The Marriage Wager Page 23

  Colin came back into the center of the room and frowned down at her.

  “It is a plan I conceived, to prevent a scandal,” she continued. And to save you from the whispers and the doubts, she added to herself.

  Colin’s frown had eased only a little. “You mean to make a show of being friends with Lady Mary Dacre?” he echoed, as if making certain he understood.

  “Yes,” replied Emma brightly.

  “And you believe this will convince the gossips that the rumors are untrue?”

  “What will they be able to say, if we face them down with coolness and determination?” she replied.

  “Full frontal assault?” he suggested. “Sabers drawn and don’t spare the horses?”

  Emma wrinkled her nose. “I suppose that is one way of putting it,” she acknowledged.

  Colin considered in silence.

  “Your mother thought it a good plan,” Emma added.

  “Did she?” Was his mother playing a double game? Colin wondered. But no, she wouldn’t risk it with something as serious as this. He tapped his leg with his riding crop, not pleased but not seeing any real objection he could make. “Are you sure the chit has agreed to this?” he asked, recalling some of her disjointed remarks to him.

  “Well, not entirely,” said Emma. “But the duchess, her mother, was taken with the idea. I’m sure Lady Mary will come round.”

  Colin raised one dark brow. “Are you?”

  “She will see that it saves her from being the center of a scandal.”

  “And if she wishes to be?”

  “To be what?” said Emma, confused.

  Colin shook his head. It seemed to him that Lady Mary Dacre wanted very much to be the center of something. And a scandal would do if that was the only choice.

  “I don’t understand.” Rising from her dressing table, ready to go out, Emma cocked her head at him.

  But he said only, “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

  “How else can we stop this gossip?” inquired Emma. “Do you have a better plan?” She was quite ready to hear it, she thought. Her contacts with Lady Mary so far had not made her eager for more.

  “No,” answered Colin slowly. He gazed at Emma, fresh and lovely in a gray morning dress with blue piping. He hated the thought of scandal touching her, and even more of her being rejected by the leaders of fashionable society. Remembering the drunken innuendoes at his club, he clenched his fists at his sides. Something had to be done. “Oh, very well,” he conceded. “I hope you do not expect me to accompany you, however.”

  “No.” Emma smiled at him. “I do not think that advisable.”

  “Wise,” he replied. “Are you really set on this, Emma?”

  “I see no other way,” she answered, determined to save him.

  “I can’t think of one just now,” he admitted, thinking only of her.

  Their eyes met and held, full of feeling. Each of them wondered just what the other was thinking to make that gaze so intense.

  “I… I must go,” said Emma.

  Silently, he held the door for her to walk through.

  ***

  In the drawing room, Emma found Lady Mary flipping impatiently through an album of engravings. She looked pale and pretty in her black gown and dark, frilled bonnet, but her expression was extremely petulant. “I am here only because Mama made me come,” she said as soon as Emma appeared. “I do not wish to go driving with you, or anywhere with you.”

  Emma bit back a sharp rebuke. “You wish to plunge Colin into a scandal, then?” she asked mildly. “Perhaps you would like to see him disgraced, as your revenge?”

  “I would never do anything to hurt him!” exclaimed Lady Mary, her seemingly mild blue eyes suddenly blazing.

  Emma refrained from pointing out that accusing him of jilting her, and making a show of ending her life as a result, hardly supported this assertion. “But will you do something to help him?” she asked pointedly.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” was the sullen reply. “Even though every moment I have to spend with you will grate horribly on my nerves and deeply offend my sensibilities.” She glared at Emma. “I shall pretend to be your friend for his sake,” she finished dramatically, “but I shall not really be your friend.”

  “Thank God for that,” muttered Emma under her breath. But aloud she said only, “Agreed.”

