“Someone might come along.”
He laughed. “I doubt it, my dear.” Before she could protest further he bent and kissed her, a long, lingering, seductive kiss nicely calculated to arouse and yet not totally frighten her. When he drew back he had to steady her with a hand on her arm. “Let that be a lesson to you, Miss Berryman…and a standard.”
Emma refused to speak to him but hastened off in the direction she assumed must lead toward the house. In a moment he was at her side, correcting her confused senses by reversing her footsteps and keeping pace with her rapid if slightly unsteady progress. As they approached the building and passed several other groups, he murmured, “No one will know unless you act distracted, my dear. We have merely strolled around the grounds for a breath of fresh air.”
With an effort Emma pulled herself up sharply and entered the ballroom as calmly as possible, only to have her aunt scold her for wandering off with Sir Nicholas.
“Dear Aunt Amelia, it was warm here and I am sure no harm could come to me in the earl’s lovely gardens. I trust I haven’t missed any of the sets.”
“No, but you really shouldn’t ... Well, well, I shall speak with you later. Mr. Norwood is here to claim his dance.”
Lady Bradwell was familiar enough with her niece to know that the high spots of color on her cheeks were not due solely to the heat of the ballroom. In the carriage on the way home she attempted to put into words her feeling of concern.
“I know that some of society’s rules seem stuffy and antiquated to you, Emma, but you really must honor them if you wish to maintain your position. It is not the thing to wander off with a gentleman alone."
“Why not?” Emma asked, all innocence.
“Because, my dear, there are men who will take advantage of you.”
“In an earl’s garden? With dozens of other people about?”
Lady Bradwell sighed. "I realize it seems highly unlikely, does it not? But there, I’m sure it has happened in the past and will do so in the future. Not that I believe Sir Nicholas would behave improperly; he is decidedly a gentleman. But you must realize, my dear, that he is considerably older and accustomed to dealing with women who are more worldly-wise than you. And I think there is a rather perverse little devil in him which might just lead him to…to tempt you. You do rather invite attentions of that sort, Emma. Now don’t take what I’m saying amiss! I can quite understand how you revel in your youth and your looks and your spirits, but you must be wary of where they can lead you, too. Because of your success, you have developed a sense of power, of invincibility, and you haven’t the experience to handle it.”
“What do you mean?”
Although Lady Bradwell was aware of the stiffness of her niece’s deportment and the tightness of her voice, she plunged uncomfortably on, determined that her guidance was absolutely necessary. “You tend to …well, entice men, if you will. I have often been frank with you, Emma, and you should understand what I’m saying. No, I shall be blunt. You apparently attempt to raise a physical desire in men, a desire for them to bed you, and yet I presume you have no intention of satisfying that desire. You simply cannot do it until you’re married, unless you wish to ruin your life. If you don’t think of the poor men themselves, my love, you should think of your reputation. The way you disport yourself makes you appear fast.”
“Why should I try to disguise my…my charms? You don’t.” Emma stared out the window, but hardly noticed the passing linkboy with his torch.
Lady Bradwell was patient. “There is a vast difference between your situation and mine, Emma, and I don’t think I have ever sunk to titillating men when I had no intention of giving in. A mild flirtation is expected of me. I am never indiscriminate, carefully choosing the gentleman for his situation. In your first flush of triumph, you seem intent on winning every man to your train, and you don’t care how you do it. Using your sensuality is the easiest way, certainly, but it is the worst and the most dangerous.
“Because you are teasing the men, Emma, and some man will call you on your supposed offer. Have you not heard the story of Gertrude Tilson? Quite as gently born as you, my dear. She was Lady Kerry’s daughter from her second marriage. Gertrude was a petite, precocious beauty who eventually eloped with Gilbreath Mahon. Her family didn’t approve of him, and no wonder—he was no more than an adventurer. Mahon left her for Miss Russell five years later and Gertrude became a courtesan. They called her the Bird of Paradise. She acted at Covent Garden and drove her own phaeton, but what kind of life did she have, forever looking for a protector, haunting Feulliard’s dancing rooms in Queen Street, Golden Square, and trying to decide which of the Bond Street loungers would be able to support her in style? I shudder to think of that happening to you.”
