Candice Hern (16 page)

Dammit, but he was tired of his betrothal interfering with his normal way of life. He had anticipated that having a wife would have little or no impact on his usual activities, that once the business of producing an heir was accomplished, he and his countess would lead more or less separate lives. That had, of course, been the way of Society marriages for generations. In deference to Augusta, however, he had gone so far as to give his latest mistress her
congé
. But he had fully expected to resume such freedom in his relationships once Augusta had presented him with a son. As long as she was also discreet, he wouldn't keep too close an eye on her activities either. That was the way things were done, after all. Just look at his own family.

His gaze found Aunt Doro in animated conversation with Uncle Tony. The tales of his uncle's indiscretions were legion. Aunt Doro had been involved in at least one lengthy affair which had cast public doubt on the paternity of her youngest daughter. And no wonder, considering her circle of friends. Lady Melbourne, her closest friend and rival Whig hostess, had one son believed to have been fathered by the Prince Regent. Even William, her eldest son, was reputed to have been the result of her affair with Lord Egremont. Now William's wife, Lady Caroline Lamb, was making a cake of herself over Lord Byron; but of course she had the example of her own mother, Lady Bessborough, who had borne two illegitimate children by Lord Granville. And just a few years ago Lord Granville had married Lady Bessborough's niece, Lady Harriet Cavendish, who was now raising her aunt's bastards as her husband's wards. And she was, of course, the daughter of the notorious Duchess of Devonshire, who . . .

He shook his head as if to clear it. If one contemplated too closely the amorous relations of the
ton,
one's head could explode. But this was the world he lived in, the only way of life he knew. It was also clear, however, that things were changing. Society no longer turned such a blind eye to public indiscretions. In fact, it was considered positively ruinous to be the object of gossip. Even Lady Caroline Lamb was finding herself snubbed by some of the younger hostesses. Only look at his own situation. Despite his title and fortune, he had found himself unwelcome in many respectable drawing rooms—all because of a few indiscreet liaisons with well-known Society matrons. Middle-class morality was surely working its way up into the echelons of the
ton
.

Augusta came from a solid middle-class background on her mother's side. Why had it never occurred to him before how important the difference in their backgrounds would be to their marriage? As he watched her ill-disguised disdain of his rather flamboyant relations, he realized with sudden clarity that their marriage would never be the uncomplicated Society alliance he had envisioned. It was not going to be that simple. Augusta and her mother would no doubt expect him to dance attendance on his wife to a greater degree than he had planned, to be a pattern card of respectability and propriety. My God, what had he gotten himself into?

As his glance swept over the various groups in the drawing room, he noted that Miss Townsend was chatting with an unusually animated Julia Cameron. Leave it to that remarkable lady to make a point of befriending his cousin's shy young wife. The poor girl was seldom at ease among the boisterous Camerons, but she seemed quite relaxed at the moment. He watched as she flashed a brilliant smile at her approaching husband, drawing him down beside her. Simon gave a grateful smile to Miss Townsend before joining in their conversation.

Robert remembered the bit of diplomacy that Miss Townsend had worked with the battling chefs, the results of which had been plain this evening, and thought that her encouragement of the timid Julia was all of a piece. He supposed that the many years she spent in genteel service must have taught her the art of making others comfortable. Despite her habitual prim composure, she seemed perfectly at ease with his family. It was difficult not to be forever comparing her to Augusta, but that was a fruitless exercise, and he made a deliberate effort to shake such thoughts from his mind.

He really should pay more attention to Augusta. Their betrothal, despite his current misgivings, had been all his idea, after all. He must make more of an effort to demonstrate to both families that their match was indeed suitable. In fact, he must continue to remind himself of that fact and behave appropriately.

He headed toward Augusta, who was seated alone on a small settee.

"Robert!" His grandmother's voice and iron grip intercepted him. She pulled him to her side. "Lady Windhurst and I were just discussing the pleasures of country life. In particular, the beauties of the Sussex coast came to mind. Perhaps you could enlighten us on the specific delights of that area, as I recall that one of your estates is somewhere in the neighborhood."

