*** Chapter 3 ***
Mortified, Emily remained rooted to the spot. Before she could utter a sound or Lady Esmeralda Spivey could say another word, Gabriel was at Emily's side. He offered Emily the support of his arm as he drew her in the midst of the group surrounding Lady Spivey.
“I had no idea you were acquainted with my guest, Lady Spivey." His brown gaze locked on the old lady's faded gray eyes while he squeezed Emily's hand to reassure her. "I, of course, was delighted when Miss Pendleton consented to join us."
“Er...yes, Miss Pendleton is my niece." Fluttering one hand about, Lady Spivey's eyes flew from Gabriel to Emily. “What a naughty gel you are, Emily dear. You never told me you would be here." The old lady's laugh sounded forced and brittle as she turned to the young girl standing next to her. "You remember my goddaughter, Lady Burke-Whites gel, Prudence?" At last able to resort to her vinaigrette, she sank back into the cushions of the gold and cream striped sofa and allowed Lindemann to make the rest of the introductions.
While Lady Raines remained tight-lipped, regarding Emily with a disgusted expression, much to Gabriel's relief the others pretended to take no further notice of the incident. The moment he saw the color drain from his wood nymph's face, he'd put two and two together. Recalling Freddy's recounting of Lady Spivey's niece, Gabriel could easily envision Emily gliding around a foyer to the enchanting strings of a waltz with not a thought to the social consequences. Better than anyone else, he knew the rigid strictures imposed on debutantes of the beau monde would be too confining an atmosphere for one of her spirit.
Gabriel introduced the gentlemen, both friends of Lord Fordyce. Mr. Ellison Trumbell was as fair as Freddy was red and also shared his cousin's penchant for foppish mannerisms. Emily blinked when Mr. Trumbell rose from his bow. Somehow she had missed his brilliant yellow and puce waistcoat under his kelly green jacket and brown breeches.
Mr. Harry Chesterfield was the more dashing of the trio. Though average in looks, his athletic build and crisp neat attire attracted feminine glances. However, the more eligible debutantes of the ton turned elsewhere when looking for a husband since Chesterfield was the fourth son of an earl.
Although grateful for the Viscount's support, what Emily really wanted was to make herself invisible in a corner of the cavernous room. She did just that at the first possible moment. Fortunately, no one paid her the least mind for the rest of the day, which suited her just fine.
After the new arrivals were duly fussed over and settled, it was time to dress for dinner, and Emily still tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible. When she entered the drawing room, dressed in a soft white silk gown with a high-waisted red sash, she caught sight of the Viscount's gaze following her more than once as she gravitated to a corner couch to sit with Miss Tabor.
At the table, Emily was placed between her aunt, who kindly ignored her, and Harry Chesterfield, who kept turning the topic. First it was the theater, next Almack's, then the balls he'd attended. All represented places a young debutante would go during a London Season. Thus, those near to Emily were reminded of her blighted past. Yet, Emily felt sympathy for him when, after the third remove, he gave her a stricken look when he realized his blunder before turning to Deborah Caldwell on his other side. Chesterfield, at least, had meant well, and Emily appreciated his kind efforts.
After dinner, the ladies adjourned to the drawing room to wait on the gentlemen to finish their port and cigars. Sylvia and Deborah ran their nimble fingers across the ivory keys of a pianoforte. Emily took up a post in a wing chair stashed in another corner, her eyes downcast, wishing she'd never agreed to stay the week at the Park. At the swishing sound of a taffeta gown, she looked up into the sympathetic eyes of Miss Taber.
“Do you play, Miss Pendleton?" the young lady asked, taking the matching chair beside Emily. Though of the same age, Jane's gentle and quiet demeanor lent her years of wisdom next to the impulsive Emily.
“No, nor do I sing," replied Emily with a grimace. When Jane giggled at her feigned repugnance over such refined accomplishments, Emily leaned over the arm of her chair and added in a scathing tone, "And my stitches are always crooked and tangled, my water colors run, and my deportment has best been described as that of a bull in a China shop."
