The Rejected Suitor (22 page)

Confused,
Jared glanced at the paper, noting only that she had opened to the announcement
section. "Roderick is engaged?"

"No,
you addlepated nincompoop!"

Those
two words were making the rounds. Jared would have smiled if his aunt had not
wrapped him hard against his thigh with that confounded parasol.

"See
here." Agatha's finger jabbed at the paper.

"What?
Mr. Cletus B—elopes with Lady R—"

"No."
Agatha sat back on the sofa and huffed. "Read on."

Jared
hesitated, then dropped his eyes to scan the doings of the Town. "Ah, here
it is, the Duchess of G—'s gown catches fire while she is engaged in faro at
H—'s gaming hell."

"Jared!
You would do best to heed my warning."

"Ha.
So this is a warning now, is it?"

"If
you do not want Lady Emily to marry Lord Bringston, I daresay, this is more
than a mere warning."

Jared's
fingers tightened around the paper. "What?"

"Do
not strangle it, my boy." Agatha placed her teacup on her saucer.
"The wedding is to take place next week by special license. The location
is not mentioned. Of course, Roderick would know. So, if perchance His Grace
did happen to stop by and you let him visit with Jane"—she
shrugged—"your ward might possibly discover the place of this monumental
wedding."

Jared
stiffened. "Pray, why should I care?"

Agatha
slowly made her way to the door, her gray brows arching in irritation.
"Oh, pray forgive me for my intrusion, dear boy. Why should you care,
indeed?"

Chapter
Fifteen

A
tremor rippled across Emily's lips
as she peered into the looking glass of the dressmaker's shop and pressed her
hands lightly to her pale cheeks. There were dark circles under her violet
eyes, making her more aware of the restless nights she had spent in the country
after accepting Lord Bringston's offer of marriage.

She had
returned to Town yesterday and was being fitted in a beige-colored silk wedding
gown decorated with yards of delicate lace. Strings of shiny pearls and rows of
tiny porcelain buttons were sewn up and down the back. Madame Claire and her
assistant had said nothing about her scar, but at this point, Emily really did not
care, because what they had not seen were the scars embedded deep within her
heart. Scars, that unlike her back, she would feel every day of her life.

Madame
Claire clapped her hands in glee. "My lady, your gentleman will not be
able to take his eyes off of you."

Emily
forced her lips into a smile. "You have done a wonderful job with the
dress, Madame Claire."

But the
elder lady was not deceived, and she frowned. "He is a kind man, no?"

"Yes,
very kind."

Two
brown eyes narrowed like a mother hen's. "The gentleman does not make your
heart go thump, thump, no?"

Hiding
her frown, Emily dropped her gaze to the pearls adorning her gown and shook her
head. "No thump, thump."

"Oh,
ma petite," Madame Claire sighed, clasping Emily's hands. "You must
not marry him, then."

Emily
looked up, confused. "If I do not marry the gentleman, you will not make
the sale of this beautiful gown."

The
small, dark-haired woman peered back and smiled when she spoke. "You will
wear this beautiful gown on your wedding day, ma petite. But it will not be
with the marquess." With those jolting words, the woman bent down and
stuck the end of a needle in her mouth, turning the hem.

"Not
Lord Bringston?" Emily asked, clearly surprised at the lady's outburst.

"No,"
was the murmured reply. "The other gentleman your heart desires."

For some
maddening reason, Emily felt she could confide in this woman. "But the
other gentleman does not love me, Madame."

The
French dressmaker rattled on in her native tongue, a language of which Emily
was very familiar. Marry the one you love or you will be miserable the rest of
your life, she said.

One of
Madame Claire's assistants stepped into the small room, peeking around the
door. "Excusez-moi, Madame, but a gentleman and lady are in the shop in
need of your expertise. The ones you were expecting."

Madame
Claire offered her apologies to Emily. "Sabrine will help you with your
gown. It will be finished in two days, no?"

Emily
nodded, her throat tight. "The wedding is in three days."

"All
will be well, ma petite. But pleaze, whatever commotion you hear outside, do
not concern yourself. These customers are not so calm as you." The lady
laughed. "They have been known to scream when zings are not perfect. But
stay in here with Sabrine, and she will make the adjustments. We will have your
dress finished in no time, never fear."