"Not an estate, exactly," Robert said as he cast a speculative glance at his grandmother. "I have a small hunting box near Midhurst, quite inland. Afraid I don't spend much time there. It's Ted, as you must know, Grandmother, who can expound endlessly on the beauties of his beloved coast. In fact, it's one of the few subjects you are likely to get him to expound on at all. His seat is there."

"Of course," the dowager said, peering through her quizzing glass at something behind him.

Robert turned slightly to see the young marquess take the seat next to Augusta.

"How could I have forgotten?" The dowager turned toward Lady Windhurst. "Lord Haselmere owns Longcliffe, you know," she said in a confidential tone.

Lady Windhurst's eyes widened momentarily at the mention of the famous country house that was prominently featured in every book on the beauties of the English countryside. Her glance followed the dowager's to watch her daughter chatting pleasantly with the owner of Longcliffe. "Does he?" she said. "How very interesting."

Chapter 11

Emily was unashamedly enjoying herself. She felt positively exhilarated, almost like a young girl again, as she was twirled by Mr. Giles Hamilton in a lively country dance, her skirts of azure blue shagreen silk billowing about her. It had been years since she'd danced. Although she had attended many assemblies in Bath with the dowager, they had generally spent their time in the card room or the tearoom, only entering the ballroom occasionally, and then only to watch and gossip with the other dowagers and chaperons.

But this evening, at her first London ball, she was not allowed to sit quietly among the dowagers. Her employer and Lady Lavenham had seen to that. Her dance card was almost filled. Lord Bradleigh and his cousins and Lord Lavenham had all solicited dances. But there were other gentlemen as well—those gentlemen deliberately tossed in her path by her scheming employer.

Oh, but she didn't care just now about the dowager's matchmaking plans. After her first dance with Lord Lavenham, she had given herself up to the sheer enjoyment of the ball. She would feel guilty about it later. Tomorrow, perhaps. But not just now.

Mr. Hamilton, whom she had discovered was the younger son of an earl, had been introduced to her at Lady Bessborough's rout, and had been at her side within minutes of her arrival this evening in order to solicit a dance. He had been flattering in his attentions, and she quite enjoyed his company. As the dance ended he offered his arm to escort her back to the dowager.

"Oh, but that was most enjoyable, sir," Emily said somewhat breathlessly. "Thank you very much for the dance."

"It was my pleasure, Miss Townsend," Mr. Hamilton said. "I am glad you are enjoying the ball."

"Indeed I am, sir," she replied.

"May I be so bold, Miss Townsend," he said, "to ask you to join me in a drive in the park tomorrow afternoon? I would be honored to take you up in my phaeton."

"Why, thank you, sir," Emily replied, somewhat flustered. She hadn't considered that any gentleman would be interested in more than a dance. It was really quite flattering, she thought, smiling. But she must not forget her place. "I will need to check with my employer first, to make certain that she does not require my presence. If she agrees, then I shall be delighted to join you."

"I shall look forward to it, Miss Townsend," Mr. Hamilton said, bowing over her hand as she took an empty chair. "Until tomorrow, then," he said as he took his leave.

Oh, my, thought Emily, biting back a smile. She opened the fan at her wrist and tried to cool herself, as the last country dance had been rather energetic. She reached for her dance card and was relieved to see that she had not promised the next set, as she preferred to sit and catch her breath.

"Well, well, well."

Emily looked up to see an older somewhat dissipated-looking gentleman glaring down at her with steely gray eyes. He was unfamiliar to her, but something about him caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand up.

"I'd know the gel anywhere, Hugh," he said to a younger fair-haired gentleman standing behind him. "She's the spitting image of her mother." He almost spat out the last word.

Emily's breath caught. Who was this man?

"You knew my mother, sir?" she asked, her calm voice hopefully giving no hint of her uneasiness.

"Indeed I did," the man said and then bared sharp teeth in a broad smile that sent a tremor up Emily's spine.

Emily slowly closed her fan and tried to look calmly at this man without letting him sense her fear.

"Your mother," he spat, "the slut, was once my sister. Before she was ruined by that ne'er-do-well Townsend and disgraced the family by running away with him."