“You may be sure it won’t,” Emma retorted. “I have no mind to lead such a life.”
"But don’t you see how it came about? Gertrude gloried in tempting all the men she encountered, and one was clever enough to call her on it. She was caught at her own game. Mahon built a similar desire in her, and she was willing to throw over her whole family to satisfy it. Don’t think it couldn’t happen to you, Emma, because it could.”
The memory of Sir Nicholas’s kiss was vivid in Emma’s mind. She had indeed experienced something new then; its force was enough to shake her. It did not take much imagination to see how such a state of affairs could progress, but her aunt was proceeding to enlighten her.
“At first it is just a kiss. That seems simple enough, a kiss. But there are men who can easily excite you with a kiss, especially men who are appealing in themselves. And then comes a little snuggling and touching. You have no idea how vulnerable you are until a man starts to call forth your desire by touching you. From there it is only a very short hop into bed, Emma. I watch you every day doing precisely what you want, and I wonder if you would be able to resist if an unscrupulous man was determined on getting you there. Please don’t think I’m scolding you! Some women with truly warm natures are unable to resist, especially when they’re young and have never had the experience. There is a fascination, a curiosity, to partake of the ultimate physical excitement. And if you carelessly toss away your reputation by doing foolish things, you cannot expect a man to cling to his scruples and shield you from ruin. If a gentleman believes you well-bred and pure, he will have the strength to respect your virginity.”
Lady Bradwell, in the darkness of the carriage, allowed herself a reminiscent smile but continued inexorably, “If you tease and act as though you have every intention of discarding morality, well, you are only asking for trouble.”
“I see.” Emma said softly.
“Of course, I am not one to be casting stones. My own life is hardly a model of virtue, but then I don’t ask you to pattern yourself on me. Heaven forbid! Remember what I told you: Don’t try to explain me or fight my battles for me. I want to do the best I can by you, my love, but if I feel that my unsavory reputation is damaging to you, or that you are attempting to imitate me in unbecoming ways, I will have to send you to one of your other relations. If my child had lived, I would want her to be like you, Emma, all full of high spirits and curiosity, ready to meet life head on and enjoy it. But I cannot and will not stand idly by while you court disaster.”
The carriage halted in front of the house in Bruton Street and the flambeaux at the doorway cast a flickering light into the interior of the vehicle. Lady Bradwell was surprised to see the sign of a lone tear streak on Emma’s cheek. As the footman leaped down and came around to let down the steps, Emma whispered, “I didn’t understand, Aunt Amelia. Not truly. I'm sorry.”
Her aunt patted her hand consolingly. “Well, of course you didn’t, love. There’s no reason to apologize. You must know that I only want you to be happy.”
* * * *
It was Sir Nicholas’s habit to take Emma riding in Hyde Park, but on the morning after their encounter he was not surprised when Emma fobbed him off. His amusement grew as she continued to find excuses for
not accompanying him—a necessary shopping expedition, a promised visit, a slight cold. Sir Nicholas, delighted—and perhaps urged on by that devil Lady Bradwell recognized in him—persisted.
Arriving one day when Emma was just ordering the carriage to go to Maggie’s, he quickly interposed. “There’s no need to have your aunt’s carriage readied when mine is without. It would be my pleasure to convey you to the Greenwoods’.”
Emma eyed him suspiciously. “That’s kind of you, Sir Nicholas, but I shall be there some time and I could not possibly ask you to wait. Maggie won’t be receiving; we are planning to organize the preparations for her ball.”
To her surprise Lady Bradwell spoke in support of Sir Nicholas’s proposal, declaring that she would send the carriage for Emma later in the afternoon. Emma studied her aunt’s encouraging countenance. Then, with a mischievous twinkle, she nodded. “Very well. If you don’t mind having your carriage treated as a hackney coach, Sir Nicholas, I would be grateful for your escort.”
