First Season / Bride to Be (34 page)

Silence fell over the room. Emily's pulse speeded up, and her mouth felt a little dry.

“An unusual young woman,” Richard said finally.

“I think she's splendid.”

He held up a hand in defense. “No doubt you're right. It was certainly kind of her to offer to detach my mother from…her employer.”

“She is only working there because…” Emily broke off, not wanting to betray any of Sarah's confidences.

“I'm sure she has her reasons.”

Silence descended again. Stealing a look at Richard, Emily couldn't interpret his expression. He looked very handsome this morning. His simple blue coat and buff pantaloons set off his athletic figure to perfection. And the bronze of his skin was striking against his snowy neckcloth. She had first imagined him as a gladiator, she remembered suddenly, and flushed. “Thank you for the candies,” she said to erase this image.

He smiled. “I thought they looked like the watercolors your mother spoke of.”

Her answering smile came without conscious bidding. “They did. But they tasted much better.”

“I'm glad.”

Their gaze held as the smiles slowly faded. Emily looked away first. “I'm sure Sarah will do the thing just right.”

“She seemed very capable.”

They were repeating themselves, Emily thought. Why didn't he take his leave? He had gotten what he came for, hadn't he?

“You've known her a long time?” he asked, in the tone of someone making polite conversation in difficult conditions.

“Most of my life. We used to see each other every year when the Fitzgibbons' acting troupe came to our town.” She smiled reminiscently. “They always came—wherever we lived.”

“You moved about a great deal?”

“Papa is always looking for new places to paint. And escape from irate neighbors. We were rarely more than a year in any one spot.”

He frowned.

“It was great fun,” lied Emily. “I got to see all sorts of country.”

He made no reply. Another silence fell. She would just say she had an appointment, Emily decided. But she didn't move.

“I have something else for you.”

She started slightly.

Richard drew a small box from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to her. It was covered in dark blue velvet. Emily held it, gazing at him.

“Open it,” he commanded as abruptly as before.

Her hands trembling, she did so. “Oh.” Inside was an exquisite ring set with a sapphire flanked by two smaller diamonds. “Oh,” she said again. “I can't… You shouldn't…”

“It is the expected thing,” he replied stiffly. “Several friends have been asking me what sort of ring I meant to get you.”

“But you… We aren't…”

“Try it on.”

Emily knew she shouldn't, but the ring was so lovely. She drew it out, fumbling a little, and fit it on her finger.

“Too loose?” he asked, as if there were nothing strange about any of this.

“No. It's just right.”

“Ah.” He nodded as if satisfied. “I thought the blue stone would suit you.”

She slipped it off. “I can't take it.”

“Why not?”

“You must see that it is impossible.”

“It fits with our…plan.”

“Pretending to be engaged. That does not mean you must spend large sums of money on the—”

“I didn't spend anything,” he interrupted, sounding bitter. “It is the ring my father gave my mother when they were engaged. She put it aside for my future wife.”

“Then I certainly can't accept it.” She tried to hand it back.

“You don't care for the ring?”

“It's lovely, one of the most beautiful I've ever seen. But your mother will…”

“She will do as I say.” His voice was steely.

“There is no need to carry our charade to such a length.” Emily retrieved the box and held out the ring to him.

“I don't wish people to start to doubt it,” he answered in quite a different voice. “The only way I can offer you my protection is if we are known to be engaged. If anyone suspects the truth…”

He broke off, but Emily had no trouble finishing the thought. If her true role were known, the mysterious attacker would make every effort to eliminate her.

“Put it on,” he said.

She slipped the ring on again. It really was exquisite. When she raised her eyes, Richard was watching her with an odd expression. His hazel eyes seemed almost soft.

“It becomes you.”

She swallowed.

His short laugh was derisive. “I was once a veritable pink of the
ton
. My advice was sought after on all matters of dress and decoration.”

Richard stood. “Wear it,” he commanded. And without another word, he strode out of the room.

