A Proper Companion (17 page)

He really should pay more attention to Augusta.
Their betrothal, despite his current misgivings, had been all his
idea, after all. He must make more of an effort to demonstrate to
both families that their match was indeed suitable. In fact, he
must continue to remind himself of that fact and behave
appropriately.

He headed toward Augusta, who was seated alone on a
small settee.

"Robert!" His grandmother's voice and iron grip
intercepted him. She pulled him to her side. "Lady Windhurst and I
were just discussing the pleasures of country life. In particular,
the beauties of the Sussex coast came to mind. Perhaps you could
enlighten us on the specific delights of that area, as I recall
that one of your estates is somewhere in the neighborhood."

"Not an estate, exactly," Robert said as he cast a
speculative glance at his grandmother. "I have a small hunting box
near Midhurst, quite inland. Afraid I don't spend much time there.
It's Ted, as you must know, Grandmother, who can expound endlessly
on the beauties of his beloved coast. In fact, it's one of the few
subjects you are likely to get him to expound on at all. His seat
is there."

"Of course," the dowager said, peering through her
quizzing glass at something behind him.

Robert turned slightly to see the young marquess
take the seat next to Augusta.

"How could I have forgotten?" The dowager turned
toward Lady Windhurst. "Lord Haselmere owns Longcliffe, you know,"
she said in a confidential tone.

Lady Windhurst's eyes widened momentarily at the
mention of the famous country house that was prominently featured
in every book on the beauties of the English countryside. Her
glance followed the dowager's to watch her daughter chatting
pleasantly with the owner of Longcliffe. "Does he?" she said. "How
very interesting."

Emily was unashamedly enjoying herself. She felt
positively exhilarated, almost like a young girl again, as she was
twirled by Mr. Giles Hamilton in a lively country dance, her skirts
of azure blue shagreen silk billowing about her. It had been years
since she'd danced. Although she had attended many assemblies in
Bath with the dowager, they had generally spent their time in the
card room or the tearoom, only entering the ballroom occasionally,
and then only to watch and gossip with the other dowagers and
chaperons.

But this evening, at her first London ball, she was
not allowed to sit quietly among the dowagers. Her employer and
Lady Lavenham had seen to that. Her dance card was almost filled.
Lord Bradleigh and his cousins and Lord Lavenham had all solicited
dances. But there were other gentlemen as well—those gentlemen
deliberately tossed in her path by her scheming employer.

Oh, but she didn't care just now about the dowager's
matchmaking plans. After her first dance with Lord Lavenham, she
had given herself up to the sheer enjoyment of the ball. She would
feel guilty about it later. Tomorrow, perhaps. But not just
now.

Mr. Hamilton, whom she had discovered was the
younger son of an earl, had been introduced to her at Lady
Bessborough's rout, and had been at her side within minutes of her
arrival this evening in order to solicit a dance. He had been
flattering in his attentions, and she quite enjoyed his company. As
the dance ended he offered his arm to escort her back to the
dowager.

"Oh, but that was most enjoyable, sir," Emily said
somewhat breathlessly. "Thank you very much for the dance."

"It was my pleasure, Miss Townsend," Mr. Hamilton
said. "I am glad you are enjoying the ball."

"Indeed I am, sir," she replied.

"May I be so bold, Miss Townsend," he said, "to ask
you to join me in a drive in the park tomorrow afternoon? I would
be honored to take you up in my phaeton."

"Why, thank you, sir," Emily replied, somewhat
flustered. She hadn't considered that any gentleman would be
interested in more than a dance. It was really quite flattering,
she thought, smiling. But she must not forget her place. "I will
need to check with my employer first, to make certain that she does
not require my presence. If she agrees, then I shall be delighted
to join you."

"I shall look forward to it, Miss Townsend," Mr.
Hamilton said, bowing over her hand as she took an empty chair.
"Until tomorrow, then," he said as he took his leave.

Oh, my, thought Emily, biting back a smile. She
opened the fan at her wrist and tried to cool herself, as the last
country dance had been rather energetic. She reached for her dance
card and was relieved to see that she had not promised the next
set, as she preferred to sit and catch her breath.

