by Sandra Heath
Her steps faltered, and she turned quickly to look up at him, but he urged his horse away, riding swiftly in the wake of his companions, who had already left the square again.
Dolly moved closer to her mistress. “What did he mean by that, Miss Emma?”
“I don’t know, Dolly. I only wish I did.” Emma shivered suddenly, for the breeze stirred more strongly across the open square, and there was a chill in it that seemed to reach through her clothes to touch her skin. Some leaves scuttered dryly over the cobbles, and Emma began to walk on, her steps quicker than before. A feeling of impending danger settled chillingly over her, and there was no longer any pleasure to be had from the morning sun.
At the door of the house, she turned to Dolly. “I don’t intend to mention this to anyone, Dolly, for if it should reach my father’s ears, then it would alarm him unnecessarily.”
“Unnecessarily? But, Miss Emma, what if Lord Avenley was really threatening you?”
“And what if he was merely amusing himself by worrying me? I think it best to opt for the latter possibility, don’t you?”
Dolly nodded reluctantly. “Yes, miss. I suppose so.”
They went into the house, but in spite of her brave words, Emma felt very uneasy indeed. Lord Avenley was up to something, and she wished she knew what it was.
*
She rested that afternoon, but could not put Lord Avenley from her thoughts. She tried to extract enjoyment from the preparations for the evening, languishing in a rose-scented bath and washing her hair so that she would be sure it shone for the assembly. She and Dolly then spent an agreeable hour discussing exactly which gown and accessories she would wear, but at no time did either of them go to the chest of drawers to take out the Keepsake, which Emma had promised Gerald she would wear.
They decided at last upon a gown that would have been considered far too daring in Dorchester, but which was entirely acceptable in London. It was a sleeveless white silk slip with a low scoop neckline, and over it was a gown of the most delicate, transparent green-and-silver plowman’s gauze. The sleeves were long and diaphanous, and gathered with silver strings at the wrists.
The sheerness of the gauze was quite breathtaking, for it hid nothing of the flimsy slip beneath, and the slip was in turn so fine and dainty that it outlined her figure to perfection. Yes, indeed, very daring for Dorset, but ideal for a high-society assembly in London, as she had very swiftly realized when she had attended the theater.
An hour before Gerald and the Castlereaghs were due to arrive, Emma sat before the dressing-table mirror while Dolly combed and pinned her hair. Emma knew that her hair was one of her best features, and so was always loath to conceal it in tight, rather unbecoming knots, even though such things were the height of fashion. She preferred to show off the length and thickness of her dark curls by allowing at least one ringlet or tress to fall.
For tonight she asked Dolly to make that single ringlet very heavy indeed, and to twine it with a string of silver spangles that she had discovered so unexpectedly in the Dorchester haberdashery she frequented most. There was something so very French and stylish about the spangles, that finding them in a small shop in an English country town was really most astonishing.
Now, as Dolly twined them around the thick ringlet, Emma knew that she had purchased very wisely indeed, for they set off her hair as nothing else would. Her coiffeur was completed by a tall comb that sparkled with tiny diamonds, which would in turn complement the Keepsake when it was pinned to her shoulder.
Her evening cloak was in readiness over the fireside chair, and her shawl was already folded inside her muff. The clock on the bedroom mantelpiece whirred and then began to chime nine. As it did so, there was a knock at the door.
Dolly went to answer it, and Saunders was admitted. He had come to tell her that Gerald and Lady Castlereagh had arrived and that a running footman had also just delivered a note for her. The butler held out a silver tray, on which the sealed note lay.
Emma took the note and then glanced at him. “Did you say Lord Kane and Lady Castlereagh? Isn’t Lord Castlereagh with them?”
“No, madam. It seems that he is detained on government business, and will be going direct to Manchester House when it is completed.”
“Very well. Would you inform Lord Kane and Lady Castlereagh that I will be only a moment or so?”
“Madam.” He bowed and began to withdraw.
“Oh, Saunders, has my father left already?” she asked.
