An Early Engagement (15 page)

“I’m sorry, my dear,” and he prayed no one knew how sorry, “but Geoff and I have other plans this evening.”

“You what?” The teapot was set down with a resounding thud. Emilyann had been composing that speech for days, rehearsing to find a middle ground between friendship and fast talk. She did not want to sound overeager; Smoky was already too full of his own consequence and she was not ready to back down completely, just make a few concessions. There could not be much danger in kissing one’s own husband, she had concluded, deciding to become available for that long-delayed discussion. And he had other plans?

“Sorry, but you’ve been so busy, and I thought you would want us out from underfoot....”

She had almost laid her heart at his feet and now he was about to walk over it, likely on the way to some light-skirt’s door. The tea in Emilyann’s cup could have turned to ice from the chill in her voice: “I shan’t wait up.”

“I did not expect it, my dear,” he said, leaving in a hurry.

* * * *

“Whew,” Geoff said once they were out on the street, “I knew you were a brave man, but that was close. I don’t mind telling you, Emmy on her uppers ain’t a comfortable thing. Best of good fellows generally, for a female, of course, but when she gets her wind up ... Did you see Nadine cram that last almond cake in her mouth and race Aunt Adelaide for the stairs? Emmy didn’t seem to like our shabbing off like that.”

“You just have to know how to handle her.”

Geoff grinned. “Like bolting? ‘Sides, I don’t see you handling her at all. Ain’t my business, of course....”

“No, it’s not.”

His irrepressible brother just grinned wider. “Well, can you at least tell me what this is all about, and where we are going? If I’m to be in Emmy’s black books, I deserve to know why.”

Stokely threw his arm around Geoff’s shoulder and told him, “We are going sightseeing, my lad. Big brother is going to show you a side of London you’ve never visited, I pray. And if you ever go back without me, being on Sparrow’s bad side would look like heaven compared to what I’ll do to you.”

They started in the clubs, and proceeded through the gaming hells, to the dives, to the alehouses of the slums, to the stews. Always Stokely asked a few questions, put a few coins on a counter, and sat at a table for a few minutes, nursing a glass or a mug or a bottle. Sometimes a man would come whisper a name or two, for another coin. Other times a woman would come, asking a different question, in hopes of earning Stokely’s favor. He sent the women away with a smile and a coin, more often than not.

It was information he was after, nothing else. Someone had hired those thugs who attacked him and Geoff on the street, someone had rigged his carriage to crash, and that same someone had likely whipped a team of frenzied horses in his direction in the park. He wanted to know who that someone was, and soon, before he had to return to the Continent, leaving his family open to more attacks.

“ ‘Pon rep,” Geoff commented as he took a breath of fresh air outside one foul ken, “we’re lucky to get out with our skins.”

Stokely smiled. “We were in no danger. I used to spend a lot of time here and there when I was supposed to be at school and later, after I signed up but before I was sent to the Peninsula, and then on leaves. I got to know a lot of people in the army, too. That barkeep with one eye, Corcoran, was with us at Valdoz, and the beggar outside that last tavern.”

“You’re at home to a shade here,” Geoff said a little enviously. “It’s a wonder you ever left. I mean, you didn’t have to go in the army, being the heir and all.”

“What, should I have stayed and been like our father, becoming another old reprobate living beyond his means, draining the estate for his own pleasure? If I stayed here, I would have, too. Gaming, women, drink. It would have been too easy for me to fall into that trap. Then where would you and Nadine be, or the lands? I didn’t have Emmy to go bail for me like you did. No, she didn’t tell me. Butler did. Not all the details; I suppose he couldn’t hear everything through the keyholes.”

“Pompous old busybody,” Geoff muttered, but Stokely was not listening.

“I don’t know,” he reflected, “maybe I did have Sparrow then, I just didn’t realize it.”

He did not have the name he wanted either. He had some leads for his night’s efforts, and people on the lookout for him, but no proof and not enough to make up for what he was missing: an evening with Sparrow in neither a teasing nor bashful mood, but possibly willing to talk. He would not hope for more, now, just the warm, willing woman he knew she could be. And tomorrow was that blasted ball.

