“Will!” Anne protested, fearful that he would encourage her spirited friend into trouble, which was all too likely in any case, given Emma’s temperament. With a close and solid family behind her Anne had planned to include her friend in that very respectable circle, to counteract any stigma that might attach to her for being under Lady Bradwell’s chaperonage. Though her ladyship was not denied entry anywhere, her reputation was not entirely intact, since she served as the subject of gossip from one year’s end to the next. Anne knew that her own mother found Lady Bradwell a delightful enigma, and no word of censure ever passed her lips, but not everyone in the haut ton was so indulgent as the Marchioness of Barnfield. Anne said repressively, “I’m sure Emma and I are not likely to find our first season boring. You forget that all London’s entertainments aren’t old hat to us.”
“You’ll be fagged to death in a week,” he assured her.
Knowing that her brother had been off in Cornwall with her father, and therefore a bit out of touch with the goings-on in London, she turned to Emma with a conspiratorial smile and asked, “Have you heard from Lady Greenwood?”
Emma knew very well that Anne had also received a letter from Maggie, but she was not averse to teasing Lord William. “Yes, they’ll be back in town in a few days.”
“Lady Greenwood? Dear God, never say Adam has married! When? Who did he marry? Surely not that little actress?” Will was more than a little appalled.
“He has married,” his sister informed him stiffly, disliking the reference to Lord Greenwood’s mistress, “our very dear friend Maggie Somervale.”
“The devil you say! How did he meet her? I thought they kept you behind barred doors there at Windrush House.”
Anne was slightly discomposed by his questions and Emma stepped into the breach. "Through her father, Sir Robert. It was quite a whirlwind courtship. Your sister and I attended the wedding, almost two weeks ago. "They've been at Combe Lodge, but are returning for the season.”
“What’s she like—your friend?"
“Oh, she’s very sweet, but quiet.”
‘‘Doesn’t sound at all the sort of girl Adam’s usually attracted to,’’ Will said, suspicious. "Are you quizzing me?”
“Not at all,” his sister assured him firmly. ‘‘You’ll like her, Will, and I hope you’ll be very kind to her. She’s unfamiliar with society and as a married lady will be expected to know a great deal more than she does.’’ Anne’s eyes were gravely serious when she reached across to squeeze her brother’s hand. “I’m counting on you to help her, Will.”
“Well—of course I shall,” he murmured stoutly. ‘‘But she’s really Adam’s responsibility.”
“Lord Greenwood strikes me as a shade loose about his responsibilities.”
“You’re thinking about the parlor maid! Hang it, Anne, there was nothing in that. Turns out the girl’s been courted by half a dozen strapping lads in the neighborhood and Papa’s gotten her married off to the best of the lot, since there’s a child due. And it’s not Adam’s! The wench was just trying for a little after-the-fact support.’’
Anne sighed with exasperation and Emma shared an amused glance with Lord William, who was immediately captivated by her sparkling blue eyes. Of course Will was perennially being captivated by some pretty girl or other, so this was nothing new, but it boded well for the season, he decided, to know that the lively Emma Berryman would be on hand to add a little spice to the irksome round of formal dos.
When the carriage stopped before Lady Bradwell's door to deposit Emma, Lord William gladly supervised the removal of the trunk and valise into the house. Emma hurriedly arranged with Anne to meet the following day for a long-awaited shopping expedition. Anne hastened to suggest that her mother accompany them, to which Emma agreed, though she suspected her friend thought Lady Bradwell’s advice on gowns might tend to the flamboyant or revealing. Actually, Emma knew her aunt’s taste to be impeccable, suggestive but not obvious, as many a more reserved lady had been known to succumb to under the pressure of an influential French modiste. Not that Lady Barnfield could be counted in that number. The one time Emma had seen her at Windrush House she had been dressed with such exquisite good taste that the younger girls had gawked (until Mrs. Childswick had thrown them a threatening glance that scattered them like chickens).