“Yes, madam, he went about half an hour ago. Master Stephen is asleep, and the cook says that he drank a goodly bowl of broth a short while ago.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Saunders.”
He bowed again and went out.
She glanced at the note, wondering who could have sent it, and as she broke the seal, Dolly suddenly remembered the Keepsake.
“Oh, Miss Emma, we almost forgot the Keepsake!” she cried, hurrying to the chest of drawers.
Emma began to read the note.
If you wish to retrieve certain property, including lOU’s, and if you wish to save your match, you will call upon me immediately. Forget Manchester House, for I still hold all the trumps, and will not hesitate to play them. Tell no one of this.
An icy chill settled over Emma as she read it. It wasn’t signed, and was written in a disguised hand that was far too clumsy to be Lord Avenley’s, but he it was who had sent it, for who else would write of trumps?
Behind her, Dolly’s breath caught with dismay. “Miss Emma! The Keepsake isn’t here, the box is empty!”
Emma whirled around, suddenly realizing what the note had meant about retrieving certain property. The Keepsake had been stolen, and Lord Avenley had it! Her mouth ran dry as she read the note again. What should she do? Should she ignore the final words, and tell Gerald without delay? This was her first and natural instinct, but then she thought again.
What did Lord Avenley mean about saving her match? He had the Keepsake and Stephen’s lOU’s, so did he also possess something that would endanger her future with Gerald? She was afraid, for Lord Avenley was not a man to make empty threats where something like this was concerned, and there was too much at stake for her to ignore the danger by telling Gerald what had happened. Her mind was made up in a moment. Somehow she had to cry off Manchester House, even at this late hour, and instead she had to find out what Lord Avenley wanted of her.
Dolly was waiting anxiously. “Miss Emma! Did you hear me? The Keepsake has gone!”
“I heard you, Dolly.” Taking a long breath to steady herself, Emma turned to the frightened maid. “Dolly, I have to go to Avenley House tonight, instead of accompanying Lord Kane, and so I wish you to listen very carefully to my instructions.”
“But, Miss Emma—”
“Do as I say, Dolly. Lord Avenley has the Keepsake!”
The maid’s eyes widened.
“Bring my white feather boa, for it must be arranged carefully around my shoulders so that Lord Kane will not know I’m not wearing the Keepsake. Hurry!”
The maid hastened to the wardrobes, and a moment later returned with the boa, which with trembling hands she arranged around the shoulders of Emma’s green-and-silver gown.
Emma looked urgently at her. “I’m going to pretend that I’m really going to Manchester House, and you must accompany me downstairs with my cloak and muff, but then I will affect to feel faint and unwell, and I want you to beg me not to go out. You are to tell Lord Kane that I was unwell this afternoon, and that you feel it is most unwise for me to leave the house.”
“Miss Emma, I think you should tell Lord—”
“I daren’t do that, Dolly, and if you don’t obey me in this, I swear I’ll pack you off without a reference!” Emma cried, distraught with nerves.
The maid flinched. “I … I’ll do as you wish, Miss Emma.”
Emma strove to calm the wild tumult of anxiety that welled up inside her. She didn’t want to do Lord Avenley’s vile bidding, and she certainl
y didn’t want to deceive Gerald, but she felt she had no choice. Maybe she was acting too hastily, but she had to make a spur-of-the-moment decision, and under the circumstances she hoped the decision had been correct. Clenching her fists to dig her fingernails into the palms of her hands, a ruse she had always found concentrated her thoughts, she nodded at the maid, and they left the room.
Lady Castlereagh’s tinkling laughter echoed up from the hall, two floors below, and Emma paused at the balustrade to look down. Gerald was superb in formal black, with an amethyst pin in his lace-edged cravat. His hair was tousled, and he was smiling. To Emma he had never looked more handsome, or more dear. Guilt lanced miserably through her, for she didn’t want to lie to him, indeed it was the last thing she wished to do. But she felt compelled to do as Lord Avenley instructed.