  On the short drive to the park, where it would now be the height of the fashionable hour of promenade, they were silent. Lady Mary scowled out one side of the barouche, while Emma gazed in the opposite direction. This was going to be more difficult than she’d realized when she formed the plan, she thought. She wanted nothing more than to shake her companion thoroughly and return her to her home. However, this was for Colin, she reminded herself. At the gates of the park, she said, “If this is to work, you must try to look happier.”

  Lady Mary turned her scowl on Emma. She looked rather like Caroline’s son Nicky when he was forbidden to climb on the mantelshelf, Emma thought. Another carriage was coming up behind them as they turned in, and for a moment Emma despaired. Then Lady Mary straightened in her seat, put her shoulders well back, and smiled.

  Emma blinked. The smile changed the girl’s doll-like face, giving it human character and warmth. It made Emma think there might be something worthwhile under the petulance after all.

  “Like this?” said Lady Mary through her teeth.

  Emma’s spark of interest guttered out. “Precisely,” she snapped, smiling herself in a way that could scarcely be completely convincing, she thought.

  They drove into the crowded avenues of the park and began to pass the carriages, mounts, and walking parties of the haut ton. Within minutes, they became a center of attention, and people began to whisper and, very discreetly, point them out.

  “Will he be here?” asked Lady Mary through her fixed smile.

  The way she said “he” made it clear she meant Colin. “No,” replied Emma.

  “I suppose you will keep him from me through this charade,” said the girl. “Perhaps it is just as well. It was terribly hard, seeing him this morning.” She heaved a great sigh through her steadfast smile. “I could tell he felt it, too.” She clasped her black-gloved hands together.

  Playacting, thought Emma savagely. She longed to tell the chit that Colin had wanted her thrown out of the house.

  “Why did he choose you instead of me?” demanded Lady Mary passionately then. “It makes no sense.”

  Since Emma had no intention of trying to answer such a question, she was grateful to the beady-eyed old countess who hailed them from her carriage just then and pulled up to exchange greetings. She was even more relieved when the girl played the part assigned her as they dismissed the rumors as mistakes and exaggerations. The countess took in all they had to say with avid interest; whether she believed it or not, Emma couldn’t tell.

  “That stupid stuff will not do for Jane and Alice and Eliza,” Lady Mary said when the woman drove off.

  After a moment, Emma remembered that these were the friends to whom she had sent her “farewell” notes. “You will have to speak to them personally,” she agreed.

  “I shall tell them the truth,” declared Lady Mary with a toss of her head.

  “Good,” answered Emma. “Then you will tell them that you were mistaken about Colin’s intentions, that you mistook politeness for love, that you somehow did not notice that he paid equal attentions to a dozen other girls and roused hopes in none of them. You will apologize for your behavior and ask that they mention the incident to no one.”

  “That is not how it was at all!” sputtered Lady Mary.

  “No?” Emma held her gaze in a battle of wills that seemed to surprise the younger girl. She was utterly spoiled, Emma thought. She was used to getting whatever she wanted without any opposition. But not this time. She wondere
d how long it would take for the girl to realize she had met her match. Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw a party of riders approaching them. “Smile,” she murmured sweetly, and they turned to face another barrage of questions.

  More than an hour passed in similar encounters. Emma found it wearing, but she thought they did very well. She had the strongest of motives to succeed, and she suspected Lady Mary was beginning to enjoy the role she was playing. She was certain, at least, that she enjoyed the attention. And Emma was confident they had begun to stem the tide of gossip, though the battle was by no means won.

  At last, she was able to direct the coachman to head for the Morland house, where she would gratefully drop Lady Mary. As he was turning around, however, a high-pitched voice from the side of the road called, “Emma, my dear.”

  Emma turned, and was extremely displeased to find herself confronting Arabella Tarrant, who stood on the grass verge arm-in-arm with Count Julio Orsino.

  “It’s vastly fortunate that we should encounter you this way,” said Arabella before she could speak. “I’m feeling quite unwell, and I was hoping to see some friend who could drive me home.”

