Scandal (34 page)

"Our children, my lord." Emily demurely sipped her tea.

Simon was speechless for a moment. "Our children?" he finally managed. Then the most peculiar jolt of exultation roared through him. "Are you telling me you are breeding, madam?"

"Well, as to that, I am not able to say. I do not think so. At least not at the moment. But I imagine I soon will be, don't you? Bound to happen sooner or later at the rate we are going." Emily turned pink but she was still smiling.

Araminta sputtered and coughed on a swallow of tea. "I beg your pardon," she said weakly, gasping for air.

Simon paid no attention to his aunt. All he could think about at the moment was the possibility of Emily growing round with his babe. It struck him that until that moment he had not really thought much about the future. All his schemes and plans and thoughts had been focused on the past. Now here was Emily talking about having babies. His babies.

"Hell and damnation," he muttered.

"Yes, I know what you mean, my lord. It is something of a shock to think in such terms, is it not? But we must, of course. And I confess it was the thought of how much we shall love and cherish our own children that made me realize you would not wish to hurt Lord Canonbury's granddaughter or Peppington's grandson. It is not your nature to be cruel, my lord. You are a noble and generous man at heart, as I well know."

Simon just sat there staring at Emily. He knew he ought to be lecturing her on the subject of staying out of his business affairs but he seemed to be unable to tear himself away from the image of his son in her arms.

"Do you think our son will have your eyes?" Emily asked thoughtfully, as if she had just peeked into his mind.

"I can just imagine him running about the place. Full of energy and mischief. You can teach him those fighting techniques you are teaching to my brothers. Boys love that sort of thing."

"I believe I really must be on my way," Araminta said softly as she rose to her feet. "If you will excuse me?"

Simon was barely aware of his aunt taking her leave. When the door closed softly behind her, he realized he was still staring at Emily, picturing her with a dark-haired, golden-eyed babe at her breast. Or perhaps a green-eyed, redheaded little girl.

"Simon?" Emily blinked inquiringly at him.

"If you will pardon me, I believe there are one or two items that require my attention in the library," Simon said absently, getting to his feet.

He had clung to his past for twenty-three years, Simon thought. It had given him strength and will and fortitude. But now it finally struck him that the day he had married Emily he had acquired a toehold in the future, whether he wanted it or not.

Simon was still struggling with the idea of Emily surrounded by his children, still feeling bemused and oddly uncertain of his own intentions, when he walked into one of his clubs that evening.

As fate would have it, the first two men he saw were Canonbury and Peppington.

An image of Canonbury's silly granddaughter fainting in a ballroom and Peppington's serious young grandson studying land management came into his mind. With a deep sigh, he crossed the room toward his two old enemies.

Simon made the offer to sell the canal to Canonbury and Peppington before he could give himself any further chance to think about it. The stunned shock on the faces of both elderly men was extremely satisfying.

Canonbury got to his feet with painful slowness. "I am very grateful to you, sir. I am well aware you had other intentions a short while ago. Intentions that would have ruined both Peppington and myself. May I ask what changed your mind?"

"This is not some sort of new trick, is it, Blade?" Peppington asked suspiciously. "You have kept us hovering on the brink of disaster for the past six months. Why should you set us free now?"

"My wife tells me I have a noble and generous nature," Simon said with a cold smile.

Canonbury sat down abruptly and reached for his port. "I see."

Peppington recovered sufficiently from his astonishment to give Simon an assessing look. "Wives are extremely odd creatures, are they not, sir?"

"They certainly do tend to complicate a man's life," Simon agreed.

Peppington nodded, looking thoughtful. "Thank you for your generosity, sir. Canonbury and I are well aware that we do not deserve it. What happened twenty-three years ago was… not well done of either of us."

"We are in your debt, Blade," Canonbury murmured.

"No," said Simon. "You are in my wife's debt. See that you do not forget it." He turned on his heel and walked away from the two old men he had hated for twenty-three years.

As he went out into the night he realized vaguely that something inside him felt freer, looser, less confined. It was as though he had just unfastened an old, rusty chain and released a part of himself that had been locked up for a very long time.

The frantic message from Broderick Faringdon arrived a day later. Emily was in the midst of consulting with Simon's cook. The consultation had turned into a rather loud discussion.

"I do not mind having some of your wonderful, exotic specialties from the East Indies on the buffet table," Emily said firmly to the strange little man who wore a gold earring in one ear. "But we must remember that most of the guests will be unfamiliar with such foreign delicacies. The English are not terribly adventurous in their eating habits."

Smoke drew himself up proudly. "His lordship has never complained about my cooking."

"Well, of course he has never complained," Emily said soothingly. "Your cooking is marvelous, Smoke. But I fear his lordship's palate is considerably more cultivated and refined than those of many of the people you will be serving at the soiree. We are talking about the sort of people who do not consider a meal complete unless they have plenty of boiled potatoes and a large joint of beef."

