The Marriage Bargain (24 page)

Lady Vellamy shook her hand. “Friends since we were girls. I was present at your wedding, you know.”

One of the very few people present. Her mother and her new husband, Lord Holgrove, Zachary Keenan, and Lady Vellamy. “Yes, I do recall.”

Though she had barely perceived anyone else that day except Spence, looking so handsome in his regimentals.

“What brings you to London, Emma, dear?” Her mother broke in. “I had given up seeing you in town.”

“I have business with my husband,” Emma recited. She had practiced the answer to this question.

Her mother’s brows rose. “He is here, too? Holgrove said he left London. There was a rumor of a duel—” Her mother broke off and stared her up and down. “Good gracious, Emma, what are you wearing? You look atrocious, like you just arrived from the country.”

“I have just arrived from the country, Mother.”

“But you must not look it!” Her mother’s eyes were wide with alarm.

Lady Vellamy swept in. “Then we shall have to pretty her up.” She regarded Emma with a critical eye. “I fancy there are some dresses of yours, Agatha, that would fit her until we can have a new wardrobe made.”

“
My
dresses?” Her mother gasped.

“Last year’s dresses will do.”

“Oh, last year’s dresses. That is different,” her mother said, sounding much reassured.

Lady Vellamy put her arm around Emma and brought her over to sit next to her on a settee. “Now tell us, my dear. Is your husband expecting you in town?”

“He is not.”

Lady Vellamy nodded knowingly. “Do you suppose he is with his friend Lord Blakewell? Because I have seen that young man around town lately.”

Emma all but gritted her teeth. “Undoubtedly.”

“Oh, this is famous!” The lady clapped and leaned very close to her. “Do you wish to surprise him with your presence?”

Emma took a deep breath, unused to such an assault on her privacy.

She had not considered surprising him. She thought more of sending him a note to call upon her at her mother’s house, or if that failed, going to his place of residence. The only problem was, she did not know where he resided.

“What mischief are you hatching, Phoebe?” Emma’s mother broke in, her eyes suddenly dancing with interest.

Lady Vellamy turned to her friend. “Agatha, do you not think it would be splendidly entertaining to see Lord Kellworth come face-to-face with the wife he virtually abandoned?”

Emma’s cheeks burned with shame. Her mother had obviously informed her friend of Spence’s neglect, though Emma had been careful not to confide the extent of her difficulties when she answered her mother’s correspondence. Emma was glad they did not know Spence had returned to Kellworth. It was bad enough to be abandoned by a husband once, but too mortifying to have been abandoned a second time.

“Oh, ho!” her mother cried.

“But we shall have to transform her into a real beauty.”

Her mother turned to Emma and gave her another unenthusiastic look-over. “And how shall we do it?”

The ladies seemed to forget she had not agreed to this scheme.

Lady Vellamy’s eyes twinkled. “Here is what we do. Lady Douden is hosting a ball tonight. You know her, Agatha.”

“Yes, and I do not like her. She looks down her nose at one unless one possesses a vast fortune, yet everyone knows the Doudens haven’t a feather to fly with anymore. I declined the invitation!”

Lady Vellamy waved a dismissive hand. “As did I, but we shall send a message saying we will attend after all.”

Emma’s mother fussed with her sleeves. “And why should we do this?”

Lady Vellamy spoke patiently. “Because her son will attend. Her son is Viscount Blakewell, who is Kellworth’s schoolboy chum. Inseparable, they say. Where one goes, the other will follow.” She stopped and gave a worried frown. “Of course, that includes the nabob’s son.”

She meant Wolfe, Emma realized. As much animosity as she felt toward that gentleman, she had an impulse to defend him.

Lady Holgrove gave her friend a significant look. “I am sure that young man’s wealth makes his presence very palatable to Lady Douden.”

Both ladies broke into gales of laughter.

Lady Vellamy sighed and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. She turned to Emma. “What say you, my dear? Will you agree?”

It had been on the tip of Emma’s tongue to refuse. The mere suggestion of a society ball made her hands shake and she still felt quite unwell. But if she encountered Spence there, he could not escape talking to her.

