by Sandra Heath
Emma wished that Stephen had not had a prior engagement, for in spite of the pains Gerald had gone to to make her feel better, she would still have preferred to have her brother at her side as well. But Stephen had already gone out to join his new friends at White’s for the strangely named Donkey Shingleton’s coming-of-age birthday party.
Emma gazed into the fire, hoping that that was indeed where Stephen had gone, and that his determination to keep his prior engagement had nothing at all to do with Lord Avenley or his thrice-cursed gaming hell in Pall Mall. She drew a long self-reproaching breath. She shouldn’t doubt her brother so much, for he had given her his word that he was not misbehaving at the club.
Suddenly there was a tap at the bedroom door. She turned. “Come in.”
Saunders entered. “Lord Kane and Lord and Lady Castlereagh have arrived, madam.”
“Very well.”
“I have already informed Mr. Rutherford, madam, and he will escort you down to the hall.”
“Thank you, Saunders.”
“Madam.” The butler bowed and withdrew again.
Emma turned nervously to Dolly. “Have we forgotten anything?”
“No, Miss Emma. Oh, your fan and evening reticule!” With a gasp, the maid hurried through into the dressing room, returning in a moment with the little painted fan and a lozenge-shaped reticule stitched with silver spangles. It was closed by a dainty drawstring, which the maid looped carefully over her mistress’s wrist with the fan, and it contained a handkerchief, a vial of Emma’s favorite rose scent, a comb, and some extra hairpins, should some calamity befall Emma’s coiffure.
Emma was suddenly a bundle of nerves again. “Is there anything else?” she asked, smoothing the folds of her skirts with hands that shook.
“Just your cloak,” replied the maid, nodding toward the fur-trimmed rose silk cloak that had earlier been draped over one of the fireside chairs, to keep warm for the chill evening air outside.
Taking Emma’s shawl, the maid brought the cloak, placing it carefully around her shoulders, and when it was properly tied, the folded shawl was given to her to carry over her arm beneath the mantle. Then, with her heart pounding so loudly in her breast that she was sure it could be heard all over the house, she left her room to walk along the passage toward the head of the staircase, where her father was already waiting for her.
Mr. Rutherford wore a charcoal-gray coat and cream cord breeches, and his muslin neckcloth had been very neatly tied and arranged by his valet. He still looked a little tired from the journey, but he smiled approvingly as his daughter approached. “Are you ready, my dear?”
“I will be, in just a moment,” she replied softly, putting her finger to her lips and then looking tentatively over the balustrade into the hall below, where Lady Castlereagh was seated on one of the sofas by the fire, and the two gentlemen stood in conversation nearby.
Amelia, Lady Castlereagh, known to her many friends as Emily, was thirty-seven years old, and dressed in a yellow-and-white-striped taffeta gown. Her fair hair was almost completely concealed beneath a cloth-of-gold turban from which sprang a tall ostrich plume, and beside her on the sofa lay the exquisite white fur cloak that Saunders had taken as she entered. She wasn’t a beauty, but her lips had a quickness about them that suggested a willingness to smile, and there was something about her that Emma liked immediately.
The two gentlemen were dressed in the formal black evening attire that was de rigueur for the theater, both of them in tight-fitting evening coats, lace-trimmed shirts, white satin waistcoats, and white silk pantaloons. Dress swords swung at their sides, and they carried black tricorns beneath their arms.
Robert Stewart, Lord Castlereagh, was a handsome, smooth-faced man of about forty, with soft brown hair and observant blue eyes. He was tall and loose-limbed, and his reputation for being cold and remote seemed well deserved, for unlike his wife, he gave the appearance of being unapproachable.
Perhaps it was the oddly smooth face, or the rather frozen look in his eyes. Emma studied him for a long moment, thinking about all she had heard concerning his difficulties with Mr. Canning. It was hard to imagine him feeling sufficiently angered and provoked to call anyone out to a duel, but from all accounts this might very well be what was about to happen.
