Sadly, I was not favoured with the same, but I had the honour of standing up with Miss Malcolm at several private balls. She graced the public assemblies with her presence only once, and on that occasion, Mrs. Wise also chaperoned Miss Matthews and Miss Williams, presumably at the invalid Mr. Matthews’ behest. Ever since the unorthodox encounter, the three young ladies seem to have formed a close acquaintance, although bar their age, they have little in common. Miss Malcolm has a distinct air of affluence about her. Miss Williams and Miss Matthews do not. All manner of details lend weight to my first impressions. Their respective lodgings. Their attire and jewellery. Miss Malcolm’s elegant carriage. And the very fact that she has no difficulty in receiving a three-page letter, no part of which was crossed. Moreover, she is well-spoken and her conversation suggests an extensive and expensive education. The best the other two can boast of must be a middling seminary for girls. They are pleasant enough, but Miss Malcolm is thoroughly charming. It would do no harm to learn more about her.
* * *
Miss Malcolm’s companion, the elderly Mrs. Wise, is far from aptly named. In response to my cleverly steered conversation, she has most unwisely disclosed some intriguing details about her charge. It seems that Miss Malcolm’s parents are long gone but, much like myself, she has been blessed with a wealthy relation who has been guarding her interests for years. Perhaps Mrs. Wise had sought to ward me off, but the effect was the very opposite. I was already taken with Miss Malcolm’s charming countenance and manner. The fact that she is a confirmed heiress gives her an irresistible allure.
Maybe Mrs. Smith has guessed my intentions or maybe not. It does not concern me either way. There is nothing about Miss Malcolm she could possibly object to. The sole difficulty was that, until three days ago, Mrs. Smith had commandeered too much of my time which could be better spent a-courting. But, blessedly, she has now returned to Allenham and allowed me to excuse myself from the “pleasurable duty” of attending her. Thus, my time can be wholly devoted now to sweeter pursuits.
Come to think of it, if anyone should seem to object to my attentions to Miss Malcolm ’tis Miss Williams. For quite some time now, she has given me to think she would rather have them for herself. I have more than a little sympathy for her, but such is the way of the world. The girl, however fetching in appearance, must see that she cannot prevail over the combined advantages of wealth, charm, style, and beauty. Unless rendered senseless by partiality and blind desire, any man would wish his partner in life to possess all of the above. And if they should compromise, not many would choose looks and charm over a portion. To my good fortune, Miss Malcolm is in every way agreeable and ’tis no hardship to seek to attach her. To give her her due, Miss Williams is more womanly in her appearance, with better curves in all the right places, and has no compunction about occasionally pressing them against me in a dance. I must be cut for sainthood, for despite all this enticing provocation, I do not veer from my course.
* * *
My steadfastness is so richly rewarded that I can scarce believe my luck. That dear angel, Emmeline, as I now have leave to call her, has allowed me to declare myself, and once I have done so, with as much tender eloquence as I possess, she has confessed with adorable shyness to have taken me into her heart within days of our acquaintance. I have every reason to believe we will be very happy. She is all charm and goodness, and I do believe she might have the power to attach me all the more as time goes by.
I have resolved to quit Bath the day after tomorrow to apply for her guardian’s consent and asked my betrothed for his name and directions. And was beset with all imaginable sentiments when she supplied the information I requested. For her guardian is none other than Lord Camborne!
“Dearest? Whatever is the matter?” Emmeline exclaims and takes my hand. We are still secluded in the garden—most unwise in this as well, Mrs. Wise allows us to walk out, not once intruding on our privacy.
I clasp Emmeline’s fingers and bring them to my lips.
“You guessed aright,” I decide to tell her. “I am perturbed because trying times await us. Lord Cambourne will never grant his consent.”
“Goodness! Are you certain?”
“Quite,” I reply laconically, and she eyes me with concern mingled with doubt.
“He disapproves of you?”
Yet again, I decide honesty is in order, at least as far as such facts that a gentleman could decorously share with his future bride.