"Well, well, well."

Emily looked up to see an older somewhat
dissipated-looking gentleman glaring down at her with steely gray
eyes. He was unfamiliar to her, but something about him caused the
hair on the back of her neck to stand up.

"I'd know the gel anywhere, Hugh," he said to a
younger fair-haired gentleman standing behind him. "She's the
spitting image of her mother." He almost spat out the last
word.

Emily's breath caught. Who was this man?

"You knew my mother, sir?" she asked, her calm voice
hopefully giving no hint of her uneasiness.

"Indeed I did," the man said and then bared sharp
teeth in a broad smile that sent a tremor up Emily's spine.

Emily slowly closed her fan and tried to look calmly
at this man without letting him sense her fear.

"Your mother," he spat, "the slut, was once my
sister. Before she was ruined by that ne'er-do-well Townsend and
disgraced the family by running away with him."

Emily caught her breath and felt the blood drain
from her face. She was beginning to feel faint. The man moved
closer, bent down, and fingered the pearls at her throat. Her
mother's pearls.

"Not to mention," he continued, "that she absconded
with some very valuable jewels that belonged to my family."

"You are my uncle?" she asked in a quiet voice as
she moved away from his touch. "Lord Pentwick?"

"I am Pentwick," he replied, sneering at her
movement.

At that moment the young man behind him stepped
forward and extended his hand. "And I am Viscount Faversham," he
said.

Out of pure habit Emily reached out to accept his
hand.

"My dear cousin," he said as he lifted her hand
toward his lips. Her hand was batted away by Lord Pentwick, who had
abruptly stepped between them.

"She is a baseborn bastard, Hugh," Lord Pentwick
bellowed in an overloud voice, "and no true cousin of yours."

Emily swallowed convulsively and tried to remain
calm. She was vaguely aware that voices around her had quieted.

Oh, God, she thought, there mustn't be a scene.
Please
, not a scene.

Lord Pentwick bent over Emily and wagged a finger
inches from her face. "If you had any sense, madam," he continued
in a harsh but less loud voice, "you would continue to keep
yourself buried in the country, away from the censure of Society.
You do not belong here, do you understand? I will not abide meeting
up with my sister's bastard at Society events. I would recommend
that you remain out of sight as you have done so well these last
years. Otherwise you might find it extremely unpleasant. Do I make
myself clear?"

"I believe this is my dance, Miss Townsend."

Emily almost swooned in relief at the sound of the
familiar deep voice and the touch of a firm hand at her elbow. Lord
Bradleigh somehow managed to get her to her feet and placed himself
between her and Lord Pentwick. "Remind me," he said in a clear
voice, "to speak with Lady Rutland. It seems that all sorts of
riffraff are being allowed entrance to her ball."

A collective gasp was heard from several bystanders.
As Emily numbly followed Lord Bradleigh toward the dance floor, she
heard a distinct "Blast!" from the direction of her uncle.

* * *

Robert felt Emily's arm trembling slightly as it
rested on his. He looked down to find her unnaturally pale face
staring straight ahead.
Good girl
, he thought.
Hold your
head up
. He knew the eyes of this half of the ballroom were on
them, as he also knew that all the whispering they heard as they
passed was undoubtedly about them. He only hoped that most of the
swiftly moving gossip was about himself and the cut direct he had
just given another peer of the realm. He hoped that few had
actually overheard Pentwick's insults.

Robert could not remember ever having been so angry.
He had been on his way to relay a message to his grandmother from
one of her cronies when he had seen Pentwick with Emily. As he
heard the vile insults thrown at her, he had wanted nothing more
than to leap upon the man and beat him to a bloody pulp. But then
he had looked at her, sitting there stoically—saying not a word,
her widened eyes the only outward sign of her distress—and he had
been overwhelmed with the need to protect her. He needed to get
Emily out of there, away from Pentwick. This young woman who had
been so afraid that his grandmother's harmless matchmaking would
publicly embarrass her was now the center of a potentially
explosive and very public scene. Despite his almost uncontrollable
desire to flatten the blackguard, he knew that such an action would
only further publicize the unpleasantness of the confrontation and
further distress Emily. The best thing to do was to calmly
extricate her from the situation.

