An Early Engagement (13 page)

“I claimed these bottles from Arcott Hall when I went to fetch Mama’s jewelry, as part of my personal effects that were untouched by the entailment, before Uncle could swill them all down. For you must know I would not support the French by buying smuggled wines, not while you were fighting against them.”

“Emmy’s so loyal,” Nadine told him, “she wouldn’t even let us buy French laces, there being no way to know if they came in under the blockade. That’s why we were so delighted with the trims you sent from Brussels. You should see the divine ensemble I’ve contrived. It’s white, of course, but I wore it to—”

Nadine babbled on, mostly to Aunt Adelaide, who kept her hartshorn nearby, for the excitement of his homecoming, while Geoff tried to get his attention on the Northampshire property and the hogs. Emilyann sat quietly, letting the others talk, seeing that the teacups were filled, the biscuits passed.

Stokely leaned back. How cozy this was. Here he thought he had to return to ride herd on a pack of unruly children, but now he began to think there were a lot more benefits to this being a family man than he had considered. It might take some getting used to, having a wife and all, but as he looked at her again, it seemed much less of another burdensome responsibility and a lot more like a dashed fine idea.

“Yes,” he told Geoff, “I was hoping we could all get up there for a time during my leave. Invite Thornton, look over the new plantings, and decide on the next improvements.” And get to know my wife, away from this blasted fish bowl, he thought.

“Capital! When do you think we can go? I’ll write to Meecham to inform the household staff, and see if we can’t get up a hunt for the weekend or—”

“Not so fast, bantling. I have an appointment with the regent and his advisers tomorrow, though what they think I can tell them about the current situation is beyond me. I promised to call on the Home Secretary this week, and of course I must check with the War Office to see if they have any news, or commissions for me. Perhaps early next week ...”

Nadine was looking mutinous, but it was Emilyann who said, “Oh dear, I am afraid we cannot leave town then. That’s when our ball is planned, and the cards are already sent.”

“What ball is that, Sparrow?” Stokely asked quietly. “I thought we agreed that there should be no come-out ball for Nadine until I was home?” And until he could afford to provide for his own sister without Emilyann’s money.

“Of course we agreed, Smoky.” She couldn’t help add in all honesty, “That is, you issued a decree and I acknowledged it. That’s why this is not a formal presentation. We had a small dinner following the queen’s court, with just a few select friends, and a little dancing after, for you must know Nadine could not go out in company without some bow to the ton. But that wasn’t a ball. Why, there were less than two hundred people there.”

He blinked. “Strange, it sounds just like a ball to me.”

“Not compared to this one,” she said, laughing. “But Nadine’s name is not even on the invitations, so don’t get in a fidge. It was just time for us to repay all the hospitality we’ve been shown. It wouldn’t be polite otherwise.”

“I did not doubt for a minute there was a good reason for it.”

She flashed her dimples and told him that sarcasm was not becoming. Plus he would enjoy it immensely, and how proud she would be to have him stand in the receiving line with her. Nadine chimed in about her new dress and the spectacular decorations, and Aunt Adelaide noted how much more fitting it was, having the master of the house host his own ball. “Not that Geoffrey is not an adequate substitute, of course,” she added. “We do depend on him for everything, you know.”

Stokely’s eyes narrowed. Just how much substituting had his young brother been doing? The boy had turned into a good-looking young man, and he and Emilyann had always been close. Now this year, rebuilding the farms, coming to London, entering society, they were thrown even closer together. ... Maybe Aunt Adelaide was trying to warn him about something. Every other man seemed to have laid his heart at Sparrow’s feet, why not Geoff?

Then, “Hell and damnation, Emmy,” Geoff said. “Why do we have to have another blasted party just now that Ev is home?”

“You mind your tongue, Geoffrey Stockton,” she scolded. “I will not have such language in my drawing room. And we have to have this ball, you gudgeon, especially now, so Smoky can see that
some
of us can behave like ladies and gentlemen.”

“You’ve been hanging around your aunt Ingrid again.”

So they were still squabbling like brother and sister. That was all right, then.

