There was no denying this news caused him a certain amount of agitation. He absently put his hat back on, and then hastily removed it, tucking it under his arm. Next he passed his cane from one hand to the other, accidentally dropping it on the return trip, and in bending over to retrieve it, lost the hat as well. A gust of wind blew the hat into the street, where it was trampled by a passing horse and rider. By the time he returned to them from rescuing it, his face was red and his pantaloons dusty from trying unsuccessfully to reshape the hat against his leg.
As Helena handed him his cane, he mumbled, with absolutely no conviction, his intention of calling on her shortly at Lady Bradwell’s. “It’s in Bruton Place,” Helena told him hopelessly, “number twenty-three.”
“Is it? Yes, well, that’s not hard to find, is it? Everyone knows where Bruton Place is. Daresay half of London could direct you to Bruton Place. Not far from Bond Street, and everything. Well, I must be off. I’m a little late for an appointment.” And he strode away at a pace indicative of the truth of his mumbled words, not that either of his auditors believed him.
“Oh, dear,” Helena sighed. “Did I say something wrong?”
“I cannot for the life of me understand what got into the man,” Emma said. “One minute he is eagerness itself and the next he is scuttling off like a frightened crab. I would say that he disapproves of your staying with my aunt, but I very clearly recall his standing up with her at an assembly a year or two ago. Of course, men are truly incomprehensible, if you wish my opinion, which I am sure you don’t. My aunt’s reputation is not altogether...unquestionable.”
Helena rose instantly to Lady Bradwell’s defense. “Your aunt is a charming woman and no one in his right mind could take the slightest objection to my staying with her. Such generosity in her even to have me! Really, I am most distressed at Mr. Hatton’s unaccountable behavior. I had thought him a gentleman. I do beg your pardon, Emma. Please don’t say a word of this to your aunt.”
“I shan’t.” Emma took Helena’s arm and guided her across the street. “It may be simply that Mr. Hatton was suddenly taken ill and did not wish us to realize it, you know. Stranger things have happened. And if that is the case, his behavior may be excused, I suppose. He really was delighted to see you.”
“If you shouldn’t mind so very much, Emma, I’d rather not discuss it. My head has begun to ache abominably.”
“Why, of course, my dear. Not another word.”
Mr. Hatton did not call. Days passed when Emma watched Helena stiffen as the footman came to announce visitors, and then relax when they were informed that it was Sir Nicholas, or Lord Higham, or Mr. Stutton, or Lord Dunn. And then Dunn stopped calling. At first Emma attempted to find some consolation in this. The signs he was showing of renewed interest in her were more discreet this time, but still her aunt seemed most unhappy. Emma began to speak to her aunt of the attentions paid her by Lord Higham, the only one of her followers whom she had any cause to believe her aunt would take seriously. But Amelia only showed an absent sort of attention, saying, “That’s nice, dear.”
It was frustrating to make the effort to no avail, especially since Emma considered Higham, for all his good nature and acceptable looks, only slightly more intelligent than a turtle, which was not at all true, but suited her own irritable mood. What was more, her aunt’s disposition did not improve in the slightest when Dunn stopped calling. And then she found out why Dunn had stopped calling.
Amelia arrived home one afternoon with two volumes of a marble-covered book under her arm, her eyes snapping with anger. Emma happened to be in the hall at the time and gasped, “Whatever is the matter?”
Without a word Amelia took her arm and hustled her into the drawing room, removing her pelisse as she went, but not letting go of the books. “You won’t believe it, Emma. The impertinence! The gall! The sheer unmitigated cheek of the woman!”
Alarmed that someone had snubbed her aunt, Emma prepared herself to dismiss the episode as a mere nothing, unimportant in the least degree. She grabbed the pelisse before it had time to fall to the floor and tried to relieve her aunt of the burden of her books, but Amelia vigorously shook her head.
“No, you have to see what she’s written. How anyone could publish such stuff is beyond me. He should sue them for every last penny they own!”
