"I believe this is my dance, Miss Townsend."
Emily almost swooned in relief at the sound of the familiar deep voice and the touch of a firm hand at her elbow. Lord Bradleigh somehow managed to get her to her feet and placed himself between her and Lord Pentwick. "Remind me," he said in a clear voice, "to speak with Lady Rutland. It seems that all sorts of riffraff are being allowed entrance to her ball."
A collective gasp was heard from several bystanders. As Emily numbly followed Lord Bradleigh toward the dance floor, she heard a distinct "Blast!" from the direction of her uncle.
* * *
Robert felt Emily's arm trembling slightly as it rested on his. He looked down to find her unnaturally pale face staring straight ahead. Good girl, he thought. Hold your head up. He knew the eyes of this half of the ballroom were on them, as he also knew that all the whispering they heard as they passed was undoubtedly about them. He only hoped that most of the swiftly moving gossip was about himself and the cut direct he had just given another peer of the realm. He hoped that few had actually overheard Pentwick's insults.
Robert could not remember ever having been so angry. He had been on his way to relay a message to his grandmother from one of her cronies when he had seen Pentwick with Emily. As he heard the vile insults thrown at her, he had wanted nothing more than to leap upon the man and beat him to a bloody pulp. But then he had looked at her, sitting there stoically—saying not a word, her widened eyes the only outward sign of her distress—and he had been overwhelmed with the need to protect her. He needed to get Emily out of there, away from Pentwick. This young woman who had been so afraid that his grandmother's harmless matchmaking would publicly embarrass her was now the center of a potentially explosive and very public scene. Despite his almost uncontrollable desire to flatten the blackguard, he knew that such an action would only further publicize the unpleasantness of the confrontation and further distress Emily. The best thing to do was to calmly extricate her from the situation.
The strains of a waltz began as they reached the dance floor. As he turned to face Emily and take her in his arms, she looked up at him, her brow furrowed in alarm as she shook her head. He understood at once. It would only make matters worse if Emily were to be seen dancing the waltz without first getting permission from one of Almack's patronesses. What an idiotic practice, he thought in frustration as he looked frantically around the ballroom. Emily was not a young miss in her first Season, but she was unmarried and must therefore abide by the rules of Society. His eye finally caught that of young Emily Cowper, the daughter of his aunt's friend, Lady Melbourne. Lady Cowper was one of the patronesses of Almack's and a good friend, not only through his long acquaintance with her through Aunt Doro, but also because she was the mistress of Robert's friend, Lord Palmerston. He cocked his head toward Emily and raised his brows in question. Lady Cowper smiled and nodded. He blew a kiss at her in thanks.
"You have permission to waltz now, Miss Townsend," he said, looking down at her. "Lady Cowper has made it so. Have you ever waltzed before?"
Emily shook her head.
"Well, luckily for you, I have," he said, smiling. "It's quite simple. I put my right hand at your waist, like so, and you put your left hand on my shoulder . .." He waited while she complied. "And then I take your right hand in mine. Now, just listen to the music and follow me."
After a few awkward steps he felt Emily pick up the rhythm and move naturally with the music. She still held herself stiffly, though, and she had not looked up at Robert even once. Her lips were drawn together in a tight line, and her eyes were overbright. He knew that she was making an effort to fight back tears.
"That's it, Emily," he whispered in her ear, "stand tall. Pretend nothing happened, and the incident will soon be forgotten. Eyes are already moving on to other more interesting couples. Like Lady Byng, just over there. What do you suppose makes her think that all the world needs to see such an expanse of her ample bosom? Of course, her partner, Sir Humphrey Ingram, has probably never so appreciated his own short stature. Only look where his eyes fall!"
Robert chattered on, making jokes and telling stories about the various couples on the dance floor. After a few minutes he felt Emily relaxing in his arms. When she finally looked up and offered him a tremulous smile, he gathered her a bit closer and sighed in relief.
When Robert felt that they had truly lost the interest of the crowd, he steered her toward French doors leading to one of the terraces.
"Come," he said softly. "Let us find some cool air."
She took his arm as he led her onto the terrace. There was one other couple enjoying the cool night air, and Robert led Emily away from them. She leaned on the balustrade overlooking the gardens. This terrace was too small for private conversation in the presence of the other couple, and so Robert did not speak. He knew that Emily was still hanging on to her composure by a mere thread. She had not spoken one word since he had dragged her onto the dance floor. When the other couple moved back into the ballroom, Robert turned and put his hand on Emily's shoulder.
"Are you all right, my dear?" he asked.
She continued to stare out into the gardens, and he thought she was not going to speak. After a moment she turned to look at him.
"That was my uncle," she whispered, a slight catch in her voice.
"I know."
"I suppose I really shouldn't be so shocked," she continued quietly. "Your sister had warned me that he and my cousin were in Town for the Season. But I assumed that if our paths accidentally crossed, he would simply ignore me. I never dreamed that he would deliberately seek me out and ... and ..."
She bit down on her lip and turned to face the gardens again. She was blinking furiously. She was trying so hard to be strong, thought Robert with some admiration, but she needed to cry. His hand moved from her shoulder down her arm and took hold of her hand. She grabbed back convulsively, her fingernails digging into his palm.