Madame
Claire rushed out of the dressing room, making her way toward the front of her
shop. "Ah, Miss Appleby, what may I help you with today?"

"Good
afternoon, Madame Claire, this is my nephew Lord Stonebridge. We are in need of
some clothing for his daughter."

The
introductions were made, and Madame Claire led them toward the back of the
shop. Agatha pointed her parasol to some white muslin and dyed blue lace.
"There, Jared. That would look fine on Gabrielle."

Jared
smothered a groan and turned to his aunt, lowering his voice. "I see no
reason why I have to attend to such matters. The devil, Agatha. This is woman's
work. I feel like a silly popinjay in this fluff and nonsense. Last time I was
in here, I was accosted by a host of simpering mamas looking at me as if I were
some prize to be auctioned at Tattersall's."

"But
no," the dressmaker interrupted, giving a covert wink to Agatha.
"This is man's work, too. You have an eye for color, yes?" She touched
Jared's crimson waistcoat and smiled.

Jared
cleared his throat. "I will stand by the door if you are in need of me,
Aunt. You may choose any colors or fabrics you wish for Gabrielle, but I beg
you, make your decisions as swiftly as possible."

Agatha
gave a grudging nod and moved her plump body purposely past the bolts of
fabric. She stopped abruptly when her gaze set upon a familiar violet reticule
and matching bonnet resting on a settee near the dressing room door.

At that
moment Madame's assistant walked out of the room and nodded to the dressmaker.

"The
gown is ready to be stitched, no?" Madame asked.

"Oui,
Madame."

Agatha
shifted her gaze to her nephew, back to the dressing room door, nodded to
Madame Claire . . . and then she screamed.

Jared leapt
over a table of buttons, knocked down a row of bolts, and grabbed hold of his
aunt's shoulders. "What is it?"

Agatha
stared at him, trembling, her expression as pale as the bolts of muslin behind
her. Jared noted with confusion that Madame Claire was quivering as much as his
aunt.

"There,"
Agatha cried, pointing her black parasol in the direction of the dressing room.
"There was a gigantic rat."

"A
rat," Madame Claire said in horror. Then to Jared’s astonishment, she
fainted at his feet.

Agatha
went to the lady's side. "Mercy. I saw that rat scurry into the dressing
room. It was dreadful, Jared. You must save that woman in there."

"Woman?"
Jared looked horrified, reading his aunt's mind. "You think me mad?"
He shook a firm finger toward the door. "I am not going into that dressing
room with an undressed female. Regardless, the door is closed. How could a rat
close a door?"

"Jared,
I beg you," Agatha said, her lids blinking, "I distinctly heard her
scream."

Jared
cleared his throat and lightly patted Madame's cheeks. "The rat will not
harm her. Calm down and fetch some smelling salts."

Agatha
frowned, digging into her reticule. "What if the child hit her head when
she swooned."

His head
snapped up. "Who said she swooned? And who said she was a child?"

"Oh,
Jared," Agatha wailed. "Have you no heart?"

That hit
a nerve. "As a matter of fact, madam, it has been said that I have no
heart at all. So tell me why should that come as any surprise to you?"

"Jared,
please."

Jared
stared at his aunt as if she had gone mad, then clenched his hands in disgust.
"Blast! If this little escapade puts me in a compromising position, I will
blame you entirely."

Agatha
waved the salts beneath Madame Claire's nose, trying to revive her. The
dressmaker groaned. "Blame away, Jared, but I fear for the woman's life.
The rat was dreadfully large, with sharp fangs."

"Fangs?"
Jared grabbed a chair resting outside the door and started into the room as if
he were preparing to stave off a man-eating lion. Behind him he missed Madame
Claire opening her eyes for a peek. Agatha gave the lady a wink, and they both
smiled.

"Sharp
fangs, mind you," Agatha whispered from behind. "A huge, ferocious
rat, Jared. Do be careful, my boy."

Jared's
mouth tightened in disgust. Blast it all. He hated rats.

"Duchess,
you are looking more beautiful than I remember."

The deep
masculine voice drew the Duchess of Elbourne's gaze toward the open door of her
carriage. Her heart sped at the sight of the handsome man that she had loved so
many years ago. He would make her daughter a good husband. "Good
afternoon, Lord Bringston. La, you were always the flatterer."

