Candice Hern (2 page)

"Nevertheless," the dowager said, patting Emily's hand, "I cannot help but regret the Windhurst connection. God's teeth! I will probably be forced to actually sit down to dinner with the woman. Oh, it is beyond enduring. You know, my dear, I could accept almost
anyone
else as Robert's wife. Anyone. Anyone at all." Lady Bradleigh rose and started to pace again, but stopped at one of the windows overlooking the River Avon, the turmoil of her thoughts written clearly on her face.

Emily bit back a smile as she considered that there were probably hundreds or even thousands of women who would be even more objectionable than Miss Windhurst—opera dancers, actresses, prostitutes, tradesmen's daughters—but she kept her tongue between her teeth.

* * *

The dowager continued to gaze out at the river. Anyone else, anyone else at all, she thought. Why, even someone like Emily would be a better choice. In fact, now that she thought on it, Emily would be an excellent choice for Robert. She was certainly beautiful, with her honey-gold coloring and patrician bones, though she tried to hide behind plain, dark gowns and severe hairstyles. She was, of course, no longer in her first blush of youth, being all of six and twenty; but then, Robert was no young pup, either. He would probably rub along better with a more mature woman than with some naive debutante. As for Emily's background, it was really quite respectable. Lady Bradleigh was one of the few people who knew that Emily's mother had been the daughter of the Earl of Pentwick. Despite the estrangement, the connection was there and must be seen in Emily's favor. And even though her father had been a Catholic, Emily had been raised by her mother in the Anglican faith; so religion was not an issue. As for her lack of fortune, it was only a minor concern, especially when a rich man was involved.

Indeed, it had been the dowager's hope when she had first employed Emily that she would be able to act as a matchmaker and find Emily some nice gentleman in Bath with whom she could settle down. Unfortunately eligible bachelors did not abound in Bath. Even so, Emily had from the first shown a strong disinclination for such maneuvers. The dowager had sensed her discomfort and had thereafter ceased to make an effort. She had, however, developed a deep affection for Emily during the past year. In fact, she already thought of Emily as family, so it required no great leap of the imagination to see her as Robert's wife. Ah, well, she thought, it was only a foolish daydream. Robert would never stoop to notice a paid companion. Nevertheless, she knew that there must be other more acceptable debs on the market this Season. She must find one to take his attention away from the Windhurst girl.

There was, of course, the minor detail of Robert's betrothal. He would be honor-bound to go through with the marriage, unless Miss Windhurst cried off. Although a woman always had the option of canceling an engagement, a gentleman was committed once an offer was made. Their blasted gentleman's code of honor did not allow a man to back down, regardless of the circumstances. Those few men who defied that code of honor and jilted their fiancées were completely ostracized from Society.

So, mused the dowager, she must take it upon herself to somehow get the Windhurst chit to cry off. How that could be done need not be determined as yet. The first order of business was to get to London.

"Emily," she suddenly declared, "pack your bags. We are going to London."

* * *

A knock on the morning room door interrupted whatever response Emily might have offered, as Barnes, the imperious butler, opened the door. "His Lordship, the Earl of Bradleigh," he announced.

Emily looked up to see the earl as he stood framed in the doorway. She sucked in her breath as she gazed at one of the handsomest men she had ever seen. He was quite tall and broad of shoulder, fairly dwarfing the elderly Barnes. His dark chestnut brown hair fell in a deep wave over one brow. He was still covered with the dust of the road, which, together with the mischievous gleam in his brown eyes and his boyish grin, gave him an appearance more youthful than his thirty-five years.

He had relinquished his greatcoat to Barnes along with his curly brimmed beaver. Though slightly ruffled from the drive, he nevertheless appeared quite appealing in his dark blue superfine coat of impeccable cut, buckskin breeches, and top boots. His cravat was simply tied and his shirtpoints were conservatively low. Although he obviously patronized an excellent tailor, his dress spoke more of comfort than of high fashion.

Emily stared openly at this man of whom she had heard so many tales. He was no doubt handsome enough for a rake, but there was also a certain boyishness about him which was most appealing.

