“So you are convinced Miss Livingstone lied, are you, Miss Berryman?” she asked, her cold birdlike eyes glittering. “What purpose would she have in doing so?”
“Any number of purposes, ma’am. She would gain the sympathy of her reader, she would sell more copies of her book, she would have a chance to exercise a little revenge on Lord Dunn for not marrying her.”
“Ah, but he could sue her if it wasn’t true. She wouldn’t have dared to put into print something which could lose her all her profits.”
“Balderdash. Lord Dunn could sue her if it was true. There is only her word against his, after all.”
"Precisely. Which is only to say that the truth will never be known, will it?”
Emma narrowed her eyes to furious slits. “The truth is known, my lady. No one who knows Lord Dunn could fail to recognize it. He would not be capable of acting in the base way Miss Livingstone says he did. There is not a dishonorable bone in his body.”
A hush had fallen on the assembly about them, but Lady Redwick was too engrossed, and Emma too infuriated, by their discussion to notice. The old woman jabbed a gnarled finger at Emma’s arm. “Do you think you know Lord Dunn so well, then? You seem to know all the men well, like your aunt. And yet I notice you could not hold onto Sir Nicholas long enough to get the ring on your finger, my girl.”
Emma was stunned by the turn the conversation had taken. She could hear the rapid intake of breath behind her, but refused to be distracted from the odious woman’s innuendos. “If you knew men a little better, Lady Redwick, perhaps you would not make such a mistake. Is it so difficult for you to discern character in those about you? I do not have to know Lord Dunn ‘so well’ to find him incapable of villainy. How sad your life must be with nothing better to do than destroy the reputations and comfort of others. You have my most sincere pity!”
When she swung blindly away from the old lady’s shocked countenance, she found herself facing Lord Dunn himself. There was a smattering of applause from some of the braver souls who had been listening, and Dunn was smiling. “I believe this is our dance,” he said smoothly.
Emma was sure she had promised it to Nick, but she caught his eye and he shrugged in resignation. Her trials were not over, however, for she and Dunn were the only ones to take the floor. Sweeping the watching guests with irate eyes, she found that they were not censorious, as she had expected, but amused and perhaps a little fascinated. It was supposed to have been a country dance; the musicians played a waltz. Dunn took her in his arms as though there were nothing unusual about the empty ballroom floor and proceeded to talk as he danced.
“Did you think you had to defend me? My dear Emma, no one who matters will believe such heart-wrenching tales of my callousness.”
“Your opinion of your contemporaries is slightly higher than mine, Lord Dunn. Aunt Amelia and Helena and I didn’t think it would hurt to dampen some of the gossip.”
“When I said no one who matters, I meant no one who matters to me. Such as you."
Emma turned her head away, only to be reminded of the watching crowd, and looked back at him. “I didn’t believe it for a minute—about the way you treated her, I mean.”
He grinned and held her a little closer. “To be sure. The way I treated her. That’s what I meant, too.”
His eyes were dancing but she maintained a stiff formality. “It seemed to me that you might be too...too unbending to take the least note of her book, and people would think you deserving of a bit of a set-down. No one likes someone who is holier than thou."
“Just so,” he agreed after judicious thought. “Do you know, I think it would be best if you were to make a regular habit of instructing me on such points, Emma. I am likely to go astray without your guidance.”
Her eyes snapped at him. “You are unkind to mock me when I have only your best interests at heart.”
“Ah, we have come to the kernel of the matter now. Your heart. I’m glad that my best interests are there, but I am tempted to ask for just a little more. Rash, no doubt, but still a matter of the most pressing concern to me. Emma, Emma, why do you persist in fobbing me off with lame excuses of how busy you are? What is it that you fear in me? You weren’t afraid of Nick.”
He hadn’t meant to let that last slip out. She could tell by the way his lips tightened, almost as though he would have bitten off the words if he could. Her mind raced back over her engagement with Nick, settling numbingly on the night of their engagement. In the studio, after the announcement, she had sought comfort from Dunn’s cold congratulations in Nick’s arms. Color rose violently into her cheeks. Her attempt to speak was no more than a moan.