Lady Castlereagh was wearing a peach silk tunic dress over a gold satin slip, and her hair was concealed by a golden turban adorned with aigrettes and strings of pearls. She was in bubbling high spirits, and evidently felt a great deal better now that the duel was over and done with. She saw Emma and Dolly descending and tapped Gerald’s arm with her closed fan.
He turned, coming to the foot of the staircase to greet Emma. His warm glance took in her gown and hair, and he nodded approvingly. “You look exquisite, Emma,” he said softly, drawing her hand to his lips.
Oh, how she hated herself. She managed a smile, but it was a weak one, and she saw how swiftly he became concerned.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, still holding her hand.
“I …” It was painfully easy to act as if she were unwell, for in truth she felt dreadful. She closed her eyes for a moment and swayed on her feet.
Dolly immediately carried out her instructions. “Oh, Miss Emma, I really don’t think you’re well enough to go out tonight. Please stay at home.”
Gerald looked anxiously into Emma’s eyes. “You are unwell?”
“I have had a terrible headache, and now I feel a little dizzy. I fear I may have eaten something that disagrees with me.”
Lady Castlereagh came over. “Oh, my poor dear, you look quite low. Gerald, we simply cannot take the dear creature out, not to Manchester House, which resembles a bear garden at the best of times.”
“You’re right, of course,” he replied, putting his hand gently to Emma’s pale cheek. “You stay at home and rest, for it would be quite wrong to expose you to an arduous evening when you are feeling under the weather. Take care of yourself, and I will call upon you tomorrow.”
“Please extend my apologies, and tell your grandfather that I am truly sorry not to see him tonight.”
“I’ll tell him.” He hesitated, glancing at Lady Castlereagh, but then he kissed Emma’s cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispered.
A moment or so later Saunders closed the door behind them, and Emma heard the carriage drive away. She was perilously close to tears, but somehow she fought them back.
She waited until the butler returned from the door. “Saunders, I wish you to have the carriage brought around without delay.” He blinked. “I beg your pardon, madam?”
“See that the carriage is brought to the door without delay.” Having really been taken in by her display of indisposition, he could not hide his perplexity. “But, madam, I thought—”
“I am perfectly well, Saunders. Please do as I instruct.”
He recovered apace. “Very well, madam,” he murmured, bowing and then withdrawing toward the kitchen.
Emma removed the boa and then turned to Dolly. “Give me the cloak and muff, and then hurry to your room and put on your own mantle, for I wish you to accompany me.”
“Yes, Miss Emma.” The maid helped her with the cloak and then hurried away with the boa. Five minutes later the carriage arrived at the door, and Emma and the maid emerged from the house. Shortly after that they were on their way to Avenley House, Pall Mall.
Chapter Seventeen
Streetlamps shone in through the carriage windows as Emma and Dolly were conveyed south down the slope of St. James’s Street toward Pall Mall. St. James’s Street was where most of the more superior gentlemen’s clubs were to be found, clubs such as White’s, Brooks’s, and Boodle’s, and as a consequence there were a number of private carriages drawn up at the curb. At the southern end of the street was the impressive red brick facade of Tudor St. James’s Palace, and it was here that Pall Mall began, leading away to the east at a right angle.
Named originally after the game of pell-mell, which was played with a mallet and boxwood ball along a wide wooden alley several hundred yards in length, Pall Mall was now a fine thoroughfare. Pell-mell had long since ceased to be fashionable, and the wooden alley had disappeared, to be replaced by large and elegant residences, stylish shops, and another scattering of exclusive clubs, such as that at Avenley House.
It had once been as masculine a domain as Bond Street and St. James’s Street, but in daytime its pavements were crowded with elegant ladies eager to examine or purchase the fashionable wares that filled the shops. At night, however, respectable ladies would only drive along Pall Mall in their carriages, for the pavements had become the territory of women of a less virtuous nature.
Emma glanced out uneasily, for this was the first time she had been out alone at night with just Dolly for company. She was filled with misgivings about what she was doing, for she knew only too well that she should not be obeying Lord Avenley, but she had committed herself now, and meant to go through with it.