"My dear boy!" exclaimed the dowager as she stretched out her arms to her grandson. In two quick long strides Lord Bradleigh was at her side, clasped her to him in a fierce bear hug, and then swung her through the air like a young girl.

"Put me down, you fool! I am an old woman!" she snapped, although her eyes gleamed with delight.

Lord Bradleigh returned his grandmother to earth and planted an affectionate kiss upon her cheek. "Old woman?" He grinned. "Ha! You are forever young, my dear heart. You look wonderful."

"You have not lost your charm, I see." The dowager glared up at him, still somewhat breathless. Without warning her eyes darkened, and she reached up and soundly boxed his ears. "How dare you!" she said.

Completely startled, Lord Bradleigh stammered, "W-what is this?" while he rubbed his stinging ears.

"As if you did not know. Emily, show him."

Emily had observed the unusual scene with amusement. Failing to completely suppress a smile, she offered the
Gazette
to Lord Bradleigh.

He turned, and for the first time noticed Emily's presence. He hesitated a brief instant as his eyes caught hers, full of amusement but with a hint of caution. He turned to the dowager with a questioning look.

"I beg your pardon, my dear," she said. "This is my companion. Miss Emily Townsend. Emily, this is my impudent and surprisingly foolish grandson, Lord Bradleigh."

Lord Bradleigh turned to Emily and bowed. "Your servant, Miss Townsend."

Emily nodded and dipped a tiny curtsy. "Lord Bradleigh." She smiled as she held out the crumpled
Gazette
. He returned her smile with a look in his eye that caused her knees almost to buckle as he took the newspaper from her hand.
So that's what it's like
, she thought
, to be stared at by a rake
. It was a most unsettling experience.

Lord Bradleigh glanced down at the
Gazette
, and his eyes immediately caught the announcement of his betrothal. "Oh," he said blankly.

Clearly he hadn't yet seen the announcement, though he did not appear entirely surprised. A fleeting expression of irritation crossed his face. Emily guessed that his unexpected visit to Bath was to let his grandmother, the Cameron family matriarch, know of his plans, and he would not be pleased that his future in-laws did not have the courtesy to wait until the Cameron family had been informed before sending an announcement to the papers.

Or was she reading too much into a momentarily furrowed brow, and making hasty judgments based on the dowager's low opinion of the Windhurst family?

"Oh? Is that all you have to say, Robert?
Oh
?"

Emily tensed as the dowager bellowed. This was likely to be a very uncomfortable conversation.

"Please sit down, Grandmother, Miss Townsend." Lord Bradleigh led the dowager to a small settee by the window. Charlemagne scrambled up on her lap. The earl reached down and tickled him behind the ears.
"
Bonjour, mon petit carlin. Veilles-tu sur ma grand'mère
?" he whispered to the pug.

Emily smiled at this gesture. Everyone who was acquainted with the dowager was quickly made to learn that the pug must be addressed in French, as the dowager was convinced he comprehended only his native tongue.

Despite her curiosity about Lord Bradleigh, she had no desire to be a part of what was sure to be an awkward meeting. This was a family matter and none of her concern. She excused herself to allow the dowager privacy with her grandson, saying that she must speak with Mrs. Dougherty, the housekeeper, about arranging rooms for the earl. She would also have fresh tea sent up.

* * *

After Emily departed, the dowager turned to her favorite grandson. "So. Are you ready to explain this proposed
mésalliance
?"

The earl grinned. "Now, dear love, do not be so quick to judge."

"You have not developed a grand passion for the chit, have you?"

"No, of course not."

"Then you lost another one of your silly wagers and were forced to make an offer?"

"No."

"Good God. You compromised her!"

"No!"

"Well, then, what?" the dowager asked, her hands flying up in exasperation. "You never even mentioned you had intentions of marrying, though God knows I have wished it for ages. After all, you have been on the town for years and years, with mamas throwing their daughters in your path since you inherited your title. What brought about this sudden capitulation, my boy?"