“Lord Cambourne has never met me. It is his lady who will cast every imaginable obstacle in our path. She will prevail upon him to refuse his consent. We were acquainted once, but we parted on the worst of terms.”
I know not what I was expecting, but when I mention Lady Cambourne, a steely glint appears in Emmeline’s eyes.
“I see,” she says crisply, and I begin to wonder how much a gently-bred young lady could garner from my stilted disclosures. And then she speaks again and confounds me all the more:
“Her Ladyship might command my guardian and melt his will to nothing, but she has no power over me. She contrived and schemed to send me away and I have lost my place in Lord Cambourne’s house on her account, but I will not lose more. I come into my inheritance when I am of age or when I marry—and if I must marry without my uncle’s consent, then so be it!” she declares, and I stare, not quite able to believe she is in earnest.
She is. She leaves me in no misapprehension on the matter, and we lay our plans. At the end of the week, we will set off to Gretna.
* * *
I saunter through Bath to make arrangements, and I feel as though I am walking on air. The sweet girl loves me and will marry me. Not only does she not shun the prospect of an elopement, but she has suggested it herself as the only solution to our predicament. We will wed, Coombe will be safe, thanks to her portion—which, by the bye, is even more considerable than Mrs. Wise has led me to suspect—and I will no longer have to bow and scrape to Mrs. Smith. And last but by no means least, I indulge the unholy but oh-so-delicious satisfaction of picturing Isobel’s face when I return from Gretna a married man, bow over her hand, and call her “aunt.” Ah, the joy to have her see me wedded to her niece, a lady nearly half her age and twice her beauty, and moreover, gentle and honourable too. I grin widely, pleased beyond belief with the whole world and with the sweet and ever so rewarding thing called retribution.
* * *
I do not call upon Emmeline for two days, as agreed. We thought it best so as to avoid arousing her companion’s suspicions. I knock on the door of her Royal Crescent residence on the day before the proposed elopement, also as agreed, to pull the wool over the old lady’s eyes by claiming I was requested to return to Allenham, and I came to bid my adieus.
A new maid admits me into the parlour. Neither Emmeline nor Mrs. Wise are there to greet me. The one who turns around to glare at my entrance is Lady Cambourne. I gasp, or betray my shock in some other manner, for she contemptuously arches a perfectly-shaped brow.
“Surprised, are you?” she drawls.
I scowl.
“What brings you here?”
She shrugs.
“Your pitiful, little ruse, what else?”
I fight the sinking feeling, square my shoulders, and disdainfully glare back.
“Of what are you speaking?”
“You were never very good at games, John, so do not seek to play one now. Did you imagine I would permit the chit to elope with you?”
“What have you done with her?” I ask, incensed, remembering Emmeline’s hints at Isobel’s scheming to deprive her of her uncle’s favour. What further harm has she in her power to inflict with such ammunition?
“Honestly, John! This is Bath, not the Castle of Otranto. Much as I might wish it, the fair maiden has not been sequestered in some ruinous tower—no tower and no dungeon are to be had in the Royal Crescent, more’s the pity. I imagine you would like to see her.”
“Naturally!”
“I doubt the sentiment is mu
tual, but there you are. You may have your wish.”
She rings the bell and gives instructions with a calm that chills me. What devilry has she wrought here? And how does she know our plans? I cannot stop myself from asking the second question.
Isobel gives a dismissive wave.
“From Mrs. Wise, of course. She wrote as soon as she got wind of it. Did you flatter yourself you could hoodwink her? She is deeply devoted to Lord Cambourne and Miss Malcolm and not above spying from a window or listening at doors. She would never have permitted her charge to cast away her brilliant prospects any more than I would permit you to secure her and parade your conquest at my dinner table. I did not imagine you would sink so low as to extract revenge in such a manner. You have been a good scholar, then. I would be rather proud of you had you not used your skills on one belonging to my home.”
I scoff.
