Candice Hern (27 page)

Lord Pentwick heard the front door close and painfully pulled himself up from the floor. "Metcalf!" he bellowed.

The butler appeared almost immediately. "Yes, my lord?"

"Send Hugh to me at once!"

Chapter 19

"Where might I find Miss Townsend, Claypool?" Robert handed his hat and gloves to the butler. He was anxious to tell her the good news. Perhaps it would make up for his behavior last night.

"I believe she is still in the ballroom, my lord."

"And how goes the preparation for tonight's ball, Claypool?" Robert looked over the butler's shoulder to see two footmen heading down the hall almost collide with a housemaid heading up the hall. "It certainly looks busy."

"Indeed, my lord, it has been somewhat of a bustle all day. But Mrs. Claypool and Miss Townsend seem to have everything in hand."

"Good," said Robert. "Then I'll just pop downstairs and see if I can have a word with Miss Townsend."

As he descended the stairs to the ballroom, he saw Emily surrounded by workmen, footmen, and housemaids, apparently giving orders as she pointed first in one direction, then another. He stood for a moment and smiled as he watched her. She looked deliciously disheveled, with her hair falling out of its tight knot and what looked like a smudge on one cheek. She had obviously been working hard, probably all day. Well, she wouldn't have to work so hard anymore, once she learned of her inheritance. Robert suddenly felt almost giddy with the news. He couldn't wait to tell her.

He approached her from behind as she gave orders—something about candles—to one last footman. "Emily?"

"Yes?" she said distractedly as she turned to face him. "Oh!" She seemed startled when she saw who he was. It apparently hadn't occurred to her that none of the staff would address her as "Emily." Her mouth kept the shape of an O for a moment, and she blushed crimson from her neck to her hairline. Her eyes were wide, and Robert sensed in them a combination of confusion, consternation, and alarm. He was almost overcome with the need to reassure her. The idea that she might actually be afraid of him made his stomach turn. He wanted to touch her but knew he should not.

"May I have a word with you?" he asked in a soft voice.

"Oh," she repeated. "I don't think so. Not just now. I'm quite busy, as you see. If you will excuse me." She spun abruptly away from him.

"Emily, please," he implored. "I must speak with you."

She turned slowly to face him. "I'm sorry, my lord. I'd rather you didn't." Her eyes darted everywhere but couldn't seem to meet his own. She was obviously embarrassed.

"Perhaps later?" he persisted. "It's really quite important."

She stared at the floor, her hands twisting a piece of foolscap. "My lord, if it's about last night, I'd prefer we did not speak of it. I think it is best forgotten."

"Forgotten? I'm afraid it will be very difficult— nay, impossible—for me to forget, Emily. But you are correct. It was wrong. It should not have happened. Let us not mention it again."

She nodded her head, never looking up to meet his eyes, and turned away from him once more.

"But that is not what I wished to speak to you about, Emily," he said. "It is something much more important."

When she turned around this time, she met his eyes with a questioning look.

"Yes.
Much
more important. Can you come upstairs for a moment?"

"I'm sorry, my lord. This is not a good time."

"Well... perhaps later. After dinner?"

"There is the ball, my lord."

"Of course. Well, then, it will have to be tomorrow morning. But not a moment later!" he said in a mock scold while wagging a finger before her nose, hoping to tease her out of her awkwardness with him.

She returned a weak smile. "Tomorrow, then."

She turned away once again and headed toward a group of workmen carrying huge bushels of some kind of blue flower. It was only then that Robert became aware of the remarkable transformation taking place in his ballroom. Everything, or almost everything, was blue. There were blue flowers everywhere, in quantities that were almost obscene. The walls were draped in blue satin—a shade that echoed the formal livery worn by his footmen. Even the special orchestra dais—where had that come from?—was painted blue. The effect, even in the bright light of afternoon, was extraordinary. It would be stunning in candlelight.

