Pretty Poison (7 page)

Chapter Seven

Emily launched herself into her father’s waiting arms and buried her flushed face against his massive chest.

“How’s my girl?” Charles Calvert asked as he clasped his daughter tight in his arms.

“Wonderful, Da,” she whispered, drawing back to meet his intent gaze. “Truly, Da, I am well.”

“Gentlemen, this beautiful lass is my daughter, Emily,” Charles said as he turned to the two men who accompanied him. He kept his arm firm around her waist as he introduced her to Mr. Boone and Lord Carmichael.

Mr. Boone was an older man with a gleaming bald head and an outrageously extravagant white mustache. He was big and round, nearly as tall as her father, with cheerful blue eyes. Lord Carmichael was younger, perhaps thirty-five, tall and lean with wide shoulders. His hair was a deep auburn, a shade or two darker than her own. He looked down at her with warm brown eyes.

“We’ve come to check on Danny Boy,” Charles said as he motioned the two men to proceed down the aisle. “How’d he fare on the journey?”

“Just fine. He’s a grand boy, Da. Everything you said in your letter. He’ll make a wonderful addition to Emerald Isle’s stables,” Emily assured him as she looped her arm through his and followed Mr. Boone and Lord Carmichael into the horse’s stall, careful not to allow her eyes to wander toward the wall in the corner where Nicholas Avery had kissed her.

“Your father has been extolling your skill with a horse,” Lord Carmichael remarked as he eyed the restless stallion. “But surely you haven’t been riding him?”

“There’s not a horse alive my Em can’t ride,” Charles said proudly.

“That’s quite a get up you’ve got on there, Miss Calvert,” Mr. Boone remarked with a smile. “Took you for a stable boy when I first saw you.”

Emily looked down at her white linen shirt and brown breaches and shot a chagrined look at her father, but Charles only smiled fondly at her.

“She can’t rightly tend to the beasty here in skirts and petticoats,” he declared.

Emily laughed softly at the change in her father’s attitude toward her. Perhaps she should have gotten herself addicted to laudanum years ago. It would certainly have saved her a lot of frustration, heartache and humiliation. Not to mention a wasted journey across the Atlantic Ocean in search of a husband.

“Shall we go into the house?” Charles asked. “According to Lady Margaret there is a bevy of marriageable misses attending this little soirée. Are you of a mind to marry, Lord Carmichael?”

“The thought has crossed my mind,” Carmichael admitted. “If for no other reason than to halt the parade of debutants my mother flaunts before me every chance she gets.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” Charles barked. “Why, I’m tickled pink my girl will be returning to Maryland with me come spring. Foolish notion, bringing her over here to catch a husband. Don’t know why I let her talk me into it.”

Emily rolled her eyes. How typical of Da to rewrite history to fit his changing ideas.

“None of my fellow countrymen caught your eye, Miss Calvert?” Lord Carmichael asked as they made their way across the stable yard.

“I’m afraid I made a disastrous showing during my few ventures into London Society,” Emily replied. “Perhaps you read about
The Sleeping Wraith
in the gossip rags?”

“I don’t read the rags, and try very hard to ignore my sisters when they read them aloud at the breakfast table,” he answered.

“Damn gossip mongers!” Charles roared. “I’ve a mind to file suit against the lot of them.”

Lord Carmichael looked from father to daughter with a frown.

“Outright liars, that’s what they are,” her father continued. “Why, Emily’s suitors kept me too busy to get a lick of business done. Seems every day one young buck or another was banging down my door to ask for her hand. I remember one day when three of them came to the house at once—”

“Da, you’re exaggerating.” Emily interrupted her father’s rambling monologue.

“Never,” he argued.

“I’d best go in through the back door.” Emily waved a hand at her attire. “Aunt Margaret will have my head if any of her guests see me in breaches.”

“We’ll see you at dinner, then?” Lord Carmichael asked as he bowed over her hand.

“Until then, gentlemen,” Emily replied with a wide smile as she disappeared into the house.

She stole up the servant’s stairs, flung open the door to the upper hallway, and came face to face with Aunt Margaret.

“What were you thinking?” Margaret hissed as she grabbed her arm and hauled her into her bed chamber.

“What now?” Emily wrenched her arm from her aunt’s grasp and stood glaring at her.

“You were seen by my guests,” Margaret said.

“If you wanted me to go unseen you should have taken me up on my offer to hightail it to London until this ridiculous stud fair is over,” Emily replied.