She could count on her mother to outfit her in splendor, as her mother had done that first Season. Emma wanted to appear before Spence in all the finery of a fashionable town lady. She wanted him to rue the day he so brutally cast her away. And she wanted to stir his blood so he could not resist bedding her again.

“I will do it,” she replied.

Blake and Spence walked out of the tidy office at Ruddock and Ruddock, where they had read through the deceased Ruddock’s books until Spence’s vision blurred. Once upon a time he would have fantasized about running to the docks to jump on the first ship out of port, but now he merely wished he were back at Kellworth with Emma.

The elder Ruddock, a balding, bespectacled man of at least sixty years, escorted them down the short hall. “I hope your examination of my brother’s books proved satisfactory, my lords.”

Spence had brought along the papers the deceased Ruddock had sent him over the years. The figures matched Ruddock’s figures in his official record, but another unmarked book appeared to record the exact amounts Larkin said had been cut from Kellworth’s quarterly portion and Emma’s allowance. Wolfe had discovered that book hidden in a secret compartment in the man’s desk, when he and Blake had searched the office earlier. No incriminating correspondence had been discovered, however.

“It was satisfactory, sir,” Spence responded.

“I am certain I would have known if Mr. Keenan had conducted any business with my brother.”

They had been over this topic with him when they arrived. It seemed to Spence that the elder Ruddock had known very little of his brother’s dealings.

“I only knew of the one note and that was because my brother told me of it. ‘It is from Keenan,’ he said.” Ruddock wrung his hands. “I did not see it.”

The man had fallen all over himself to be helpful to them, and well he might. He had much to lose if his brother’s embezzlement became known. Spence had no intention of it becoming public, at least not until he had discovered the whole story.

The elder Ruddock kept talking. “I have the privilege of managing Mr. Keenan’s affairs myself. I would be honored to take over the management of your funds as well.”

But trust once lost was almost impossible to restore, one of the reasons Spence knew Emma’s trust would be hard won. He had spent the morning at the bank, arranging funds for her and transferring his business to the bank to manage. In a day or so, Ruddock would be served papers to that effect.

“We must bid you good day, sir.” Spence shook the man’s hand before he and Blake stepped outside onto the pavement.

“Well, that assures me that the younger Ruddock deliberately sent me false accounting,” Spence remarked.

“Indeed,” Blake agreed.

“It tells us little else, however,” he added in frustration. “No hint of my uncle or another person in on the scheme with Ruddock.”

They walked the block to Fleet Street and caught a hackney coach to convey them back to Mayfair.

Once inside the hack, Blake spoke. “Do tell me you will accompany me to my mother’s ball tonight.”

Spence scowled. They had been over this before. “I don’t want to attend a ball.”

“You cannot make me go alone!” Blake wore enough of his typically pleasant expression that Spence could not ascertain the seriousness of the request.

“Why not?”

His friend gave an exaggerated shiver. “My mother is bound to throw every eligible female directly in my path. I need you to protect me.”

Spence shot back a skeptical look. “She will only throw in your path the wealthy ones, whom you will undoubtedly charm with your dimpled smile and wit. You will have each of them believing you are about to make them an offer, and then you will run off searching for some opera dancer.”

Rather than be offended by such a characterization, Blake grinned. “Indeed, but I should still like your company.”

Spence drummed the leather seat with his fingers. “What business does your mother have giving this ball anyway?” he asked. “You keep telling me your family is nearly in River Tick.”

Blake rolled his eyes. “The way she and my dear father figure it, they must put on a show of wealth this Season, because my sister will have her come-out next Season, and she needs to attract a wealthy suitor. Wealth attracts wealth, my mother would say.”

There was some logic in this, Spence had to admit. “Must you attend as well?”

“My presence has been commanded.” Blake sighed.

Blake’s father had lost much of the family fortune through his own mismanagement and a fondness for the faro table. There was great family pressure on Blake to marry well. Blake always insisted he would enjoy life a little before doing his duty.

Spence’s evening plans were to bring a bottle of brandy to his rooms and drink it, hoping to make time pass quickly. Tomorrow he would return to Kellworth.

“I suspect your uncle will be there,” Blake added.

