“Who is the man sitting on the opposite side of Mr. Jensen?” Emily asked Mr. Gifford.
He looked over to where Adele was sitting. “Oh, that’s the young Mr. Downs. I thought you’d know him. He’s to be the new vicar of your parish.”
“Oh,” Emily said. “Yes, I guess I do remember him.” She hadn’t seen Jonathan Downs for years, she realized. His father was to pass on his ministry to his son, who was now sitting by Adele and apparently causing her to blush.
It was with trepidation that Emily looked at her aunt, who had surely noticed the man sitting next to her daughter. Sure enough, Lady Gerrard was staring openly at Mr. Downs, not that he or Adele noticed her.
Was this . . . could it be? Emily wondered if Jonathan Downs was the man Adele had been corresponding with. It wasn’t a farfetched idea that they’d crossed paths before. Although, Emily couldn’t think of when it might have been—perhaps during one of Adele’s visits to her home.
The soloist began her musical number, and all conversation hushed. Emily couldn’t help but steal glances in Adele’s direction, both fascinated and mortified. She could very well imagine her aunt’s objection to Adele’s apparent love interest. Emily decided that it had to be Jonathan Downs who was writing her letters.
The next hour was a strain as Emily’s thoughts jumped around, both in defense of her cousin and in disbelief at what she was seeing unfold right before her eyes. More than once, Mr. Downs whispered something in Adele’s ear, and each time, she blushed.
And it was with very little imagination that Emily read her aunt’s thoughts and predicted the conversation that would take place during the carriage ride home. At the end of the musicale, Emily had let herself become so distracted that she barely managed to thank Mr. Gifford. Jonathan Downs disappeared almost immediately, after kissing the top of Adele’s hand and giving her a confident smile.
Lady Gerrard bustled her way over, slowed by the crush of people leaving their seats and moving to the refreshment tables, so that when she reached her daughter’s side, Mr. Downs was nowhere to be found.
“Excuse me,” Emily said, moving through the crowd, greeting a handful of people, but making her urgency apparent.
Lady Gerrard had a tight grip on Adele’s arm, although she was smiling so that anyone looking over wouldn’t suspect there was anything amiss.
“We need to offer our regrets to the Jensens and leave now,” Lady Gerrard was whispering as Emily joined them. She saw Emily and said, “Oh, thank goodness you’re here. We need to leave immediately.” Her voice might have been calm, but Emily heard the furious tension coming through.
“Of course,” Emily said. The least she could do was keep Adele company while her mother ranted in the carriage.
Moments later, they were outside as the carriage was brought around, and soon after they were loaded inside, Lady Gerrard started in. “I thought I told you that Mr. Jonathan Downs was beneath your consideration.”
“I—I couldn’t very well ask him to leave, Mother,” Adele said. “He sat by me before I knew what was happening.”
Ah, Emily was beginning to understand. Mother and daughter had already covered the ground of Mr. Downs’s ineligibility for a woman such as Adele, esteemed granddaughter of a duke.
Adele might have sounded humble in front of her mother, but Emily plainly saw the gleam of defiance in her cousin’s eyes.
“Earlier tonight, Mr. Jensen approached me and said he’d like a private audience with me later this week.” Her gaze bore into Adele as the lanterns outside of the carriage created a half glow inside.
At this statement, Adele went very still, and her face drained of color. Emily found herself holding her breath as well.
“He plans to offer for you, Adele,” Lady Gerrard said. “And I advise you to inform Mr. Downs that all further communication will cease right away. I will not allow any gossip to spread about your disloyalty.”
“I have been disloyal to no one,” Adele said, the fire in her eyes growing.
Lady Gerrard leaned forward, lowering her voice although there was no one to hear them in the confined carriage. “You flirted with Mr. Downs. He’s nearly a vicar, for heaven’s sakes. Can you go any lower?” She shook her head. “What sort of life can you expect to have with him? Twice-mended gowns? Days spent putting together charity baskets? Sending your children to the village school for their education?”
Adele looked down at her clasped hands, and a tear dripped onto her cheek. “I’ve . . . I’ve done nothing wrong. There is nothing to gossip about.”
Lady Gerrard sat back, her lips pressed together. “You will accept the hand of Mr. Jensen, and all of this foolishness will come to an end.”
Emily’s heart hurt to see Adele’s shoulders sag and her sunny demeanor cloud over. She turned her head toward the window, saying nothing more, as her mother sat primly on the bench the rest of the ride home.
No one spoke as they entered the house and silently went up to their rooms.
Emily closed her bedroom door behind her to find Jenny sitting in the corner, working on mending. “You’re early, miss,” she said, rising to her feet.
“It will be nice to turn in early,” Emily commented and said nothing further.
Jenny knew her mistress well enough not to continue questioning. She helped Emily out of her gown and was gone, leaving her alone in her room to wonder how Adele was doing.
Was there truly a tendre between Adele and Mr. Downs? Emily wondered. She could not believe that Adele would defy her mother, but if she was exchanging secret letters with him, then that was already in defiance.