“Stud fair,” Margaret whispered in shock. “Hightail? Good God, Emily Ann, you sound like a stable hand.”

“I am a stable hand.”

“You are no such thing.”

“As like as,” Emily countered. “And happy to remain so.”

“You cannot mean that.” Margaret paced across the room, her lavender dinner gown billowing around her tiny frame. “I know these last few months have been difficult for you, but there is no reason to give up hope.”

“It was never my hope to marry an Englishman and live the rest of my life on this blighted island.”

“Your father—” Margaret began as she spun to face her niece.

“Leave Da out of this, Maggie,” Emily cried, using the moniker she knew her aunt detested. “Da understands. Finally, we are of like mind, and I won’t have you ruining that for me.”

“He is not thinking clearly,” Margaret replied. “He is still too upset by what happened to you while you were in my care. But he will come to his senses and see that you need a husband.”

“I need no such thing,” Emily retorted with a flip of her hair. “A husband is the last thing I need. What did a husband ever do for you, Maggie?”

“Lord Morris gave me his name and financial security,” Margaret answered promptly, her hands on her hips, her chin thrust out defiantly.

“I have a name, and it’s revered up and down the Bay,” Emily replied as she plopped onto the bench at the foot of her bed. She tugged off one boot and sent it flying across the room. “And I have financial security, more than I would if I’d married your lover’s son and handed my fortune over to him.” The second boot landed beside the first.

“I know you want children, Emily,” Margaret murmured. And Emily did not have the heart to taunt her aunt with the obvious reply.

“Do you know, Maggie,” Emily said as she rose to stand before her aunt. “Illegitimate children are a rite of passage in Calvert County. Everyone who’s anyone has one. So, you see I don’t need a husband even for that.”

Margaret sucked in a shocked breath.

“I’ve a mind to make good use of this little house party you insisted I attend,” Emily continued. “Perhaps when I return home I’ll be bringing more than one addition to Emerald Isle.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Why not? I’ve seen more than one handsome gentleman who would make a fine stud.”

Emily looked up from the shirt buttons she was wrestling to free to find her aunt staring at her with wide eyes.

“Oh give over,” she relented. “I’ve no intention of frolicking with any of your guests.”

“Why?” Margaret asked softly. “Why do you take such joy in aggravating me?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I suppose because you think you know what’s best for everyone. But you don’t. Leastwise you don’t know what’s best for me.”

“Perhaps not,” Margaret agreed. “You are not the girl I thought you were.”

“Well, I’m not the girl I thought I was either.” Emily whipped her shirt over her head to stand before her aunt in her shift and trousers. Margaret looked at the long puckered scar that ran from her niece’s right shoulder over the swell of her breast before disappearing under her cotton shift. They both knew it ended between her breasts in a jagged circle.

It was a constant reminder of her battle to free herself from the laudanum addiction that had nearly cost her life.

“Let it be, Aunt Margaret,” Emily pleaded. “I cannot be that girl. I won’t be that girl. I will make my own future. And if that future includes a husband and children that will be fine. But if it doesn’t, that, too, will be fine.”

Margaret sank wearily into a chair before the window and looked up at her niece. “I’m sorry I did not see what was happening to you.”

“How could you know?” Emily asked.

“You are right when you say I think I know what’s best for everyone. I’ve a colossal ego. I should have realized you needed to be eased off the damn elixir. You never would have… That night would not have happened.”

Emily knelt before her aunt on the hard floor and took her shaking hands in her own. “I have never blamed you for that night, or for what led to it. My God, I have felt so terribly guilty for putting you through it all.
The Sleeping Wraith
nonsense, the broken
Almost Betrothal
, the humiliation of having to retire to the country and letting them all believe it was shame that drove you away.”

“Oh, Emily.” Margaret raised her hand and tucked a wayward red curl behind Emily’s ear. “I’d rather they think I was driven away in shame than to think you an opium addict.”

Emily started to rise but Margaret stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“You misunderstand me, child. I am not ashamed of you. But I would not want anyone to judge you by that one fact. You are so much more than that. You are so much more than I could have imagined. There is strength in you, Emily. And determination. I’ve never seen such fierce determination in a woman.”

“Thank you, Aunt,” Emily replied with a soft smile. “That means a lot coming from the most determined woman I know.”

“We’re sure to butt heads in the next two weeks,” Margaret said as she released Emily and watched her rise.

“We might even come to blows,” Emily agreed.

“I will cease trying to see you married off,” Margaret offered.

“In exchange for?” Emily asked.

“Your promise that you will try to behave as the proper lady I know you are under all your vulgar American ways.”

