by Anna Bradley
Emma tried to patch all of Flora’s strange comments into some sort of coherent whole, but the puzzle was missing some pieces. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you’re on about, Flora.”
“I’m buht…buhrowdtolrdlovell,” Lady Flora mumbled.
“I beg your pardon?”
Lady Flora drew in a shaky breath. “Lord Lovell. I, ah…heandiarebuhtrowd.”
Emma frowned, and bent down to catch Flora’s eye. “I didn’t understand you.”
Lady Flora huffed out a breath, met Emma’s eyes, and blurted. “I said, I’m betrothed to Lord Lovell!”
Emma gaped at her, speechless.
Betrothed? No, she must have misunderstood. “Did you just say you’re betrothed to Lord Lovell?”
“Well, not really betrothed, betrothed, but…” Lady Flora gave a miserable nod. “Yes.”
“But how can you be betrothed to him?” A secret passion, yes—Emma had already guessed as much. But a betrothal? It didn’t make any sense.
“Well, to be perfectly truthful, Lady Emma, it was never a real betrothal—not in the strictest sense of the word, and it’s not quite right to say I’m betrothed to him now, not since I…oh, dear. I can’t say it.”
“Oh, yes, you can. You must, Flora.” Emma, who was about to explode with curiosity, grasped Flora’s hand. “Just say it quickly.”
“I jilted him!” Lady Flora wailed, then slapped a hand over her mouth, appalled.
“Jilted him!” Emma staggered backward in shock.
“Oh, dear. You’ve gone white, Emma.” Flora clutched at Emma’s hands. “I shouldn’t have said it quite so quickly.”
“No, no, I just…perhaps we’d better sit down.” Emma tugged Flora over to a settee in the corner of the parlor. “Tell it to me from the beginning.”
Flora drew in several deep breaths to calm herself. “Lord Lovell and I have been meant for each other since we were infants. A marriage between us was my mother’s dearest wish. It was always expected we’d marry, and I…” Flora raised her eyes to Emma’s. “I’ve loved him for as long as I can remember. We were dear friends growing up, and…”
“As you grew older, friendship turned to love.” Emma had heard similar stories before, and could credit a love grown over years more easily than the sudden, explosive burst of adoration one read about in romantic novels.
“On my part, yes, and I used to think he returned my affections. Lord Lovell and I were very much alike at one time, you see. Lovell used to be…oh, so tenderhearted, Emma! Fanciful, even, and romantic.”
Emma smiled. If that was true, then Lovell and Flora had been well suited. If she hadn’t met Flora for herself, Emma wouldn’t have believed anyone with such trust in the goodness of others could exist.
“But he’s changed so much over this past year.” Flora wiped her hand over her damp cheek. “I hardly recognize him anymore.”
Emma stiffened. Amy and Kitty had gone missing from Lymington House during the past year, and God knew a guilty conscience could wreak havoc on a man.
“In what way has he changed, Flora?” Emma asked, taking care to keep her tone neutral.
“Well, I already told you he got ensnared by a wild crowd of fashionable young noblemen, and took up wagering and drinking and…the usual sorts of trouble young gentlemen tend to get up to.”
Lady Flora’s cheeks turned so red Emma could well guess what sort of “trouble” her friend meant. “I see. He must have behaved badly indeed, Flora, if it came to a jilting. That’s not a thing I imagine you’d do lightly.”
“Not at all. Indeed, I’m ashamed to say I excused his behavior for far longer than I should have, but then he…he did something I couldn’t overlook, and I realized I-I didn’t even know him anymore, Emma.”
“What did he do?”
“He got into a duel over a wager he made in a card game in London. I don’t know the whole story, but it seems Lovell had wagered his father’s pocket watch—which he should never have done—but then he caught the other gentleman cheating, and…well, it ended in a duel.”
“Dear God.”
“It wasn’t just the wagering, Emma, though I don’t approve of cards. It was the duel as well. I despise duels!”
Flora swiped the back of her hand across her eyes, but when she looked up at Emma, her gaze was fierce. “To engage in something so shameful as that, to risk life and limb without the least consideration for me, or his mother or aunt, or indeed for himself, Emma! I just, I couldn’t overlook such a thing.”