"He called me a bastard," she whispered, still not looking at him. "I am not a bastard! I am not!" Her voice broke on a sob.
Robert turned her toward him and gathered her in his arms. She buried her face in his neckcloth and sobbed. She tried to talk. She choked out a few disjointed sentences about her parents having been married, saying over and over that she was no bastard. Finally she lost control of her voice altogether.
"Hush," Robert said, rubbing one hand up and down her back, the other holding her head tightly against his chest, taking care not to dislodge the blue satin fillet intricately woven though her hair. "Hush," he repeated. "Don't talk."
She cried into his neckcloth for a few more minutes, and then he felt her quieten and hiccup and he knew the storm had passed.
She made a move to lift her head from his chest, but he kept her pinned there. He was savoring the feel of her in his arms and wasn't ready to relinquish her just yet. She didn't fight him, but instead seemed to relax into his embrace.
"I'm sorry, my lord," she said, her voice muffled against his chest, "but I believe I've ruined your neckcloth. Your waistcoat, too, no doubt."
"Don't worry about it," he whispered, still stroking her back.
"I've always hated them, you know," she said. "My mother's family. I'd never actually met any of them. Until tonight. They were so cruel to her."
Suddenly she couldn't stop talking. She told him all about her mother's beauty and sweetness. About her father's recklessness and bravado. About their love for each other and their happiness as a family. About her mother's death and her father's grief. About his drowning his grief in drinking and gambling until there was nothing left. About her own anger and hurt that her father could never seem to love her as much as he had loved her mother. And about her own rage and hatred for her mother's family. How even as a child she had blamed them for everything bad that ever happened.
Robert listened in silence as she talked on, resting his cheek against her silky hair, delighting in the faint scent of lavender. God, but she felt good, although there was n
othing particularly sensual about their embrace. It was a gesture of comfort and there was something very touching about her trusting response. It was important that she trust him. He felt a protectiveness toward her that almost overwhelmed him.
As he listened he knew instinctively that Emily was telling him things that she had never told anyone else. He had known from the start that she was a very private person, that she didn't allow herself to get close to others. But a barrier was being broken down between them as she spoke. As much as he treasured her trust and confidence, he knew it could also be very dangerous to completely break down those barriers. Something more than a simple friendship would result. Something more precious.
But that could never be. Not now. He was engaged to Augusta now. Bloody hell!
He loosened his arms, and Emily pulled back to look up at him. She smiled so sweetly that his breath caught in his throat.
He couldn't take his eyes from her soft, moist mouth. He ran a thumb gently along her lower lip.
"Are you feeling better now, my dear?" he asked.
"Yes, thank you, my lord," she replied, a bewildered look in her eyes.
He forced his thumb away from her lips, knowing he must avoid that danger. He moved it up to her cheek and wiped away some remaining tears.
"You had better go freshen up," he said, moving his hands to her shoulders and deliberately putting her away from him. "You look terrible."
She smiled up at him and nodded. He turned to go, but she put a hand on his arm to stop him.
"Thank you again," she said. "You've been very kind, my lord."
"Robert."
She looked at him quizzically.
"Anyone who cries into my neckcloth may call me Robert."
"Thank you, Robert," she said. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek.
He wanted nothing more than to gather her back in his arms and kiss her properly. Instead he smiled and offered his arm as they turned toward the French doors leading to the ballroom.
Suddenly they were face to face with Augusta, who was standing in the doorway.
Chapter 12
They both stood silently, neither seeming to breathe, as they watched Augusta turn on her heel and hurry away.
"Damn!" Robert said through clenched teeth.
"Oh, my l—er, Robert," Emily stammered, "I am so sorry. Shall I go to Miss Windhurst and explain? S-surely she will understand if I—"
"No, no, Emily," he interrupted with a rueful smile. "Don't worry about a thing." He tipped her chin up with a knuckle. "You take care of your face, and I will deal with Augusta. Go on, now."
He released her chin, and Emily nodded at him and headed blindly into the ballroom. She had no idea where the ladies' retiring room was located, but she decided to keep to the perimeter of the room in hopes that no one would notice her. She was bound to find a servant who could direct her. She kept her head down, fearing someone might remark her ravaged face. She was startled into a squeal when someone grabbed her arm from behind.
"Miss Townsend! Emily!" whispered Lady Lavenham as she pulled Emily to her side and linked arms with her. "Where have you been? Grandmama and I have been beside ourselves with worry after seeing that dreadful man speak so rudely to you. I practically had to physically restrain her from hunting the man down and pummeling him with her reticule. I have never seen her so upset! Are you heading for the retiring room? Good." Louisa looked keenly at Emily as she hustled her along. "You've been crying, haven't you?"
Emily turned her face away.
"Well, anyway," Louisa continued in her now familiar breathless manner, "I had to talk a blue streak to convince Grandmama to stay out of it. I knew she would only cause a worse scene. After all, Rob had the good sense to lead you onto the dance floor—I assume he got permission for you to waltz?—and so there really wasn't much time for any kind of scandal to develop. It all happened so fast, didn't it? But what a delicious setdown Rob gave to Lord Pentwick! Wasn't he marvelous?" Louisa squeezed Emily's arm in her excitement.