As Lord William assisted Emma from the carriage, he expressed the hope that they would be seeing a great deal of each other. “That would be delightful,” she returned cheerfully, allowing him to carry her hand to his lips. “I know very few people in town as yet, but with two such friends as your sister and Maggie I daresay that makes little difference. And my aunt seems to be acquainted with almost everyone! Thank you for your escort from school, Lord William. And may that be the last time I need ever mention Windrush House,” she said with a laugh.
With a gay wave of her hand she left him and skipped up the stairs, greeting Lady Bradwell’s butler with a query on his health. She removed the simple bonnet and shook out her golden curls as North informed her that her ladyship was to be found in the drawing room. “Oh, good, she’s in.” Emma caught her reflection in the glass and made a perfunctory effort to smooth her hair.
“She’s expecting you, Miss Berryman. If you will follow me.”
It had not seemed necessary to don a special gown for the drive to London, and Emma thought nothing of her schoolgirl dress until she found herself in a room with not only Lady Bradwell but three elegantly dressed gentlemen. One she had seen before and she felt chagrined to be surveyed, critically, through his quizzing glass from the moment she stepped into the room until he was introduced to her.
“Lord Dunn and I have met, Aunt Amelia.” Emma dropped a stiff curtsy and nodded to him before turning to the second gentleman. Sir Nicholas Dyrham was a little older than the other two, close to forty, Emma judged, and striking-looking in a rugged sort of way. His craggy brows over intent black eyes gave him a slightly devilish air that was enhanced by a firmly set chin and hollows in his cheeks. Her curtsy to him was in marked contrast to that with which she had honored Lord Dunn, a graceful flourish, only slightly marred by the impish light in her eyes as she said, “I have heard a great deal about you, Sir Nicholas.”
“Have you now?” he asked, amused. “You surprise me, Miss Berryman. I had no idea my fame was so great.”
“Your notoriety, one might more accurately say,” Emma responded with a grin. “Aunt Amelia seldom sets pen to paper when there is not some adventure or other to be noted.”
Not the least disconcerted, Lady Bradwell regarded her niece indulgently. “You will give him a puffed-up notion of himself, my dear, to believe himself the object of everyone’s letters. But I must admit that Sir Nicholas provides more interesting tales than anyone else of my acquaintance.”
Emma furrowed a brow in thought. “Let me see. There was the race where he rode his horse backward, and the evening he serenaded the princess, and the wager he made regarding the ducks.”
“Geese,” he said, the black eyes studying her with interest.
If Emma had intended to continue the catalogue, she was given no opportunity, as her aunt begged to present her to Mr. Camblesforth, the third gentleman, who was patiently waiting to make her acquaintance. A very mild-mannered fellow, Emma decided as she made her curtsy. He had neither the self-possession nor the address of the other two, and could not compare with them in looks (for she had to admit that Lord Dunn, if haughty, was well enough to gaze upon), but there was a gentleness about him that elicited her kindness. The pale hair and eyes, the almost studious look about him, as though he were perpetually startled to find himself in company, made her response quite different from the coolness she had shown Lord Dunn or the teasing of Sir Nicholas.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Camblesforth.” She seated herself closest to him and offered to pour out another cup of tea since his was nearly empty. “Aunt Amelia always has the loveliest tea, hasn’t she? Sometimes I thought they mixed ours at sc
hool with bark, it was so bitter. Do you take cream?”
“Yes, please. You’re at school, are you?” It was the only thing he could think to ask her. Mr. Camblesforth was not ordinarily so tongue-tied; on the other hand, he was not ordinarily singled out by stunning young ladies, especially when the likes of Dunn and Dyrham were in the same room.
“Fortunately,” replied Emma, dimpling, “as of today I have done with all that. My aunt is to bring me out this season.”
Though Lord Dunn studiously avoided listening to the ensuing conversation by engaging his hostess, Sir Nicholas was not so scrupulous. He made no pretense of doing other than he did—which was to sit observing Miss Berryman describe to Mr. Camblesforth the hazards of life in a female educational institution—but neither did he enter into their exchange. Seldom had he seen, in the many years he had been on the town, a young lady walk out of the schoolroom and into the drawing room with more assurance.