Emily glanced over at the side table where she’d hidden Mr. Blackwood’s latest letter. She wasn’t exactly immune from keeping her own secrets, but Mr. Blackwood was only a friend, and besides, he wasn’t beneath her station.
She moved to the door that connected to the hallway and listened for a moment. The house was silent. She ventured out of her room, opening the door carefully so as to not make a sound. Adele’s room was on the other side of her mother’s. Emily walked quietly past, halting at every creak. Finally, she reached Adele’s door, surprised to see a faint light coming from within. At least it told Emily that her cousin was awake.
Emily turned the handle of the door and found it open.
As she swung it wide, she spotted Adele at her writing desk, her eyes wide and luminous in the lamplight as she stared at Emily.
“Oh, you startled me,” Adele whispered.
Emily stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind her. “I’ve come to see how you are doing.”
Adele wiped at her cheeks, then looked down at the letter she held in her hands, saying nothing.
“Is that from Mr. Downs?” Emily asked.
For a moment, she didn’t respond, and then she gave a slow nod. “Emily,” she said in a rasp. “I don’t know what to do. Jonathan and I are engaged, and I don’t know how to tell Mother.”
A gasp escaped before Emily could stop it. She covered her mouth, staring, then said, “You’re engaged? Truly?”
“Yes.” A fresh round of tears started down Adele’s face.
Emily took a handkerchief from the pocket of her robe and handed it to her cousin. “When did this all come about?” That was the first question in a long line of many.
“Last Christmas season when we visited you for the week,” Adele said. “Vicar Downs came to your Christmas party and mentioned that his son would be arriving in the next day or two. I didn’t think much of it, but then your mother had me deliver sweet breads to the parish, and I met Jonathan.” She wiped at her face and took a deep breath. “When I first met him, I knew he was different than any man I’d met in the social circles of London.”
“Well, he’s training to be a vicar in a small county,” Emily said.
Adele gave a small laugh. “I thought it was quite provincial at first, just like my good mother taught me to view those below our station. But I was curious about Jonathan, and over
the next couple of days, I volunteered to deliver goods to the parish. I’m sure your mother thought it was odd, but there was so much going on with your father’s poor health, no one seemed to pay me much mind.”
Emily nodded. Her father was indeed very ill last Christmas season, starting his slow decline.
“We started corresponding,” Adele continued, “and that’s when I fell in love with him.”
Emily let this information settle over her. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Adele said in a soft voice. “Mother will never give her permission, and if we elope, then Jonathan will never be a respected vicar.”
Everything that Adele said was right. Emily took a deep breath. “Then, dear cousin, we must convince your mother to say yes.”
When Emily left Adele’s room, she was already regretting the promise she’d made to her cousin. How could Emily help Adele convince her mother of a marriage to a vicar?
Emily crept down the hallway and quietly entered her room. The fire was burning low against the chill of the night, and she withdrew the latest letter from Mr. Blackwood from its hiding place in the side table. She curled up on the settee and opened the seal. Unfolding the pieces of paper, her pulse drummed in anticipation.
She already had a smile on her face before she started reading. She’d been giving Mr. Blackwood advice about running his estate—well, not exacting advice, but she’d dropped hints about what her father had been doing, whom he’d hired for specific projects, and the like. It was good to see that Mr. Blackwood took her seriously.
You were right about taking my mother when visiting the tenants. The women shared more things with her than they ever do with me. We were able to stave off several problems just by listening to their concerns.
Now, I have a confession. A couple of weeks ago, I visited your home with my mother on the express purpose of convincing your mother to show me your paintings.
Emily gasped and read faster.
She took us into the library where three of your altered portraits hang on the wall.
Emily exhaled with relief. Were those three the only ones he saw, then? She wasn’t worried about the painting of him—it was tucked away in her attic workroom—but there were painted canvases in the utility room that weren’t quite ready for public viewing. Some were simply experiments in color and form.
I must say, Miss Foster, that you are a talented artist. And I am not speaking from the viewpoint of a friend, but from the viewpoint of a man who has visited endless museums throughout Europe.
A warm shiver traveled through Emily. This was a compliment, indeed.
Your paintings are perfect for family homes where families want to remember their loved ones engaged in their favorite activities. It’s my opinion that every family home needs such a rendition.
She already knew her paintings would never be museum quality. She continued to read through Mr. Blackwood’s letter, smiling and nodding several times. He reported on his secret workouts to stay in shape in case he ever had the opportunity to fight again, and Emily tried to stop her imaginations from picturing him shirtless. Her painting had already captured that image for all time.
Then she paused on his closing salutation.
Fondly Yours, E.R.
This was much different than the previous “Your Friend.” Mr. Edward Blackwood had just signed his name as an endearment.
Suddenly, Emily couldn’t gather her stationery and pen fast enough. She knew just whom she’d confide in about Adele and how to ask him for help.
Chapter Nine
I am in urgent need of your assistance, the letter began. Edward folded it in half and tucked it into his waistcoat as he heard footsteps outside of his private library. Because of the infernal rain that had been falling for two days straight, he’d come to his library to read Miss Foster’s latest correspondence instead of riding out to the ruins.
