"Indeed," Robert said, thoroughly bemused. He mentally added conciliator to the already long list of Emily's finer points.
"Mrs. Dawson," Emily continued, smiling sweetly, "you will be pleased to know that Monsieur Anatole is famed for his stocks and sauces. And he is a master of the rôtisserie. Why, it is really quite splendid," she said, smiling at one and then the other, "to think how your talents will complement each other. How wonderful that you can now each concentrate on your own special areas of expertise. Mrs. Dawson can give all her attention to her breads, pastries, jellies, and aspics, while Monsieur Anatole can focus on his favorite viandes and sauces. My lord," she said with excitement as she turned again to Robert, "you will be the envy of all your friends! You will surely have the cream of London Society beating a path to your door in hopes of a dinner invitation."
"You are quite right, Miss Townsend," Robert said, following her lead with no little admiration. "The Regent himself cannot be so well favored."
Mrs. Dawson and Anatole eyed each other skeptically. Although neither had yet spoken a word, the fury of a few moments earlier had completely dissipated.
"Well," Emily said brightly, "I must join the dowager. We are having guests for tea. Mrs. Dawson, perhaps you can convince Monsieur Anatole to share with you his famous millefeuille recipe. It is quite delicious. I'm sure he would appreciate the opinion of someone of your training and experience." She turned to leave. "Oh," she said, turning back to Mrs. Dawson, "and you simply must taste his bordelaise sauce. It is heavenly!"
She smiled sweetly at Anatole and turned to leave again, taking Robert's proffered arm. "My lord," she said, "we are the most fortunate of households. The partnership of Monsieur Anatole and Mrs. Dawson will surely create a sensation!"
The two chefs watched the departing couple in astonishment. Anatole turned to Mrs. Dawson. "Madame," he said, bowing and sweeping his arm toward his stockpots in a gesture of welcome.
When Robert and Emily had closed the kitchen door behind them, they looked at each other, both stifling chuckles as they rushed up the stairs. Once in the entry hall they burst into laughter.
"My dear Miss Townsend," Robert said, covering Emily's hand with his own, "that was a masterful performance. They could probably use your talents at the Home Office! Not only did you end the battle before a shot had been fired, but you peacefully managed to negotiate a truce. I have no doubt that our table will henceforth be graced with extraordinary delights as those two try to outdo each other. Ha! I am going to enjoy this!"
"Indeed, my lord," Emily said. "As will we all, I suspect."
"Miss Townsend," he said softly, "you are a treasure." He could not resist bringing her hand to his lips.
She bowed her head, blushing slightly, and gently retrieved her hand. He smiled down at her warmly. Dammit, but he admired this woman. The devil take this blasted betrothal for cramping his style. Oh, God! Augusta!
"Good heavens," he said, stepping back from Emily, "I am late! I am supposed to be at Cavendish Square to pick up Augusta and her mother. I promised to escort them here for tea. I must fly! Goodbye, Miss Townsend," he called as he hurried toward the front door, where Claypool was waiting to hand him his hat and gloves.
"Goodbye, my lord," she said.
"Oh," he said, turning back toward Emily and flashing her a huge smile, "and thank you for your extraordinary efforts downstairs. I have a feeling we may be in need of your diplomatic skills yet again before this day is through." He laughed, winked at her, and headed out the door.
Chapter 9
Emily twisted the golden cord of her reticule as the carriage made its way at a sedate pace toward Portman Square. Her first foray into London Society had brought on an uncharacteristic bout of nerves. At least she could be confident about her appearance, as Lottie had done her job well.
"Oh, miss," Lottie had said as she surveyed the final product of her efforts, "you look just like a fairy princess."
She had beamed with satisfaction at her mistress, who was dressed in shimmering peach silk embroidered in gold. She had tugged at the square neckline, fluffed the melon sleeves, and straightened the hemline so many times that Emily had wanted to scream. But she knew the girl had been almost as nervous as she was herself. Emily smiled as she recalled the proud stance Lottie had taken when Emily had thanked her and complimented her on her work. After one final inspection and a flick of the sleeves, Lottie had smiled triumphantly and turned to leave. She had spun around, however, when she reached the door and glared at her mistress with a serious face.