"Madam is quite right, Smoke," the housekeeper chimed in. "We must serve some turbot in aspic, perhaps. And sausages and maybe a bit of tongue."

"Sausages! Tongue!" Smoke was outraged. "I will not allow any greasy sausages or tongue to be served in this house."

"Well, then, some cold ham would do nicely," Emily said hopefully.

A loud, urgent knocking on the kitchen door interrupted the argument. Harry, the footman, went to the door and after a short consultation with whoever stood outside, he approached his mistress.

"Beggin' yer pardon, madam. I am told there is a message for you."

Emily turned away from the squabble with a sense of relief. "For me? Where?"

"A young lad at the door, ma'am. Says he can only deliver the message to you." Harry raised his hooked arm. "Shall I tell him to be off?"

"No, no, I shall speak to him."

Emily went through the kitchens to the door and saw the grubby little boy waiting for her. "Well, lad, what is it?"

The boy stared at Emily's bright red hair and spectacles and then nodded to himself, as if satisfied he had the right person. "I'm to tell yer that yer pa's got to see yer right away, ma'am. He give me this note to give to yer." A small slip of paper, rather badly stained from a dirty little fist, was dutifully handed over.

"Very well." Emily dropped a coin into the boy's palm, a strong sense of foreboding washing over her as she looked at the paper. "Thank you."

The boy examined the coin closely, tested it with his teeth, and then grinned widely. "Yer welcome, ma'am."

Harry stepped forward to close the kitchen door. The boy gazed in admiration and wonder at the hook and then took off running.

"We shall have to finish planning the buffet menu later," Emily said to Smoke and the housekeeper as she hurried out of the kitchen.

She dashed upstairs, the note burning her hand. She feared the worst. When she reached the privacy of her bedchamber she closed and locked the door.

Trembling with dread she sat down to read the note from her father.

My dearest, dutiful daughter:

Disaster has struck. Fortune has been against me for the past several weeks. I have lost a rather large sum of money at cards and now must sell my few remaining shares and stocks to raise the blunt to settle my latest debts. Unfortunately, it will not cover the entire amount. You must help me, my dearest daughter. I pray that in this, my hour of need, you will remember the ties of blood and love that bind us forever. You know your dear mama would want you to come to my aid. I shall be in touch very soon.

Yrs,

Yr. Loving Father

P.S. Under the circumstances, you must not mention this little family problem to your husband. You know well enough he bears a deep, unnatural hatred for me.

Emily felt sick as she slowly refolded the note. She had realized something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. She had tried to pretend her father would show some sense in his gaming but she had known, deep down, that his passion for cards and hazard was too strong. Her mother had often told her he would never change.

And now he was calling on his daughter for help, knowing that in doing so he was forcing her to choose between her loyalty to her husband and her obligations as a daughter.

It was too much. Reality had intruded once more into her world, ripping aside the romantic curtain she tried to maintain around herself.

Emily put her head down on her arms and wept.

Chapter 18

Emily was dressing for the theater that evening when Simon walked into her bedchamber through the connecting door. She gave a small start at the sight of him and then managed a wan smile.

"Thank you, Lizzie. That will be all for now."

"Yes, ma'am." Lizzie bobbed a curtsey and left.

Emily met Simon's eyes in the looking glass. Then her gaze slid away. He was so very powerful and compelling in his austere evening clothes. "You are going out, my lord?"

"I shall dine at my club this evening while you attend the theater with Lady Northcote and her daughter." Simon's gaze was watchful. "But I shall find you later at the Bridgetons'."

Emily nodded quickly and the plumes in her hair danced. She was nervous and she knew she had to be careful or Simon would notice something was wrong. "I shall see you there, then. Did I show you the new pair of opera glasses I bought yesterday?" She reached for her reticule and started digging in it industriously. Anything not to have to meet that too-observant gaze.

"Very nice." Simon nodded approvingly at the delicately designed glasses.

"They give a wonderful view. I was using them to watch a bird outside the window earlier and I could see the tiniest details on its wings," Emily said, valiantly struggling to muster an air of enthusiasm.

"I am certain they are an excellently made pair of opera glasses, my dear."

Emily did not fancy the new speculation in Simon's eyes. "Celeste and her mother have told me that the production of Othello we're going to see this evening is one of the best that's ever been done."

"It should be quite exciting."

"Yes, I am certain it will. Did I tell you I had a long chat with Smoke today about the menu for the buffet at the soiree?"

"No, you did not mention it. Emily, is something wrong?"

"No, no, of course not, my lord." She summoned a brilliant smile and managed to meet his eyes briefly in the looking glass. "I am merely excited about going to the theater."

"Emily—"

"As I was saying, Smoke is very reluctant to prepare the standard fare for our guests. He says you prefer his Eastern style of cooking, which I am fully aware is very tasty, but I fear our guests will find it odd."