His uncle? He would learn more from his uncle by a return to White’s. Spence was about to refuse when he saw a hint of serious entreaty in Blake’s countenance. Blake rarely made serious requests of his friends.

It was just one night. He could hob and nob with the
ton
for just one night.

“Very well, Blake,” Spence said. “I shall accompany you.”

Emma’s mother and Lady Vellamy performed wonders, given they had only one afternoon to transform Emma into a fashionable town lady. Lady Vellamy took charge, and before Emma knew it, a hairdresser had arrived to cut her hair. He created soft tendrils to frame her face and to cover the tiny scrape suffered from the curricle accident. The rest of her hair was arranged into a cascade of curls adorned by a single white orchid.

Lady Holgrove had her maid pull out three ball gowns from the previous year, each more elegant than the next. Emma could not help but contrast these satin and silk confections with the mended dinner dresses she’d worn for three years, though she still favored the rose dinner dress made by her village dressmaker, the one that made Spence gaze in pleasure at her.

Lady Vellamy selected a gown made of sage satin with rows of lace at the low-cut bodice and at the hem. One of the maids, clever with a needle, altered the sleeves so it would not be obvious as her mother’s discarded dress.

“A little rouge powder, I should think,” her mother said, critically examining her.

“Not too much.” Lady Vellamy frowned.

“Phoebe, I know how to apply rouge.” Lady Holgrove dipped a rabbit’s foot in the powder and lightly brushed it on Emma’s cheeks. “Some kohl for her eyes as well,” she added, taking a tiny brush and darkening Emma’s eyelashes.

It was so artfully accomplished, Emma herself could not tell.

“Well done,” approved Lady Vellamy.

Lady Vellamy dashed home to see to her own toilette, and Emma was left to sit very still and eat a light supper in her room. Her head still ached, and if she moved too quickly, she felt dizzy and her stomach unsettled, but she was not about to plead too ill to attend the ball, not when she might shock Spence with her appearance. By the time the maid came to help her into her gown, she was eager to get on with it.

Lady Vellamy’s carriage arrived to carry them all to the Douden townhouse. Her mother’s husband, Lord Holgrove, a man Emma barely knew, escorted them.

When they arrived, Emma felt faint, but she managed to enter the lovely townhouse decorated with flowers, candles in every corner giving a blaze of light.

They were announced, but in the din few people heard the countess of Kellworth’s name. Emma was glad. If Spence were in the crowd, she did not want him to realize she was present before he saw her.

Earl Douden and his wife stood to receive their guests. Emma’s mother presented Emma to them.

Lady Douden, a tall woman with dramatic streaks of gray through her dark hair, and Blakewell’s dimpled cheeks, made no comment about being presented to the wife of her son’s friend. Perhaps she knew as little of her son’s life as Emma’s mother knew of hers.

“I am a little acquainted with your son, my lady,” Emma said.

Blake’s mother showed little interest. “So are all the young ladies, my dear.”

She turned to greet the next guests and Emma moved on. Lord Holgrove made a dash for the card room, and Lady Vellamy craned her neck to look about the room. “I cannot see Kellworth. Come, let us promenade a bit.”

Emma’s mother wandered off to speak to friends, and Lady Vellamy led Emma to a place in the room that afforded a good view of the doorway. The musicians had taken their places, but had not yet begun to play. The tuning of their instruments and the numbers of people talking roared in Emma’s ears. Her head pounded.

Summoned by another lady, Lady Vellamy stepped away, leaving Emma to stand alone. Emma felt utterly discomfited, certain people were staring at her, the gentlemen especially. Worried that her hair was askew or her face smudged, she noticed two ladies glancing at her and whispering behind their fans.

This is what she most detested about London. She felt out of place, like a china cup stored with the silver. What she detested more was the feeling that she wanted to cry, the worst possible thing she could do in such exalted company.

She tried to cover her nerves by forcing her chin up and looking about the room. A tall gray-haired gentleman turned at the same moment she glanced in his direction. He froze.

It was Zachary Keenan.

He crossed the room to her. “Lady Kellworth,” he said, bowing.

“Mr. Keenan,” she replied, her voice reedy.

“I did not realize you were in town, my lady.” He stared at her, the expression on his face like a mask.