The
marquess smiled. "I was a little scoundrel, was I not?"

The
duchess let out a nervous laugh as she leaned out the carriage and nodded to
the footman to allow the man his stay. "I am so very glad that my Emily is
marrying you, William. She needs a firm, but loving hand."

Lord
Bringston poked his head into the carriage. "I will take care of her,
Anne. You must never be concerned about her safety."

The duchess
swallowed. "I never doubted it, William."

"But
what about our past, Anne? Should we tell her? She deserves to know the
truth."

His eyes
searched hers and she looked away.

 "No.
I don't want Emily to know a thing. You are to marry my daughter in a few days.
What we had in the past cannot matter now."

Without
being invited, Bringston slipped inside the carriage and sat across from her,
pulling the door halfway closed. She gasped, but did not send him away.

Bringston
leaned forward, his hands on his knees. "Anne, what we had in the past was
stopped by both of our fathers, not us. We were young and in love. It was
nothing to be ashamed of." He drew in an unsteady breath. "I was
angry for a time, but seeing you now with your family, I realize that it was best
we never wed. You have wonderful children, Anne. I envy you."

"I
loved my husband, William," the duchess said, her lips quivering. "I
loved him until the day he died." She wiped a gloved finger beneath her
eye and sniffed. "Of course, I knew he never truly loved me the same way.
He loved someone else, and you see, I believe he always knew about my first
love and never let me forget."

Bringston
took hold of her hand. "Dear, sweet Anne. I had no idea."

The
duchess slipped her hand from his grasp and looked down at her lap. "Emily
is fitting for her gown at this very moment. We must be friends, for her sake,
William. Let us not bring up the past. We are mature adults now. Our past
should not matter."

Bringston
frowned and pushed a hand through his hair. "Still, I was hoping I could
speak to her. Tell her the truth of the matter. It does not seem right."

The
duchess's dark lashes swept upward in dismay. "Goodness no. You must not
tell her, William. Promise me you will not. She does not deserve that. Please, William.
She means too much to me. I know it is not a love match, but she needs you. Her
life has been hard after her father died."

Light
brown eyes clashed with violet blue. Bringston's hands clenched at his sides.
"Very well, I promise you, Anne," he said stiffly. "If that is
what you wish."

Roderick
leaned against the outside wall of Madame Claire's establishment as he waited
for Emily to finish her last fitting. The duchess had insisted on the duke
acting as their escort, since Emily had been looking a bit under the weather.
Roderick easily complied, but now he was rethinking his plans.

At
present he could use a good, stiff drink at White's. There were only so many
boot, cravat, and snuffbox shops he could handle. Boring as it may be, after
his lone tour of the nearby shops, he situated himself back in the shadow of
Madame Claire's, deliberately trying to avoid overzealous mothers hoping to
pluck a duke for a son-in-law. If he did not make a departure soon, word would
spread, and he was bound to be swallowed up by a convergence of mother hens.

The very
idea made him scowl.

He
looked up and caught sight of Lord Bringston making his way across the street.
Relief swept through him. He was grateful for a man with whom to pass the time
and was about to hail the marquess when the gentleman hopped inside the duke's
own carriage and started conversing with the duchess.

Roderick
started toward them, but stopped in midstride when the carriage door began to
close and bits of Bringston's voice leaked to his ears. "Anne, what we had
in the past was stopped by both of our fathers, not us."

Roderick's
feet would not move. He felt the world tilt when his mother's voice floated
just above a whisper. "Emily is fitting for her gown at this very moment.
We must be friends, for her sake, William. Let us not bring up the past."

It could
not be true. Roderick's mind went a thousand different directions. Was his
mother in love with the man that was to marry Emily? Had Bringston loved his
mother all these years? What the blazes was he to do? All his senses went
temporarily numb. He even became blinded to the Stonebridge crest on the
awaiting carriage only twenty feet away.

Jared
treaded valiantly into the dressing room, holding the chair in front of him.
The devil, he hated rats.

"Sabrine,
are those vexing customers of Madame's at it again?" The female voice
broke into his thoughts like a blow to his midsection.

There,
behind the flimsy white dressing screen, the silhouette of an extremely
well-shaped woman, pressing her hands against the sides of her gown, took his
breath away.

"Sabrine?"

Jared
halted. Emily?