Emily remained sitting on the sofa. Her eyes kept straying to the ring. She held out her hand finally, spreading her fingers to admire its rich glitter in the sunlight. She had never had anything so beautiful. Her throat ached with a threat of tears. She cleared it, and dropped her hand to her lap.

The ring had been lent to her. She would return it to Richard when their quest was complete. She mustn't think of it as hers.

She cleared her throat again. It was something precious she was guarding for a friend. She would take very good care of it for the short time it remained with her. Unconsciously, Emily's right hand crept over to cup the other. It was no more than that, she reiterated. It meant nothing, really. Nothing at all.

“There is a boy asking to see you,” Henley told Richard very early the next morning. The butler's tone made it abundantly clear that he did not approve of the individual in question. “He insisted you would wish to know he was here.” He waited for Richard to confirm his doubt of this.

“Where have you put him?” asked Richard, laying aside a letter to his estate agent and rising from the library armchair.

“He is waiting in the kitchen.” Henley's face had gone impassive at this distressing reaction.

Richard nodded and started for the back premises.

“I will have him brought to you, my lord!”

“No need.”

Leaving Henley to recover from the shock, Richard went down the back stairs to the brick-floored kitchen. Suspecting the identity of his caller, he thought the boy would be more comfortable there than in an upper room.

His entrance roused a flurry of exclamations and fluttering aprons. With a smile for the cook, whom he had known since he was in short pants, Richard went over to the raggedly dressed boy who was twisting his cap near the outer door. “I am Lord Warrington,” he said.

The boy looked relieved. “T'Bruiser sent me.”

“He has news for me?”

“Aye, m'lord. He asked, could you come and see him.”

Richard started to ask for more information, but realized the boy was unlikely to have any. “Tell him I'll be there at two.”

The boy's relief increased. He nodded and put on his cloth cap. When Richard handed him a coin, he goggled at it, then looked deeply gratified as he slipped out the door and up the area stairs.

He would have to send word to Emily, Richard thought as he returned to his correspondence. But he set the letter aside again when it occurred to him that perhaps he should not. She really oughtn't visit the Bruiser's neighborhood.

She would be furious if he went without telling her, he mused. Oddly, the idea made him smile. There was something inexplicably enjoyable about quarreling with Emily.

He would go without her, he decided, and tell her the outcome later on.

He took up his pen and tried to frame a few more sentences to his estate agent. It was damnably difficult to know what to say to him. Even if Richard managed to convince the man that he was serious about restoring the land, what could he offer? Nothing could be done without money, and there was no money. It was damnably depressing.

Richard frowned, wrote a bit more, then stopped again. Something was nagging at him. Had he forgotten to tell Taft anything important?

No, that wasn't it.

He reread the letter. It seemed as clear and sensible as he could make it. Taft would very likely doubt him, but…it wasn't the letter. He put it aside once again, scowling at the library wall.

He didn't want to go and see the Bruiser without Emily, Richard realized. The expedition would lack a vital…spark. It would become a duty instead of a foray into mystery. Emily added something indefinable to any outing.

Ridiculous, he told himself. He valued Emily's insights; that was all. She had encountered unusual people and circumstances in her unconventional life, and her unique point of view was very helpful. He simply wanted to take advantage of it.

Richard took out a fresh sheet of notepaper and scrawled a few quick sentences on it. When he had dispatched it to the Crane house, he felt much better.

* * *

Emily gripped the side of the seat as the carriage clattered over a rough stretch of pavement. Her ring glinted in the sunlight, and she was startled yet again by the sight of it on her hand. Stealing a glance at Richard beside her, she found him intent on guiding the vehicle through the narrowing streets. He had been quiet since taking her up, and didn't seem to share her anticipation of the Bruiser's news. She wanted to ask him if anything was wrong, but she couldn't, quite. The presence of the groom and husky footman perched behind was inhibiting.

“It's odd that the Bruiser won't venture out of his own neighborhood,” she said finally. “It seems he wouldn't be afraid of anything.”

“Difficulties in Mayfair are seldom solved with one's fists.”

She blinked. The sentiment, and the abrupt tone, were unexpected. “You mean he feels out of his element elsewhere?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“We should have invited him to our house. Papa would put him at ease.”

