by Anna Bradley
But it wasn’t the smartness of the equipage that had everyone gawking.
It was the lady at the ribbons, a spectacular dark-haired beauty, her charms set off to perfection by a pink gown in the latest fashion.
“Oh, my goodness,” Lady Flora breathed, patting her chest. “Who is that lady? She’s ever so elegant, isn’t she?”
Lady Flora had addressed this question to Lady Emma, but Lady Emma seemed to be frozen in place as she watched the phaeton approach, and didn’t answer.
“That lady is Helena Reeves.” Samuel was the only person in the vicinity who wasn’t watching Miss Reeves, and gasping over her expert handling of the ribbons.
He was watching Lady Emma.
Helena Reeves was a courtesan, and like many of London’s courtesans, she’d begun her career under the tutelage of Madame Marchand.
Samuel kept his gaze on Lady Emma as the phaeton approached, his eyes narrowed. “She’s with Viscount Wingate, driving his pair. It’s rumored he’s considering making her his mistress.”
Lady Flora gasped, her cheeks flooding with color. “M-mistress?”
Samuel knew better than to discuss mistresses in front of an innocent young lady. If he’d been in his right mind, he would have steered Lady Flora and Lady Emma in the opposite direction down Rotten Row.
But he wasn’t in his right mind, and neither, it seemed, was Lady Emma, who appeared to be rooted to the spot. The carriage drew closer, then closer still, the lady inside winking and grinning at the crowd, clearly enjoying every moment of the stir she was causing.
A half-dozen of the haughtier members of the ton turned away from the dazzling display, and Samuel was about to do the same when Helena Reeves’s roving gaze paused as it moved over the crowd, catching on Lady Emma.
It happened so quickly, if Samuel had happened to blink, he would have missed it.
It was subtle, but unmistakable, just the tiniest nod of her head.
Lady Emma did not return the nod, nor did she give any outward sign she’d noticed it, but Samuel felt a nearly imperceptible stiffening in her body, a tightening of her fingers on his arm.
“There you are, Emma.” Lady Crosby came hurrying down Rotten Row toward them. Her cheeks were pink and she was breathless, as if she’d been running. “Come along, dear. It grows late. Shall we go, Lady Silvester?”
Lady Crosby didn’t wait for an answer, but took Lady Emma’s arm and began hurrying her down the pathway.
“Thank you for the pleasant walk, Lord Lovell, and Lord Lymington.” Lady Flora dipped into a polite curtsy, but her troubled gaze followed Lady Emma and Lady Crosby, who’d rushed off at a brisk pace without a backward glance, leaving Samuel and Lovell standing alone on the pathway, staring after them.
Lovell frowned. “That was strange.”
Strange, indeed. Samuel stood in the middle of Rotten Row and watched as the crowd swallowed a young lady dressed in blue, her fair hair the color of sunflowers, and wondered how many secrets were hiding behind those perfect red lips.
Chapter Eight
“I don’t think the season was ever so pleasant as this when we were girls, do you, Edith?” Lady Crosby turned an enquiring gaze on Lady Silvester, who was seated beside her in the carriage. “If I ever attended a supper picnic among the roses, I don’t recall it.”
“No, it was all formal balls and tedious, stuffy dinners then, and all of us strapped into those enormous panniers, and our hair covered with lace caps.”
“Don’t forget the hoop petticoat and underpetticoats, Edith. Goodness, it’s a wonder we could dance with all that heavy silk dragging behind us.”
Lady Silvester laughed at the memory. “It’s a great deal more pleasant for the young ladies now.”
“I’m certain I don’t recall the weather ever being so cooperative, either. I’m sure it rained on us every day.” Lady Crosby peered out the window, then gasped as the carriage crested the hill and the south-facing view of Tremaine House appeared. “My goodness, so elegant! Don’t you think so, Emma?”
Emma thought it looked rather grim. Or perhaps the house was very well, and it was she who was grim. Either way, she didn’t like to put a damper on everyone’s mood by saying so. “It has, er…elegant proportions.”
By that, she meant it was square. Two enormous squares with towers at each of the four corners, and a long, low rectangle with dozens of rows of windows along the front between them, the whole of it faced with a dark red brick.