Bewildered, Emma asked, “Who wrote these scurrilous lies, my dear?”
“That Livingstone woman. Eliza Livingston. Mistress to the great and near-great. Lord, Emma, from what I’ve heard she has as good as named three dozen men in her wretched memoirs. You know how they do it, giving an initial at the first and last of a dash, and any letters they happen to feel necessary in the middle just in case you’re not clever enough to guess from the description and situation. I started to hear a buzz about it last night at the Dinsinores’ but I wouldn’t credit it until I had the volumes before my very eyes."
Emma was beginning to experience a sort of nervous shock. “Who did this Livingstone woman name?” she breathed.
“Everyone!” Amelia made a dramatic, comprehensive gesture with her hands. "I thumbed through it at the bookstore. Sir Nicholas early on, when she was much younger, though he wasn’t her first. Melson was, if you will credit her story, at fifteen! Fifteen, for heaven’s sake. And the worst of it is that most of it, most of it, is quite believable. Beresford and Fyfield and Sir Nicholas you cannot have the least doubt of. Even Harstrow and Rusholme and Stutton. Oh, really, you can believe every one of them except... Here, read this. Just read it,” she commanded, rapidly turning pages until she came to the appropriate place. “I read it in the carriage.”
The entry she referred to was not a short one; in fact it went on for more than twenty pages. The subject of the commentary was referred to as Viscount D—n, described as the owner of a vast estate in Herefordshire and a handsome town house in Waverton Street, London, amongst other holdings. For all the hoopla there always was when a courtesan such as Eliza Livingstone took to penning her memoirs, there was nothing particularly explicit about the entry. D—n was described as a tall, fine figure of a man, three and twenty when Miss Livingstone knew him, and the gentlest, most ardent of her lovers. There was a nostalgia about the interlude that clung to every word, every enamored phrase. Miss Livingstone, incredibly perhaps but truly, fell in love with this man. She could not so much as recount some clever thing that he had said to her without describing her own heart-palpitating response.
Over a period of months Miss Livingstone recalled their various encounters: her waiting for him to come to her after late sessions of Parliament; his thoughtful, expensive gifts to her; his consideration in matters financial, sexual, and emotional. How many times she quoted him as calling her his “sweet delight,” Emma lost count. There was the suggestion that not only did Miss Livingstone love D—n, but that he was growing to love her as well. She had begun to speculate on the time when he would shun society’s conventions, ignore the censorious gazes of his fellow man, and take her for his wife. She put words in his mouth that indicated this to be so. She showed him restless with the restrictions that prevented him from joining with her in holy matrimony. And then...
“Oh, God,” Emma moaned.
Then she revealed that she had become pregnant by him. Miss Livingstone described her delicious secret joy over this event, and her fears of telling D—n of her condition. She did not want him to think, she said, that she was pressuring him into a marriage that would ruin his standing in the world. She was entirety self-effacing over the whole matter, a martyr to society’s hypocritical rules. But what was she to do? When the truth could scarcely longer be concealed, she threw herself on his mercy, sure that he would love her and the child, that he would provide for them, perhaps even marry her.
Her story became quite a tearjerker here. This gentle, perfect lover spurned her from the moment of revelation. He denied any responsibility for either mother or child. He went away, never to return, refusing to answer her letters, her pleas fo
r assistance. Nightly she haunted the environs of Waverton Street to catch a glimpse of him or to beg for his compassion. Needless to say, she went into a decline. None of her friends could get her to eat a morsel of food or drink a drop of water. And she lost the child in a painful, life-sapping miscarriage. It was a wonder that she had not died.
Miss Livingstone told in great detail of her struggle against death. Her will to live had been greatly reduced by the cruel fate Lord D—n had meted out to her, but her indomitable spirit had won over all. Was she not a child of God, sinner that she was? Had she not suffered enough to redeem herself at least to a life of sorrow? Miss Livingstone lived, to take (from the size of the second volume) quite a substantial number of further lovers.
“Poppycock!” Emma snapped, slamming the first volume closed.