“Of course, you couldn’t, Flora! Nor should you have done.” Flora was such a tenderhearted lady Emma was rather stunned she’d had the courage to jilt a gentleman she loved.
Because, for all Lovell’s bad behavior, it was plain to see Flora loved him still.
“What was the outcome of the duel? Did they elope?” They must have done. If an aristocrat had been shot in a duel in London, Lady Clifford surely would have heard of it.
Flora took a shaky breath. “No. Lovell was shot in the leg, and it turned…rather bad.”
“Shot! How is it I never heard of this, Flora?” A nobleman being shot in London over a squabble over a wager was not the sort of titillating story the ton generally ignored.
“You would have, I’m certain, but Lord Lymington returned to England shortly after Lovell’s duel, and he made certain the matter was kept absolutely quiet.”
“Lord Lymington must have kept it quiet, indeed.” If Lady Clifford didn’t know of it, no one did.
“He did. No one outside the family knew of it, aside from my grandmother and myself, and even we didn’t learn of his illness until months later. My grandmother and I were away when it happened, visiting a dear friend of hers in Herefordshire for the holidays, so I might get away from Kent.”
Away from Lovell, Flora meant, so she might nurse her broken heart in peace.
“I’ve no idea how Lord Lymington kept it a secret, but he isn’t the sort of gentleman one dismisses, is he? He and Lovell remained in London after Lovell’s injury, then when things became dire, Lady Lovell and Lady Lymington joined them there.”
“Dire? Did the wound become infected, then?”
“Yes. A fever set in, and he…” Lady Flora’s voice broke. “He nearly died, Emma. He was bedridden for weeks.”
Emma’s head jerked up. “Weeks?”
“Yes. He only just recovered in time for the season.”
Emma stared. “What, was the duel so recent as that?”
Her tone must have been too urgent, because Lady Flora blinked at her in surprise. “It happened near the end of January.”
“That, ah…that’s truly dreadful, Flora. It sounds as if Lord Lovell was fortunate to survive.” Emma hardly knew what she said, as her mind raced to compare Flora’s dates to Caroline Francis’s.
If Lord Lovell had been bedridden from January until the start of the season, how had he managed to seduce, ruin, and abandon Caroline Francis at the Pink Pearl in February? The timeline in which Lovell was meant to have committed all his wicked crimes was falling apart with astonishing rapidity.
Unless Flora had mixed up the dates, but what were the odds she’d have mistaken the dates of both Lovell’s duel, and his being sent down from Oxford? Unlikely, indeed—
“Lovell still walks with a slight limp, but even that’s not the worst of it, Emma.”
Emma shook her head to clear it. “I’d say that’s quite bad enough, Flora.”
“It’s dreadful, but the jilting, Emma! I sent Lovell a letter from Herefordshire after I learned of the duel, ending our betrothal. I didn’t know then that his life was in danger. Indeed, I didn’t find it out until much later, after my grandmother and I arrived in London for the season.”
Lady Flora dropped her face into her hands, her shoulders shaking.
Emma pressed
a soothing hand to her back. “There now, Flora, it’s all right. You didn’t do a single thing you need be ashamed of.”
“If I hadn’t jilted Lovell, then perhaps he might not have suffered—”
“No, that’s not so, Flora.” Emma’s voice was firm. “No one is to blame for Lord Lovell’s behavior but Lord Lovell, himself.”
Lady Flora gripped Emma’s hand. “You don’t think me dreadful?”
Emma’s heart softened at the misery on Lady Flora’s pretty face. “No, I don’t think you’re dreadful, Flora. How could I? Duels are appalling, ghastly things. You did what you must to protect your heart. You couldn’t have known Lord Lovell would become so ill.”
“I think I’m dreadful. Dreadful and selfish. Oh, not for the jilting—I don’t know what else I could have done there—but I do regret turning my back on Lovell when that shameful mob of wicked London rakes turned his head, for he needed me most then, and we’ve always been dear friends, Emma.”
