A Proper Companion (15 page)

She could never have imagined such a gathering.
Every inch of the staircases, reception rooms, anterooms, and
corridors was packed with the cream of London Society. The human
din was almost deafening, and Emily wondered why Lady Bessborough
had even bothered to hire the musicians, who could not be heard at
all. Beautifully dressed men and women stood shoulder to shoulder
in a sea of swirling colors and flashing jewels. It was certainly
not what Emily had expected of a "small rout." As for her plan to
disappear into the background—well, there simply was no background.
There was only a mass of teeming humanity as far as the eye could
see. If she were not so exhilarated she would have to admit that
such a gathering was not conducive to comfort or conversation, and
therefore not very enjoyable. Perhaps she would consider such
parties with more nonchalance as she spent more time in London. But
for now, she was simply enjoying herself.

She had been
so
anxious about this evening,
but she felt the tension melt away as she sipped more champagne. It
hadn't really gone so badly thus far, and everyone had been
surprisingly friendly and welcoming. Even the dowager's matchmaking
efforts hadn't been too obvious or awkward. The several gendemen
she had met this evening had all been quite unexceptionable. She
had never been made to feel uncomfortable. She was grateful that
the first gentleman to whom she had been introduced had been so
open and friendly. Lord Sedgewick had certainly put her at ease.
She smiled as she recalled that introduction and her initial
trepidation.

She had just been presented to Lady Bessborough, who
had been most effusive in her welcome to the dowager. But before
Emily had a chance to say two words to their famous hostess, she
had felt her arm gripped tightly.

"There's Robert!" the dowager had hissed as she
nodded toward the other side of the room. She had proceeded to pull
Emily along none too gently in his direction.

Oh, Lord, Emily had thought, now it begins. She had
taken a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and followed her
employer. When they had at last squeezed their way through the room
and reached Lord Bradleigh, Emily had noticed that he was speaking
with another gentleman—but her eyes were automatically drawn to the
earl. He looked very elegant in his black evening clothes and
snowy-white linen. She caught the glint of a discreet diamond pin
nestled in the folds of his neckcloth. His hair was once again
combed straight back from his forehead, giving him a more severe
look that set him apart from many of the other gentlemen whose
artfully styled and oiled curls owed nothing to nature. Not for the
first time, her eyes traced with admiration the clean cut of his
profile, the firm set of his chin, the even white teeth revealed as
he smiled at his companion. Emily had thought that even amidst this
assembly of London's finest, he was surely one of the handsomest
men she had ever seen.

Suddenly he had caught her eye. For what seemed an
eternity, his intense brown eyes had held hers with an expression
she couldn't read. She had been so caught up in his gaze that it
seemed for a time that they were the only two people in the room.
Then he had blinked, and the expression was gone, replaced by a
puzzled frown. Emily had felt herself blush and dropped her eyes in
confusion. Heavens, how long had she been staring at him? What must
he think of her? And why did it seem that no one else had sensed
the awkwardness of the moment? When she looked up again. Lord
Bradleigh, smiling somewhat stiffly, reached out for her and drew
her forward, and she realized he was about to present her to the
gentleman at his side.

All at once, this first of the scenes she had so
been dreading seemed preferable to the suddenly discomfiting
proximity of the earl. She had recollected herself in time to be
introduced to Lord Sedgewick. He was a tall, somewhat lanky,
pleasant-looking gentleman about the same age as the earl, she
guessed.

"I am pleased to meet you, my lord," she had said as
he bowed over her hand. When he looked up and smiled, Emily had
been instantly captivated by one of the friendliest, most open
countenances she had ever seen. She smiled in return.

"Are you enjoying the rout. Miss Townsend?" he had
asked.

"Frankly, I find it somewhat overwhelming, my lord,"
she replied.

"What? This insignificant little gathering? Surely
you jest." He grinned down at her.

"I'm afraid I do not, my lord," she replied, smiling
more in response to his own smile than his teasing banter. "The
assemblies in Bath were never so ... well... so..."

"So crowded?" he completed for her. "So stifling? So
noisy? So, shall we say, fragrant of humanity?"

