Miss Cheney's Charade (13 page)

She collapsed against the cushions, utterly done in and wishing that she might take off for the country or somewhere.

When the door closed, Peter leaned back against the wall and looked at Radley. “She was quite magnificent, you know. Natural ability and grace. Splendid timing and thrust. Once she learns all the positions, we will have some excellent sport.” He chuckled, a most elated sound. “I think she is badly confused at the moment, and I hope to keep her that way for some time.”

“You do not worry about compromising her, sir?” Radley gave Peter a troubled look.

“No, no,” Peter said softly. “She will be just fine.” He strolled off down the hall, whistling a gay little tune.

Behind him Radley stood in perplexed silence a few minutes before securing the door and bustling off to his tasks.

Emma, however, did not feel the least fine at the moment. She stormed into Lady Titheridge’s house in a highly irate mood.

“You did not warn me, dear ma’am. that I would wear this,” she charged. She pulled off the coat and stood arrayed in the ruffled shirt, waistcoat, and biscuit pantaloons worn during the lesson. Her slim legs were revealed in shocking delineation. The curve of her hips led the eye to shapely calves and trim ankles. With a glance in the looking glass Emma flipped a finger at the ruffle along the front opening of the shirt.

“Thank goodness for this, or I would have been undone. I do hope my bosom was not too pronounced. Never have I wished to be as flat as a board until today. It would have helped a bit, I think,” she concluded without much conviction. “Shall I demonstrate what I went through?”

She thrust her arm out as though to manipulate an epee, dancing and leaping about as she had done during the lesson.

“Good grief!” her ladyship said in fading accents while she sank back upon the chair.

“Precisely,” Emma agreed, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. She looked to Braddon, who immediately assisted Emma from George’s shirt and pantaloons. She splashed herself quite liberally with lavender water, then dressed in her own modest gown.

“What am I to do, ma’am?” Emma appealed to her confederate while Braddon brushed out her curls.

“We are in a decided fix,” Lady Titheridge admitted. “I believe you must brazen it out. To retreat at this point would be to admit failure. You cannot allow that. Besides, I think it your duty. I believe he needs you very much.”

“Why?” Emma wondered aloud as she recalled those green eyes that looked at her in
such
a way. Yet she was attuned to duty and had always done her duty in the past. If Lady Titheridge was convinced that it was Emma’s
duty
to spar with a sword, she would.

“Because my nephew seems to feel there is no one else he can trust, and you have skills important to him at this time. You simply cannot desert him now,” Lady Titheridge said in a most pleading manner.

Not proof against her ladyship’s plea, Emma nodded even as she sank on the bed with a sigh. She looked longingly at the pillow, then resolutely rose to leave.

“I had best return to the house before Mama asks too many questions. I will take a nap, then prepare to face the
ton
this evening as though I had not a care in the world but the color of my gown and the arrangement of my curls.”

“And where do you plan to go this evening?” Lady Titheridge inquired with what seemed like proper courtesy.

“Mrs. Bascomb has persuaded my mama that Lady Sefton’s little party will be the thing to attend. Little! If the house is not full to overflowing, I will miss my guess.”

“A sad crush in other words. You know every hostess hopes for that, my dear.” Lady Titheridge twinkled a smile at Emma, one of agreement with the absurdities of the
ton.

Emma sighed. “Of course. I am just tired. I will feel better when I have rested some.”

Lady Titheridge watched her young protégée quietly slip from the bedroom, then her ladyship crossed to the window, deep in thought. Before long she went to her desk and wrote a short letter. Once it was sealed, she summoned Leland.

“See to it that this note is sent to my nephew at once.”

Leland exchanged a look with his mistress, then bowed. “Of course, milady. At once.”

Emma dragged herself up to her room, thankful that her mama was deep in conference with Mrs. Bascomb at the moment. She could hear Mama extolling the benefits of Dr. Vernal’s Tonic Pills For Nerves to her friend. Tonic pills? Emma wondered what they actually contained, for she had no great faith in the quacks her mother continually consulted.

However, Emma was grateful to Dr. Vernal at the moment, for the discussion permitted her to escape an inquisition. Mama did not consider it proper for a young lady to be present while health was discussed. And dear Mama would have wormed the details of Emma’s supposed visit to Lady Titheridge in no time if she was in prime form.