Momentarily at a loss for words himself, Dunn surveyed the intrigued company. As the object of every eye, it was no wonder that they perceived her blush. What did they think of Emma Berryman blushing? More important, he decided, was whether she was going to faint on him. Slowly, carefully, he began to speak.
“Emma, I’ve been intolerably envious of the striking rapport you have with Nick. With me you are aloof, unapproachable. Every time I hear the two of you teasing, I want to banish him to India. I want it to be me! Last spring...there seemed a possibility of that. I don’t know what happened. I wish you would tell me."
Was that all he had really meant? Emma couldn’t be sure, but his smile was tender. The color in her cheeks began to recede, but her throat still felt constricted. “I saw you,” she whispered.
"Saw me? Where?”
“In the hall.”
His puzzled frown remained, unenlightened by the words she obviously thought would explain the whole. The music stopped and they stood facing one another. “But I don’t understand.”
"You must,” she said firmly. “I could never do that to Amelia.”
And then they were surrounded by dozens of people who wished to take the opportunity to speak with Dunn. No one mentioned the Livingstone book at all: they remarked that he had been out of town, that he had missed the running of a race between Norwood and Thresham, that he would surely want to know what had happened in Parliament the previous day. Emma returned to her aunt with a bright smile.
“Well, everything seems to be in order after all. Would you mind if we had an early night? I’m a trifle exhausted by all the excitement.”
With her back turned, she did not see Dunn’s frustration at being unable to get away from his well-meaning friends.
* * * *
An hour later the house in Bruton Street was quiet, though Emma found it impossible to sleep. It would be better if she could simply stop going to parties where she was sure to meet Dunn, but that was next to impossible. No, she would have to sit down and talk with him, make him understand that she could never accept his attentions, even if he were willing to stop seeing Amelia. The whole situation was fraught with pain, no matter how one looked at it.
Emma turned restlessly in bed, seeking a comfortable position. And then she heard the footsteps. Surely not! Not tonight of all nights! How could he be so heartless! True, he didn’t know she would hear him—the footsteps were as stealthy as ever—but really, it was too much. In a blinding flash it occurred to her that he was coming to end the affair because of what she had said at the ball! He mustn’t do that!
Before he made any final step she must warn him that she would have none of him even after the affair was ended. Emma quickly struck a flint, lit a candle, and ran to the door, pulling it open with an urgency bred by her fear that he would already have reached her aunt’s room.
“Wait!” she called softly to the shadow in the hall. He paused, turning in her direction. “I must talk to you first. Wait there just a moment while I get my dressing gown.” And she vanished into the room again.
The shadow retraced his footsteps to her open door, watching mystified as she, unaware, wrapped the concealing robe about her with hasty fingers. When she considered herself suitably clothed, she picked up the candle and headed for the door. Even before the light was close enough to fall perfectly
on his features, Emma sensed that there was something wrong. He was not quite the right height, wasn’t wearing quite the clothes in which Dunn had been dressed that evening. Alarmed now, she raised the candle higher. “Oh, my God. Mr. Hatton.”
He looked very uncomfortable and mumbled, “Servant, Miss Berryman.”
“You... You’re ... Oh, for the love of pity! I don’t believe it. Yes, I do. No wonder you acted so strangely when Helena told you she was staying here.”
“I couldn’t very well call. I say, you won't tell her, will you? I promise you I am on my way to Lady Bradwell now for no other reason than to tell her about Helena . . . Miss Rogers. It’s been the devil of a tangle. I haven’t known which way to turn. And don’t think I would have left your aunt even now but that she’s not happy. We went on very well for years but something has changed. I’m sure I don’t know what it is. She won’t say a word. I think she’ll understand about Helena.”
“Mr. Hatton, what’s your Christian name?”
Startled by the question, he nevertheless answered. “John.”