“Ah, but has the lady told you, Miss Taber, that she rides as if she were part of the horse, runs through the woods like a doe, and has the disposition of a mischievous elf." The Viscount was standing in front of Emily, a warm smile on his handsome countenance. "May I join you, ladies?"
“I was just about to leave," said Jane, rising from her chair.
“Nonsense. I insist you stay while I discuss a problem," Gabriel replied, pulling up an arm chair. "It is only fair to tell you, Miss Tabor, that Miss Pendleton, delightful creature that she is, needs a keeper."
He said this jokingly with no hint of malicious stricture, and Emily found she could return his smile, not the least bit embarrassed or offended. Playfully, she responded, "And why, my lord, do you think that?"
“Simple deduction, Miss Pendleton. You are not a creature of our world but of nature. Your spirit soars like a bird, you have a heart defined by your caring for others, and the twinkle in your eyes reflect your love of life."
“Damme, Gab, if that don't sound poetic," Freddy Fordyce interjected from where he'd come up behind Lindemann.
Emily, who had been mesmerized by Gabriel's velvety brown eyes, blushed most becomingly over having an audience hear such fulsome complements. Jane, on the other hand, was staring past the handsome Viscount at Lord Fordyce's costume. Resplendent in puce pantaloons, black coat and embroidered waistcoat, Freddy was sporting two black star patches on one plump cheek. With one pudgy finger, he kept dabbing one patch that was falling off.
“Have you no finesse, Freddy?'" growled Gabriel, actually a little embarrassed. He could never remember getting so carried away while playing the flirtatious games of the ton.
Gabriel turned to Miss Taber. “Perhaps you'll keep an eye on Miss Pendleton, Miss Taber, and protect her from society’s dragons?"
Emily's eyes narrowed on Gabriel's smiling countenance. Now she felt offended as well as miffed by his implication that she didn't know how to go about in society. Before she could refute the need of a keeper, Jane reached over and patted her arm. “I would deem it an honor to count Miss Pendleton my friend."
“What a good person you are, Miss Taber," said Emily, touched by the other girl's sincerity.
“Ain't she, though," seconded Freddy just as Lady Raines called the gentlemen to be seated on the settee so they could hear a duet to be played on the pianoforte by Sylvia and Deborah.
The evening progressed more agreeably than Emily would have thought. While the two of them were as different as night and day, Emily found she had a friend in Jane Taber. They chatted and commiserated over London Seasons, Emily's having ended in disgrace and Jane's never materializing because of a lack of funds as well as a sponsor. They laughed over their individual faults, Emily's total lack of female talents, and Jane's atrocious seat on a horse.
When Jane was called to fetch a shawl for Sylvia, Aunt Esmeralda came to sit by Emily.
“I am sorry, my dear, for my earlier lapse. You understand it was quite a severe shock, seeing you here."
“Yes, Aunt Esmeralda."
“I harbor no ill feeling toward you, Emily. Even Lady Addington has forgiven you for destroying her antique porcelain collection. It was just so... so very unfortunate and all."
“Yes, Aunt Esmeralda."
“Oh, I am glad we had this little coze to clear the air. I do feel so much better. And you, my dear?"
“Yes, Aunt Esmeralda,” Emily replied dutifully.
Much later, with her knees drawn up to her chin and her bare feet tucked under the hem of her night dress, Emily sat at the window seat in her bedroom, looking out upon the rear gardens of the Park, deep in thought. A scarce few hours ago she had been dreading the morrow. But now with the Viscount’s unexpec
ted compliment and Miss Taber’s friendship, a bright new day awaited her. She hadn't forgotten her primary reason for being here, either.
Mentally, she formulated plans to watch over her gallant host. She imagined various scenes whereby she'd come upon Lindemann's foe in the very act of attempting to do the Viscount some grievous harm and perform a dramatic rescue. Then, she'd throw herself across his body, taking a bullet--no, the point of a sword. Or she'd be the one who rushed in with a pistol and fired at the killer, who by chance happened to possess the dark looks of Cecil Caldwell, and disarmed him.