Lady Flora had her nose pressed to the glass as the carriage approached the house. “The gardens are meant to be lovely, as well, aren’t they, Grandmother?”
“It’s been some years since I’ve been to Tremaine House, dear, but I remember being delighted with them. There are quite a lot of fountains and dear little rose arbors tucked into every corner, if I recall correctly. I daresay they’ve only improved since then.”
Emma peered at the approaching house over Lady Flora’s shoulder, still not quite able to believe she and Lady Crosby had received an invitation to Lord and Lady Tremaine’s picnic. All the ton were panting for one, but only a select few had been invited.
Among them, Lord Lovell, his mother and his aunt, Mr. Humphries, and with them…
Lord Lymington, who’d pounce on Emma like an ill-tempered cat the moment she stepped out of the carriage, his massive paws at the ready to bat her about like a hapless mouse.
Emma turned away from the window to hide her expression from the others, a defeated sigh on her lips. She’d done her best to banish him from her thoughts, but after his morning call and their walk in Hyde Park yesterday, his every word, his every glance had been plaguing her like dozens of buzzing insects.
This was not how she’d imagined this business would unfold.
Lady Flora was infatuated with Lord Lovell, and Lord Lovell spent every moment with Lady Flora casting hopeful, yearning glances at her. Then there was Lord Lymington, who listened to every word Emma said, and somehow also heard all those she didn’t.
Lord Lymington, with his sharp gray gaze, and a touch that made her quiver.
After what he’d seen at Hyde Park yesterday, he must have realized the mysterious “Letty” was Helena Reeves. He was too clever not to have done.
With Helena’s one little nod, any hopes Emma had had of keeping their acquaintance a secret had been obliterated. What dreadful luck, that she and Helena should happen to cross paths just then, right under Lord Lymington’s nose!
Anyone else wouldn’t have even noticed Letty’s nod, but he had.
He noticed everything, blast him. Emma could hardly deny knowing Helena now, nor could she continue to insist that she’d never set foot inside the Pink Pearl.
With all these distractions plaguing her, Emma was being driven half mad, and she couldn’t afford a bout of insanity just now. She had an obligation to Lady Clifford, to Amy Townshend and Kitty Yardley, and to Caroline Francis.
And what of all the silent promises she’d made to the nameless, faceless young girls who’d met their fates at the hands of aristocrats who seduced them, and then discarded them when they grew bored, as if they were soiled gloves? Girls like Helena, and like Emma herself, who’d only escaped Helena’s fate by mere chance.
“Lord Lovell and his party are here.” Lady Silvester leaned over Lady Crosby to get a better look out the window as the carriage made its way up the drive. “Goodness, Lord Lovell looks well today, doesn’t he, Flora? I’ve never seen a more handsome man in my life.”
Lady Flora didn’t reply, but Emma cast a sidelong glance at her friend, and cringed at the longing she saw in her face. Flora might protest that she didn’t care a whit for Lord Lovell, but anyone could see he held her heart in the palm of his hand. One careless move, and he’d shatter it into thousands of tiny pieces that could never be put right again.
“Lord Lymington looks somber,
doesn’t he?” Lady Flora wrinkled her forehead. “I can’t think how he can be cross on such a beautiful day.”
Unable to help herself, Emma peered over Lady Flora’s shoulder again, her heart leaping in her chest at the sight of an unsmiling Lord Lymington, his broad shoulders outlined against the blue sky, the wind tousling his dark hair. “He looks as if he’s going to an execution instead of a picnic.”
Lady Flora, always ready to defend the indefensible, gave Emma a chastising look. “Perhaps he’s simply not fond of picnics. Not everyone is, I suppose.”
Emma snorted. “He’s not fond of balls, or dancing, or company, or art, and now he has a quarrel with picnics, sunny skies, and rose gardens? I’ve yet to find a single thing Lord Lymington approves of.”
“Oh, hush. I’m sure that’s not the case,” Lady Flora scolded, but her lips were twitching.
“One can’t say the same of his cousin.” Lady Silvester gave an approving nod as a smile lit Lord Lovell’s handsome face. “I’ve never known a gentleman more inclined to be pleased with everything than Lord Lovell. Don’t you agree, Flora?”