“Yes, I daresay it is,” Amelia retorted, “but there are those who will believe it, Emma. Some people love to have a good scandal to mull over. There is something in them which loves to see the mighty laid low. She could not have chosen a better target than Dunn. And why did she choose him? I tell you there seems little else in the book which is not accurate at least to some degree.”
“Oh, I’m not denying that he was probably her lover. It’s the histrionics of the pregnancy and rejection which don’t have a word of truth in them. She loved him and he ended their affair. But you can make good copy out of that. Our heroine cannot merely suffer unrequited love, shining example of womanhood that she is. She must be the victim of treachery, of unscrupulous villainy. Otherwise her reader would see how improbable it was that she could ever have believed Dunn would marry her.”
“Do you suppose he really called her his ‘sweet delight’?” Amelia asked, irrelevantly.
“How should I know? Frankly, I don’t see why not. Nick was given to using terms of endearment such as that when he was... Well, anyway, I should think a man who was making up to Miss Livingstone would offer her some verbal honey. It doesn’t cost him anything, after all. I’d like to ring her neck!”
Amelia studied her glowering face with satisfaction. “So would I. He’ll have to sue, of course, but the harm is done. I got the last copy at Hamlin’s after going to three other bookstores that were already sold out. Poor Dunn! How very uncomfortable for him. No wonder he hasn’t been to call.”
Emma lifted eyes that sparked. “Does he think we’re only fair-weather friends? I should like to ring his neck, too, for having such a low opinion of us!”
“Now, dear, I’m sure that’s not the case at all. His consideration for us would make him think it prudent to remain absent for a time.”
"Prudent! I can just see him now sitting in his library refusing callers because he doesn’t wish to contaminate them with his unsavory reputation. The truly honorable man! Making his friends helpless to see him through a difficult time because he has too much respect for them to drag them into the mud with him. Ha! It is his pride, my dear aunt, his insufferable pride which would prevent his accepting their assistance. The Great Dunn can extract himself from any quagmire without asking a hand from his friends. I should like to tear his hair out.”
“Emma!” Amelia protested, laughing. “How very fierce you are. I had no idea you felt so strongly about him.”
“I don’t feel strongly about him! Do you know how kind he has been to Maggie and Anne? Do you know how patient he has been with Greenwood? But would he let any of them return the favor now? You may be sure he wouldn’t. Doesn’t he know that it is a privilege to be allowed to stand by a friend in trouble?”
“Emma, you don’t even know that he isn’t allowing his friends to help,” Amelia pointed out patiently.
“Then why hasn’t he come to call? Aren’t we his friends? You may be sure he would be the first one to know about this wretched book.”
“As to why he hasn’t come, my love, I can only suppose your pointed avoidance of him has something to do with it. Even a man with a very thick skin could not have missed your intention.”
“But ... but he comes to see you. I’ve been busy. Not too busy to help in this crisis, you understand, but busy enough with Captain Midford’s portrait and going about with Helena.” A horrible thought struck her and she gasped. “You don’t think he believes I’d already read the book and have been abrupt with him because of that, do you?”
“Nonsense! The book has only just come out. I’m sure he has reached entirely different conclusions as to why you are abrupt with him.”
Amelia’s gaze was strangely searching and Emma felt herself flush. “I daresay he hasn’t given a thought to it one way or the other. He—”
A footman entered to announce a caller and was closely followed by a harried Captain Midford. Stephen’s eyes went immediately to the two volumes lying on the table and he ran a distracted hand through his hair. “I see you’ve heard about it. Have you read the part on Dunn?”
“Yes,” Amelia returned, “and we don’t believe a word of it.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say not a word. I think she was his mistress for a while, when I was away at school. Dash it, everyone’s asking me about it. I haven’t the first idea what to say. I wish to hell he weren’t away right now.”
“A-away?” Emma asked, looking slightly embarrassed.