Avenley House stood on the south side of Pall Mall, almost opposite one of the narrow streets that led into nearby St. James’s Square, where Gerald’s town residence was to be found, as was that of Lord Castlereagh. The carriage drew up at the curb, and Emma looked up at the beautiful seventeenth-century building that was one of the most impressive in the street.
Built by a Dutch architect for a wealthy nobleman from Breda, it was constructed in three bays with a stone pediment above the central portion. There were tall symmetrical windows, and the whole was built of red brick with stone facings, and there was a stone porch jutting out on sturdy columns across the wide pavement.
There were lights in all the windows, but the blinds and curtains were drawn to keep out prying eyes. Two footmen in brown-and-gold livery stood beneath the porch, and behind them the door was open to reveal a dazzling entrance hall illuminated by numerous glittering chandeliers.
Dolly looked urgently at her mistress. “There is still time to change your mind, Miss Emma. We could go home now, and no one would be any the wiser.”
“I cannot do that, Dolly, for I have to find out what Lord Avenley wants.’’ Before the maid’s pleading could weaken her resolve, Emma raised her hood and began to open the carriage door.
The two footmen had looked in puzzlement at the vehicle as it drew up, for it was most unusual for a lady to call at these premises, especially at night. They were galvanized into action as it became plain that Emma was about to alight. Quickly they opened the door for her, and then lowered the iron rungs so that she could step down to the pavement.
They glanced at each other, for this was no belle de nuit; then the nearer of them addressed her. “May I be of any assistance, madam?”
“I believe that Lord Avenley is expecting me.”
They glanced at each other again, uncertain of what to do. Ladies simply were not admitted when the gaming club was in progress, and they did not know what to do.
A figure suddenly appeared in the doorway behind them. It was Lord Avenley himself, clad superbly in evening black, his single eye resting brightly upon Emma. “Good evening, my dear. Do please come inside.”
The footman stood aside for her, and Emma reluctantly gathered her cloak and skirts to enter the building. Dolly followed her, her eyes huge as she glanced around the magnificent pink-and-white marble entrance hall, at the far end of which a handsome double staircase swept grandly up to the floor above.
Emma was very careful to keep the hood of her cloa
k over her head, for the last thing she wished was to be recognized. She could see the gaming club beyond an Ionic colonnade to her right. Lamps hung low over a number of green baize tables, where gentlemen sat engrossed in their hands of cards. There was a murmur of voices, together with the chink of coins and glasses, and now and then came a burst of laughter. The smell of tobacco smoke hung in the air, and the chandeliers’ crystal droplets tinkled together softly in the draft from the open door to the street.
Lord Avenley was about to usher them both toward the staircase, when a small group of gentlemen chose that moment to leave the club, and called to him as they emerged into the entrance hall. Emma’s dismay knew few bounds when she recognized among the voices that of Stephen’s friend Jerry Warburton, who was also related to Gerald.
Concealing his irritation, Lord Avenley excused himself from the two women and went to speak briefly with the departing gentlemen. Emma was careful to keep her head averted so that Jerry would not see her face, but Dolly was not as vigilant, and looked openly toward them.
Before Emma could whisper a warning to the maid, Jerry suddenly turned directly toward the two women, his glance coming to rest on Dolly’s face. His brows drew together as he realized that he had seen her somewhere before, and quite recently at that. “I say,” he said suddenly, “don’t I know you?”
Dolly’s breath caught, and she shook her head quickly. “Oh, no, sir, I’ve never seen you before.”
“Are you quite sure?”
“Certain, sir.”
Lord Avenley began to usher the gentlemen toward the door, and Jerry glanced back over his shoulder, obviously still puzzling over why Dolly seemed so familiar, but then he and his friends were out in the street, and the footmen were hailing their carriage.
Lord Avenley returned, his bright eye upon Emma. “Please come this way, Miss Rutherford, for you and I have much to discuss.” He indicated the staircase.