“Rather too inclined, perhaps,” Lady Flora muttered, but she let out a resigned sigh after a glance at her grandmother’s anxious face. “I don’t deny Lord Lovell is gifted with a charming temperament, grandmother, but charm isn’t proof of a gentleman’s honor. Don’t you agree, Emma?”
“I do, indeed.” The most charming gentlemen were invariably the least honorable, which, ironically, meant Lord Lymington was the most honorable man she’d ever encountered.
“Still, Lovell has always had a good heart.” Lady Flora was still gazing out the window, as if unable to tear her eyes away from Lord Lovell’s face. “Don’t you think he has a good heart, Emma?”
As good a heart as any other wicked rake.
Emma bit down hard on her lip before the words could tumble out. “Er…I imagine his heart is very…that is, I’m sure it’s as good as…any other gentleman’s.”
Faint praise, indeed. Emma cast Lady Crosby a despairing look, and sank down further in her seat, wishing she could disappear entirely—wishing herself anywhere but here.
Lady Flora gave Emma a curious look, but a shout pulled her attention back to the window. “Here comes Lord Lovell now.” She patted at her hair, and gave her skirts a nervous twitch.
Emma peeked out the window as Lord Lovell strode toward their carriage. A gust of cool, fresh air rushed inside as he pulled the door open. “Good afternoon, ladies!” He offered them all a polite bow, and reached a hand out to Emma, who was closest to the door.
Her smile felt stiff on her lips as she slipped the tips of her fingers into his hand and allowed him to assist her from the carriage. “How do you do, Lord Lovell?”
“You look lovely this afternoon, Lady Emma.” Lovell pressed a playful kiss to her gloved hand. “As bright at the sun itself.”
“You’re a shameless flirt, my lord.” Emma intended the words as a tease, but they emerged from her lips as a scold, even as the irony of her scolding anyone for flirting made her cheeks burn with shame.
Lovell didn’t seem to notice. He pressed a hand over his heart, but his pretty dark eyes were filled with laughter. “You wound me, my lady.”
“A hand for Lady Flora, if you would, Lord Lovell?” Lady Silvester prodded gently, recalling him to his duty. Lovell turned his attention back to the carriage at once, his cheeks coloring. “Yes, of course. Forgive me. Lady Flora, you’re as fresh and pretty as Lady Tremaine’s roses.”
Lord Lovell forgot Emma in an instant, and handed Flora down as if she were a precious object, his adoring gaze devouring every curve of her face.
But like so many ladies in love, Lady Flora’s feelings were easily hurt. Her smile faded, her joy in the lovely day dimming in an instant. She managed a brief nod for Lovell, but she didn’t meet either his or Emma’s eyes as she stepped down from the carriage.
Emma dragged her gaze away from Flora’s crestfallen face and looked down at her feet, kicking a loose stone aside with the toe of her shoe and cursing love and lovers alike with every breath in her body. From what she’d seen of it—which was, thankfully, blessedly little—love seemed to cause a great deal more misery than happiness.
She bit her lip to hold in a sigh, joined arms with Lady Flora, and painted a bright smile on her face. “Is there a room where Lady Flora and I might tidy ourselves before greeting the rest of the company, Lord Lovell?”
Lovell bowed. “Certainly. You’ll escort the other ladies, Lymington?”
Emma glanced up, and found Lord Lymington standing in the drive. He scowled at Lovell’s request, but Lady Silvester and Lady Crosby had already taken possession of Lady Lymington, and Mr. Humphries appeared to be asleep in the carriage. That left Lady Lovell on her own, leaving Lord Lymington no choice but to offer her his arm.
Emma breathed out a sigh of relief. It was a brief reprieve only, but that frown on Lord Lymington’s hard lips didn’t bode well. She needed a moment to gather herself together before she crossed swords with him again.
“Come with me, if you would, ladies.” Lord Lovell led them into the house and showed them to a pretty little parlor papered in figured yellow silk, then withdrew with another bow. Lady Flora didn’t speak to Emma, but went straight to a looking glass and began to tidy her hair.