Emma put a hand to her forehead, pressing as though to clear her thoughts. “But Sir Nicholas thought it was Dunn, too.”
“‘Done?’ Oh, ‘Lord Dunn.’” His brow furrowed. “You thought it was Dunn who was . . . Oh, I see. Some years ago, when I was letting myself into the house, Sir Nicholas was passing by. I thought I had managed to look away in time. There weren’t any lights about.”
“Obviously you did look away in time,” she said dryly. “Up close you don’t look so much like him, but at a distance. . . Even on my first glance at Helena’s painting, ‘The Fencer,’ I thought for a moment that it was Dunn. I’m sorry to have surprised your secret. Well, no, I’m not, really. A year! A whole year! And I might have married Nick! The thought makes me positively quake.”
Mr. Hatton, not comprehending half of what she said, shifted restlessly. “Mmm, would you mind if I were just to go along to Amelia’s room now?”
Poor Amelia, Emma thought with a sigh. “Yes, of course, Mr. Hatton. I am sorry to have delayed you. If. . . if she should be upset, please tell her that I am still awake.”
Mr. Hatton offered a solemn nod and strode down the hall once more. He hadn’t come again to Bruton Street since he had known that Helena was there, but today he had sent a note around to Amelia to ask if he might come to discuss a matter of importance with her. In the ordinary way of things Mr. Hatton was a self-possessed man, but his conflicting emotions for the last year had made him a bit jumpy. When Emma had hailed him in the hall, he had been terrified that it might be Helena herself and had frozen with alarm. He was no less anxious in facing Amelia. Their liaison had continued happily for more than half a dozen years, providing them both with a great deal of pleasure. But when she had returned to London after her stay in the country a year before, there had been a subtle difference in their relationship. She had only stayed in town for a few months before again bolting to Somerset, and had not returned until April.
Amelia sat at her dressing table fully clothed when he entered. A sad smile, one he was becoming familiar with, was on her lips. “Hello, John. I’m glad you came tonight.”
He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead and took the gold velvet chair nearby. “You look tired, Amelia. I’m not saying you aren’t as beautiful as ever! But perhaps tonight is not the night we should choose for our discussion.”
“I am tired, John, but I would as soon talk to you.” She smiled faintly. “We’ve been very close over the years, and I hope you will understand that my decision is not because of you. I know I’ve been contrary for some time and I never meant to be. I certainly never wished to hurt you. It’s entirely my fault, and very silly of me besides, but I simply cannot sustain our affair any longer.”
Astonished eyes met hers. “You can’t?”
“No, I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”
The thought occurred to Mr. Hatton that he had been spared a great deal of trouble, but no sooner did it enter his mind than he realized it wasn’t possible for him to evade his own responsibilities. He would wish to call on Helena while she resided here, and Amelia would have to know how things stood.
"There's nothing to forgive, my dear. I had come tonight to explain the dilemma in which I find myself. You know how deeply I care for you, but I have, all against my own desires, begun to feel a growing attachment for Miss Rogers. It’s a little difficult to understand how it could happen, but it has. She is such a unique woman—so talented and intelligent—and her brother’s marriage has placed her in a rather awkward position. Don’t think I would offer for her because I felt sorry for her! I never would! It’s a great deal more than that. I need a wife. I want the companionship that being with someone day and night can bring.”
He made an expressive gesture with his hands. “The long and short of it is, Amelia, that I’ve grown to love the girl, with her beautiful white hair and her exquisite drawings and her sheer determination to make the best of whatever life brings her."
Amelia’s lips trembled and a touch of moisture glazed her eyes. “Oh, John, !‘m so glad for you. She’s a lovely girl. I hope she will have you.”
“Well, I thought she might if ... if she didn’t know about us. There’s nothing unusual in such an arrangement for an unattached gentleman like myself, of course, but I think it would be asking a great deal of her to accept what we’ve been to each other. If you take my meaning..."