The strains of a waltz began as they reached the
dance floor. As he turned to face Emily and take her in his arms,
she looked up at him, her brow furrowed in alarm as she shook her
head. He understood at once. It would only make matters worse if
Emily were to be seen dancing the waltz without first getting
permission from one of Almack's patronesses. What an idiotic
practice, he thought in frustration as he looked frantically around
the ballroom. Emily was not a young miss in her first Season, but
she was unmarried and must therefore abide by the rules of Society.
His eye finally caught that of young Emily Cowper, the daughter of
his aunt's friend, Lady Melbourne. Lady Cowper was one of the
patronesses of Almack's and a good friend, not only through his
long acquaintance with her through Aunt Doro, but also because she
was the mistress of Robert's friend, Lord Palmerston. He cocked his
head toward Emily and raised his brows in question. Lady Cowper
smiled and nodded. He blew a kiss at her in thanks.

"You have permission to waltz now, Miss Townsend,"
he said, looking down at her. "Lady Cowper has made it so. Have you
ever waltzed before?"

Emily shook her head.

"Well, luckily for you, I have," he said, smiling.
"It's quite simple. I put my right hand at your waist, like so, and
you put your left hand on my shoulder . .." He waited while she
complied. "And then I take your right hand in mine. Now, just
listen to the music and follow me."

After a few awkward steps he felt Emily pick up the
rhythm and move naturally with the music. She still held herself
stiffly, though, and she had not looked up at Robert even once. Her
lips were drawn together in a tight line, and her eyes were
overbright. He knew that she was making an effort to fight back
tears.

"That's it, Emily," he whispered in her ear, "stand
tall. Pretend nothing happened, and the incident will soon be
forgotten. Eyes are already moving on to other more interesting
couples. Like Lady Byng, just over there. What do you suppose makes
her think that all the world needs to see such an expanse of her
ample bosom? Of course, her partner, Sir Humphrey Ingram, has
probably never so appreciated his own short stature. Only look
where his eyes fall!"

Robert chattered on, making jokes and telling
stories about the various couples on the dance floor. After a few
minutes he felt Emily relaxing in his arms. When she finally looked
up and offered him a tremulous smile, he gathered her a bit closer
and sighed in relief.

When Robert felt that they had truly lost the
interest of the crowd, he steered her toward French doors leading
to one of the terraces.

"Come," he said softly. "Let us find some cool
air."

She took his arm as he led her onto the terrace.
There was one other couple enjoying the cool night air, and Robert
led Emily away from them. She leaned on the balustrade overlooking
the gardens. This terrace was too small for private conversation in
the presence of the other couple, and so Robert did not speak. He
knew that Emily was still hanging on to her composure by a mere
thread. She had not spoken one word since he had dragged her onto
the dance floor. When the other couple moved back into the
ballroom, Robert turned and put his hand on Emily's shoulder.

"Are you all right, my dear?" he asked.

She continued to stare out into the gardens, and he
thought she was not going to speak. After a moment she turned to
look at him.

"That was my uncle," she whispered, a slight catch
in her voice.

"I know."

"I suppose I really shouldn't be so shocked," she
continued quietly. "Your sister had warned me that he and my cousin
were in Town for the Season. But I assumed that if our paths
accidentally crossed, he would simply ignore me. I never dreamed
that he would deliberately seek me out and ... and ..."

She bit down on her lip and turned to face the
gardens again. She was blinking furiously. She was trying so hard
to be strong, thought Robert with some admiration, but she needed
to cry. His hand moved from her shoulder down her arm and took hold
of her hand. She grabbed back convulsively, her fingernails digging
into his palm.

"He called me a bastard," she whispered, still not
looking at him. "I am not a bastard! I am not!" Her voice broke on
a sob.