  Without waiting for a response, she marched up to the barouche and opened the door. Orsino stepped smoothly forward and lowered the steps for her before either of the footmen could move.

  “Dizzy, you know,” insisted Arabella as she climbed in. “I am distressingly susceptible to heat.”

  Orsino quickly followed her into the carriage and joined her in the forward seat, where he sat smiling at Emma with smug effrontery.

  She could not have them thrown out of her carriage without causing just the sort of scene that would fuel yet more gossip, Emma thought, fuming. She was neatly trapped. She signaled the coachman to proceed. “It isn’t hot,” she said sharply then.

  “Not to those of us who have lived in the South,” replied the count. He smiled at her warmly, intimately, as if they knew each other very well indeed.

  “The least degree of warmth oversets me,” claimed Arabella, fluttering her hands and causing the ghostly green ribbons that trimmed her piercing yellow gown to shiver and sway. “I declare, it’s been an age since I’ve seen you, Emma. You look as lovely as ever.” Malice etched her voice like acid.

  She had arranged this with Orsino out of spite, Emma realized, because they had ignored her since returning from Cornwall. Colin had sent her a substantial sum of money, yet Arabella wanted only to take advantage of his position in society. She resented that they would not let her use them. A flash of anger shook Emma. Arabella hoped to cause trouble, and she had already gotten her wish. Emma gritted her teeth. She had to find a way not to make introductions. Lady Mary was gazing in fascinated horror at Arabella’s garish gown. Orsino should certainly not be made acquainted with a young, unmarried, and very wealthy debutante.

  “I am sorry that I cannot take you home,” Emma said to Arabella. “We are expected at once in Grosvenor Square.”

  “No, we aren’t,” said Lady Mary, sensing a mystery. “Mama is visiting my aunt.”

  Taking the matter out of her hands, Orsino leaned forward, putting his hand to his breast. “I am Count Julio Orsino,” he said. “From Italy.”

  “Really?” said Lady Mary. “My father went to Italy on a grand tour when he was sixteen. He liked it very much. We have a lot of pictures from Italy in our house.”

  “Your father must be a man of great good taste,” replied the count. “Miss, er…”

  “I am Lady Mary Dacre,” said the girl. She held out her hand.

  Emma bit her lip in irritation, longing to shake her. But there was no saving the situation now. “This is Mrs. Arabella Tarrant,” she added, and noticed the girl perk up at the last name. Splendid, she had heard that gossip as well.

  “Enchanted,” murmured the count, offering Lady Mary a broad smile. “But I must offer my condolences?” He made it a question, and indicated the deep mourning dress Lady Mary wore.

  “My grandmama died,” she confided.

  “Ah. I am sorry.”

  The girl nodded. “I am very sorry. I miss her very much. But, you know, she would want me to go out and enjoy myself, and not be draped in black and shut away from the world.”

  The count’s eyes gleamed. “Of course she would,” he agreed.

  If only she had been shut away, thought Emma bitterly. She should have realized that Orsino would not be content to be turned away from her house and would plan some sort of revenge.

  “I am surprised you stand for such treatment,” the man added.

  She had to get Lady Mary away from him, Emma thought desperately. She looked around. They were nearing the gates of the park.

  “I had thought to be riding in the park,” Orsino offered, “but I was sadly disappointed in a mount.”

  “Did you hire a horse?” asked Lady Mary.

  Orsino shook his head. “I will not allow you to call it a horse, dear lady. It would be a mortal insult to the breed, to every one of the fine animals we see before us.” He gestured to the riders on the bridle path. “The… creature has been returned to the stables where I rented it. But only after it had bitten my manservant, the landlady’s boy, and the man delivering… ah, coal, I believe it was. A very large, florid gentleman who threatened to bring the law down upon us.”

  Lady Mary giggled.

  “I have been advised to patronize another establishment, but I have not yet brought myself to, er, confront another English mount.”

  “No doubt the horses in Italy are much finer,” said Emma tartly.

  He made an airy gesture. “Shall we say more… refined?”