Emily caught her breath and felt the blood drain from her face. She was beginning to feel faint. The man moved closer, bent down, and fingered the pearls at her throat. Her mother's pearls.

"Not to mention," he continued, "that she absconded with some very valuable jewels that belonged to my family."

"You are my uncle?" she asked in a quiet voice as she moved away from his touch. "Lord Pentwick?"

"I am Pentwick," he replied, sneering at her movement.

At that moment the young man behind him stepped forward and extended his hand. "And I am Viscount Faversham," he said.

Out of pure habit Emily reached out to accept his hand.

"My dear cousin," he said as he lifted her hand toward his lips. Her hand was batted away by Lord Pentwick, who had abruptly stepped between them.

"She is a baseborn bastard, Hugh," Lord Pentwick bellowed in an overloud voice, "and no true cousin of yours."

Emily swallowed convulsively and tried to remain calm. She was vaguely aware that voices around her had quieted.

Oh, God, she thought, there mustn't be a scene.
Please
, not a scene.

Lord Pentwick bent over Emily and wagged a finger inches from her face. "If you had any sense, madam," he continued in a harsh but less loud voice, "you would continue to keep yourself buried in the country, away from the censure of Society. You do not belong here, do you understand? I will not abide meeting up with my sister's bastard at Society events. I would recommend that you remain out of sight as you have done so well these last years. Otherwise you might find it extremely unpleasant. Do I make myself clear?"

"I believe this is my dance, Miss Townsend."

Emily almost swooned in relief at the sound of the familiar deep voice and the touch of a firm hand at her elbow. Lord Bradleigh somehow managed to get her to her feet and placed himself between her and Lord Pentwick. "Remind me," he said in a clear voice, "to speak with Lady Rutland. It seems that all sorts of riffraff are being allowed entrance to her ball."

A collective gasp was heard from several bystanders. As Emily numbly followed Lord Bradleigh toward the dance floor, she heard a distinct "Blast!" from the direction of her uncle.

* * *

Robert felt Emily's arm trembling slightly as it rested on his. He looked down to find her unnaturally pale face staring straight ahead.
Good girl
, he thought.
Hold your head up
. He knew the eyes of this half of the ballroom were on them, as he also knew that all the whispering they heard as they passed was undoubtedly about them. He only hoped that most of the swiftly moving gossip was about himself and the cut direct he had just given another peer of the realm. He hoped that few had actually overheard Pentwick's insults.

Robert could not remember ever having been so angry. He had been on his way to relay a message to his grandmother from one of her cronies when he had seen Pentwick with Emily. As he heard the vile insults thrown at her, he had wanted nothing more than to leap upon the man and beat him to a bloody pulp. But then he had looked at her, sitting there stoically—saying not a word, her widened eyes the only outward sign of her distress—and he had been overwhelmed with the need to protect her. He needed to get Emily out of there, away from Pentwick. This young woman who had been so afraid that his grandmother's harmless matchmaking would publicly embarrass her was now the center of a potentially explosive and very public scene. Despite his almost uncontrollable desire to flatten the blackguard, he knew that such an action would only further publicize the unpleasantness of the confrontation and further distress Emily. The best thing to do was to calmly extricate her from the situation.

The strains of a waltz began as they reached the dance floor. As he turned to face Emily and take her in his arms, she looked up at him, her brow furrowed in alarm as she shook her head. He understood at once. It would only make matters worse if Emily were to be seen dancing the waltz without first getting permission from one of Almack's patronesses. What an idiotic practice, he thought in frustration as he looked frantically around the ballroom. Emily was not a young miss in her first Season, but she was unmarried and must therefore abide by the rules of Society. His eye finally caught that of young Emily Cowper, the daughter of his aunt's friend, Lady Melbourne. Lady Cowper was one of the patronesses of Almack's and a good friend, not only through his long acquaintance with her through Aunt Doro, but also because she was the mistress of Robert's friend, Lord Palmerston. He cocked his head toward Emily and raised his brows in question. Lady Cowper smiled and nodded. He blew a kiss at her in thanks.