A short laugh escaped Richard. “I daresay he would.”

“I'm sure he would like to paint him,” continued Emily meditatively. “You know, that might be a step in finding Jerry employment. I don't suppose you have thought…?”

“No.”

“I'll speak to Papa,” she decided.

“How will you account for your acquaintance with a prizefighter?” Richard asked.

Emily couldn't resist. “I'll tell him you introduced me.”

“Indeed?” He threw her a look. “Is your father a good shot?”

“Rather good. Why?”

“Because it will be pistols at dawn if you say that. I just wondered about my chances.”

She laughed. “He might call you out. But when you met, he would be distracted by the mist on the grass or the color of the clouds and forget to shoot you.”

“It almost sounds as if this has happened.” The amusement in Richard's voice dissipated the constraint she had noticed earlier.

“It did. One of our neighbors challenged him once. But then Papa wandered off as the seconds were pacing the ground to watch some willow leaves floating in a brook. When he shot them—”

“The leaves?” interrupted Richard incredulously.

“Yes. He was framing the composition, you see, and he forgot he had a loaded dueling pistol in one hand. I understand they go off at the least touch.”

Richard made a choking sound.

“The duel was called off. Our neighbor decided he was mad.”

“You seem to know a great deal about the occasion.”

“I was hiding in the bushes.”

“What?”

“I was only nine, and I wanted to see a duel.” She paused, remembering. “I was worried about Papa, too.”

“That he let you find out…”

“Well, he shouts. One can't help but overhear.”

“I would have thought your mother…”

“Oh, she was…”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“She was there with you, wasn't she?”

Emily hesitated, but he looked very certain. “She wanted to make sure he was all right. I think she meant to throw a rock and spoil both their aims.”

Richard burst out laughing. “That is outrageous.”

“She said the squire had no business offering a challenge. Papa hadn't meant to insult him.”

“I doubt that.”

“He hadn't. Papa's insults are very…straightforward.”

Richard gave another snort of laughter.

“And he only said he didn't wish to paint a portrait of the squire's wife.”

“That's all?”

Emily wrinkled her nose. “Well, he did tell him that he couldn't because his life was devoted to the pursuit of beauty. But he didn't mean it as an insult.”

“No, indeed.”

“He didn't. More of an abstract judgment.”

Richard pulled up the horses in front of the Bruiser's boardinghouse. “One can see why the squire might take it personally, however.”

“He was not a connoisseur of art.”

As he helped her down, Richard smiled in a way that made Emily feel quite euphoric.

* * *

They found the Bruiser sitting in his room, as before. “What happened to your face?” Emily exclaimed, distressed by the discoloration and swelling all along his cheek and over one eye.

“Sparring with some of the hopefuls,” was the obscure response. “One lad looks promisin'.”

He seemed oblivious to his injuries, indeed almost to approve of them, she thought in bewilderment.

“You have some news for us?” asked Richard.

“Aye. Bob and Ralph the Thumb have gone.”

“Gone where?”

The fighter shrugged his massive shoulders. “No one knows. They packed up and left.”

“Left London?” Richard demanded.

“Well, they ain't anywhere people knows of. And Ralph owes Sam Pierce ten quid.” His expression suggested that this should tell them something important.

“Sam collects his debts?” ventured Richard.

“Regular,” replied the Bruiser, looking solemn.

“I wonder where they can have gone?” Emily frowned. “If they were indeed behind the attacks…”

“They was after somebody in foreign parts,” put in the Bruiser.

“Foreign…?”

“You mean, in another part of London?” asked Richard.

The fighter nodded, waving his huge hand. “Off away west.”

“And you have heard nothing of where they went when they disappeared?”

“Disappeared's the right of it. Nobody knows where they are.” He shook his head. “Sam has friends in foreign parts.”

Richard looked at Emily. “It sounds as if they have left London.”

“But why?”

“To keep them from being questioned, perhaps.”

“Someone found out we were asking about them?”