"As you say, my lord," Emily had replied, smiling in
response to the impish twinkle in his eyes..

"Yes, it does take some getting used to," he said.
"Did you come from Bath with Lady Bradleigh?"

"Yes," she'd replied. But before she could continue,
the dowager was back and leading her away. She had been pleased,
however, when Lord Sedgewick had asked for a dance at the ball she
was to attend with the dowager on Thursday.

Really, she thought, as she recalled the meeting,
that hadn't been so very difficult. Except for that strange moment
with the earl. She wasn't quite sure what exactly had happened, but
something about the way he had looked at her made her feel somehow
uncomfortable. Just the thought of the intensity of his look caused
her to feel suddenly warm all over. Nonsense. It was just the
effects of the champagne. She put her empty glass on the tray of a
passing footman.

Well, she thought, Lord Sedgewick seemed pleasant
enough, and he had the most marvelous smile. In fact, she had felt
surprisingly at ease with him. Moreover, his friendliness had given
her the confidence to face with greater equanimity the subsequent
introductions engineered that evening by the dowager and Lady
Lavenham.

And there had been many. Not all of them, of course,
eligible gentleman. The dowager was well known in Town and seemed
to be acquainted with everyone. Lord, how was Emily to remember all
their names? Despite the fact that she had managed better than she
had expected this evening, it was nevertheless a relief to steal a
quiet moment alone away from her employer's sometimes overbearing
manner.

She felt someone touch her arm and turned to find
the dowager with a yet another handsome gentleman in tow.

"My dear," she said, "allow me to introduce Mr.
Giles Hamilton. The Honorable Mr. Hamilton, that is. Giles, this is
Miss Emily Townsend."

"I insist, madam," Anatole said, "that your
excellent port aspic be used with my
foie gras
. It will
be,"—he brought his fingers to his lips—"
trés
magnifique
."

"And if you will agree to roast those lovely little
game hens," Mrs. Dawson replied, her blue eyes twinkling, "I will
be happy to provide the puff pastry to encase them."

"
Aussitôt dit, aussitôt fait, madame
," the
Frenchman replied with a sharp bow and a click of his heels.

Emily smiled as she listened to the two chefs
reviewing the menu for this evening. No longer at odds, the two
presented an almost disgusting display of mutual admiration. The
dowager had sent her down to confirm that all was in order for her
impromptu dinner party, but after listening to these two
practically bill and coo over each other's talents, Emily decided
that there was no need for her interference. She quietly slipped
out the door without either chef paying her the least notice.

The dowager had decided to hold a small family
dinner party in honor of Lord Bradleigh's betrothal. It was true
that several of the earl's relatives were in Town for the Season,
and it was proper that they should all gather to toast his
engagement, but Emily suspected other motives had prompted her
employer to organize this rather spur-of-the-moment evening. Emily
had been called upon the morning after Lady Bessborough's rout to
help write out the invitations, and to work with the Claypools to
prepare the house and the staff to receive the dinner guests. She
had been kept so busy that she hadn't had a moment to speak with
the earl in private about his odd behavior at the rout. In fact,
she had seen little of him in the last two days. Ah, well, perhaps
it had only been her imagination that caused her to feel that she
had somehow offended him. She had best forget the incident
entirely.

Once upstairs, she ran Mrs. Claypool to earth and
inquired about the preparations for the evening. The dowager was
most particular about the flowers, and Emily was relieved to hear
that everything had arrived from the florist. She volunteered to
help with the floral arrangements but was told that two of the
housemaids had almost completed the work. As if on cue, the
housemaid called Sally entered from the service door carrying a
large silver epergne decorated with a variety of lilies as well as
freesias and irises. Emily followed Sally into the main dining
room, holding the door open for her.

"Thank you, miss," Sally said. She placed the
epergne near one end of the long mahogany table. Before Emily could
close the dining room door, another housemaid entered carrying an
identical epergne, which she placed near the opposite end of the
table. The two maids fussed briefly with their arrangements, then
headed out the door, bobbing politely at Emily as they passed.