“Oh, Maggie, do I have to?” Emily replied and then dove out of the way of the pillow her aunt tossed at her.

“Have your bath, dinner is in an hour.” Margaret rose on creaky knees and embraced her niece before pushing her away. “Good Lord, child, you smell like sweaty horse!”

“I’m a stable hand,” Emily reminded her aunt.

“Do not say that in front of my guests.”

“How many of them saw me in my breaches?” Emily asked as she walked her aunt to the door.

“Too many. But I don’t think anyone recognized you. These months in the country have done you good, put some meat on your bones and a healthy glow to your skin. You look nothing like the gaunt girl you were in London.” Margaret opened the door and walked out into the hall before turning back. “It’s my hope that if you dress carefully no one will recognize you as the hoyden who walked into the stable yard in breaches.”

Chapter Eight

It was apparent to Emily that Aunt Margaret’s hopes were in vain the moment she stepped into the parlor to be greeted by whispers and titters behind open fans.

Tilly had done her best to arrange Emily’s hair into a neat chignon at the nape of her neck but already a few wayward curls had escaped her coiffure to trail over her shoulders and down her back. She’d chosen a demure gown of warm cream silk with a high bodice that covered her shoulders and most of her chest, hiding her scar from prying eyes. The gown was cinched tight under her breasts with a bronze ribbon that trailed down to her hem. The same ribbon decorated the prim neckline and the small cap sleeves that left her tanned upper arms bare. Silk gloves dyed the same warm bronze hue encircled her arms to the elbow.

Her father rose from his seat before the fire and hurried across the room to wrap one beefy arm around her waist.

She could feel a dozen pairs of eyes upon her and pasted a smile on her face. Let them judge her, she cared nothing for their convoluted strictures and would soon be gone from their midst.

Nicholas Avery rose from his place on the long settee dominating the room. Emily vaguely recognized the pretty woman with wispy blonde hair and silver eyes who sat beside him. The gentleman who’d been seated on her other side was Nicholas’s brother, Mr. Oliver Avery. She remembered meeting him at that fateful ball. The brothers’ resemblance was startling. They could almost be twins but for the more rugged lines of Nicholas’ face and the two inches he stood over his brother.

The other gentlemen in the room who had been seated immediately rose to their feet. Da walked her around the room introducing her to this group and that, until finally they came to the Avery clan.

“Well, there she is,” Viscount Talbot greeted with a hearty laugh. “The very lady we’ve been discussing.”

“Oh?” Emily smiled at the man who, but for her own idiocy, might have been her father by law.

“We were wondering if you were in attendance,” he bellowed as if she was deaf. Emily wondered what story Margaret had offered for her niece’s hasty disappearance from London. An illness that affected her hearing perhaps?

“Of course she’s in attendance,” her father roared. “Where else would she be?”

Emily smiled at the two boisterous gentlemen who seemed intent on out shouting one another.

She turned her head to find Nicholas staring at her. She gave him a rueful smile. In the stables she’d been a mess of tangled hair and sweaty horse odor. And still he’d kissed her. She felt positively beautiful as his gaze swept from her upswept hair to her dainty bronze slippers, a faint flush rising in his cheeks.

“Good evening, Mr. Avery,” she greeted him. It was all she could do to contain the bubble of merriment that rumbled in her chest. “So nice to see you again.”

Nicholas blinked at her, gathered his wits and bowed over the hand she extended.

“Miss Calvert… I had no idea… That is, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance once more,” he stammered.

His brother shot him a look before turning to make his greeting.

“You remember my wife, Lady Avery,” Mr. Avery said as he placed a hand on the lady’s back.

“Yes, of course,” Emily replied though she couldn’t place where she’d met the woman

Lady Avery smiled at her, her gray eyes warm. “The Clevedon ball, I believe it was.”

Dinner was a lively event. Emily was seated between Lord Carmichael and Mr. Boone so naturally their conversation revolved around the railway sights they had shown her father. Both gentlemen were heavily involved in the fledgling rail operation in England and eager to extol the virtues of travel by rail.

“Carmichael might be induced to travel home with us,” her father boomed from across the table. “Take a look at our plans and make some much needed suggestions.”

Emily turned to Mr. Carmichael. “Have you been to the United States?”

“Years ago, during the unfortunate troubles in twelve,” he answered with a wry smile.

“Unfortunate for you English,” Emily teased.

“Soundly beaten,” Da added. “Again.”

“So we were,” Lord Carmichael agreed.