“... have a good idea, though, Geoff. Why don’t you and Smoky go up to Stockton as soon as he is free? You can make better time without us and all the baggage we would need, and you’d only be in the way here anyhow. There is all the cleaning to see to, and the caterers will be in and out, and the florists and the extra staff. As long as you promise you’ll show him the stud farm, and get back in plenty of time for the ball, that is.”

Geoff thought it a great notion, “Capital,” of course, and urged Stokely to consider it. Even Nadine and Aunt Adelaide were in favor, likely so he could not veto any of the expenditures. It would mean being away from Emilyann for most of his leave time, though, and didn’t she seem a bit overeager to get rid of him? In fact, now that he noticed, she seemed nervous, anxious over his decision, then relieved when he said that he might go, pending the outcome of his meetings.

Jupiter, he had to get a hold on himself. First his own brother, now these nameless suspicions. Incredibly, he was jealous. It was totally without foundation, he knew, except that any man would find her irresistible, particularly sitting curled in the chair with her slippers off and her stockinged toes peeking out. There was only one way to slay the green-eyed monster, he decided, and that was to make her his once and for all. He’d end this nonsense, and this new yearning, this very night. He yawned mightily and loudly.

* * * *

Be careful of what you wish, Nanny had always said. You might get it. A confused Emilyann understood the old saying better now. She had wanted Smoky home and proud of her. Here he was, cutting up her peace, criticizing her actions, and already making plans to institute changes. The family and the servants alike instantly deferred to him, and even her own maid was casting coy glances at Emilyann as she neatened up the room. Em dismissed her, to stand in front of the fireplace, pretending to fuss with the logs, but really just staring at the flames.

She had wanted him to see her as a mature, sophisticated woman, and that part of the wish had come true also, judging from
that
look, which she was quick enough to recognize after her months on the town. When a man’s eyes rolled and his breath came quicker, he was more liable to make an improper offer than call for a restorative. Smoky’s offer could not be improper, of course, since they were married, after all, but admiration based on what Aunt Ingrid would call lust was not what she wanted from him. It couldn’t be any foundation for a solid relationship, especially when she felt no inclination whatsoever to pursue her marital duties, especially as her aunt described them, and certainly not with a virtual stranger.

In some ways he was her beloved Smoky; in others she hardly knew this tall officer with the commanding presence. No matter what, he was an experienced man of the world. She could never please him anyway. Not like a Lady Bramby, she thought, angrily poking a recalcitrant log back into the grate. Well, he was tired tonight and he was traveling with Geoff soon, and— No, she wouldn’t be in a hurry to make any more wishes. She jabbed the logs again.

“Ahem. Is it safe for me to enter? I knocked, but you did not answer.”

There he was, standing at the connecting door of their rooms, looking even more devastatingly handsome in a paisley dressing gown, open at the neck to show dark curls on a broad chest. She wouldn’t look. “Smoky? What are you doing here?”

“I live here, remember?” He smiled in amusement.

“I don’t think so.”

“Would you care to put the weapon down and explain that?”

She blushed, and he caught his breath seeing where the blush started at the neckline of her nightgown, a flimsy pale blue affair that already had his blood racing. When she moved to put the metal poker back in its stand, the fire silhouetted her outline through the sheer fabric. He took another deep breath. His eyes shifted toward the bed, done up in gold and navy, complimenting his room’s color scheme, except for—”What’s that on the bed?”

Emilyann laughed, relieved to have a distraction from his overwhelming proximity, even at the other side of the room. She moved farther away, toward the bed, almost furtively. “Oh, that’s Pug. I wrote you about the puppy I bought to keep Nanny company, remember? She didn’t care for him somehow. There’s no accounting for taste, I guess. And he’s such a cute little fellow, I let him stay in here. I couldn’t bring any of the hounds to town of course, but he’s the perfect companion for the city.” She petted the little dog, who snorted in pleasure and tried to wag what tail he had. Instead, his whole rear end wriggled.

“Of course Pug is not a very good name,” she went on, knowing she was babbling and unable to stop, “but Nanny called him that, and Geoff only wants to call him Piglet. The hogs are the only thing on his mind sometimes and—”

Why was she so nervous, he wondered, coming to get a closer look at the pup, and her bare shoulders. “What do you mean, I don’t live here?” He sat down on the other side of her bed.