At last in her room, Emma thankfully slipped her gown off, then crawled into bed. Her world had turned topsy-turvy from the moment she had met Sir Peter Dancy. She wished she had been prudent and not attended the unrolling of the mummy from Thebes. With that foolish deed all sorts of trouble had arisen. And now she
was fencing
for pity’s sake. Scandalous.

The last thought she knew before drifting off to sleep was that his eyesight must indeed be terrible if he had not detected her disguise by now.

When she awoke, her natural optimism returned. As often the case, things looked better when one had enjoyed a refreshing sleep. In the looking glass she saw a sparkle in her gray eyes again. Her fatigue had vanished, and she was ready to face the evening with reasonable enthusiasm.

“La, miss, you will need a new dress at the rate you be going about,” Fanny said when she bustled into the room, carrying Emma’s freshly ironed white silver gauze gown over her arms.

“I cannot ask Papa for another just now. Perhaps later on,” Emma murmured, wondering just how much Sir Peter intended to pay George for his art work. She would never make a person of business, for she had taken one look into those green eyes and totally forgotten to inquire. And yet she must confess that while she had begun this work for a few needed pounds, she now treasured the adventure, not to mention the proximity of Sir Peter Dancy.

She hastily slipped into the gown, then allowed Fanny to fuss with her curls before rising from the dressing table, picking up her reticule.

A knock on the door alerted her to possible trouble. When her mother entered, Emma steeled herself for difficulty.

“I brought these up for you myself, dear.” Mrs. Cheney held out a dainty posy of violets. “Mr. Swinburne begs the pleasure of a dance at the party this evening. I believe he must be more worthy than we first believed.”

Emma shook her head. “I doubt it. But of course I will grant him a dance. I have observed
he is everywhere accepted and the hostesses appear to like him—in spite of his dandyism.”

“Young men like to embrace eccentricities. When he matures, he will find them all absurd and become a dutiful husband.” Mrs. Cheney smiled with the knowledge of her unassailable wisdom.

While Emma had not the experience of her mama, she doubted that Mr. Swinburne would ever fall into that mold. He would more likely spend himself into bankruptcy and join those fleeing to Europe to escape their creditors. It seemed to Emma that the list of bankrupts published in the paper grew longer every day. Papa took the major papers, and
The Mirror of the Times
faithfully printed the bankrupts. How dreadful it must be to be without funds.

“Come now, I do not wish to be late. You will dazzle the gentlemen.” Mrs. Cheney gently guided Emma out of the room and along to the stairs. “I am pleased to see that you are at last taking my advice. When Fanny informed me that you were napping, it did my heart much good, and yours too, I daresay.”

“Yes, Mama,” Emma replied dutifully. She could scarcely admit to her dear and fragile mama that the morning had been spent in exercise—dashing and jumping about on a mat while waving a sword in the air. Mama would most likely have a fatal attack of palpitations.

The crowd at Lady Sefton’s was as predicted—a sad crush. While standing in line on the stairs, Emma observed that Lady Titheridge attended the party. Then Emma paled when she saw who was at her ladyship’s side—none other than her nephew, Sir Peter Dancy. Drat the man. Why had Emma been told that he seldom went about in company? It seemed to her that every time she went somewhere, she found him as well.

If she were a vain creature, she might think he sought her out. She knew better than that. He showed a few signs of the dandy, and more than a few of the eccentric, not to mention a dangerous gleam in those eyes. He exhibited none of the signs of an enamored swain.

Lady Sefton greeted Emma with more than common courtesy. “I am pleased to see you. Miss Cheney,” she said with a genuine smile. “When shall we have the pleasure of having you at our little assembly again?”

Emma glanced at her mama, then said, “I expect we shall attend come Wednesday evening, Ma’am.” The nonsense of calling Almack’s a little assembly was enough to send Emma into a state of terminal giggles.

“Lovely,” replied her ladyship, then turned to the next in line.

“Emma,” declared Lady Cheney from behind her fan, “I do believe there is a chance you may take. Oh, I do hope so.”

“If I do, you may thank Lady Titheridge and Mr. Brummell. People have a tendency to follow where they lead.”

“How wise you are becoming, my dear,” Mrs. Cheney said with amazement and delight.