Emma swallowed the lump in her throat and joined her friend at the glass, brushing Flora’s hands gently aside to remove a few tangled hairpins. “You might have told me, Flora.”
A flush rose to Lady Flora’s cheeks. “I…tell you what?”
Emma smoothed the long, dark curl in her hand before meeting Lady Flora’s gaze in the mirror. “That you’re in love with Lord Lovell.”
Lady Flora’s eyes went as round as tea saucers. “I’m not…I don’t…” she began, then her shoulders drooped and she turned to face Emma, her lower lip trembling. “Is it that obvious?”
“To me, yes. It’s difficult to say with Lord Lovell. Gentlemen are dense about such things.”
“Are you…don’t you love him, too?” Lady Flora’s dark eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she appeared resigned, as if she expected to hear Emma say she was deeply, madly in love with Lord Lovell.
Emma couldn’t help but press her palm to Lady Flora’s cheek. “No, Flora, I don’t. I don’t deny flirting with him, but only as a pleasant diversion. Nothing more than that.” That, and because he was her best chance to get to the heart of the mystery that surrounded the Lymington family.
Dear God, what am I doing?
“But how can you not be in love with him?” Lady Flora’s brow wrinkled in confusion, as if she couldn’t imagine the entire world wasn’t in love with the object of her affection. “He’s so handsome and lively and kind, and…well, he’s Lord Lovely, isn’t he?”
Emma sent up a quick prayer that Lord Lovell was in fact Lord Lovely, and not Lord Lecherous, or worse. “I have no wish to fall in love with anyone. I’m content as I am.”
She attempted a laugh, but to her horror a sad, forlorn little squeak emerged in its place. She’d hoped for love once, like all young girls did, but her girlish fancies of love and romance had been bled out of her long ago.
But this was hardly the time to indulge in the megrims. “Why didn’t you simply tell me how you feel about him, Flora?” She gave one of Flora’s pretty curls a gentle tug. “There are dozens of gentlemen I might flirt with besides Lord Lovell.”
And not one of them of any use to me.
“It wouldn’t have been fair of me to do so. It isn’t your fault if Lovell prefers you to me. He never flirts with me,” she added morosely.
Emma secured Flora’s curl with a hairpin. “That’s how you know he has true feelings for you, Flora. He doesn’t pretend with you. Flirting means nothing, you know, whereas honesty means everything.”
No one knew bett
er than Emma how hollow flirting was, how meaningless, and how exhausting. Dangerous, as well. There were times when she spent so much effort performing, she couldn’t remember who she really was.
Lady Flora’s lower lip was wobbling. “It’s just that…well, it’s all become so complicated.”
“I don’t see how. You’re in love with Lord Lovell, and he appears to me to be well aware of how fortunate he’d be to have you. You’re a delight, Flora.”
“Well, there’s a bit more to it than that.” Lady Flora shot Emma a glance from under her lashes, then looked guiltily away. “I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
Emma frowned, puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“Oh, dear. It’s not known, and I really shouldn’t tell anyone, but…”
“We’re friends, Flora, and friends may tell each other anything.”
Well, nearly anything. Or, in Emma’s case, almost nothing, but whatever Lady Flora’s sins might be, she couldn’t possibly be as wicked as she thought she was.
Certainly not as wicked as Emma.
Lady Flora squirmed under Emma’s gaze. “I, ah…I did something I shouldn’t…well, to be fair, it seemed the right decision at the time, but I broke a promise, and now I can’t help but think I’ve been dreadfully unfair to him.”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “Unfair to whom? What sort of promise?”
“It didn’t feel as if I had any other choice at the time, but now the season’s begun and Lovell’s here, and despite it all he’s…well, he seems to be very much as he used to be, when we were…” Lady Flora trailed off with a sniffle, but then she seized Emma’s hands, her eyes pleading. “You’ll help me, won’t you?”
Goodness. This was getting more interesting by the moment.
“Forgive me, Flora, but you haven’t told me what you’ve done yet. Help you with what?” Emma felt as she did when she eavesdropped, and could only hear one side of the conversation.
Lady Flora was on the edge of tears. “Help me make Lord Lovell fall in love with me! If he did fall in love with me, all might yet be well.”
