Merry Widows 02: Just One Of Those Flings

by Candice Hern

  "Please, Mr. Burnett. Do not add more fire to this scandal with a duel, I beg you. I am in no mood for such foolishness. I have enough troubles."

  "You cannot travel so far all alone, Beatrice." Thayne spoke up for the first time. Naturally, it was to issue orders. "Allow us to escort you, at least."

  "An excellent idea," Wilhelmina said. "I did not like to think of you chasing after those two all by yourself."

  They all conspired against her to add one more element of agony to this nightmare. She was to ride in a carriage for several hours with Gabriel.

  "You must not travel alone with two gentlemen," Grace said in a tone that suggested they were all shockingly remiss in forgetting such a thing. "It would be highly improper. I shall go along with you."

  Dear heaven, it was to be a crowd.

  "Four of us, then," she said, and glanced again at Gabriel. "Let me call for the town coach instead of the chariot."

  "There is no need," Gabriel said. "My own traveling coach is waiting outside, and the horses are fresh. There is more than enough room for all of us."

  Beatrice ought to have guessed he would want to take charge of the situation. But she was in no mood to argue. They had to get to Emily as quickly as possible.

  "All right, then. Thank you, my lord. Grace, let us be off."

  She began to shrug into her pelisse when Gabriel stepped behind her to help her into it.

  "I am sorry," he whispered. "I know you have no desire to be in my company, but let us make a temporary peace for now. You can scratch my eyes out later, after we have plucked Emily to safety."

  "This is all your fault, you know."

  He sighed. "I know."

  "And mine, too. I should never have allowed . . ." She shook her head and walked ahead, leading the way downstairs to his awaiting carriage. The four of them piled in, ladies on the front-facing seat, gentlemen opposite. When the horses took off, Gabriel's knees knocked up against hers.

  It was going to be a long ride.

  "There it is," Jeremy said. "And there is light at the windows. Rochdale is there."

  Thank heaven. It had been a miserable journey, and Beatrice would hate to think it had been for nothing. Hardly a word had been spoken among them during the entire time. It was odd, but even a week ago, Beatrice would have enjoyed it, traveling with three of her favorite people. But there had been no enjoyment on this journey. Only awkward silence

  and the constant shifting of positions so one's knees did not brush up against someone else's.

  But if Emily was inside the house, it would be worth it. Even if they were too late and she had sacrificed her virtue for revenge, there was still the possibility of salvaging the situation, of keeping it secret. Unless Jeremy insisted on putting a bullet in Rochdale. There would be no keeping that secret. She must not allow such a thing to happen.

  The carriage came to a halt in front of a tidy little Palladian building of five window bays and two stories above the ground floor. The moonlight—for it had grown dark by the time they arrived—illuminated the house so that it gleamed white, seeming to glow in the darkness of the parkland surrounding it. Candlelight filled the windows of the ground and first floors, though the second floor was completely dark. As the bedchambers would be on that level, Beatrice took some comfort that they appeared not to be occupied. Yet.

  The gentlemen stepped down from the carriage and turned to help the ladies out. She allowed Grace to exit first with the aid of Jeremy's hand. Gabriel reached out a hand for Beatrice and helped her down. She did not, however, relinquish his hand but pulled him close. He arched a brow.

  "Please, Gabriel, whatever we find inside, do not allow Mr. Burnett to do anything rash. The last thing we need is a duel. Do what you can to stop it."

  "Do not worry. I will keep him reined in. He's feeling hotheaded at the moment, but he is not a violent man. I won't let him shoot Rochdale, I promise."

  "Thank you, Gabriel."

  "I cannot promise, however, to stop him from blackening the man's eyes if he wants."

  Jeremy had rushed ahead and reached the entrance before the rest of them. The door opened as they approached, and Lord Rochdale himself stood there, leaning negligently against the jamb, a glass of wine in his hand. He was a handsome man with almost black hair that was worn too long and curled about his collar. Blue eyes were set off by dark lashes and eyebrows and always seemed to have a somnolent look about them. Some women called such eyes "bedroom eyes." Beatrice prayed Emily had not come to learn what that meant.

  "What have we here?" he said in a lazy drawl. "A party? Lady Somerfield and the lovely Mrs. Marlowe. My, my, what a delightful surprise. Thayne and Burnett, too. How charming that you have come all the way to Twickenham to pay a call on me. Will there be more of you? Is there another carriage close behind?"

  "Where is she?" Jeremy used the advantage of his height to loom over Lord Rochdale, who did not appear the least fazed.

  Beatrice stepped forward and Jeremy was forced to move aside. "I have reason to believe my niece is here with you, Lord Rochdale. Is that true?"

  "Perhaps you should come inside," he said. "You will find her in the Great Room. Top of the stairs to your right."

  As she headed up the stairs, Beatrice heard Jeremy mutter something that sounded distinctly like a growl.

  "Not to worry, old chap," she heard Rochdale say. "She is safe as milk here."