“Heavens, Isobel! Your self-absorption knows no bounds. Not everything revolves around you.”
Lady Camborne sneers.
“You will tell me next that she was the only heiress in Bath.”
I shrug, exasperated.
“Believe what you will. ’Tis no concern of mine.”
She stares me down in the most provoking fashion.
“You may think that, if it gives you comfort,” she says as the door opens, admitting my betrothed and Mrs. Wise.
Emmeline spares me not a glance but turns to her companion.
“Pray inform the visitor he is not welcome in this house,” she blandly utters, and I belatedly grasp the reason behind Isobel’s glee. Despite the acrimony between her and her niece by marriage, she has turned the tide against me and I must sink or swim. I bristle. I am not the one who should sink today.
“May we speak in private?” I boldly ask, my eyes on Emmeline alone.
She wavers. Mrs. Wise shakes her head to silently advise her to refuse. Lady Isobel encompasses us in a diverted glance. Emmeline flashes her a scowl. Ah, so despite appearances they are not united against me. I derive some hope from that.
“I will not take too much of your time,” I say, pressing my case, and finally Emmeline gestures towards the music room, then strides forth without a word. I lose no time in following her.
* * *
“Pray remember what you said yourself about her scheming ways,” I urge as soon as I close the door. “Upon my honour, your connection with His Lordship was unknown to me until you mentioned it yourself. You must have noted my surprise. Your aunt’s accusation of duplicity is a falsehood. She lies as she breathes, and she knows nothing but deception.”
“I know what she is,” Emmeline replies coldly. “Which is why I can scarce bear to look upon you now—”
“Em—” I plead, reaching for her hand, but she shrinks back.
“Can you aver that all her claims are nothing but scheming and deception? No, you cannot, I can see it in your face. Three years! Three whole years! How could you? Of all the vile creatures in the world, how could you?”
The intelligence stuns me for a moment. I had never imagined Isobel would go as far as disclosing the full truth about our past. More fool me, it seems. I should have known that she would stop at nothing. I make to speak, ill-judged as the attempt might be, for I know not what to say, but she forestalls me.
“Were you aiming to sit at my uncle’s table, play the part of the dutiful addition to the family, and ask for that dear man’s trust, just as she does, while he remained ignorant of your past connection?”
Righteous indignation flashes in her eyes. I imagine my case would not be served by the revelation that I would have been assured of her aunt’s continued favour and her uncle’s goodwill if I had not severed the connection. Before me, Emmeline balls her small fists at her side.
“Worse still, were you aiming to play the part of the dutiful husband, while she and you shared this disgusting secret? And keep me in the dark forevermore?”
“Not so! I told you—”
“That you were friends once, but you parted ill. But intimacy?”
My temper flares. What do they expect, these romantically-minded misses? That our lives should begin and end with them? That we should live like monks before chance brings us to their door?
“Mere days ago, you said you would not permit Lady Cambourne to take anything else from you,” I tactlessly remind her, and she turns upon me like a fragile fury.
“She already has! My hopes of a happy union—ruined! I cannot even face you—”
“Em—” I plead again and clasp her hand, but she wrenches it away.
“No! Do not touch me! How do you imagine I can bear it when I know she was in your arms first?”
I sigh.
“What can I say, Emmeline? That I was callow? That I was taken in? Does it not suffice to say I deeply regret it?”
“Can you honestly tell me that you will not entertain recollections of her? Her kisses? Her doubtlessly expert caresses? And moreover, can you avow you love me above all?”
“I have no intention of breaking my marriage vows or my faith with you!” I retort, stung. What sort of a rogue does she take me for? And indeed, what sort of a fool, to imagine I would be caught in Isobel’s web again? “You may be assured of my fidelity,” I enunciate. “Especially where Lady Cambourne is concerned.”
But Emmeline scoffs.
“Your fidelity? But what of your heart, Willoughby? What of your heart? Can you assure me that your heart is mine, and that you could not bear a life without me?”