Before Amelia could express her agreement, the sounds of commotion began. There was a long, continuous banging on the front door as of the head of a cane repeatedly struck against that unyielding portal. Amelia jumped to her feet and ran to the window overlooking the front steps. “Oh, my God, it’s Felix. He didn’t let me know he was coming to town. Oh, dear, you’ll not be able to make a retreat, for the servants are even now letting him in. Drat! Would you mind so very much, dear John, hiding in one of the rooms down the hall?”
Mr. Hatton was more than willing to hide anywhere he could find. Never having met Lord Bradwell, he had no wish to do so in his present position. He pressed Amelia’s hand before darting out of her room, but already Lord Bradwell’s heavy tread could be heard on the stairs and the only thought he could keep in his mind was to slip into one of the rooms along the hall before he was seen. Remembering not to choose Emma’s, he pulled open the next door beyond, only to find himself staring at Miss Rogers’s fascinated eyes. He cast a panic-stricken glance out into the hall and made as if to leave, but Helena motioned him into the room.
Trapped, he closed the door quietly behind himself as they listened to the sounds of startled greeting down the hall. The voices could be heard for a few minutes before there were sounds of Lord Bradwell and his lady going into her room, closing themselves off from the curious household. Mr. Hatton eyed Helena warily in the wavering light of the candle she had lit when the disturbance began.
“Do sit down, Mr. Hatton,” she said quietly, indicating a straight-backed chair near the bed. “I take it you have been with Lady Bradwell.”
Seating himself, he gave what might have been considered a nod, if one were watching closely. Helena was. “I see why it would have been impossible for you to call on me here.”
“Yes.” He searched her face for any sign of anger. "Helena, may I explain?”
She bit her lip, pulled the covers a little higher, and then smiled, if rather shakily. “Please do, Mr. Hatton.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Since Emma’s room did not overlook the front steps, she was not aware of who was causing the terrible commotion that jarred the household. Like Helena, she had lit a candle; in addition, she had risen from her bed to peer out into the hall, just as Mr. Hatton unerringly chose the worst possible door in the whole house. There was no way she could warn him, since her uncle had already reached the head of the stairs. Amelia met him there with fluttering exclamations of her surprise, her pleasure, and her confusion. Before withdrawing into her room, Emma heard h
er Uncle Felix grumble, “Well, I brought the drawings you wanted. They were far too valuable to send by the post or even with a messenger, so I brought them myself.”
Exhausted, she lay down on the bed thinking herself too highly strung ever to get to sleep, but the next thing she knew her maid was shaking her shoulder with more vigor than Emma considered necessary. She opened one sleepy eye, saw that it was still early morning, and muttered, “Go away.”
“I can’t, miss. He says you’re to be in the writing room in fifteen minutes or he’s coming up to get you."
Her head still whirling with the previous night’s events, Emma frowned. “Who? My uncle? I’m surprised he’s even out of bed yet.”
“No, miss, Lord Dunn.”
The wonderful sense of release that had descended on her the previous evening returned. She grinned at the maid, her eyes sparkling. “Tell him he’ll have to come and get me."
“Oh, no, miss, I couldn’t do that. Whatever would Lady Bradwell say?”
“Likely she’ll never know, Susan. There’s a good girl, do what I tell you.”
Obviously willing to expostulate further, Susan stayed by the bed until Emma dove under the pillow. When she heard the door close after the girl, she darted to her dressing table to run a comb quickly through her hair before hastily snatching up a shawl and returning to bed. She settled herself against the headboard with the shawl draped carefully over her shoulders to conceal anything the nightdress might leave exposed, and waited.
Not three minutes passed before the door was rudely thrust open and Dunn stalked into the room. He was not the least taken aback that she was still in bed; he probably wouldn’t have been alarmed if she had been in the midst of disrobing…
He wore a hastily tied cravat and a prodigious frown. “How the devil did you get the idea I was your aunt’s lover?” he roared.
“Hush! For God’s sake, Dunn, Lord Bradwell arrived during the night and I won’t have you bleating your protestations to the world.”
The Loving Seasons Page 41