“You’re the furthest thing from selfish.” Emma was quiet for a bit as she considered all Flora had told her. There was one thing that didn’t make sense.
Why had Lord Lovell stayed in London for the season? He was madly in love with Flora still—that was plain to see—so why should he wish to stand by and watch while she secured another betrothal? Because she would do, and quickly. Flora was sweet and lovely and kind, and the gentlemen had taken notice of it.
Unless…
“Why, Flora! Lord Lovell is in London for the season to prevent you from becoming betrothed to another gentleman, isn’t he?”
Flora let out a forlorn little laugh. “I think so, yes, but I suspect that was Lord Lymington’s idea, not Lovell’s.”
“Lord Lymington! But why should he wish to chase you to London and keep you from marrying?”
Lady Flora looked surprised at the question. “Why, for his cousin’s sake, Emma. He’s only ever wanted Lovell to be happy, and I suppose…well, I suppose he thinks Lovell won’t be happy without me.”
“I think Lord Lymington is right.” Emma hadn’t expected to ever have occasion to utter those words, but she couldn’t help but think of the sweetness with which Lord Lovell had touched Flora’s cheek that night in Lady Swinton’s garden.
He was as besotted with Flora as she was with him. Indeed, there was nothing standing between the two of them and a rather impressive happily-ever-after, other than…
Well, Emma herself. At least, she had been, at first.
Was that why Lord Lymington had been chasing her away from Lovell with such determination? She’d conjured any number of dark reasons for his behavior, but mightn’t it simply have started because he wanted his cousin to win back the lady he loved, and Emma was in the way?
She would have said Lord Lymington was the last gentleman in the world to nurture a fledging romance. Was it possible he hid a tender heart under all that gruff ill temper?
The thought made Emma’s chest ache in a way it never had before.
She didn’t like it, really—
“I don’t know how to make a man fall in love with me, Emma.”
Emma dragged her attention back to Flora. “I don’t think you need to worry about—”
“But you know how, Emma,” Lady Flora interrupted, as if Emma hadn’t spoken. “Half the gentlemen in London are in love with you. You will help me, won’t you?”
Emma stared at Flora in shock. If Flora had asked her to seduce Lord Lovell, Emma might have been of some use to her, but love? What did a courtesan know about love?
Former courtesan, that is.
Still, she didn’t have the first idea how people fell in love, or why.
Or if they ever truly did so at all.
She’d never seen any evidence of the exalted love described in novels. Desire, yes. Attraction, passion, and lust—those were real enough. She’d seen those things many times, in all their ugliest permutations.
But love—true, unselfish love, like what Lady Flora felt for Lord Lovell? For a long time, Emma hadn’t believed such a thing existed. She’d scoffed at those who believed in pure, selfless love, thinking them tragically naïve.
But then, one by one her friends Sophia, Cecilia, and Georgiana—yes, even rational, practical Georgiana—had fallen head over heels into…well, something that looked very much like real love.
That is, it did from the outside looking in, which was as close as Emma would ever get to it. Even if she’d wished for something more, something better, something of her own, it wouldn’t have made any difference.
She was broken inside, her heart disfigured by scars as surely as her hands were.
But the same wasn’t true of Lady Flora. Didn’t a sweet, starry-eyed optimist like Flora deserve her chance at love? And what of Lord Lovell? If he was innocent of the crimes Caroline Francis had accused him of, didn’t he deserve love, too?
Emma thought of the light in Lady Flora’s eyes when Lord Lovell smiled at her as he’d done yesterday in Hyde Park, and then of Lovell himself, with his easy laughter, and the unmistakable joy in his face when he gazed at Flora as they’d wandered beside the Serpentine.
Emma wouldn’t give up until she’d found justice for Amy, Kitty, and Caroline, but it looked increasingly like Lord Lovell wasn’t the key that would unlock the mysteries of Lymington House.
Lord Lymington, on the other hand…
Fate certainly had a wicked sense of humor, didn’t she?
Because Lord Lymington wasn’t the easygoing rogue his cousin was. He was a man, and a formidable one—
“Lady Emma?”