  Beatrice prayed he was telling the truth as she hurried upstairs. Grace followed softly behind her. She stopped Beatrice with a touch to her arm as they arrived on the first-floor landing.

  "I shall wait out here," she said, and indicated a stone bench beneath a window. You will want a few moments of privacy with Emily."

  Beatrice took Grace's hand and squeezed it. "Thank you, Grace. For everything. Especially that uncomfortable journey. I believe you were the only one of us not steaming about something. How horrid to have forced such a trip on you."

  "It was not as bad as all that," Grace said. "I had time to contemplate the bishop's sermons that I have been editing. Now, go on in and make sure that all is well with your niece."

  She found Emily curled up in an enormous leather wing chair in front of a cozy fire. She had not heard Beatrice enter. It appeared she was dozing.

  "Emily."

  The girl gave a start and sat up straight. "Aunt Beatrice!" Her face flushed pink and she looked contrite and uncertain.

  Beatrice held out her arms. Without a moment's hesitation, Emily leaped from the chair and flung herself into her aunt's embrace. Beatrice gathered the girl in her arms and held her close.

  "I'm s-so s-sorry, Aunt Beatrice. So very s-sorry."

  "Just tell me that you are unharmed, my dear. Has he touched you?"

  "No. I m-mean, sort of, but n-not really. He kissed me, that is all. But he s-said there was more to come later and it fr-frightened me, the w-way he looked at me. But he hasn't touched me again, only talked to me, and I kept w-waiting and w-worrying about wh-whatever it was that was supposed to c-come later. But nothing else happened, I pr-promise you. He only kept giving me food and watching out the w-window. I think I became drowsy and must have fallen asleep. I did not hear you come at all. Where is he now, Lord Rochdale?"

  Beatrice had been rubbing the girl's back as she sobbed and hiccuped through her story, but now she pulled away and reached into her reticule. She dug out a handkerchief and wiped Emily's face. "Lord Rochdale is downstairs with Lord Thayne and Mr. Burnett."

  "Jeremy is here? Oh, how perfectly mortifying. What is he doing here? How did he know I'd run off?"

  Beatrice handed the handkerchief to Emily, who blew her nose daintily and dabbed at her eyes. Somehow the girl managed to be beautiful even when she cried.

  "I am afraid you must blame Charlotte for Mr. Burnett. The little minx sent him a note implying that Rochdale had abducted you and that you needed rescuing. He came in order to be your knight in shining armor, my dear, to save you from the evil dragon."

&
nbsp; Emily looked up at her sheepishly. "I was not abducted."

  "I know. This was your revenge on your mother and me, wasn't it?"

  She nodded her head. "I thought I would ruin myself to show you how it felt to be publicly humiliated. But then I got scared. It was a stupid thing to do."

  "Yes, it was. And allow me to tell you something, my girl. I know precisely how it feels to be publicly humiliated, so do not presume to teach me that lesson."

  Emily dropped her eyes and blushed. "You are right. I'm sorry, Aunt Beatrice."

  "As for your mother, you will not be teaching her any lessons, either, for she will not hear of this little episode if I have anything to say about it. Only imagine what sort of scene she would enact with Lord Rochdale, forcing him to marry you. Is that what you want? To marry Lord Rochdale?"

  "No! He ... he frightens me. I would not like to be married to him, not at all."

  "Then, for God's sake, be sure your mother never learns of this. If she was willing to marry you to a man she believes to keep a slave girl for his pleasure, then she would have no compunction about forcing you on a gambler and a libertine. We must keep this a secret. Do you understand me, Emily?"

  "Yes, ma'am. If I ever choose to speak to Mama again, it will not be about Lord Rochdale. I promise."

  "Good girl. Lord Thayne and Mr. Burnett are certainly to be trusted. And I believe those gentlemen will ensure Lord Rochdale's silence." She hoped there would be no duel, was confident that Gabriel would not allow it; however, she also knew both gentlemen would make his lordship's life a misery if he ever spoke of this misadventure.

  "You have had a fortunate escape this time, my girl. Many men would not have hesitated to take your virtue in such a situation. I hope you have learned your lesson."

  "Yes, ma'am, I have indeed. I am very sorry for all the trouble I put you to."

  "All that matters is that you are safe." Beatrice touched Emily's cheek gently. "And we can only hope that your Mr. Burnett is not putting a bullet into Rochdale at this moment. That is why he came, you know. To challenge the man to a duel for daring to touch you."

  Emily's eyes nearly popped from her head, they crew so wide. "A duel? Good heavens, are they shooting at each other? My God, what if Jeremy— Mr. Burnett, I mean—is killed?"

  "Would it matter to you?"

  "Of course it would! I do not want him to die. Epecially for something that is my fault."

  "He is in love with you, you know."

  "I know."

  "He is a very charming young man, Emily. You could do much worse. Although, of course, your mama would say you could do much better."

  "I do not care what Mama says. Can we go now and make sure poor Jeremy is not lying dead somewhere?"