Beside him, Gerald was as immaculately turned out as ever, and it seemed to Emma that he grew more handsome each time she saw him.
Mr. Rutherford touched her arm gently. “Emma, my dear, I think we should go down.”
She nodded, taking a deep breath to compose herself; then she accepted her father’s arm, and they began to descend the stairs.
Gerald saw them first, and came to the foot of the staircase, his glance sweeping briefly over her before he met her eyes.
Mr. Rutherford spoke. “Good evening, Lord Kane.”
“Good evening, Mr. Rutherford. Miss Rutherford.”
“I must say again that I wish my health permitted me more license, for nothing would please me more than to join you tonight. I do hope that my regret is sufficiently expressed.”
“It is indeed, sir,” Gerald replied. “Come, allow me to present my friends Lord and Lady Castlereagh.”
Lady Castlereagh was as agreeable and friendly as Emma knew she would be, and could not have been more at pains to make her young charge feel at ease.
“My dear Miss Rutherford, how very charming you look tonight. I vow that I am consumed with jealousy over your hair, for it is everything that my wretched mop has never been. I doubt very much if you will ever be reduced to wearing odious turbans rather than display your locks to the eyes of the world.’’
“You are too kind, I think, Lady Castlereagh.”
“Not at all, my dear, I merely give credit where credit is due. Now, then, I will look after you tonight, and on any other occasion that may arise, so please do not give propriety another thought, for all is well.”
“Thank you, Lady Castlereagh.”
Lady Castlereagh gave Gerald a stern look. “Sirrah, you have been very remiss, for you did not tell us how very pretty she is. You have found yourself a positive treasure, and I doubt very much if you deserve such good fortune.”
Gerald smiled. “Emily, I doubt it too, but Lady Luck has chosen to single me out, I fear.” Taking Emma’s hand, he drew her to meet Lord Castlereagh. “Miss Rutherford, allow me to present Lord Castlereagh. Robert, this is Miss Rutherford.”
Lord Castlereagh bowed over her hand. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Rutherford.”
“My lord.” She looked up into his blue eyes, and for the first time saw the warm kindness which he was usually at such pains to hide from the world. He wasn’t the impassive, stuffy, remote man he appeared to be, and with a moment of sudden insight Emma realized how very deeply hurt he would have been to hear the foreign secretary’s perfidy.
He smiled suddenly, his face transforming. “I agree with my wife, Miss Rutherford, you are far too much of a treasure for a wretch like Kane.”
For a few minutes they all stood in polite conversation, and then Gerald murmured that if they wished to arrive in Covent Garden before the curtain rose, they had better be on their way.
Saunders assisted Lady Castlereagh with her white fur cloak, and then stood at the door as she and Lord Castlereagh took their leave of Mr. Rutherford before emerging into the night.
A thin mist had risen between the trees in the central garden of the square, and the light from the streetlamps seemed diffused. The air was very cold, with more autumn about it than there had been even the day before, and the impatient team drawing Lord Castlereagh’s fine town carriage stamped and tossed their heads, their breath standing out in silvery clouds.
Emma said good night to her father, and then Gerald escorted her from the house. Before entering the carriage, where Lord and Lady Castlereagh were already in their seats, Gerald paused, turning Emma to face him.
“Don’t be anxious about tonight, Miss Rutherford, for I know that you will
carry it off splendidly.”
“I hope you are right, Lord Kane.”
“I know I’m right.” He glanced into the carriage, and then lowered his voice so that only she could hear. “I fear that this Canning business is out in the open at last, and that Robert has taken it very badly indeed. He’s putting a brave face on it, but tonight will be as much an ordeal for him as it is for you.”
“Will he do anything about Mr. Canning?”
“I don’t know, but I fear he well might. It is a very grave state of affairs.” Gerald smiled then. “But what isn’t grave is that tonight you and I are to face London society together. Are you wearing the Keepsake?”
“Yes.”
He drew her fingers to his lips for a moment. “Then from now on everyone will know beyond any shadow of doubt that you are soon to become Lady Kane.”