My temper flares again. So, this is not enough, then—affection, fidelity, marriage vows unbroken. Insatiable creatures! How much more do they want? A man’s future would not satisfy them. They must have his past, his every thought, and perchance a pound of flesh besides!
No, I cannot assure her that I would be heartbroken if she rejects me and spend the remainder of my days penning mournful verse like all those pasty poets who are industriously putting all this romantic nonsense in their heads. If I were a practised fortune hunter and seducer, I might have the simpering, glib patter at the ready, waiting to be delivered as and when required without hesitation. But, I am not practised in any of the above. Not even in concealing my exasperation with the demand to own me, body and soul. Emmeline must have detected it with ease, for the plea in her eyes turns into a glare and her countenance grows pinched. Should I fall on one knee and bang my chest about the violence of my affections, or should I keep onto the honest path?
I choose the latter. It does not serve me well. The candid recitation of my sentiments is not deemed sufficiently ardent and has me dismissed from her house and her sight.
“Begone, sir, and practise your tepid seduction on another. Your slyness disgusts me. I do not wish to see you nor hear your name again.”
* * *
I have no discernment, have I? Firstly, I devote three years of my life to a scheming shrew, then very nearly sign away my future to an overindulged miss who demands the moon and prefers smooth lies while honesty disgusts her. I sought to speak sense into Emmeline, but in the face of her unbending prejudice, I lost the will to fight a losing battle. Perhaps this was my greatest sin after all: I drift and easily concede defeat. Or perhaps I have not found something worth fighting for.
Granted, Emmeline’s portion is not to be sneered at—but would it be sufficient compensation for a lifetime of being caught between her and Lady Cambourne? I think not. They would drive me to distraction in a twelvemonth, the pair of them. The very embodiment of the old adage about the devil and the deep, blue sea! The pun inspired by my evil paramour and my former affianced, she of the clear-blue eyes, is lamentable, I know. But I still chuckle ruefully as I pour myself another brandy.
Days go by, and it comes as a great relief to conclude I was not in love with Emmeline after all. I am not heartbroken. I do not wander about dejectedly nor do I feel compelled to flee the place where we walked or talked or danced. Bath still has the power to amuse me, and I am pleasantly diverted in the company
of others. And not long afterwards, when Miss Eliza Williams boldly observes that unlike Miss Malcolm, she would not be dissuaded from following the man she loves, I look her up and down and think to myself, “Whyever not?”
* * *
A month is enough to tire me of Eliza’s charms. Of her conversation, I tired in a se’nnight. A tedious scene will doubtlessly follow when I announce my decision to return to Town. Tears and reproaches. I was treated to the same when I disabused her of the notion that we were headed to Gretna. Nevertheless, she was easily cajoled into better humour and sufficiently well-pleased to continue on our journey. I daresay she was well-pleased with our sojourn in Chippenham for the races and with our little interlude playing the happy couple in a small house in Gloucester.
She must have realised by now that I cannot marry her, yet she is unlikely to be nonchalant about a separation.
* * *
My expectations were confirmed, indeed, exceeded. Apparently, Eliza still entertained the hope that we would eventually marry and made a dreadful scene on my departure with a storm of tears meant to play on every sentiment, from guilt to former stirrings of affection. I do wish she had refrained from seeking to work upon me thus and that we had parted in a more congenial manner. Then we might have met again. I would not have been averse to setting her up in Town under my protection. As it is, I would rather avoid the shackle of a volatile companion with unreasonable expectations, ready to deluge me with further reproaches at the drop of a hat. Naturally, I will do my duty if there are consequences from our indiscretion, but I hope it will not come to that. With any luck, Eliza will not write with the unpalatable news that she is with child. Our liaison has run its course, and ’tis high time for her to cast around for a more permanent association. There must be plenty of tradesmen in Gloucester who will be sufficiently taken with a pretty face to make her an offer and not ask too many questions.
Dangerous to Know Page 4