Placing a mulberry-colored velvet bonnet with plumes of white ostrich feathers on her blond ringlets, she tied it at a jaunty angle under her chin and allowed Sir Nicholas to escort her to his curricle. His groom had just returned from walking the horses to the corner, and as there was room for only the two of them on the seat, Sir Nicholas flipped him a coin and dismissed him. Emma laughed when he pressed her hand in helping her into the carriage.
“Do I amuse you, Miss Berryman?" he asked as he expertly gathered the reins.
“Occasionally,” she admitted.
“Did it amuse you when I kissed you the other evening?”
“No.” There was no trace of a blush on her cheeks and she met his quick glance at her as he set the horses in motion. “It was undoubtedly the most beneficial, and enjoyable, lesson I’ve received. But I can see why Mrs. Childswick has omitted it from her curriculum. It is also a rather dangerous lesson.”
Sir Nicholas’s brows drew up in surprise. "Nonsense. You have nothing to fear from me.”
“I’m not at all sure that’s true, Sir Nicholas. If I recall correctly, you took the opportunity to sound me on my…moral beliefs before you… Well, I may have left you with a misconception which I should like to correct.” Despite the serious nature of the subject, her eyes danced. “I have not the least intention of straying from the path of virtue.”
"And I have no intention of luring you from it, young lady! Did your aunt put such a notion in your head?”
Emma grinned. “Aunt Amelia said you were decidedly a gentleman and would not behave improperly, but that your perverse little devil might lead you to tempt me.”
“And I did tempt you, didn’t I?” he asked lazily.
“Oh, yes, I won’t deny it. On the other hand, I won’t offer you a chance to tempt me again. Nor act as though I wished you would.” For the first time the color in her cheeks heightened.
“Ah, I see. Do you know you are extremely captivating when you blush, Miss Berryman?”
Emma demurely lowered her eyes, but not before the sparkle in them was evident. “Obviously I shall have to cultivate a more modest demeanor, Sir Nicholas, and go pink every time a man looks at me, like Miss Sherburn does.”
“That widgeon! Do you know I heard her giggle when someone told her Mr. Hartcliffe had preached a most admirable sermon last Sunday? I beg you won’t decide to represent yourself as an idiot!”
“Never,” she assured him as she gazed with interest at the milling throngs along Bond Street. “What I don’t know, I intend to learn, and what I don’t learn I shan’t let on. I have noticed that one can gain a great deal of information by simply listening to someone who has the mistaken impression that you know what they’re talking about. And I’m sure you won’t think me a bluestocking if I tell you that I make notes of names that are mentioned so that I may find out what I can about them at the lending library. Unfortunately,” she confessed, turning to smile at him, “the fellow who helps me there has occasionally been shocked by my ignorance.”
“I can picture it now,” he admitted mournfully as he directed the horses into Piccadilly. “The poor fellow is captivated by you and would do anything in his power to please, but cannot disguise his alarm when you approach him under the impression that Samuel Johnson was an actor.”
“Something like that. Mr. Edgars could not believe that I had never heard of Henry Fielding, but, you know, Mrs. Childswick could not really be expected to have works like Tom Jones or Joseph Andrews at Windrush House. And frankly I did not find Tom Jones all that edifying."
“No? I would have thought you might.” His eyes shifted from the road to mock her.
“Mr. Fielding’s conception of women is perhaps just what gentlemen like, but I found it annoying. His heroine is a pretty doll, languishing of an excess of sensibility or misunderstanding the simplest matter. With such a want of spirit it is inconceivable to me that Mr. Jones could have the least interest in her.”
Emma adjusted the mulberry pelisse she wore as they turned into Half Moon Street. “I should have thought a gentleman of Mr. Jones’s temperament would look for something more lively in a wife, but there is no accounting for taste. Do you ever picture Mr. and Mrs. Jones five years later?”
The horses were neatly drawn to a halt before the Greenwoods’ residence and Sir Nicholas sat with the reins held lightly, making no move to descend. "I confess I never gave Mr. and Mrs. Jones another thought after I closed the last volume.”