* * * *

The ball was the culmination of Lady Stokely’s season, proof of her stature as a lady of quality. It was a grand affair, with half the ton present, admiring her, her home, her ability to organize a function this size. She was one of those popular hostesses whose invitations people craved, and best of all, Smoky would be there to see it.

Pride, that was what it was, and let Aunt Ingrid say a prayer for her if it was such a sin. Emilyann knew her house was in order, flower-decked and spotless, refreshments lavish, servants well trained. Her guests could have no complaints.

She herself was in looks, in a new gown of blue satin with a silver net overskirt. Every male guest had told her, if she hadn’t read it in Smoky’s eyes before they stood to make the receiving line. And how splendid he looked standing next to her, for once out of uniform in a coat of dark blue superfine stretched perfectly across wide shoulders, and black satin knee breeches enclosing muscular thighs. His weathered tan and the bit of gray at his temples made him seem even more distinguished than the pale, pomaded fops who passed for gentlemen of the ton. Geoff on her other side was saying just what he ought to each of the young debs who tried to catch his eye as they passed through the line. Emmy only had to grip his hand twice before he disordered the starched cravat over which Mr. Butler had labored so lovingly.

Nadine was charming tonight, too. She would never be a tongue-tied miss, and she was sparkling in her tiered gown of white lace, which still fit, remarkably, after all the nervous eating she had done this week in anticipation of the event. Lady Stokely’s heart nearly burst with the glory of it all, her wonderful family, her delighted friends, her magnificent hero-husband. Let Aunt Ingrid say
two
prayers.

Smoky led her out for the first dance. “My countess,” he said with pride matching her own, kissing her wrist. “I hereby demand all your waltzes and the supper dance, no matter who else asks. I don’t care if it’s the prince or the tsar or Bonaparte in person. Actually, I’d like to have a few words with that chap myself, so if you find him hanging about your skirts ... No, not even him. The waltzes belong to me.”

His eyes told her more, that
she
belonged to him. Blushing at her own thoughts, and his knowing smile in return, she nodded. Her enjoyment of the night was complete now, and she could just as happily have retired from society altogether, returned to the country to raise pigs and pugs (and maybe little gray-eyed tykes). Of course there was Nadine to settle, and Smoky still hadn’t resigned his commission, but she had hopes of talking him ‘round. But tonight, ah, tonight Lady Emilyann would twirl in her husband’s arms. in the waltz, of course.

The only note to mar her contentment of that first dance came when Stokely asked: “What the devil is Aylesbury doing here?”

“Aunt Ingrid has been very kind to us. Did you notice she is out of black for once, in honor of our ball?”

“Yes, instead of wearing black buttoned to the neck, she is wearing gray buttoned to the neck. At least she is not preaching to the company.”

Emmy teased: “No, that’s the entertainment for during supper.”

“All well and good, my girl, but what about Morgan? You know I told you to have nothing to do with him.”

“Yes, but he is my uncle, after all. I couldn’t very well not invite him without setting people to talk, or upsetting Aunt Ingrid.”

“He’s a rum touch and she knows it as well as you do. I don’t want him near you, especially now.”

“Why now?” she wanted to know.

Perhaps it was concern which made Smoky revert to Major Stokely. The officer in him was not used to being questioned, or having his orders disobeyed. “Because I say so, that’s why.”

Hmm, Emilyann reconsidered. Maybe just pigs and pugs.

* * * *

Their second dance was not quite as enjoyable. Emilyann had received congratulations from the Almack’s hostesses, adulation from her usual coterie, a pinch from the regent, who stopped in for a moment, marking her party a true success, and censure from her husband.

“What do you mean letting that chaw-bacon cousin of yours hang around my sister?” he asked, taking her in his arms for what should have been a delightful experience.

“What do you mean ‘letting’? That’s why we came to London in the first place.”

“Then why did I find her in the refreshment room helping Bobo stuff lobster patties into his pockets?”

“At least it’s better than the silverware. And I gave Mr. Butler strict orders that Bobo is not to go into the cloak room, so you needn’t worry about him going through the guests’ coat pockets for loose change.”

“Egad, I only have to worry about him stealing away my sister. Whatever were you thinking about? Next you’re going to tell me you had to invite him, too.”