Emily surveyed the table, which was set for twenty.
The china was a delicate Chinese export with the Bradleigh crest in
the center. Several stemmed glasses of Irish crystal glistened at
each setting, and the silver flatware shone as brightly as the
epergnes. Even as she watched, a footman was giving a final polish
to each setting. Emily checked the place cards. The seating
arrangement had been specified by the dowager and owed nothing
particular to rank. She was especially puzzled by the request to
seat Lady Windhurst at the dowager's right, particularly
considering her disdainful reaction to the woman two days ago. She
sensed one of the dowager's schemes afoot.

Emily had earlier asked that she be excused from the
dinner, as she did not wish to intrude on a family gathering.

"Oh, no, my girl," the dowager had replied, "you are
definitely needed. Without you the numbers are uneven."

Emily knew, however, that Sir Richard Kingsley, one
of the dowager's old beaus, had been included on the guest list
specifically to even up the numbers. If Emily had been excluded,
there would have been no need to invite Sir Richard. But she had
kept her own counsel.

"Is everything in order, my dear?"

Emily turned to find the dowager strolling into the
room.

"Yes, my lady," she replied. "I was just checking
the place cards."

"Ah." The dowager wandered to the opposite side of
the table. "You will have noticed, then, that I have placed you
next to Lord Windhurst."

Emily's brows had shot up in surprise. "Me?" she
asked, for she had not yet, in fact, noticed.

"Yes. And I want you to charm the fellow and take
his measure. I'll work on his wife, and I've put Augusta next to
Ted."

"The marquess?"

"Right. He is Lord Haselmere. His father, the fifth
marquess, was the brother of Robert's mother."

"Is there some significance to seating him next to
Augusta?"

"We shall see, my dear," the dowager replied. "We
shall see."

* * *

The guests began gathering in the drawing room, and
the atmosphere was lively and informal. Emily attempted, per her
normal routine at the dowager's gatherings, to make herself
inconspicuous by seeking a chair along the wall. Before she could
so much as locate one, her arm was claimed by Lady Lavenham.

"You must let me introduce you to my husband, Miss
Townsend," Louisa said as she tugged Emily along to the side of a
handsome gentleman laughing at some remark of Lord Bradleigh's.
"David," she said as she maneuvered the gentleman away from her
brother, "I would like to present Miss Townsend, Grandmother's
companion. Miss Townsend, this is my husband, Lord Lavenham. Isn't
he magnificent?" She gazed fondly up at her husband. "After eleven
years of marriage he is still quite the handsomest man of my
acquaintance."

"I am pleased to meet you, Lord Lavenham," Emily
said, smiling at the flustered viscount. He was indeed handsome,
with light brown hair and expressive blue eyes. The sprinkling of
silver at his temples and the lines etched at the corners of his
eyes somehow added to his attractiveness.

"Your servant, Miss Townsend," the viscount said as
he bent over Emily's outstretched hand. "You must excuse my wife's
foolishness," he said, smiling. "I keep her close by so that she
can periodically puff up my consequence."

"Nonsense!" Louisa said. "I only speak the truth, as
you well know. Now, darling, you must excuse us. I want to
introduce Miss Townsend to the others." She tugged Emily away so
that she was able to do no more than nod at the viscount.

Louisa proceeded to introduce Emily to various
aunts, uncles, and cousins. They were a motley group, to say the
least, but they were each open and friendly toward her, and she
liked them all. She especially liked the Marchioness Haselmere, a
gregarious matron, introduced affectionately as "Aunt Doro," whose
distinctive laugh could be heard frequently over the hubbub of
other conversations. Her late husband had played an active role in
the House of Lords, and Lady Haselmere had long been a political
hostess of some renown. She was opinionated and loud, with a biting
wit that left no one unscathed. Her rather stately proportions gave
her the look of a ship's prow as she sailed from group to group.
She quickly summed up Emily as having Whig tendencies and therefore
felt compelled to rant about the Regent's apparent betrayal of his
Whig associates now that he had the power to create his own
government, the lack of strong Whig leadership since the death of
James Fox, and on and on. Louisa was obviously bored, although
Emily was, in fact, fascinated.