"Nothing very extraordinary, my dear," the earl replied. "But you are right. I have been on the town for too many Seasons. As you are well aware, it was my disgust—no, indeed my terror—of those mamas you mention that has caused me to avoid the parson's mousetrap at all costs."

He paused as Barnes brought in a fresh pot of tea along with slices of plum cake and tiny apricot tarts. The dowager poured a cup of tea and handed it to the earl. He took a restorative swallow.

"I recently celebrated my thirty-fifth birthday, as you know," he continued. "And I suddenly realized that I could now legitimately be considered middle-aged." His mouth twisted in distaste. "I concluded that it was time to finally take that dreaded and long- avoided plunge into matrimony in order to produce an heir."

"At last!"

"Just so. As you know, I have never experienced a serious emotional attachment to any woman, at least since the age of seventeen. Once I had determined to marry, I was therefore not very particular in my criteria for a bride. I required only that she be young enough to bear my children, have a respectable background, a spotless reputation, and at least passable looks."

"That's it?" the dowager squeaked. "Why, any number of women could have answered those requirements."

'True. The field was wide open, in fact, despite my ... er... reputation. But then I realized that I would prefer that she not be a giggler or a chatterbox. That eliminates half the Season's crop. And I cannot abide a watering pot. You see how the field narrows. And I would have no patience with a clinging vine. So now very few candidates remain. I would especially prefer that she be practical and businesslike in approaching marriage. I would be most uncomfortable with a female who fell head over heels in love with me when I know I could never reciprocate such depth of feeling. I wanted a woman who could accept me on those terms without reproach. And I believe I have found just such a one.

"For the first time in my adult life I decided to take a serious look at what the Season had to offer. You will be astonished to know that I even went so far as to grace Almack's with my noble presence. You know how I hate that place and its self-righteous patronesses. But it was actually at Almack's that I first met Miss Windhurst. Augusta."

He paused to take a sip of tea, then continued. "She is nineteen years old, and her background, on her father's side at least, is unexceptionable. She also happens to be very beautiful."

The dowager nodded. "I am not so removed from Society that I am unaware Miss Windhurst is this Season's Incomparable."

"Yes, she exceeds all my requirements in that respect. An added bonus, so to speak. She is also elegant, cool, and supremely aloof. I have no apprehension about her sensibilities. She does not giggle, chatter, whimper, swoon, or cling. She suits my requirements down to the last peg, so I lost no time in paying court to her. We have been much in each other's company during the last month. Two days ago I spoke with her father, who gave me permission to pay my addresses to her." He then reached over and took his grandmother's hand. "I am truly sorry, my dear, that you had to learn of my betrothal through the
Gazette
. I had every intention of breaking the news to you myself. Indeed, I have come to Bath for just that purpose. I assure you, I had no idea the announcement would be made public so soon."

"No doubt," Lady Bradleigh said with a sneer. "I suspect, however, that your future mother-in-law was anxious to make everyone in the
ton
aware of her great good luck in settling her daughter as a countess. What a triumph for her!"

Lord Bradleigh's face became grim, although his eyes twinkled with amusement. "Now, Grandmother. You must try to maintain a civil tongue when discussing my betrothed. Oh, I know what you think of Lady Windhurst, but, after all, she's not the one I'm going to marry. Augusta is cut from a different cloth altogether. She will make a fine countess." He squeezed her hand. "I had hoped for your blessing," he crooned in his most seductive tone.

The dowager jerked her hand from his clasp. "Do not go trying to turn me up sweet. You cannot wrap me around your finger like all your other women. You have my blessing. But I give it grudgingly and only because I do not see that I have a choice. I am not happy with this arrangement, Robert. In the first place, I still strongly object to having Lady Windhurst thrust into our family circle. The woman is not to be tolerated. Secondly, I take exception to this cold, calculating way in which you have apparently chosen your bride. I suspect that you will regret your heartless business arrangement in years to come. Have you no desire for an affectionate, loving relationship at the center of your life? Do you not think it is worth waiting until you find a woman with whom you can share such a relationship?"