Her beauty, too, was not negligible and he turned his gaze speculatively to Lady Bradwell for a moment while considering what her motives might be in offering to sponsor the girl. There was no denying that Amelia at eight and thirty was still amazingly well preserved. No, that hardly did her credit. She was lovely, and showed no sign of aging beyond a mature voluptuousness that was uncannily linked with the most charming disposition. The girl had a freshness, of course, and a spirit that her aunt had never had, as witnessed by those sparkling eyes and frequently appearing dimples.
Sir Nicholas decided that Amelia had no other purpose than to give the child a chance to marry well, though he questioned the wisdom of setting the vivacious Miss Berryman against her own singularly languid charms. He would be surprised if Amelia could bestir herself enough to show her niece the full round of entertainment London had to offer; she was selective in her own party-going, choosing only such activities as suited her experienced taste.
Emma’s revelation to Mr. Camblesforth of her friendship with Lady Anne Parsons and the new Lady Greenwood, however, indicated to Sir Nicholas that the girl would not be at a loss for chaperonage to any occasion she wished, so long as the invitations could be procured, and he had no doubt but that Emma herself would generate a sufficient number. Abruptly he entered their discourse to ask, “Has Lord William come to town?”
Though Emma was aware that he had been listening, she turned with mock surprise. “Why, yes, he brought Anne and me from school just now."
“And his older brother, Lord Maplegate. Is he here, too?”
"I don’t believe he was mentioned. Certainly the rest of the family is at the London house; the marquess came yesterday with Lord William.” Emma regarded him with interest. “Are you well acquainted with them, sir?”
“Jack and Will are members of the Catch Club and their absence from town has been sorely regretted. We’ve had to depend on the lesser voices—like Dunn’s,” he said, with a wicked grin in the viscount’s direction.
If Lord Dunn had thought to pretend he had not heard the jest, Lady Bradwell made it difficult. She tapped his wrist with her fan, smiling, and said, “You mustn’t let him get away with that, Dunn. He may have the better singing voice, but I swear your speaking voice is not to be matched by the likes of Sir Nicholas.”
“Any bird can sing,” Dunn retorted, laughing. “Sir Nicholas comes by his voice quite naturally.”
“You naughty man.” Lady Bradwell waited expectantly for a riposte from the baronet, and she was not disappointed.
“And any huckster can speak. Unfortunately, with the speaking voice it is not how it is said, but what is said that is important. Ah, but with music it is quite the opposite. The trained voice has no need of a message; the melody is in itself the reward.” He turned to Emma, his eyes mischievous, and asked, “Don’t you think so, Miss Berryman?” Sir Nicholas missed little, and he had not failed to note the coolness between his lordship and the young lady.
“Oh, definitely. I have heard gentlemen with the most charming voices say the most disagreeable things.” Her gaze fell briefly on the viscount, but returned to Mr. Camblesforth. “Do you sing, sir?”
Flustered by the full impact of her attentive blue eyes, he stammered, “Ah, no, no. I ... That is, of course I sing now and again but I have no special talent.”
“Hmm, talent,” she said thoughtfully, as though she had forgotten those about her. “A really fine singing voice is a gift, I realize, but only through application does one realize its full potential. Perhaps, with practice, Lord Dunn could improve his voice,” she suggested innocently. “I would be interested in the progress of his lessons.”
Her repetition of his jibe at the wedding feast was not lost on Lord Dunn, but before he could make any response (which he evidently intended to do, considering the furiously sparking eyes) Sir Nicholas interjected, “It would be of no use, Miss Berryman, I’m afraid. The poor fellow hasn’t The Gift, you know.”
"I see. Well, it’s a great pity since my aunt thinks he has such a fine speaking voice. I hadn’t noticed it, myself, but my ear is sadly out, I suppose.”
“Your ear, if I may say so, is the more perceptive ... and adorable in addition,” Sir Nicholas proclaimed.
He had gone too far, and Emma flushed. Mr. Camblesforth frowned, Aunt Amelia shook her head . . . and Lord Dunn offered her a coldly sardonic stare that made her wish to excuse herself. Instead she met the baronet’s eyes, her own confused and hurt.