A smile spread across his face as he noticed the topiaries. Dozens of fancifully trimmed box trees in, of course, blue tubs were arranged in a most ingenious pattern throughout the ballroom, creating little alcoves and surrounding screens and seating areas. It was delightful. He wondered whose clever idea this was— his grandmother's or Emily's? In any case, it was sure to be a success.

He only wished his engagement would be as successful as his engagement ball.

Later that evening as he dressed for the ball, Robert found himself continually distracted by thoughts of Emily and their few moments of abandon in the library last night. Regardless of how wrong he knew their embrace had been, it had felt entirely right. In fact, nothing had ever felt quite so right.

He stood still while Luckett tied his cravat into a perfect waterfall.

"I'll wear the diamond stickpin, Luckett. The large one that was my father's. It is, after all, a special occasion."

Luckett cleared his throat. "I thought the sapphire pin would do best, my lord."

"Eh?" Robert was distracted yet again by the thought of how special indeed was the occasion. How often did one spend half a fortune celebrating a betrothal to a young girl one hardly knew and couldn't seem to care for?

"Have you seen the ballroom, my lord?" Luckett held out the sapphire pin.

Robert took the stickpin and smiled. "Of course. You are right as always, Luckett. How would I ever get along without you?"

"I shudder to think, my lord," the valet muttered as he turned to brush nonexistent lint off the black evening coat before holding it out so that Robert could ease into its perfect fit.

The dinner party, attended mostly by family, went off without incident. Robert blessed his good fortune in having such a garrulous group of relatives. He hoped their boisterous repartee masked his own silent distraction.

If only Emily hadn't looked so beautiful tonight, he might have felt less miserable. But then, she had looked beautiful in that shabby dark thing she had worn last night, so what did he expect? Tonight she was in emerald green silk shot with gold thread that shimmered enticingly as she moved. The color perfectly matched her eyes. It was a simple, unadorned dress, without fussy ornament or trimming. But the line and fabric were quite striking in an understated elegance which was sure to draw many an admiring glance. The bodice was cut lower than any dress he'd seen her wear, revealing the tops of firm, full breasts. Robert found his eyes often drawn to that golden expanse of bosom, and felt a tightness in his groin as he remembered their soft fullness pressed against his chest.

Dear God, he must get a grip on himself. Tonight was not the night for regrets or self-pity, no matter how miserable he actually felt. He must play host to hundreds of Society's best, make them welcome and accept their good wishes. He could fall into despair later, if necessary. But tonight he must be on his best public behavior. One thing was certain: he would not dance with Emily. In fact, he would avoid her as much as possible. He would give his full attention, or at least what attention he could muster, to Augusta. This was
her
night, after all.

He wrenched his eyes from Emily and turned toward Augusta, who was seated next to him. She was glaring at him with such a waspish expression that he blinked in surprise. Had his observation of Emily been so obvious? He must learn to be more prudent. He was resigned, as well as honor-bound, to go through with his commitment to Augusta. There was no sense in making it any worse by encouraging petulant jealousy. Of course, he did not believe for a minute it was jealousy that provoked Augusta, but rather his lack of attention, or, more precisely, his obvious attention to another woman. Whether jealousy or neglect, the result was the same, and he had no desire to be tied to a woman who was in a perpetual snit over his own less than circumspect behavior. He sighed deeply as he realized, yet again, how carefully he must tread now that he was to be married.

After dinner he offered his arm to his betrothed and led her to the receiving line at the top of the stairs. He looked down at Augusta, exquisitely lovely in ice blue satin, and thought how unfair it all was for her. She deserved better than his indifference. It was almost cruel to marry this beautiful young innocent when he knew he would always love another.

She looked up at him at that moment, and he smiled at her. She smiled back, but not with the chilly control he had come to expect. Instead she gave a thin smile full of wistful resignation. A hint of sadness flickered across her eyes before she turned to greet their first guests with her usual cool dignity.

* * *

Emily surveyed the ballroom with pride. The setting was glorious, and she knew she had had no small role in its creation. Rival hostesses were agog with envy over the unusual colors and clever arrangement of space. The dowager must be bursting with glee at her triumph.