“Well, I picture them surrounded by five children; they had two by the summary of their future lives in the last chapter. Sophia plays for her father and her husband and toadeats Squire Allworthy, no doubt. And Mr. Fielding says that Tom ‘has also, by reflections on his past follies, acquired a discretion and prudence very uncommon in one of his lively parts.’ Uncommon, indeed! But we are assured that any vice he may have had was corrected by conversing with Allworthy and his wife. To be sure, I can quite picture them lecturing him day in and day out on the rewards of proper conduct. What a merry life he must lead!”
Sir Nicholas laughed, touching a finger to her cheek. "I daresay you would have made a much more appropriate wife for him, Miss Berryman. Certainly you are every bit as lovely as the fair Sophia, and would have ridden to hounds with him as well!”
“If he’d allowed me,” she retorted. “My impression is that gentlemen become filled with rectitude on the taking of their marriage vows. Not necessarily rectitude for themselves, but certainly for their possessions——such as their wives. If a man is unable to show a clean face to the world himself, he must surely have someone else do it for him. A very convenient arrangement.”
“In that case,” Sir Nicholas remarked as he climbed down and assisted her from the carriage, “you had best find a husband who will be the one to show the clean face in your marriage.”
As before, Sir Nicholas pressed her hand and Emma frowned. “Then I shan’t be surprised to hear that you have offered for Miss Rowland, sir.”
“You should be vastly surprised to hear that I have offered for anyone, my dear. I haven’t the constitution to take on an aura of holiness through matrimony or any other institution, I promise you.”
The dark eyes were amused, and even perhaps slightly challenging, as they regarded her. Emma took a firm grip on her reticule as she turned to mount the steps, pausing only to say, “Thank you for conveying me here, Sir Nicholas. I daresay we will meet again soon.”
“As soon as this evening, no doubt, but in the event we should miss one another at one of the entertainments, may I hope that you will ride with me tomorrow?”
Since she felt she had handled the situation reasonably well, she turned in the act of lifting the knocker and smiled at him. “That would he delightful, Sir Nicholas.” As she allowed the knocker to drop, though, she had a moment’s misgiving. Had not the porter responded instantly, she might have changed her mind. The door opened and she glanced back at the baronet, but he had already climbed into the curricle and tipped his hat
to her as he drove off.
Emma was shown to the drawing room, where Maggie rose to greet her. Despite the valiant smile and the rush of words that flowed forth in welcome, Emma could not fail to note her friend’s pallor. Maggie’s large gray eyes seemed even larger in the drawn face and a woolen shawl was pulled close about her even on the warm spring day.
“You don’t look at all well,” Emma declared, concerned. "Are you feeling poorly?”
“Just a little off color,” Maggie admitted as they seated themselves on the green-and-white striped sofa. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“You mean you haven’t had the doctor come? You should have sent for him.”
Maggie self-consciously studied a Dresden shepherdess on the table beside her. “It’s not the sort of thing a doctor could help, Emma.”
If this obscure hint was supposed to enlighten her friend, it didn’t serve its purpose. “Well, I know doctors are of very little use most of the time,” Emma agreed, “but occasionally you find one who can cure you.”
Her friend’s giggle surprised her. “You can’t be cured of being enceinte, my dear Emma.”
“You’re going to have a baby? How splendid!” But Emma’s initial excitement was quickly dampened by a renewed concern. “Really, Maggie, you cannot have been taking care of yourself! I don’t believe it is normal to be looking so very haggard. Forgive me for being blunt, but your face is very nearly white and you look inordinately tired. I think you’re working far too hard on the ball, and keeping late hours every night cannot be at all good for you.”
“No, no. It’s not uncommon to feel poorly at such a time. I’ve spoken with Cynthia—Mrs. Morton—and she said that she was prone to disagreeable bouts for the first few months with her first.”
“And she wasn’t concerned at how pale you are?” Emma demanded.
The Loving Seasons Page 16