"Now, miss," Lottie had said, wagging an imperious finger, "mind you be careful tonight. As pretty as you look, you're bound to attract admirers. But I know you ain't been out much, bein' employed and all, so you don't rightly know how the Quality go on here in town. I hear tell that London gentlemen—" she almost spat out the word—"can be too forward by half. You just stay close to her ladyship. She'll know who's nice and who ain't."
She had left the room and closed the door before Emily could comment on her impertinence. Emily smiled ruefully as she recalled Lottie's words. If she didn't know better, she would swear that the girl was in league with the dowager.
Emily glanced at her employer, who was seated next to her in the carriage. The older woman was obviously excited to be back among London's beau monde and had taken some pains with her own appearance. She was dressed in a satin gown of her favorite shade of lavender trimmed in silver lace. She wore an elaborate silver turban sporting three large purple plumes which scraped the ceiling of the carriage. The dowager looked over at Emily and smiled.
"I hope you will enjoy the evening," she said, patting Emily's hand. "You look very lovely tonight, my dear, but this will probably be such a sad crush that it will be fortunate if we are seen at all. But," she said with a grin, "it can hardly be more unpleasant than this afternoon's debacle." The purple plumes quivered as she began to chuckle.
Yes, Emily thought, tea with the Windhurst ladies had been embarrassing at best. Lady Windhurst had been every bit as encroaching and supercilious as the dowager had led Emily to believe. She had arrived at Bradleigh House along with her daughter and Lord Bradleigh a short time after the return of Lady Lavenham. She had marched boldly into the drawing room ahead of the engaged couple with an air of familiarity that had set Emily's teeth on edge. She had known at that moment that this was not going to go well.
Lady Windhurst had been dressed fashionably, but more youthfully than was suitable for her middle-aged girth, and she was adorned with more jewelry than was considered proper for daytime. She had fawned over the dowager and Lady Lavenham until both ladies were rigid with disdain. She had nodded curtly at Emily when introduced, raked her with a scathing glance from head to toe, and thereafter ignored her completely. This had suited Emily just fine, as she had taken an instant and irrational dislike to the woman.
Miss Windhurst had said all that was proper during the introductions, although she said little else. She had eyed her surroundings with more circumspection than her mother, who had openly scrutinized every corner of the room as she was led to a sofa near the tea table.
"I am so pleased to welcome you all to the bosom of our family," Lady Windhurst said in a syrupy voice to the group at large. She glanced at Augusta, who was seated on a smaller settee next to Lord Bradleigh. "La," she said, sighing, "such a handsome couple our darlings make. They will surely be the toast of the ton. We will be such a cozy group, I declare. Why, I'm sure when my Augusta is countess we will all practically be living in each other's pockets. I have no doubt that I will be spending so much time here that it will be like a second home for me in London." She eyed the room covetously.
Emily had listened in astonishment as Lady Windhurst exclaimed over the proportions of the room, the quality of the furnishings, the pleasing prospect of the gardens from the drawing room windows, the elegance of the Worcester tea service, and on and on. Lady Lavenham's mouth had been set in a tight line, and she was uncharacteristic
ally quiet. Emily also noticed that the dowager's brows had not unfurled since the arrival of the Windhurst ladies. She knew her employer well enough to recognize that she was rigidly curbing her annoyance. Emily had prayed that the old woman would be able to maintain her cool.
"I simply adore your collection of Italian paintings, Bradleigh," Lady Windhurst said.
Emily had almost choked on her tea and noticed that Lady Lavenham's eyes were wide with astonishment. Had the earl actually given this woman leave to drop his tide?