Considering the years he had spent in polite company, Sir Nicholas should have known better. In fact, he did know better, but he had been tempted to see how far he could push the game, and more, how far he could play the girl. She was a taking thing, but forward, and he was desirous of learning her limits. Not very great, he decided with a lamentable shrug. "I do beg your pardon, Miss Berryman. Sometimes it is difficult for one of my nature to resist such an opening. Come, say you’ll forgive me.”
“Certainly, Sir Nicholas.” She smiled a little uneasily. "I'm sure you meant no harm.”
“None whatsoever.”
There was an almost audible sigh from her aunt, who took any disagreement as a reflection on her role as hostess, but who also considered an apology in the realm of magic. At once it blotted out any untoward comment. Lady Bradwell was of a most accommodating disposition. Her guests were willing enough to overlook the incident, but soon took their leave, much to Emma’s relief. Not that she could not have held her own, she assured herself, but coming as it did on top of the excitement of leaving school she was just as happy to find herself alone with her aunt.
Chapter Nine
Comfortably pouring out more cups of tea for them, Lady Bradwell remarked, “One never knows what to expect of Sir Nicholas. He is given to doing and saying precisely what he wishes, and as often as not getting away with it. I have often thought that rakes are much maligned.”
Emma giggled. “Have you, Aunt Amelia? How so?”
“Well, who is a rake, when you come right down to it? Usually he is so endowed with charm that everyone fawns over him, which is why his career is so successful. Now, if you were to take a man like Mr. Holwell—I will not call him a gentleman, for he isn’t—there is a distinct lack of humor, and people don’t call him a rake, they call him a debauchee. Perfectly true. He has no claim to honor and none of the little graces which are so evident in your real rake. Mr. Holwell drinks too much, cheats when he gambles, and soils innocent girls. A disgusting man, and there’s no fear you will meet him, my dear, for he's not accepted anywhere.”
“I should hope not.”
“No, well, there are others who shouldn’t be but are. Never mind that now. We were discussing rakes.” Lady Bradwell relaxed in her chair, ready for a good coze. “Generally they are men given to their own pleasure, and are condemned for that. But the truth of the matter is that everyone is in pursuit of pleasure; rakes are simply more honest about it. Society has engendered a sort of lip service to the proprieties, which does not mean that they are truly adhered to, but only that an appearance is gi
ven of doing so. Now you must admit that such a situation is highly hypocritical.”
“Yes, but necessary to maintain some order,” Emma pointed out as she poured herself another cup of tea.
Her aunt pursed her full lips. “Do you think so? Religion is used in the same fashion. One would think that there could be no morality without church attendance and the irrational clinging to outmoded dogmas. But there, I don’t mean to stray from the subject. If Sir Nicholas gads about town with his current ladybird on his arm, he is called a rake. In my day the Duke of Devonshire had his mistress living in the same house with his duchess and he was merely considered eccentric.”
"Did he?” Emma asked, wide-eyed.
"Of course he did,” her aunt snorted. “And what was worse, the two ladies were the greatest friends. People say my life is irregular—pooh! Though I admit that I am one of those who pay lip service to society’s demands, I do so because it keeps me acceptable, and my pleasure is to be invited where I will have the most enjoyment. Part of the problem for gentlemen is that they don’t really enjoy the same things ladies do, and society is basically set to the tune of the ladies.”
“How can you say that?” Emma cried indignantly. “Women haven't nearly the same freedoms as men! If I were to do what a man did, I would be a social outcast!”
“Just so, my love. Nonetheless, what I say is true.” She sipped meditatively at her tea. “You will find, as you meet more men, that they take little pleasure in doing the pretty. Do you think, given a choice, that a gentleman would adorn a tea party rather than have a run on his horse? That he would dance a stately minuet in preference to a similar period of time in bed with a comely maid? That he prefers the stilted dinner conversation of a lavish entertainment to a rowdy repast with his friends, where he can speak freely?”
“No, but ... but surely they must take some pleasure from the more civilized activities.”
The Loving Seasons Page 10