Emily looked to her left to find Nicholas watching her from across the table where he sat between two pretty blonde ladies, one of whom was eyeing him as a child would a sugared plum. When she caught Emily’s gaze, she narrowed her eyes and laid a proprietary hand on his arm.

Ah, Emily thought, the next broad mare in line to fill his nursery.

Miss Veronica Ogilvie, she learned later when the ladies had retired to the parlor for cordials while the men remained at table with their port and cigars.

Emily sipped the syrupy drink, wrinkled her nose at the bitter memory, and placed it on the table before her.

“You don’t care for ratafia, Miss Calvert?” Veronica Ogilvie asked as she sat beside her on the settee. She moved in a languid fashion, slow and perfectly orchestrated to ensure that all eyes were upon her. She couldn’t be more than a year or two beyond twenty, yet there was something worldly in her sharp blue-gray eyes, something cunning in the way she pretended innocence.

“I’d prefer a whiskey,” Emily replied just to see what reaction she would get.

“Really?” Veronica replied silkily, not the least shocked. “Do all American ladies drink strong spirits?”

“We’re raised on it,” Emily answered. “Our mammies give it to us when we cut our first teeth and it’s all downhill from there.”

“And do American ladies all wear breaches?” she asked as the other blonde who had flanked Nicholas at dinner joined them, taking the seat across the low table.

“We call them britches, and if they run a horse farm they do.”

“Do you run a horse farm, Miss Calvert?” Lucinda Davis asked, leaning forward.

“I’d watch how far you lean over, Miss Davis,” Emily said with a smile. “Unless you’d like to give the room an eyeful.”

“Oh, pardon me,” the girl cried as she straightened in her chair.

Lucinda was pretty in a typically English way, pale skin, blonde ringlets, guileless blue eyes and two small dimples in her chubby pink cheeks.

“Honestly, Lucy,” Veronica said disdainfully. “You won’t catch him flaunting your bosom about.”

“I’m not trying to catch anyone,” the other girl murmured.

“Good for you. I’d hate to see you disappointed.” Veronica’s voice had taken on a soft husky quality that was at odds with her demure appearance.

“What makes you think she’d be disappointed?” Emily asked.

“Why, because I shall win, of course,” was Veronica’s immediate response.

“Is that so?” she asked.

“You had your chance, Miss Calvert,” Veronica said. “Lady Morris had him all but sewn up for you.”

“Oh,” Emily exclaimed, allowing her eyes to widen, “Are we talking about Mr. Avery? Goodness, I had no idea you had set your sights on him.”

“Now you know,” she purred, her eyes darkening to the color of angry storm clouds.

“I don’t think Mr. Avery is the right man for you, Miss Davis,” Emily said, turning to the other lady.

“I don’t either,” she agreed.

“I think you want a debonair gentleman, one’s who’s traveled, who’s well read.” Emily eyed the shy girl. “Someone kind and gentle.”

“Oh, yes,” Lucinda said.

“And really, you needn’t marry a fortune hunter,” Emily continued, warming to her subject. “You are a lovely lady, from a good family. You can surely look higher than the impoverished second son of a viscount.”

“It’s just that I am so terribly shy,” Lucinda whispered as if she were letting Emily in on a secret. “I never do know what to say to a gentleman.”

“What do you know of trains?” Emily asked.

Nicholas entered the parlor with his father and brother and immediately found Miss Calvert across the room in conversation with Misses Ogilvie and Davis.

He was struck by her vibrant presence between the two fair blondes. She was the sun while they were two pale moons orbiting her.

Just then she looked up and met his eyes. She tilted her head to the side and studied him, her lower lip caught between her pearly white teeth, her gaze intent.

Nick felt a jolt of raw desire, felt the familiar stirring in his loins. He’d been in a hell of a state all through dinner watching her laughing and flirting with Carmichael.

He still found it hard to believe that this exotic creature was the same lady who had fallen asleep at the theater and again in the gardens of Lady Clevedon’s Mayfair mansion. He remembered that flash of memory as he’d looked down into her dazed eyes after he’d kissed her in the stables. There was nothing dazed in her eyes now. No, they followed him as he weaved his way through the chatting groups of people clustered about the room.

“Ladies, may I join you?” he asked when he reached the sun and two moons.

“Please,” Veronica purred, sliding toward Miss Calvert to make room for him.

Miss Calvert rose and took the seat next to Miss Davis, putting her directly across from him. Veronica had no choice but to move farther away on the settee. She couldn’t very well stay plastered to his thigh without another body beside her.