He assisted her into the carriage and then climbed in as well. Saunders closed the door behind them, and a moment later the coachman’s whip cracked, and the carriage drew away from the curb.
Chapter Seven
As they neared the theater’s main entrance in Bow Street, more and more private carriages choked the way, so that soon they were able to proceed at only a snail’s pace. It seemed that a large proportion of society was attending the famous opening night, for the ladies and gentlemen in the carriages were all attired for the occasion, the men in black with cocked hats and swords, the ladies in their finest evening clothes, with plumes and jewels in their hair.
At last the new theater appeared ahead, its entrance brilliantly illuminated with lamps. It was a stern rather than beautiful building, and was the design of the fashionable new young architect Mr. Smirke, Emma had read in the newspapers about the vast sum of money the new building had cost, and so found its exterior a little disappointing, for it did not seem possible that so plain a construction could have consumed such a fortune.
The main doors were approached up steps beneath a grand portico standing on four immense Greek Doric columns, and the building was separated from the pavement by an iron railing, along intervals of which there arose graceful wrought-iron lamps. The street echoed to the clatter of hooves and wheels, and as Lord Castlereagh’s carriage edged closer and closer to the portico, Emma became aware of the sound of refined laughter and conversation.
The carriage drew to a halt at last, and two theater footmen came to open the doors. The sound of the street seemed to leap inside, and Emma became faintly aware of the orchestra playing in the auditorium. She strained to recognize the piece, and was sure it was the rondo from Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik.
Lord Castlereagh alighted, followed by Gerald, and then they turned to assist the two ladies down as well. Emma shivered, glancing up at the huge lamps that lit the portico. She could hear the orchestra more clearly now, and could tell that it was indeed playing the Mozart rondo.
A line of carriages was constantly moving toward the theater, and each vehicle disgorged a glittering party of ladies and gentlemen. Emma was immediately conscious of everyone’s reaction on seeing Lord Castlereagh’s tall figure. Meaningful glances were exchanged, quizzing glasses were raised, and fans put to lips as the unfortunate lord’s problems were discussed yet again. As for Lord Castlereagh himself, he evinced supreme unconcern about everything around him, seeming to be interested only in his wife’s chatter.
Emma was ashamed of herself for feeling relieved that Lord Castlereagh was attracting so much attention. It was hardly charitable on her part, but she couldn’t help herself, for it meant that very few glances were turned in her direction.
Gerald offered her his arm, and they followed Lord and Lady Castlereagh up the steps into the crowded vestibule, where a sea of elegant people stood beneath dazzling chandeliers. Jewels flashed, plumes wafted, and military decorations shone as the gathering prepared to enjoy what promised to be a very entertaining evening. A number of footmen moved among them all, relieving the new arrivals of their outer garments, and several small black boys in pink brocade robes endeavored to sell programs. The orchestra continued to play in the auditorium, with more Mozartean trills echoing through the building.
From the moment Lord Castlereagh’s small party entered the vestibule, a stir passed tangibly through the gathered theatergoers. Conversation died away for a few seconds, and then broke out again, but Lord Castlereagh still seemed unconcerned, as did his wife, who laughed at something he said, tapping her fan playfully on his sleeve.
A footman came for Emma’s cloak, and as he took it away, it was remarked by one and all that she wore the Kane Keepsake. The phoenix brooch flashed brilliantly in the light from the chandeliers, the diamonds so sparkling that they drew everyone’s gaze. She was conscious of Lord Castlereagh’s sudden eclipse as the whispered topic of conversation turned from his troubles to the surprising break with convention which had prompted Gerald to present his bride-to-be with the famous family heirloom before she even wore his betrothal ring.
Gerald assisted her by putting her shawl around her shoulders, and then smiled into her eyes as he became aware of the stir caused by the Keepsake. “The significance of a mere trinket is sometimes hard to credit,” he murmured.
“Hardly a mere trinket,” she replied, wishing that telltale color hadn’t immediately flooded into her cheeks.
“Whatever its value, its beauty is greatly enhanced by the lady who wears it tonight,” he said suddenly.