Emily was thankful that Louisa's natural effusiveness made it unnecessary for her to comment, and she was able to use the time as they circumnavigated the ballroom to collect herself. The viscountess's vivacity made her a very popular figure among the ton, and there were many who looked as though they might approach them as they walked along. Louisa kept her attention riveted to Emily in such an obviously private manner, however, that no one was given the opportunity to interrupt, for which Emily was grateful. Realizing with some embarrassment that she had stopped listening to Louisa, unconsciously ignoring her in much the same way as she often did with Lottie, Emily quickly returned her mind to the woman at her side.
"But then, what happened to you?" Louisa was asking. "One moment I saw you two on the dance floor, and the next minute you were nowhere to be found. Then along came Miss Windhurst—I don't mind telling you that I am finding it somewhat difficult to warm up to her—and she was looking furiously for Rob, who had apparently reserved this set with her. Of course we told her we had no idea where he was, that he had disappeared somewhere with you, and ..."
They had reached the retiring room, which was full of young women chattering gaily. All conversation stopped when Emily and Louisa entered. Emily felt the blood rush to her face as all eyes turned toward her. She knew that gossip traveled with lightning speed through the ton, but this was her first real experience of it. Good God, would this evening never end?
Louisa whipped her around and led her out of the retiring room and down the hall. She poked her nose into every doorway until she found an empty anteroom. It was a small room with a lit fire, obviously prepared for guests who needed a moment alone or a private conversation. Louisa turned to Emily and took both her hands.
"Are you quite all right, Emily?" she asked.
Emily nodded. "I'll be fine," she said. "I just need to repair my face a bit."
"Of course you'll be fine," Louisa said as she pulled a lace-trimmed handkerchief from her reticule. She circled the room until she found a tray of wine and brandy decanters. "Aha!" she said. "Just what we need."
Emily thought she meant the brandy, which she really didn't want. But instead Louisa dipped her handkerchief in a pitcher of water which was also on the tray. She turned back to Emily, lifted her chin, and proceeded to bathe her face with the damp cloth.
"I have two small boys, you know," Louisa said. "I am quite good at this." She continued to bathe Emily's face, then had her splash water from the pitcher in her eyes to reduce the redness. "There," she said. "Don't you feel better now?"
"Yes, I do," Emily said. "Thank you, Lady Lavenham."
"Please call me Louisa, as I have already taken the liberty of calling you Emily."
"Thank you, Louisa," Emily said. "You've been very kind to me."
"Nonsense. It must have been horrible for you to have that awful Lord Pentwick say such things to you. David had hinted to me that the man was wicked, but who would have thought he would do such a thing? Well, you must know that your friends will stand by you, my dear. I don't mean to sound arrogant, but most of us have more consequence in Society than he does, despite his title. So you just hold your head high, Emily, and walk back out into the ballroom as if nothing had happened."
"Thank you, Louisa," Emily said with a catch in her voice.
"Now, don't you start crying again!" Louisa scolded as she closed her arms around Emily and gave her a fierce hug. "We've only just gotten your face back in order." She released Emily and kissed her on the cheek. "Now, where is your dance card? Have you promised this set to anyone?" Emily handed her dance card to Louisa, who moved to a nearby wall sconce so that she could better read it in the light of its two candles. "Ah, good. Lord Sedgewick has signed his name for this set. He is Rob's closest friend, you know. He will take good care of you and keep any troublesome biddies at bay."
After one last check in the mirror over the fireplace, the two ladies returned to the ballroom. They were immediately set upon by Lord Se
dgewick.
"Miss Townsend," he said as he offered his arm. "I am wounded. You have treated me most shabbily," he said, his wide grin dispelling any anger his words might have implied. "You have cheated me out of half the set already. You shall have to make amends by giving me a second set later this evening." He reached for her dance card. "Ah, I believe I'll take the third set after supper." He grinned down at her and winked. "A waltz!"
He took Emily's arm and led her to the floor, where they joined a group of three couples in a cotillion.
Emily absently walked through the cotillion and all the following dances, while her mind was elsewhere. She did receive many nods and smiles, several from people she'd never even met. She wasn't sure what it all meant, but she sensed that it wasn't bad. They weren't snubbing her, after all.
Later in the evening she made her way to the dowager's side. The old woman immediately took her hand and gave it a squeeze.
"You've handled yourself well, my girl," she said, smiling affectionately at Emily. "I can name dozens who would have indulged in a fit of the vapors, or at the very least made an early discreet exit. You did yourself a service by sticking it out. Society approves of such dignity, and you have won their hearts tonight. That blasted uncle of yours has failed utterly in his attempt to disgrace you, my dear. In fact," she said, laughing, "he was the one who bolted early."
The old woman's laughter changed abruptly to a frown as she seriously eyed her young companion. "The scoundrel!" she whispered. "What can have possessed him? One would have thought that if he had no intention of pleasantly acknowledging you he would have preferred to simply avoid you altogether."
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