"Smoke will prepare whatever you tell him to prepare or he will be looking for a new position," Simon said casually. He moved forward and put his powerful hands on Emily's shoulders and seemingly willed her to meet his gaze once more. "Do not fret about the buffet menu, my dear. Tell me what is making you so anxious tonight."

She sat very still and stared into the looking glass with an anguished expression. "Simon, I cannot tell you."

Simon's mouth curved faintly. "I am afraid I must insist. We communicate on a higher plane, so I already know something is wrong, my dear. If you do not tell me the truth, I shall be in torment all evening. Do you wish me to suffer so?"

Emily felt a pang of guilt. "Of course not, my lord. It is just that this is a… a personal problem and I do not want to bother you with it." She sighed and added, "In any event, there is nothing that can be done. Fate has dealt its final hand."

But even as she made that tragic statement, her eyes were reflecting a glimmer of hopefulness and she knew Simon saw it. His fingers tightened briefly on her shoulders.

"It sounds as though we are discussing a card game," Simon said gently. "Is that the case?"

"Several card games, I fear," Emily confided. "And the final one was a disaster. Oh, Simon, it is all so perfectly awful and I do not know what to do. I know I cannot ask you for help in this matter."

Simon's brow quirked. "Are you by any chance under the hatches, elf? I am aware that the ladies occasionally play a bit deep among themselves, but I never imagined you as the sort to get into dun territory."

"It is not me who is under the hatches," Emily burst out, "it is my father. Oh, Simon, he sent me a note today saying he has lost everything and more."

Simon did not move but in the glass his eyes were suddenly blazing. His big hands clamped around Emily's bare shoulders. "Has he, indeed? Yes, of course. I should have guessed. It was only a matter of time, naturally, but I had rather expected him to last a bit longer than this."

Emily saw the savage satisfaction in his face and something in the pit of her stomach shriveled and died. She knew then that a part of her had hoped against hope that when the inevitable occurred, Simon would soften toward her father, just as he had softened toward the twins, Northcote, Canonbury, and Peppington.

"Simon?" she whispered helplessly.

"You are quite right, my dear," he murmured. "You cannot ask me to help this time. I have waited too long for this moment." His hands fell from her shoulders. He looked down and frowned at the red marks he had left on her soft, white skin. He touched one imprint gently and then turned toward the door. "I will see you later at the Bridgetons'." He paused briefly, hand on the knob. "Emily?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Remember that you are no longer a Faringdon."

The door closed softly behind him.

Emily sat with her hands clenched in her lap, telling herself she must not give in to the tears again.

But the truth was she had not felt this helpless and trapped since the day her mother had died, leaving her to assume the full financial responsibility of her father and brothers.

Covent Garden
was filled with boisterous theater-goers from several levels of Society. The ton glittered in the boxes and promenaded in the lobbies. Lesser mortals filled the galleries and the pits. All were exuberant and fully prepared to let the actors know exactly what they thought of the performance. Many had brought vegetable peelings, bells, and assorted noisemakers to aid in conveying their opinions.

"Did you bring your new pair of opera glasses?" Celeste asked as the small party made its way through the crowded lobby. Lady Northcote had paused briefly to speak to a friend.

"Yes, I have them with me." Emily glanced blindly around, having stashed her spectacles in her reticule. All she could see was a blur of color and movement.

She and Celeste were being jostled about and Emily was about to put on the spectacles to better defend herself when she felt a man's hand on her arm.

"What on earth?" Emily whirled around and saw a vague halo of graying blond hair. Her heart sank. She was aware of Celeste's curiosity. "Papa! What are you doing here?"

"Happened to be attending the performance and spotted you entering the lobby," Broderick Faringdon said with a false joviality. "How are you, my dear?"

"I am fine, Papa. Allow me to present my friend." Emily quickly ran through the introductions, praying Lady Northcote would return and whisk them off to their boxes.

Broderick acknowledged the introduction with the usual Faringdon charm. Then he tugged firmly on Emily's arm.

"If you don't mind, I would like a few words in private, m'dear. Haven't seen you in an age."

"I cannot leave Celeste alone," Emily said desperately.

"Do not worry about me, Emily," Celeste said blithely. "I shall join Mother. Your father can escort you to our box."

"Yes, of course," Emily said, knowing there was no escape. She rallied herself as Celeste disappeared into the crowd. "Well, Papa?"

"You got my note?" Broderick asked bluntly, dropping any pretense of civility at once. It was obvious he was under enormous strain.

"Yes. I am sorry, Papa. You know there is nothing I can do. Oh, Papa, how could you be so foolish?"

"T'weren't foolishness. Just a run o' bad luck. It happens." Her father leaned closer to mutter in her ear. "Listen, Em, I know I can come about with a little financial assistance from you."