After each successful rescue, Emily envisioned Lindemann taking her in his arms and gratefully raining passionate kisses on her. The trouble was, she wasn't sure which she'd wanted most--his gratitude or his kisses.
These images were suddenly extinguished as quick as a candle's flame when a dark figure breezed across the landscaped garden below her window, headed for the stables. Without hesitating, Emily grabbed her robe, wrenched her door open, and raced downstairs to the back of the house. As she let herself out through the library French window, she noted it was unlatched.
Once outside, she cautiously edged her way out to the edge of the terrace, her bare feet soundless on the cold flagstones. Peering about the garden, she thought she detected some movement over by the topiary. Gathering up her gown and robe with one hand, she ran down the steps and began dodging from one sculptured bush to another, hoping whoever it was wouldn't spot her.
Rounding a hedge shaped like a dancing bear, Emily's progress was suddenly halted. She'd run into a human wall.
“Oh!" she cried out, before a hand clamped over her mouth.
“Emily! What the deuce are you doing out here?" whispered Gabriel, removing his hand from her mouth to grab her by the elbows.
“I saw someone from my bedroom window and thought--"
“You thought to get yourself killed, you mean. Are you mad? Hen witted? A pea goose?"
“Ohhh, do stop," she hissed, raising one hand to further still the insults. "You have made your point. But what was I to do? I had a chance to catch your killer."
“I'm not dead yet, my girl," he commented dryly.
“We are dealing in mere semantics if we don't stop the man. This is the perfect chance to catch him in the act of plotting your demise and--"
“I must be mad to listen to you. It's well past midnight, and if we're found out here together with you in your present state of undress," he added, giving her night attire a more than cursory glance, "there'll be the devil to pay."
“Be quiet," she whispered, whirling about to poke her head around the hedge. "Do you hear that?"
Gabriel was incredulous. Had she no conception of the compromising circumstances they faced? But then he heard someone racing across the terrace on the back of the house and quickly leaned over her to take a look.
A man, short and stocky and in loose fitting clothes, rushed across the terrace, toward the far corner of the house. The library door was closing, but it was impossible to determine who was the dark form on the other side of the glass. Within seconds, everything was quiet again. All except the pounding of his heart.
“Did you see him?" asked Emily in hushed tones.
“Shhh." In leaning over to glimpse the running figure, he'd molded his frame to Emily's bent figure, her derriere butted up to his thighs. His senses were reeling as she wiggled to back away from the bush once the man had disappeared around the corner of the house. Her fresh lavender scent assaulted his nostrils. By Jove, with her naiveté, she was going to drive him crazy. It was with a supreme effort of will that he finally straighten up and backed several paces away from her.
“Well, did you?" She brushed past him to gain the cover of the hedge again.
“Yes, and now it's time for you to get back inside." Emily was driving him to distraction. He ought to be chasing after the intruder, but he didn't dare leave her alone. Assuming she were to follow his instructions and go back to the house, someone could be lying in wait and do her harm. "Come on." He grabbed her hand and pulled her down a graveled path toward the house.
“Ouch! Oh please, slow down, my lord."
“Emily, where are your shoes?"
“I didn't have time to put them on."
Damn, he even found her feet fascinating as she stood there hopping on one foot while massaging the other with her hand. The girl possessed bottom, though.
Suddenly, Emily found herself swept off her tender feet and in Gabriel's arms. "Put me down, my lord. I can walk."
“Be quiet, Em. We're almost there. And quit ‘my lording’ me. Call me Gabriel. Or Gab."
Once on the stone terrace, Gabriel put her down, then cautiously crept up to the library door. After peering in, he turned to her. "No one's in the library. Come on."
He reached out his hand to turn the knob and swore. “I don't believe I have heard that one before," remarked Emily rather primly.
“Sorry, Em, but we're faced with a bit of a problem."
When he rattled the door, it was clear that they were locked out.
“So now what are we to do?" she asked, wrapping her arms about her. Without his arms about her, Emily discovered it had turned cold.
“Try the windows I guess."
And they did. And every last window within reach was shut tight.