Emma glanced down at her gloved hands, the soft, fine kid hiding the web of silvery scars there, then back up at Lady Flora’s hopeful face. “Of course, I’ll help you.”
Really, hadn’t she known all along this would end in a confrontation with Lord Lymington? They’d been drawing their battle lines since their first dance together at Almack’s.
It had been coming to this from the very start.
And so Emma wasn’t surprised when she emerged from the little parlor, and found Lord Lymington waiting for her.
Chapter Nine
After Samuel’s walk with Lady Emma yesterday, time had slowed to an excruciating crawl. He’d spent an interminable evening at White’s with Lovell and Lord Dunn, followed by an endless night tossing in his bed, playing that strange interaction between Emma and Helena Reeves over and over in his mind.
When he’d finally fallen into a fitful sleep, his dreams were haunted with hazy visions of a tinkling laugh and smiling red lips. He’d woken with stinging eyes and an erect cock, and neither condition had been resolved to his satisfaction.
By the time Lady Emma emerged from the parlor, the hours since he’d last seen her seemed to have spun into days, and his patience was worn down to the merest sliver.
“Lady Emma,” he barked, rushing forward. “Here you are, at last.”
Lady Flora startled, then gave a delicate little cough. “Er, good afternoon, my lord.”
“My goodness, Lord Lymington.” Lady Emma turned cool blue eyes on him. “Where did you come from? Not hiding in the shrubbery, were you?”
“No, I…no.” Samuel shifted from one foot to the other, amazed to feel heat rising in his cheeks. Perhaps a bit more decorum wouldn’t go amiss. “I’ve come to take you for a walk through the rose gardens.”
“How kind.” Lady Emma’s lips twitched, as if she were enjoying his discomfiture. “A walk sounds lovely after being confined to the carriage.”
She accepted Samuel’s arm, but before he could hurry her off into the gardens, Lady Flora snatched up her other arm. For one ludicrous moment Lady Emma stood suspended between them, each of them unwilling to relinquish their hold.
Lady Emma tried to gently disengage herself from Lady Flora’s grip. “Lady Silvester must be wondering wh
ere you are by now.”
But Lady Flora held on. “Oh, but I long for a walk! I’ll accompany you, shall I?”
Samuel smothered a curse. A solitary walk was pushing the bounds of propriety as it was, and now Flora had gone and offered Lady Emma just the excuse she needed to refuse him—
“Nonsense, Flora. We won’t be gone for long. Isn’t that so, Lord Lymington?”
“No, indeed.” Not any longer than it took to get what he wanted. Whatever that was. Samuel’s wits were so addled he was no longer sure.
“Yesterday when we were walking by the Serpentine, Lord Lymington promised he’d take me for a stroll in Lady Tremaine’s gardens.”
“A private stroll,” Samuel added.
“P-private?” An anxious pucker appeared between Flora’s brows. “Oh, but a walk in the sun will only aggravate your headache. If you recall, Emma, you did just tell me you had a headache.”
Samuel drew Lady Emma toward him, his grip firm. “There’s no need for you to worry for your friend, Lady Flora. I promise you I’ll be careful with her. We’ll keep to the shady gardens on the western side of the house.”
“But your headache, Emma.” Lady Flora stared meaningfully at Emma with wide-open eyes.
“It’s nearly gone.” Emma took Lady Flora by the shoulders and turned her in the direction of the terrace, where the rest of the party was assembled. “Lord Lovell is waiting for you, Flora, and I’m certain you must be parched. I daresay Lady Tremaine has lemonade.”
Lady Flora didn’t look pleased, but at Lady Emma’s urging she went off toward the picnickers on the other side of the terrace. Samuel took Lady Emma’s arm and hurried her toward the west side of the house, before anyone noticed she wasn’t with Flora, and came after them.
What he had to say was for her ears alone.
He hadn’t imagined that cryptic little nod at Hyde Park yesterday. “Letty” was Helena Reeves, of course. He’d realized it as soon as he’d seen that subtle exchange between them yesterday. Emma and Helena Reeves knew each other, and it was no passing acquaintance. They were close enough that Lady Emma had risked her reputation to sneak into the Pink Pearl to see Helena that night.