“There you are, Edward,” his mother said. “I’ve just received a note from Mrs. Foster inviting me to travel to London with her and stay for a couple of weeks at the Gerrards. Apparently, Lady Gerrard claims to be in need of some sort of familial support.” A small frown marred her face. “Mrs. Foster wasn’t sure of any other particulars, but she asked if I might accompany her. It sounds quite dire.”
Edward was listening to his mother speak, but all he could think of was that she’d be seeing Miss Foster. And, Edward realized, he’d like nothing better himself.
“What do you think? Will you go with us?” his mother asked.
Edward stared at his mother. “The invitation included me?”
“Of course not,” his mother said. “But you don’t need an invitation. We can send word and have the London residence made ready.”
The only reason he would go to London was to see Miss Foster, he admitted to himself, but the matters of the estate were just coming together, and he could think of nothing less productive than attending balls and soirees.
“Besides,” his mother continued, “Peter’s betrothed, Marybeth Sorenson, will be there. She’s such a dear girl. You’ll be reminded of that as soon as you see her again.”
Edward tilted his head. “Why are you so adamant that I be reunited with Miss Sorenson? What have you told her about me?”
“Nothing personal, of course,” his mother said, looking down at the note in her hand. “It’s just that she has great empathy for you, and she is still unattached.” His mother looked up again, feigned innocence in her eyes.
“I’m not going to court the woman who was in love with Peter,” Edward snapped, and then immediately regretted his sharp tone.
“Ah, I thought you’d say something to that effect,” his mother said simply, appearing completely unruffled. “I’ll begin packing. We leave tomorrow.” She turned as if to leave.
Edward took several strides and blocked her exit at the door. “I have duties here, Mother. You should be glad I’m taking on my responsibilities. I’m sorry to say that I won’t be accompanying you to London.”
His mother looked up at him, her brows raised. “You’ll need a wife soon, Edward. Marybeth is a dear, and you shouldn’t put your nose up at her.”
“I don’t even know her,” Edward ground out. “And she doesn’t know me either, so how could she have any expectations?”
“Well,” his mother said, looking away.
“Don’t tell me you’ve given her anything to go on,” Edward said.
His mother gave a slight shake of her head, but didn’t reply. Instead, she moved past Edward and left the library, presumably to start packing.
He stared after her, disbelief coursing through him. Even if he didn’t go to London, if his mother wanted him to become acquainted with Marybeth, she’d find a way. He turned around and walked back to the plush chair in the corner of the library and sank down on it. He’d met Marybeth at a dinner party a few years ago, before she and Peter were even interested in each other. Edward knew that Peter had fallen in love with her before he knew it himself.
His letters had been filled with all things Marybeth, and so it was an easy deduction to make, and Edward wasn’t surprised in the least when Peter had written of his engagement. Edward had thought he’d next return home for a wedding, not a funeral.
As tempted as he was to go to London in order to see Miss Foster, he wouldn’t let himself be drawn into his mother’s plans. Edward leaned back in his chair, pulled out the hidden letter from his waistcoat pocket, and continued to read.
I am in urgent need of your assistance, the letter began. Is there any way possible for you to come to London?
Edward stared at the writing, then reread the words a second and third time. With a pounding pulse, he continued to read, learning that Adele Gerrard had a secret beau in the form of the vicar’s son, Jonathan Downs, who was to take over from his father after Christmas. Just as Miss Foster surmised, there was no way Lady Gerrard would give her blessing or consent to such a match unless . . .
Edward’s eyes nar
rowed as he read through Miss Foster’s plan.
If you could influence Lady Gerrard with your good recommendation of a certain gentleman caller and discourage others who might seek Adele’s hand in marriage, my aunt will eventually see that Mr. Downs is an excellent choice for her daughter and her daughter’s happiness. I know my aunt thinks well of you, Mr. Blackwood, or else I would not ask this. And I hope that I’m not taking advantage of our friendship. If it is too much to ask, I understand, and I will continue to read the fisticuffs reports and think of you.
Affectionately, E.F.
Edward stared at the “affectionately” and then reread the entire letter again. There was no doubt that Miss Foster’s plan was probably going to fail. But how could he tell her no?
Edward rose and crossed to the writing desk in the library. It didn’t take him long to pen his reply, and then he went to find Johnson to tell him to post the letter immediately.
He found his mother in her bedroom with her lady’s maid, directing the selection of gowns that were to be packed for London.
“Edward,” his mother said, turning upon his entrance.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said, bracing himself for her reaction. “I’m going to London.”
“Oh, wonderful.” She clapped her hands. “I am certain you will enjoy yourself more than you can imagine.”
For once, Edward agreed with his mother. He bid her farewell, and then arranged to meet with the estate steward. In his absence, he didn’t want any of the scheduled repairs to be put off, and he needed that harvest accounting double-checked and recorded. But mostly, he had to contemplate how in the world he was going to fulfill Miss Foster’s wish.
A Season in London (Timeless Regency Collection Book 6) Page 12