"The Italians are so much more tasteful in our English decor than, say, French paintings, don't you agree? So large and dark and atmospheric and all. Most complimentary to your delightfully old-fashioned furniture," she said as she eyed a Chippendale arm chair. She turned to the dowager and laid a hand on her sleeve. "Bradleigh has surely told you of the extensive renovations we have made to our drawing room in Cavendish Square. All new furnishings. In the Egyptian style. Quite fashionable, don't you know."
"Yes," the dowager drawled between clenched teeth as she deftly extricated her arm from Lady Windhurst's touch. "I'm sure it is quite ... up to date."
"But, Mama," Augusta had interjected, "you must admit there is a certain elegance to this room. I quite like it."
"It is indeed charming, my dear," Lady Windhurst replied. "Are you responsible for this charming decor, Bradleigh?"
"I'm afraid the credit must go to my mother, Lady Windhurst," the earl replied in his most polite tone. Emily had never seen him appear so subdued.
"Well, then, I am sure my Augusta will make her own changes, just as your mother did. Isn't that so, my dear?"
"Of course," Augusta replied, her eyes roaming the room.
"I do admire the paintings, though," Lady Windhurst said. "Do tell me, Bradleigh, which of your paintings is the most prized? To me, they are all quite wonderful, of course, but surely there is one that you most treasure? That is most valuable?"
Emily had closed her eyes and stifled a groan at such an impertinent question. She looked up to see that the dowager had risen and walked across the room to stand next to a very small, very beautiful painting which Emily had noticed the previous evening. It depicted a group of ladies and gentlemen dressed in the style of the early part of the last century. The colors were jewel-like and the style very delicate and decidedly un-Italian.
"This," the dowager drawled, "is the greatest treasure in the house. It was given to my husband and me as a bridal gift from the Duc d'Orlèans. It is a Watteau." She locked eyes with Lady Windhurst. "French, don't you know."
Emily hid a smile behind her teacup. Lady Windhurst was momentarily flustered but recovered almost immediately to comment on the extraordinary selection of pastries and breads on the tea tray. Emily could not help but look over at Lord Bradleigh, who had caught her glance and flashed a crooked grin.
Emily felt some pity for Lord Bradleigh, who would have to deal with that vulgar creature as a mother-in-law. No wonder the dowager had been so upset at his betrothal! But then she recalled Miss Windhurst and realized that her mother would be a small price to pay in order to wed such a beauty. Exquisite was the only word Emily could think of to describe the lovely, aloof Augusta Windhurst. She had very dark hair, styled in fashionably short curls that framed her heart-shaped face and set off her alabaster skin. Her eyes were very pale blue, almost turquoise, and were accented by delicately arching brows. She was not quite as tall as Emily, but carried herself with such a regal air that she seemed much taller. She had spoken only once or twice during the entire visit and had not smiled even once.
Emily did not think that shyness was the cause of Augusta's reserve, as her cool blue eyes seemed very keen, almost calculating. She had all but ignored her mother's monologues while she intently observed the dowager and Lady Lavenham. She was even caught closely watching Emily herself once or twice. Only occasionally had her glance fallen upon her betrothed, Emily could not help but notice. She seemed to be judging the ladies' reaction to her mother. Emily suspected she was storing the information for later use in her behavior as the Countess Bradleigh. For no reason that Emily could articulate, she felt certain that Augusta Windhurst would have no qualms about cutting the connection with her own mother if it raised her distinction in the eyes of the ton.
Despite Augusta's beauty, Emily found it hard to believe that Lord Bradleigh was to marry such an iceberg. He was so warm and compassionate, and ... well... likable. Could he really be so superficial as to want this young girl for her beauty alone? To act as an ornament on his arm, to be paraded before the ton to increase his consequence? Emily wanted to dislike Lord Bradleigh for such shallowness, but found it difficult to temper her growing admiration for him. She scolded herself for being so hasty in her judgment of Miss Windhurst after only one meeting. Surely there were qualities other than her exquisite beauty that had attracted Lord Bradleigh. She was determined to uncover them, if only to convince herself that the girl was worthy of him.
Emily's attention was diverted from her reflections when she realized the carriage had come to an abrupt stop. They had apparently reached Portman Square, but the streets were jammed with traffic. She looked over at the dowager, who shrugged in resignation.