“He went to Knowle Park a few days ago. Some problem with spring flooding, I think. I sent an express off to him yesterday but I haven’t heard a word as yet. Of course, there’s hardly been time, and maybe it would be all for the best if he stayed there for a while. He’s going to be mad as fire to be the on dit of London.”
Amelia urged him to a chair, her brow wrinkled in concentration. “We must think of precisely how you should answer anyone impertinent enough to ask you questions, Captain Midford. You could say they must apply to Dunn for any information. That would send them off in a hurry. Can you imagine anyone asking Dunn to his face if he behaved like a heel? Lord, I should like to see the look be would give them! Or you could ask the questioner when he had begun to have the bad taste to believe Eliza Livingstone’s trumped-up tales. But you mustn’t on any account act as though you take this matter the least seriously Dunn will have to sue of course, which is a great nuisance, but there it is..."
"I wonder if he will,” Emma mused. "I would be surprised if he took the least notice of the affair, when I come to consider. The whole messy business will be beneath him. And you know, Captain Midford, he is likely to set up people’s backs that way. I do hope he has the sense to stay in Herefordshire until some of the worst has blown over. Did you send him a copy of the book?”
“Oh, yes, though I had the devil of a time laying my hands on one."
"Is his Christian name really Oliver?” she asked, intrigued.
Stephen grinned. “I think he will be almost as annoyed about that as anything. Imagine the woman saying she called him Ollie! He wouldn’t have stood it for a minute! Hates the name Oliver; hasn’t used it since he was a child. Even I don’t call him anything but Dunn.”
Nor does my aunt, Emma thought, remembering the murmured name in the night. Giving herself a mental shake, she stood and addressed the captain. “Come and sit for me for a while, sir. I daresay you will be an even worse subject than usual, but it will keep you away from the curious throngs for a while. And your unaccustomed gravity will provide me an opportunity to give your portrait some sadly needed depth,” she added with an impish smile to offset her mocking words.
Chapter Thirty
Ordinarily Helena only attended an occasional evening function with Emma and her aunt. Her taste was for quieter dinner parties and lectures on topics of philosophical interest, but when Emma explained the problem that had arisen from Eliza Livingstone’s book she instantly took up the cudgels in Dunn’s defense.
“What an infamous libel! I have known Lord Dunn for years, through Harold, and I am sure both he and Anne would want me to stand by him at such a time. You go to the Heathermore ball tonight? I must have something with me which is adequate to
such an occasion. I know just how it will be! The old snips will stand around in corners whispering about him and the young blades will wear those cynical, knowing smirks. I won’t have him be made a laughingstock for their flimsy, gossiping pleasure.”
Her description of the situation was not far off. It seemed that everyone in town had either read the book or had heard of it from a friend. Dunn and Eliza Livingstone were the overwhelming topic of choice that evening, with starchy matrons breathing trite sentiments such as “There can be no smoke without fire,” and pretty young girls protesting that they had never heard anything in their lives that shocked their sensibilities so.
Emma was disgusted with the lot of them. She refused to let her dancing partners so much as mention the book, and when she found herself near anyone who dared breathe an insinuating syllable about Dunn, she would fix the offender with a glowering eye and ask, “How can you credit such a base untruth? Have you no self-respect that you would accept the word of a notorious courtesan over that of an honorable gentleman?” If it was pointed out to her that the honorable gentleman had not as yet seen fit to comment on his former mistress’s colorful account of their affair, Emma would reply coldly that Lord Dunn was in Herefordshire attending to his responsibilities as a landlord.
Not until she was cornered by Lady Redwick (the ancient dame who was once apostrophized by Dunn as being able to reduce a seasoned matron to tears in three minutes), did Emma finally lose her temper. Lady Redwick’s sole pleasure in life was such displays of power as her caustic tongue produced, and she went out into society at her advanced age only to pick quarrels that would provide her with that reward. From the moment she had heard of Eliza Livingstone’s memoirs, and she had heard of them very early on, she had been searching an opportunity to put her unusual talent into practice. Emma, she decided with real satisfaction, provided the perfect target.
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