  "I could wring your pretty neck, my girl."

  Emily walked with Jeremy in the moonlight while Grace and Aunt Beatrice saw to Lord Rochdale's cuts and bruises. There had been no duel, thank heaven, but Jeremy had apparently planted Lord Rochdale a facer, or two. He had done it for her, and though she did not like to think of him fighting, she felt a rush of pride that he had felt compelled to defend her honor.

  "I know," she said. "It was a foolhardy thing to do and I have apologized to Aunt Beatrice."

  "She was worried to death, you know. So was I. You are far too innocent to understand what a man like that would do to you. I thank God you are still innocent of that knowledge. Tell me, Emily, why did you do it?"

  She shrugged. It had seemed so logical when she had planned it, but appeared so unutterably stupid now. "I know it sounds silly, but I wanted to punish Mama and Aunt Beatrice for humiliating me in public. Oh, don't roll your eyes at me—I told you it was silly."

  "Worse than silly. How does it punish your aunt and mother to ruin your own life, I'd like to know? It would hurt you more than them."

  "I thought it would make them feel bad. I know it was stupid, but I was mortified to learn about Aunt Beatrice and Lord Thayne. It was so embarrassing. I had wanted him for myself, you know, and to learn that he and my aunt were . . . well, I was mortified."

  "Your aunt did a very courageous thing by coming forward like that and admitting she and Thayne were lovers. She could have kept quiet, but she did it to save your reputation, my girl. You ought to have thanked her rather than try to punish her."

  "Oh. I suppose you're right. I never thought of it that way. But don't you find it a bit embarrassing? I mean, she's so old."

  "She is not so old, and she is a beautiful woman. Besides, Thayne loves her to distraction."

  "He does?"

  "He wants to marry her."

  "But she has refused. I heard them argue about it."

  "I hope she will come around eventually. Otherwise Thayne will be miserable and will make everyone around him miserable in the bargain. Besides, I have known him for years and never knew him to fall in love. I would like to see him happy. He deserves it. He saved my skin more than once in India."

  "He did? How?"

  "I owe him my life. I got caught up in a rebellion in the Punjab at one time, and sat for two hours with a dagger at my throat while Thayne negotiated with the fellow holding it. And he negotiated for more than my hide. Thayne worked like the very devil to ensure Bonaparte did not get a foothold in India, as he had been trying to do. Lord Minto, the governor-general, depended upon his skill with the languages and his diplomacy. Not to mention his courage. Well, I shall not bore you with my eternal admiration for Thayne. Suffice it to say that I hope your aunt will change her mind and make him happy."

  It was strange, but listening to all the important things Lord Thayne had already done with his life made him seem older and wiser and somehow better suited to a woman like Aunt Beatrice than to a younger woman like herself. Or Lady Emmeline Standish. Such a man would not want a frivolous girl for a wife. And Emily knew that girls her own age could be terribly frivolous. Only look at what she had just done. No, Lord Thayne was much better off with Aunt Beatrice, even if she was a bit older than him. She really ought to marry him.

  "She can be very stubborn," Emily said.

  "So can he. My point, though, is that you should not be so quick to condemn your aunt for having an affair. Or to punish her for it. She is a widow, a mature woman, and can do as she pleases. And she loves you. Look how she came charging after you when you bolted."

  "So did you."

  "And for similar reasons."

  "Would you really have killed Lord Rochdale if he'd . . . well, you know?"

  "I would have tried. The thought of you with that man set my blood to boiling. Thank God he did not harm you."

  "He did kiss me."

  "Did he, by God? And did you enjoy it?"

  "I was too busy being frightened to enjoy it."

  "Are you frightened of me, Emily?"

  "Only when you start talking about killing people. But no, you do not frighten me."

  "So, if I kissed you, do you think you might pay attention enough to enjoy it?"

  "I might."

  "Let's see if you can."

  He lifted her face in his hands and dipped his head until his lips very gently touched hers. They were surprisingly soft, and cool from the night air. It felt very nice. More than nice. She felt a little tingle skitter down her back, and her skin turned to gooseflesh.

  He lifted his head and stared down into her eyes. And all at once, like the sun breaking over the dawn horizon, a smile spread across his face and lit his eyes.

  "So?" he asked.

  "I liked it," she said sheepishly.

  "Good. Let's try one more time."

  And they did. And she liked it even more.

  Afterward, they strolled back toward the house with their arms around each other.

  "Jeremy?"

  "Hm?"

  "Would you really love me if I weren't beautiful?"

  "Yes. It pleases me that you are so pretty to look at, but I love what's inside even more."

  "I thought of you a lot after that horrid ball.
"

  "Did you? You were very cool to me when I called on you."

  "I know. I didn't want to face you."

  "Why?"

  "Because you were right. About how my beauty would not bring me happiness. I was still pretty, but my reputation was in shambles, thanks to Mama. And it was then that I realized you were right. That in the end, beauty does not matter. Character is more important."