“We were just discussing travel by rail,” Miss Calvert replied cheerfully and there was something in her eyes that made him think she found him amusing, as if she was waiting for him to make a fool of himself. As he had in the stables.

He cringed remembering how he’d asked her if she’d rub him down and sing his praises.

She’d compared him to a stallion in search of a broad mare. And why not? She likely hadn’t heard that Ollie and Joan were in anticipation of a blessed event.

“You seem to know a lot about the railroad,” he replied carefully.

“It’s the railroad that brought me to England,” she replied with a careless wave of her hand. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Veronica asked.

“Da was planning to make the journey to investigate the operations here when he received Aunt Margaret’s letter,” she answered with a teasing smile. “You know, the one that offered Mr. Avery as a prospective husband.”

Nick jerked in his seat, so great was his surprise that she would speak so openly of their disastrous
Almost Betrothal
.

Lucinda Davis turned and covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes dancing with suppressed laughter.

Veronica glared across the low table before replying, “I wasn’t aware that any such letter had been sent.”

“How did you think Aunt Margaret instructed me to set sail across the ocean to meet the man she’d chosen for me?” Miss Calvert asked with feigned confusion.

“I knew of no such thing,” Veronica insisted, casting a nervous look through her lashes at Nick.

“Of course you did, Ronnie,” Miss Davis cried and Nick was taken aback by the animation upon the lady’s normally placid pretty face.

“Didn’t you, not five minutes ago, tell me that I’d missed my chance?” Miss Calvert asked. “And after Aunt Margaret had him all but sewn up?”

Veronica jumped to her feet with a murmured “Excuse me,” and marched out of the room.

“Oh dear,” Miss Davis whispered.

“Was it something I said?” Miss Calvert asked.

“I’d better go after her.” Miss Davis rose and followed the other lady out of the room.

“She’s not the right lady for you anyway,” Miss Calvert informed Nick and he saw the merriment in her eyes, watched as a smile transformed her face.

“Which one?” he asked, unable to restrain an answering smile.

“Both,” she answered. “Neither.”

“Is that so?” He couldn’t help but laugh at her cheek.

“Lucinda Davis is too timid by half,” she declared.

“And Miss Ogilvie?” he asked.

“Ugh, she’s only after the connection. Her father’s a merchant,” she explained. “Not that there is anything in the least distasteful in that. Da’s a merchant when you get right down to it. But she is looking to purchase you and the entrance into the upper echelon that comes with you.”

“And that is bad, why?” he asked, fascinated by her nimble mind.

“She’ll never let you forget that it was her fortune that saved your family,” she replied. “I realize you must marry an heiress, but surely there are nicer ones to choose from. What about Miss Sanderson?”

Nick followed her nod across the room to where Adelaide Sanderson stood talking with his father. She was a striking lady with sable hair cropped short to frame a heart shaped face. Her hazel eyes were wide set, giving her the appearance of perpetual surprise.

“You think I should set my cap on Miss Sanderson?” Nick asked, pretending to consider her words. Not a chance. He had a fair idea just whom he would set his cap on. And she was sitting right across from him.

“She seems an intelligent lady. She’s the granddaughter of Captain Billings.”

“Is she?”

“The unsung hero of Waterloo,” she informed him.

“You know your English history,” he complimented. “Not many English ladies know the names of any of the heroes of the Battle of Waterloo, save the Duke of Wellington, and here I find an American lady who knows of Captain Billings’ exploits.”

“Oh, I know all sorts of useless information,” she replied. “It’s the curse of the over-educated lady.”

“I don’t know that I’d call that a curse,” Nick said.

“No, you wouldn’t. You’re a man. You’ve all sorts of opportunities to demonstrate your knowledge. Have you any idea how long I’ve had to wait to toss out that tidbit?”

Nick laughed at the woeful look on her face.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“About?”

“Miss Sanderson.”

“I haven’t met the lady,” he replied.

“No time like the present,” she exclaimed, rising to her feet, forcing Nick to jump up.

“What?” he asked in confusion.

“Come along, Mr. Avery, your future bride awaits.” She tucked her hand around his arm and steered him across the room.

“Miss Sanderson,” she greeted the dark-haired lady. “Mr. Avery and I were just discussing your grandfather and he informed me that he has not had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

“Oh,” Miss Sanderson replied with a smile.

“Mr. Avery, may I present Miss Sanderson.” Miss Calvert spoke with perfect formality and no trace whatsoever of the charming accent she’d possessed only moments before.