She looked up quickly. “Thank you for saying that.”
“You think it is an empty compliment?”
She didn’t reply, and he said nothing more.
At that moment two gentlemen detached themselves from another party nearby. The first one was about thirty years old, freckled, and red-haired, the second was about ten years older, slightly built, with pale skin and thin, fair hair. The red-haired gentleman was introduced to her as Lord Yarmouth, who was Lord Castlereagh’s cousin, and the son of the Marquis of Hertford, whose assembly it would be at Manchester House on Friday.
His companion was named as none other than the gentleman whose coming-of-age birthday celebration Stephen had professed to be attending at White’s, Mr. Edward “Donkey” Shingleton, so named, it seemed, because of his immensely long ears, which he concealed as best he could by the judicious combing of his sparse hair.
Emma was startled on learning his name, and dismayed, for it was plain that he was long past the age of twenty-one, and that if he had a birthday today, he most certainly was not celebrating it with a dinner at White’s. So Stephen could not possibly be doing what he’d claimed to be doing tonight, which meant that he was elsewhere. But where? Lord Avenley’s wretched den of gambling iniquity?
Lord Yarmouth’s appreciative glance had taken in every inch of Emma’s appearance, and he grinned approvingly at Gerald. “You sly dog, Kane, snapping up such a delightful morsel. Tell me, are you and Miss Rutherford honoring the old man’s invitation on Friday?”
“We are,” confirmed Gerald.
“Excellent. Miss Rutherford, there is to be some dancing at Manchester House, and here and now I claim at least two measures with you.”
“I’m flattered, my lord.”
“And I’m determined to be one of the first to be seen with the next Lady Kane on my arm,” he replied, sketching her an elegant bow.
The two gentlemen withdrew, and she and Gerald became temporarily separated from Lord and Lady Castlereagh. Gerald drew her aside. “Is something wrong, Miss Rutherford? You seem suddenly a little withdrawn.”
“My brother’s claimed prior engagement tonight happens to be Mr. Shingleton’s birthday dinner at White’s,” she explained.
“Ah. So Stephen has been caught out in a fib.”
“He has indeed, and if he’s where I fear he is …”
“Avenley’s?”
“Yes.”
“It may simply be that he is with a lady,” Gerald pointed out gently.
“It could be, but I don’t somehow think so. In the past Stephen has
always confided in me concerning his affairs of the heart.’’
“Forgive me for saying this, but there are some ladies that brothers would not wish to discuss with their sister,” Gerald said, smiling a little.
“Yes, I suppose there are,” she conceded, coloring.
“Then at least give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“I’m afraid that my brother requires rather a lot of such discreet consideration, Lord Kane, at least he has in recent months.”
For the next ten minutes she had very little opportunity to think any more about Stephen’s untruthfulness, for she was presented to person after person, and strove throughout to conduct herself perfectly. She bobbed graceful curtsies, inclined her head, looked interested, murmured suitable phrases, and was generally all that she was required to be. She was rewarded by the impression that most of those she spoke to found her to be not as far beyond the pale as they’d expected of the daughter of a minor Dorset landowner.
During a lull, before they had even reached the staircase that led up to the inner vestibule and the stairs to the rows of private boxes, she came face to face with the first person who was openly unfriendly and disapproving, and that person was Raine, Countess of Purbeck. It happened when Gerald’s attention was temporarily diverted and Emma was stealing a few private moments to brace herself for the business of actually ascending the staircase with its throng of people.
An elegant folded fan tapped her naked shoulder, making her whirl about with a gasp. She found herself gazing once more into the sweet heart-shaped face she’d seen the day before in the open landau that had almost run her down. Raine was wearing a three-quarter-length geranium velvet tunic dress over a sheer white silk slip, and there was a little geranium velvet hat resting on her frothy golden curls. Pearls encircled her throat and trembled on the hat, and a long white feather boa trailed on the floor behind her. Her magnificent lilac eyes were cold, and there was a false smile on her lips.