Her bed! She shivered. “Well, you are not staying and you said we needn’t, that is, not until you were home for good.” She got very busy, checking the buckle on Pug’s collar.

So that was it. He let it pass for now. “And we also said that you would love, honor, and obey me. I believe those were the exact words?”

“You’re not still angry about the ball, are you?”

“Not precisely angry, more perturbed. I didn’t want you spending so much money, you know.”

Thankful for the change of topic, she looked him in the eye and said, “But it’s my money, Smoky, and I am having a wonderful time with it. There’s lots more left and I have some new ideas about investments. You did say I might manage my own finances for now, remember? You signed all the papers.”

“And you agreed to keep the investment in Stockton to a minimum, so I could hope to repay it eventually.”

“Pooh. The farms are already repaying the outlay for equipment. We shall recoup the other expenses soon enough. It would be very wrong of you to insist on controlling how I use my money, just because you have the legal right, when you are not here to help make the decisions.”

“I’m not an ogre, Sparrow. I wouldn’t insist on any of my rights, you know.”

They both knew he wasn’t talking about the money. “Thank you. I just, that is, I, ah ...” She rubbed Pug’s velvety ears.

“You’re afraid, Emilyann Arcott, and you may as well admit it.”

She stamped her foot “I am not! It’s just that I don’t know you very well and—”

She was frightened—of him! None but an untouched maid would be as jittery as an unbroke colt. He felt like whistling! Never had he been so happy over another’s fear, and how could he ever have doubted her? She was as true as an arrow, as solid as a rock, and his. He rolled over on his back, grinning, cushioning his head on his crossed arms. “I never thought I would live to see the day. Used to be you would follow me anywhere, into caves with bats and spiders and snakes, up to the attics to search for ghosts.”

“Smoky, I am not that little girl anymore!”

“I wouldn’t be here if you were! No, now you’re a worldly sophisticate, quaking in your boots”—he glanced over—”no, in your satin slippers, to think of your husband’s attentions.”

“Don’t you laugh at me, Smoky. This isn’t like exploring spooky old places. I just think we need more time, to get to know each other.”

“I’m not laughing at you, poppet. I’m laughing at myself for being an egotistical fool. Here I was congratulating myself that my little wife had turned out to be a beautiful, desirable woman who would fall into my arms at my first appearance.” He reached out and took her hand, tugging her to sit down on the bed next to him. “Life is never so easy, and I am sorry for frightening you, or taking you for granted.”

He was also sorry for losing something he never treasured enough. He was, however, a British soldier, and the British hadn’t surrendered yet. Major Lord Stokely would just have to woo his own wife.

“You are beautiful, you know,” he told her, stroking her hand lightly.

“Fudge. I just have style. People are inclined to think me something special because they like to approve of wealthy countesses.”

And still unspoiled. So much for winning through flattery. “It’s growing colder. I don’t suppose you’d care to continue this discussion under the covers?”

“Smoky, you said!” She snatched her hand back and jumped up, breasts heaving.

His sigh was not entirely feigned. “Well then, what about a good-night kiss?” Who knew where that could lead?

She shook her head, smiling. Damn if the chit wasn’t up to snuff after all. “No? What if I said Mr. Butler advised it? I understand you listen to him.”

She grinned, stuck her little nose in the air, and solemnly parodied: “I regret, my lady, that it would not be in our best interests.”

“It’s been a very long day.” He got up, reluctantly conceding for now. It was going to be a long night, too. “We shall continue this discussion tomorrow, Sparrow, you may be sure of that.” And he went through the door, turning once to fix the image of his lovely bride sharing that enormous bed with a silly, wrinkle-faced puppy—when she could have had him. She was right, there was just no accounting for tastes.

Lady Emilyann, Countess Stokely, had wished her disturbing, amusing, aggravating husband would go to his own chambers. Now she clutched the little black-faced dog tightly, undecided if she felt like laughing or crying. She did a little of both. Another wish had been granted.

In another bedroom, in another part of town, after news of Stokely’s return had filtered down through the greater and lesser haunts of social London, another husband entered his wife’s bedchamber.