  “Why not go back and ride them, then?” she suggested, her patience at an end.

  “Ah, if it were possible,” he replied, and let out a deep sigh. “But I fear the late war deprived my family of its estates and fortune in my home country. It is sad, is it not, when a great noble family falls on such hard times?”

  Emma’s lip curled. She had heard more than one person speculate on the legitimacy of Orsino’s title. And she was certain that there had never been any lands or fortune. He was a gamester, a swindler, and who knew what else. “Now that the war is over, perhaps you could go back and recover them,” she said sweetly.

  The count shook his head, but did not offer any reason why this was impossible.

  “It is like a novel,” said Lady Mary happily.

  Probably because it came out of one, thought Emma sourly. She had to get Lady Mary away from this dangerous man. Desperately, she scanned the area for possible rescue, and noticed a hansom cab discharging a passenger on the road outside the park gates. At once, she turned to the footman perched at the back of the carriage. “John, get that cab,” she commanded. “Hurry!”

  Looking startled, the man jumped down and ran to secure the vehicle.

  “I must apologize,” said Emma with false sincerity. “As I said, we have an engagement. But fortunately, here is a hansom that can get you home. I hope you feel better very soon, Arabella. Pull up, please, Tobias.”

  The coachman obediently stopped the carriage. Emma faced down Arabella’s obvious outrage and Count Orsino’s amusement in silence, merely waiting for them to get down.

  They had no choice but to do so. Arabella was beginning to sputter objections, but Orsino simply gave her a bow that conceded defeat—for now—and put her into the cab.

  “That was terribly rude,” said Lady Mary when they were on their way to her home once again.

  “They are not proper people for you to know,” answered Emma curtly.

  “Why?”

  She ignored the question, absorbed in her own emotions. She seemed to have no luck at all in London. Everything she did threatened more social embarrassment. And Colin wanted a wife who did not enact dramas or make his life more difficult. Sooner or later, wouldn’t he decide these conti
nual upheavals weren’t worth it?

  “That man raised his hat to you,” pointed out Lady Mary.

  Looking up apprehensively, Emma saw her brother Robin on the other side of the street, mounted on a good-looking chestnut. Relieved, she waved.

  “I thought we were going home,” complained Lady Mary.

  “In a moment,” promised Emma. They were closer now. “Robin!” she called.

  At first, it seemed that he might not approach, but then he turned and came up beside them. “Morning,” he said coolly, tipping his hat. He didn’t smile. Indeed, Emma’s brother was still feeling extremely aggrieved. After their unfortunate encounter at the St. Mawr house, he had placed Emma in the same category as their father—someone who treated him like a child, to be shunted aside and ignored. His bitter disappointment in her had been compounded by the necessity of raising a rather large sum of money quickly. He had been forced to go to a most unpleasant moneylender and, as his friend Jack put it, “sign away his soul.” Unfairly, this had simply increased his resentment toward Emma. He had not answered the note she sent him, and had not called on her again.

  “Robin, I have been wanting to see you,” said Emma.

  Hearing the emotion in her voice, Lady Mary perked up, examining Robin with new interest.

  “Been dashed busy,” he answered. “Rafts of invitations.” His airy gesture and bland expression were meant to convey a sophisticate’s weariness with these attentions. But he rather spoiled the effect by adding, “Didn’t want to burden you with my confidences.”

  “It is not a burden,” declared Emma. Her concern for Robin had been the starting point for everything that had happened to her in the last weeks, she thought. She had had his interests at heart from the moment she saw him again. He did not know that however, she reminded herself.

  “No need to concern yourself,” he replied airily. “I took care of everything. Shouldn’t have brought you into it in the first place.”

  “Into what?” she asked. All her worry over his gambling came back in a rush. If he had been in trouble, no doubt that had been at the root of it. And she knew only too well the sort of things that could befall a young man when the gaming tables got the better of him. “Robin, won’t you tell me…”