Emma was spared a reply when Mr. Swinburne glided up to her, bowing over her hand with consummate grace.

“How it pleases me that my humble tribute has found favor in your eyes,” he gushed with a look at the violets.

“She is not an heiress, however, Swinburne,” said a wry voice from behind Emma.

She turned sufficiently—although she really did not have to, for she knew that voice—to see Sir Peter at her shoulder with Lady Titheridge at his side.

“Naughty boy,” her ladyship scolded affectionately. “You ought not say such things, you know.”

“I believe it is true,” he said again with a glance at Emma.

Emma gave him a speaking look, then turned her gaze to Mr. Swinburne. She really did not wish to encourage the man, but she detested Sir Peter for his wicked comment. She knew her financial status and he knew it, but he did not have to broadcast it. It was not the
done
thing.

“Will you grant me a dance?” Mr. Swinburne said to Emma, tossing a pitying look at Sir Peter. It was clear that the dandy believed his appearance to outshine Sir Peter’s. Indeed, it did. Pale yellow knee breeches with a sky blue waistcoat embroidered in orange and puce flowers beneath a dove gray coat made him stand out. In spite of Brummell’s dictum that one ought not attract undue attention, Mr. Swinburne caught the eye.

“I should be most pleased,” Emma replied with her natural grace and charm.

“Not before you allow me to beg a waltz with you later on,” Sir Peter declared most gallantly.

With Lady Titheridge looking on and wearing a benign smile, there was nothing for Emma to do but nod pleasantly and say, “I would be honored. Sir Peter.”

His lazy grin down into her eyes forced her to stiffen her knees. If only she could dismiss this lamentable tendency to weak limbs when he smiled at her, things would improve; she just knew it.

Mr. Swinburne claimed her hand, and Emma found herself free of Sir Peter. Not but that she did not know where he stood or with whom he danced all the while. She particularly observed his cotillion with a beautiful blonde.

Miss Richenda de Lacey was an heiress, incredibly lovely and possessed with about as much brains as God gave a flea. Or so Emma had been told. She had never met the girl. It was most peculiar that Emma felt an odd urge to scratch the beauty’s eyes out.

“Miss de Lacey is quite charming, I believe,” Emma drawled to Mr. Swinburne at the conclusion of the dance.

“The heiress?” he replied, thus betraying an interest in her dowry more than her charms. “Indeed. I have heard tell she has devoted bachelors littering her drawing room every afternoon.”

“And are you one of those?” Emma inquired with an arch lift of her brow. She really did not care if he was, but she longed to know who made up that coterie.

“At times.” With a change from his usual dandy airs, he gave Emma a level look. “There comes a time when a chap must either settle or decamp. Like many other fellows, I have an internal debate on the subject. When I am with Miss de Lacey, I ask myself if I could.”

Emma understood. He wondered if he might tolerate the little peagoose as a wife. An enormous dowry could go a long way to helping a man endure a silly wife. “There is always dinner at White’s.”

“True,” he concluded with a second glance at Miss Richenda de Lacey. “Beauty is as beauty does,” he commented obliquely and strolled off in her direction.

“You are looking exceedingly thoughtful. Are you not aware that such introspection is not permitted during a dancing party?” Sir Peter spoke softly into one of her ears. She could feel his breath on her neck, and she trembled at his nearness. Then she scolded herself. She was being as silly as Miss de Lacey.

“Well?” he said, turning her about by taking her hand and drawing her out to the dance floor.

“I had not realized this was to be a waltz,” she said, rather than comment on his remarks.

“You promised it to me,” he reminded. “It is the supper dance as well, so I shall enjoy the pleasure of your company. Unless you are of another mind?”

Emma knew it would be bad manners to refuse him, and no one else had asked her to supper. “I should be pleased to join you for supper.”

“You say that with the enthusiasm of one going to the tooth-drawer,” he complained.

Emma neither denied nor agreed with his accusation. Instead, she looked away from him—anywhere.

“Are you frightening the other gentlemen away?” she suddenly asked when she observed how the other men watched her with Sir Peter and retained their distance. “They seem to respect you a great deal. Do they fear to tread on what they perceive as your territory? If so, you must find a way to disabuse them of the notion. Perhaps a light flirtation with Miss de Lacey would do the trick?”