy smiled, her rosebud mouth barely curved. ‘I enjoyed the opera immensely.’

  Mr Kennilworth beamed. ‘I am so glad, Miss Amy. Perhaps tomorrow—’

  ‘I believe we are busy tomorrow, Stephen,’ Mrs Kennilworth cut across her son. ‘Good evening, Miss Stockton. Miss Amy.’ She nodded regally.

  Emma smiled and followed Amy from the carriage, thankful the horrible evening was over. Things could not have been worse. Mr Kennilworth had been the only one talking after they returned to the box. Mrs Kennilworth had looked as though she wished nothing more than to boot the Stockton women from her presence. And on the way home, Amy had been marginally polite and shooting arrows at Emma.