“No, Nadine did,” she shot back, eyes flashing, giving up the pretense of a smile for the attentive watchers on the sidelines. “Why do you not take her to task, my lord?”

“Because you said you could watch out for her, my lady.”

“I am. That’s what this whole ball is about, finding her eligible men to choose from.”

“Well, he ain’t one of them, madam, your cousin or no.”

Emilyann vowed to strangle the wretched girl right after this dance. Meantime, she had a bone to pick herself. “May I ask what you were doing in the refreshment room, Stokely? I haven’t seen you in the ballroom since the quadrille you had with Nadine. Perhaps you think that’s suitable behavior for a host, but I do not. I am sure Sally Jersey expects you to pay her court, and little Miss Whitlaw hasn’t had a dance yet except for Geoff. I don’t like wallflowers at my party.”

“Oh, but it is
your
party, madam. I could not have sprung for a third of the champagne you have flowing like water. Besides, I have more important things to consider than the Jersey’s ego or Miss Whitlaw’s stammer. General Fanshawe is here, and he has reports that Napoleon’s army is regrouping, and the Corsican will be breaking out of exile any day.”

“I don’t see why you don’t just sell out and be done with it. All this stupid talk.”

“Yes, I know. At your ball.” The music ended, he bowed, clicked his heels, and walked away.

Lady Stokely was not proud of that exchange.

* * * *

By the supper dance Stokely was quietly distracted. More reports had come in with guests from the War Office.

Emilyann was not-so-quietly furious. “I just had a conversation with Squire Kimball,” she hissed as they took their place on the floor.

“What’s that? Oh, yes, very nice of you to invite him and the missus up from the country. I had a chat with him myself, earlier.”

Emilyann stepped on his toe, not entirely an accident. At least that got his attention. “I know,” she went on. “And you told him you had no wish to purchase that lower acreage, where the orchards used to be.”

“That’s right, I don’t.”

“But I do,” she ground out, putting her foot in quite the wrong place again.

Stokely came to a stop, looked down at her through narrowed eyes, and said, “If you make a scene here, Emilyann Arcott, so help me I’ll put you over my knee.”

“I think you have forgotten again, my lord. That is Emilyann
Stockton,
not some little child. And it is not myself who is causing the difficulty.” She gestured to the other couples who were nearly tripping in their efforts to avoid bumping into them.

He took her hand again, she winced, and they resumed the waltz. “We shall speak of this later.”

They certainly did not speak during supper. The wines were excellent, the food superb, the conversation nil, until dessert. Stokely turned to her and said, “Since you are already in such a taking, I may as well tell you that I fired that man Gannon you hired as gameskeeper at Stockton.”

“You fired Gannon?”

“At least we know you hear me when I say things. I was beginning to wonder, my dear. I did tell you the man was a lazy good-for-nothing drunk. And you hired him anyway.”

“I thought he would be good for the job.” She actually thought he would be too incompetent to harm her precious foxes.

“There are no pheasants, no grouse, and almost no chickens left at the tenants’ farms.”

“I’ll bet there are fewer rodents, too.”

“And more hungry cats going after the birds.” He offered her a dish of syllabub. “It looks delicious.... I hired Hebert.”

“What? That man is a ... a trapper!” She couldn’t think of anything worse.

Stokely took a spoonful of his dessert. “And I told Squire to organize a series of hunts. In the home woods.”

The syllabub did not look as good in his lap.

When Stokely returned downstairs from changing his clothes, he happened to notice the Duke of Aylesbury, his unloved uncle-in-law, look over his shoulder in either direction, then enter the library. The library’s door was closed, which should have informed guests that the room was not open to the public. Stokely reached for the sword that should have been at his hip. “Damn,” he muttered, and moved quietly down the hall.

By the time the earl softly pushed the door aside, Morgan was standing near the mantel, examining the decanters lined up on a small side table there. He jumped when Stokely cleared his throat, and put his hands in his pockets.

“Ah, it’s you, nevvy. Just came to, uh, blow a cloud.”

Stokely noticed one of the cut-glass stoppers was out of its bottle. “And have a glass in private? What, is Aunt Ingrid keeping a watch in the refreshment parlor?”