“It seems likely.” Richard gave the Bruiser a sidelong glance, as if to say that he was not the most subtle questioner.

“So the attacks will end?”

“These men will no longer be involved,” he corrected. He frowned. “They must know something useful, or there would be no need to get rid of them.” He turned to the Bruiser. “See if you can find out where they went.”

“Right.”

“And keep your ears open. If anyone else is offered their job in ‘foreign parts' send word to me at once.” He rose to go.

“Do be more careful,” Emily said, making no move to follow suit. “Do you have something to put on those bruises?”

The fighter stared at her. “Had a beefsteak on my eye yesterday all right and tight.”

“A…?”

“A customary remedy,” Richard put in. “I believe it's quite helpful.”

“I'm going to tell Papa,” she said. “Would you like to pose for a painting, Jerry?”

The Bruiser looked uncertain, and apprehensive. “Painting?”

“A picture. Of you. In your…fighting clothes, I imagine.”

“Like the ones of Cribb and Molyneaux?” answered the fighter.

Emily looked to Richard for guidance.

“Two famous champions,” he explained. “Their bout in 1810 was epic in the world of the Fancy. I believe it has been painted several times.”

“A little like that,” Emily said. “But you would have to come to Papa's studio in, er, ‘foreign parts.'”

The fighter scowled, struggle evident in his face.

“He would treat you well,” Emily assured him. Her father was kinder to his sitters than to his aristocratic kin.

“Your dad?” said the Bruiser, and Emily couldn't tell if he found the connection reassuring or intimidating. She simply nodded. “I dunno.”

“He's a right one,” said Richard. Both Emily and the Bruiser looked at him. “Nothing toplofty about him.”

The Bruiser looked half-convinced. Emily felt a rush of emotion at his endorsement of her father.

“Mebbe,” allowed the fighter.

She left it at that, wanting to speak to her father before making definite arrangements.

“We should go,” said Richard.

Emily rose and offered Jerry her hand.

As she and Richard walked back down the stairs to the carriage, she couldn't help but say, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

There seemed too much to say. For not thinking my family bizarre, for not deploring my father's eccentricity or my mother's lack of ceremony. For taking them as they are and, seemingly, liking them.

“Is it so important to you that the Bruiser be immortalized?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

“I would like to help him,” she managed.

“And you think this is the way?”

“Papa will pay him a little, and then perhaps we can find something else for him to do.”

“Is that how your father gained so many unusual friends? Does he paint them, and then find them employment?” His amusement seemed to have faded to curiosity.

“Sometimes. Not always.”

They climbed into the carriage and started off. Richard was silent for a few minutes, and Emily wondered what he was thinking.

“I'll see what I can find for the…for Jerry,” he said then.

“I thought you didn't want to…”

“I changed my mind.”

His tone didn't encourage questions. He must have been affected by the fighter's battered face, Emily decided, as she had certainly been. Men disliked admitting such sympathies. Which was silly, but that was how they were. She felt a moment's warm cordiality toward the entire male sex. They needed their little ruses and evasions. “It has gotten quite hot, hasn't it?” she asked, and was gratified to see the expected relief in his expression.

* * *

Richard maneuvered the carriage through a narrow gap left by a curricle and a wagon full of vegetables. He didn't even notice the approving looks from the other drivers for his steady handling of the reins. He was contending with a tangled mass of feeling that the expedition with Emily had evoked.

He'd given her the ring because he wanted to, he admitted to himself. It wasn't really a necessary part of the charade. He'd become aware of this the moment she settled beside him in the carriage this morning, ring on her finger, and looked up at him with a confiding smile. He had a sudden image of her face when she had first taken the ring from its box and held it out. There had been a glow in her eyes, a softness to her mouth.

His jaw hardened. This wouldn't do. He had to stop it at once. Richard's fist closed and his face reddened. She had engaged herself to him because of the thrill of the chase. There was nothing more between them, and he had been profoundly relieved to find that this was so. Profoundly relieved, he repeated silently. He had important things to think about, a whole life to reshape for himself. He couldn't afford errant impulses of…sympathy.