It was difficult, after having spent the day making sure everything was just so, to give herself up to the enjoyment of the ball itself. She had danced a few times already, but was more often than not preoccupied with the smooth running of the ball, although she realized the staff was well in hand and her help was no longer required.

Emily knew in her heart that this obsession with details was simply another attempt to escape from the unwelcome thoughts of Robert that constantly threatened to distract her. It had actually worked all morning and afternoon as she kept up a frantic pace to ensure the readiness of the ballroom. She had forgotten him altogether for several hours.

Until he had shown up and wanted to talk to her.

Why did he press her? Couldn't he see how humiliated and embarrassed she was? Couldn't he understand her need to forget last night entirely?

But he had said it was impossible for him to forget. Could that searing kiss have been as earth-shattering for him as it had been for her? Could he possibly care for her as much as she cared for him? And what if he did? He was bound to another, and there was nothing to be done.

She caught a glimpse of him as he twirled Lady Darlington around the dance floor. He looked gloriously handsome tonight, as he always did in his stark black evening clothes. She was unconsciously watching him, admiring the seductive grace of his movements, when her mind was suddenly filled with an image of him in his shirtsleeves, his hair carelessly tousled and hanging in his eyes. She could see the taut muscles of his neck and chest, clearly visible through the open collar of his fine lawn shirt. She could feel the strength of those muscles beneath her hands, as well as the soft, curling chest hair that had tickled her fingers. She remembered the unique musky aroma of shaving oil and brandy. She could feel the warmth of his lips on hers ...

"Miss Townsend?"

She spun around with a start to find a young footman looking at her in question.

"Yes, I am Miss Townsend," she replied, quickly regaining her composure. She realized the footman must be among the extra staff hired for the evening, as he was unfamiliar to her.

"There's a gentleman, miss, wanting to speak to you, miss. He asked me to bring you to the yellow salon. Said it was most urgent."

"Do you know the gentleman's name?" Emily asked, somewhat puzzled.

"No, miss, he didn't tell me," the young man said, obviously flustered. "And I... I guess I forgot to ask. I'm that sorry, miss. I shoulda asked. But he was taller than me and had yellowish hair, if that helps."

Emily smiled. "Yes, it does. I'll come with you."

Of course, it could only be Lord Sedgewick. So, he wished to speak with her in private? It seemed a somewhat ramshackle way to go about it—sending an unknown servant to haul her off to a small room on the next floor. Perhaps he was as uneasy as she was. Indeed, Emily suddenly realized her stomach was in knots. Was this to be the expected offer at last? She had been anticipating such a proposal for the last week, was prepared for it. Why, then, was she so unexpectedly nervous?

He could offer her a future she had long ago ceased dreaming of. Over and over she had convinced herself that she would accept him.

But that was before she had fallen completely and irrevocably in love with Robert.

In that instant, as she made her way to the yellow salon, she came to a decision. She would not accept Lord Sedgewick. It would not be fair to accept him when she loved someone else, regardless of the futility of that love. He was such a dear man. He deserved someone whose heart was whole—someone who did not harbor a hopeless, ridiculous passion for another man. She would decline his kind offer. It was for the best.

She steeled herself to face him.

"In here, miss," the footman said as they reached the yellow salon.

"Thank you." She heard him quietly close the door behind her.

The small room was dimly lit by only the glow of a modest fire in the grate. How odd, she thought, that no candles were lit. As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she looked around for Lord Sedgewick, but saw no one.

"My lord?"

No one answered. Perhaps he meant to join her. She supposed she should wait a few moments. In the meantime she would light a candle or two.

She crossed the room to stand before the fire, running her hand along the mantel as she searched for spare candles, and was suddenly and violently grabbed from behind. What the devil? As she parted her lips to scream, a foul-smelling cloth was forced over her mouth. Her arms were painfully wrenched behind her back, and a strong arm beneath her bosom held her in a vice-like grip. Even so, she twisted and kicked at her unknown assailant with all her might. But the acrid cloth was making her feel nauseous, and she began to feel faint and disoriented.