"Perhaps, given time, Blade will soften on this matter. But it is much too soon to expect anything from him. You must know that, Papa."

"Damn and blast, Em, I ain't got time. Got to settle my debts."

"Have you truly sold everything?"

"Everything," Broderick confirmed gravely. "The thing is, Em, it don't quite cover my vowels."

Emily was shocked in spite of herself and her knowledge of her father's reckless ways. "Papa, how could you lose the entire amount? I worked years to build up that security for you and the twins. This is terrible. Utterly terrible. What are we to do?"

"No need to panic, m'dear. First, you have got to get Blade to cover my debts, Em."

Emily looked up, trying to make out his expression. "But, Papa, you know he will never do that."

"You have to, Em. Don't you understand? This is an emergency. Emily, m'dear, I must tell you I have made a horrendous mistake. Had a few too many bottles the other

night. You know how it is when a man's in his cups. Talked a bit freely, I'm afraid."

"About what? To whom?" Emily was frantic now, trying to understand the note of strain in her father's voice. This sounded worse than just a horrific loss at the tables.

A dark shadow loomed at Broderick Faringdon's elbow. "Your papa made the mistake of talking to me, Lady Blade," said a familiar, sardonic voice.

"Mr. Crofton?" Emily turned vague eyes toward the dark shadow. A sense of dread now gripped her as she made a violent effort to collect herself. "I am afraid I do not understand. What is going on here?"

Crofton moved closer, his voice lowering to a slimy, confidential tone. "Your father and I have become close friends of late. He was most distressed after his defeat at the tables, Lady Blade. I am certain you comprehend and sympathize with how he must have felt as he contemplated how he would pay his debts of honor. He went through several bottles, I fear, and in the end he let slip the news about the rather appalling scandal in your past."

Emily's mouth went dry. She stared at her father. "Papa?"

"It's true, girl," Faringdon said morosely. "God help me, but I told him about the Unfortunate Incident. I was drunk as a lord, you know. And a trifle overset by my losses. I know you'll understand. But the thing is, he's threatened to spread it around town if I don't pay up."

"I fear the unsavory gossip about his wife's past will have the rather unpleasant effect of ruining Blade socially," Crofton murmured. "He will be cut by virtually everyone and will no doubt be obliged to quit town and retire to the country. And I do not think he will thank you for that, my dear."

"He will more likely destroy you for that, Mr. Crofton," Emily said fiercely.

"But the damage will be done. People will talk. Think of the scandal that will ensue, the slur on Blade's title, the humiliation he will be forced to endure. Your husband has fought hard for the power and position he presently holds, madam. But he has made enemies along the way. There are those who hate him and will not hesitate to use the scandal in your past to bring him down. And it will be all your fault, Lady Blade."

Emily felt nauseous but she kept her features as expressionless as possible as she peered up at the dark, hovering blur that was Crofton's face. "You do not value your life very highly, Mr. Crofton?" she inquired coldly.

"Do not threaten me with your husband's temper, madam. It is a bluff. I do not think you will allow things to come to such a pass. That would be letting them go too far and the damage would be done, would it not?"

"Mr. Crofton…"

"You will see to it that your father's debts are paid in full, Lady Blade. The whole world knows how much you adore your husband. Not to put too fine a point on the matter, you have a rather charming habit of making a complete cake out of yourself when it comes to Blade. I believe you will do whatever needs to be done to protect him from the scandal."

Emily took a deep, steadying breath. "And just how do you expect me to pay my father's debts? I receive a quarterly allowance, but that will probably not begin to cover Papa's losses."

Crofton chuckled. "Blade is said to be extremely indulgent toward you, my dear. Lord knows why, but there you have it. 'Tis an open secret. He apparently finds you amusing. I do not think it will be too difficult for you to claim the gaming losses are yours and beseech him very prettily to cover them for you. You may say you lost to Lady Malcolm or to Bridgeton's wife. They are both noted for deep play."

"Are you mad?" Emily breathed. "He would easily uncover such a lie."

"If you do not fancy the notion of coaxing the ready out of your husband in that manner, try a more feminine approach. Blade is, as I mentioned, said to be indulgent with you. You may have more success wheedling a diamond necklace or a string of pearls out of him. You can have it copied and sell the original to a discreet jeweler."

"That would never work. Blade would recognize the copy the first time I wore it. He has an excellent eye for such things."

"Then you must be more creative, madam, if you would save your husband from humiliation and scandal. Let me see. Perhaps a simple bit of theft will work best."

"Theft?"

"Yes, why not? I have heard tales of the fabulous collection of jeweled dragons Blade is reputed to have brought back with him from the East Indies. They say he has statues of the beasts sitting casually around his library and that each one is worth a fortune. Who would notice one missing? And even if it was missed it would be simple enough to blame the loss on a servant."