"You may as well make yourself comfortable, my dear," the dowager said as she settled herself more snugly against the plush velvet squabs. "It will surely be half an hour or more to best this throng."
Emily peeked out the window and saw an enormous house at the end of the block bathed in the light of dozens of torches. She realized that this was their destination and was momentarily incredulous that it should take them thirty minutes to travel a single block. And yet as they inched their way along the square, it was clear that the dowager had not exaggerated. Emily's inclination was to get out and walk the short distance, but she knew that such a thing was simply not done.
As the carriage finally made its way through the crush of vehicles, Emily took a deep breath to steady her nerves. It had been a very strange day, but she suspected that a few more surprises were in store this evening as she recalled the earl's promise to introduce her to some of his acquaintances. She had no doubt that the dowager would make sure that this promise was put into practice at once.
She was helped down from the carriage by a liveried footman and took the dowager's arm as they made their way to the crowded entrance of the impressive town house.
* * *
Robert noticed them at once. He had been doing the pretty with Lord and Lady Windhurst and Augusta, but couldn't keep his eyes from straying to the entrance. He hadn't even been aware that he had been watching for her until he saw her. But then he realized he had been most anxious to see how she would look tonight, dressed in her new finery for her first ton event. He was not disappointed as his eyes followed her as she and the dowager made their way toward their hostess. She looked beautiful. His attention was snapped back when he suddenly became aware that Lord Windhurst was addressing him.
"I'm terribly sorry, sir," Robert said, "but the noise is so great that I missed what you said. Oh, but there is my grandmother. I must go pay my respects. If you will excuse me." He bowed to the Windhursts, turned to Augusta, and took her hand to his lips. "My dear," he said, as he took his leave, ignoring her petulant look. He really ought to spend more time with the girl, he thought as he elbowed his way through the crowd. But not just now.
He was forced to stop and acknowledge greetings and congratulations along the way. He tried all the while to keep his grandmother and Emily in sight, as they were fast disappearing into the crowd, and he feared he might lose them forever in such a crush.
"Bradleigh!" a familiar cheerful voice rose above the din. Robert turned to find a tall, fair-haired gentleman making his way toward him.
"Sedge! Well met," Robert said, clapping the gentleman on the back. Lord Colin Sedgewick was one of Robert's oldest friends. He also happened to be at the top of the list of eligible gentlemen Robert had considered for introductions to Emily, who by now
, he realized, was completely lost in the crowd. He sighed and looked back at his friend.
"I haven't seen you since the great announcement appeared in the Gazette, old man," Lord Sedgewick said, grinning broadly.
Robert had often thought that Sedge had the most infectious grin he had ever seen. His eyes crinkled up into tiny slits, and he looked positively impish. It was nearly impossible not to grin in return.
"I almost choked on my morning coffee when I read it," Lord Sedgewick continued. "Put me off my feed for the entire day. Why didn't you tell me?"
"No time. Sedge," Robert replied. "I hared straightaway off to Bath to tell Grandmother before she heard it through the grapevine. Unfortunately I was too late. She had read the Gazette only moments before my arrival."
"Poor boy. How did she react?"
"She boxed my ears."
"Ha!" Lord Sedgewick shouted. "I always liked the old girl." His eyes narrowed as he caught someone in the crowd. "Well, speak of the devil."
Robert turned to see three purple plumes bobbing above the crowd and heading in his direction.
"Robert!" His grandmother's familiar drawl reached him before he actually saw her emerge from between two animated groups, her plumes striking one outraged gentleman in the eye. "I've been searching for you this age," she said, ignoring the irate gentleman. "What a crush! Ah, Sedgewick. How delightful to see you again." She cast a meaningful glance at Robert.
Her meaning was not lost on him.
"Lady Bradleigh," Lord Sedgewick said as he took the dowager's hand to his lips. "You are a vision, as always. Bath agrees with you, ma'am, though we miss you here in London. What brings you to town?"
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