“We could break a window," Emily suggested at one point.
“Ordinarily I would. But if the servants should come running, how do I explain your presence? A month wouldn't go by before they have us in front of the vicar."
“I could hide in the bushes until it was safe to come out."
“I'm not leaving you here by yourself." His tone was surly, and she decided not to press him any further.
They had come full circle. Emily's feet were freezing, and she clinched her teeth to keep them from chattering. When Gabriel stepped back to better survey the back of the house, she sank down on the flagstone, wrapping her gown and robe closely about her bare toes.
Gabriel was at her side instantly, shrugging out of his jacket and dropping it around her shoulders. "Emily, why didn't you say something before now? I forgot about you not having shoes."
“Oh pooh, I figure we have more important matters to worry about," she said, staring at the house.
But he wasn't attending to her. Following his gaze, she saw the ivy vines clinging to the corner of the house. No window was immediately next to it. But she noticed the stone ledge, perhaps six inches wide, that ran the length of the house. And the first window on the second floor was open.
“My lord—er, Gab?" She didn't have to explain; he knew what she meant.
“I see it."
“If I--"
“Like bloody hell, Em."
“But the ivy will not hold your weight."
“No, but the drain pipe the ivy's hiding will. The vine will only make it easer to hang on."
She saw another problem. "That ledge is made of limestone."
“Yes."
“It is old and will probably crumble under your weight."
He looked at her for a long moment. "Don't even think about it, Emily."
"Now, Gab, don't be pigheaded," she began, then immediately recognized her error. He was giving her the same look Tom and Nick did whenever she used that tone. Another tactic was in order.
She smiled sweetly. "What I mean is--"
“I know exactly what you mean. And you can forget it along with the act. You were right the first time. I am pigheaded."
They glowered at one another for all of a minute before Emily finally shrugged her shoulders. She could see he wasn't going to listen to reason. Besides, she was cold, and the faster they got inside the better. "Suit yourself," she said, "but it will be all the worse for me when I have to explain why your corpse is laid out in the garden."
Gabriel was fascinated, angry too, but fascinated. Never had he met a girl like Emily. He could see she was cold and yet she'd said nothing, realizing the futility of complaining.
And damn, she was right. The pipe would support his weight, but the ledge was another matter. Did he dare chance this adorable girl's life, though? Damn, did they have a choice?
He reached his hand out to help her up. "All right, Emily. We do it your way."
“Great!" she said, taking his hand and bouncing up on her toes.
“Not so fast." He grabbed her arms as she made to fly by him. "We will do this exactly as I say."
She gave him a steady look. She was beginning to realize that the Viscount wasn't like Tom or Nicholas or any other man she’d met before. "What do you mean?"
“You'll come up behind me."
“Behind you? But--"
“And you only get on that ledge if I say so."
“But--"
“That's it, Em." He gave her a lopsided grin. "I won't be responsible for having to explain your crumpled body at the base of the ivy."
"Oh, all right, but do hurry. It is cold out here."
The drain pipe was hidden under the ivy, just where Gabriel said it would be. Within seconds after testing to see if it would hold his weight, he was halfway to the ledge.
“Start climbing, Em," he called down to her in a loud whisper.
Climbing was hardly new to her, though trees were more her specialty. Grabbing her night clothes in one fist, she realized she probably could not have climbed the pipe alone. But Gabriel had forged the way by providing hand holds and support for her feet in the thick ivy, making the going much easier. Her toes, numb from the cold, felt bruised and bloodied, and soon her hands were nearly raw. Emily said nothing to Gabriel and was glad that, once he saw she could make the climb, he'd continued up and was waiting by the ledge. It didn't take her long to see his reasoning for her to follow him up.
Most of her legs were exposed as she worked her way straight up the pipe, hand over hand. At one point the ivy came lose, and half her body swung out, causing her to lose her footing as well.
“Emily"
Emily heard Gabriel but could do nothing. The ivy in her other hand was working loose from the wall. She frantically snatched the ivy for another support, but all she got were handfuls of ivy leaves.
The Hopeless Hoyden Page 4
