The Duke's Dilemma (15 page)

Emily ‘s heart gave a leap. The thought of finding a safe haven to carry her over until she received her portion was tantalizing—but with the duke ‘s eccentric relatives? The idea was too preposterous to credit.

She was still pondering the little maid’s inexplicable claim when she descended the stairs to the lower floor promptly at nine o’clock. Straightening her shoulders with an air of confidence she was far from feeling, she followed a footman to the morning room. Both Lady Cloris and Lady Sophia were there before her.

“Sit down, Miss Haliburton,” Lady Sophia said, tucking into a plate of ham and coddled eggs. “You’ve no time to be standing about. We have a demanding day ahead of us. I have sent word to Madame Fanchon to be here at eleven o’clock and there are any number of issues we must settle before then, as you’ll be of no earthly use once she starts fitting you.”

“Fitting me for what?” Emily stammered.

Lady Sophia frowned. “What is one usually fitted for, my girl? And don’t play dense with me, for it won’t fadge. Edgar Rankin warned me you were far too quick-witted for your own good.”

She paused as if waiting for a comment. When none was forthcoming, she continued. “You are being fitted for a new wardrobe, of course.” She surveyed Emily with obvious distaste. “And I must say, I have never seen a young woman who needed one more. “

“I cannot afford a new wardrobe, my lady, as you well know,” Emily declared. “And I am not a charity case to be dressed by strangers.”
Certainly not strangers related to the Duke of Montford.

” I have no intention of offering you charity, Miss Haliburton. Do I look like a woman easily parted from her money? But your present mode of dress offends my delicate sensibilities.” She dabbed at her lips with a lace-edged linen serviette. “We will deduct it from your wages.”

Emily laughed in spite of herself’. “What wages, my lady?”

“The wages Lady Cloris will pay you for acting as her companion, you silly chit. Did you judge my sister such a pinchpenny she would expect you to perform your duties free of charge?”

Emily darted a quick look at Lady Cloris, whose bright blue eyes had widened with surprise. “I think there has been some misunderstanding, my lady,” Emily said quietly. Lady Sophia switched her baleful gaze to her sister. “Never tell me you have neglected to make the proper arrangements with Miss Haliburton, sister. I distinctly remember requesting you to settle the matter immediately so we could move on to more important business.”

“Indeed, I had forgotten,” Lady Cloris said, breaking a small piece off a scone and spreading it with marmalade. “I haven’t the memory of a flea lately.”

She smiled sweetly at Emily. “Do say you’ll accept the position, my dear. I’ve no one to visit the shops with now that sister is unable to get about—and we have this lovely pianoforte in the drawing room and no one to play it unless…but then,
he
rarely visits anymore. You could play for us each evening after dinner, as you did at Brynhaven.”

“Exactly,” Lady Sophia agreed. “And now that we have that bit of business out of the way…”

“One moment, Lady Sophia,” Emily interjected, smitten with a bout of conscience at the thought of taking advantage of these two rather dotty old tabbies who seemed bent on adopting the stray kitten their toplofty nephew had abused. “I thank you for your kind offer, but I must be the last person you should be hiring as a companion. You yourself made reference to my unsavory reputation last evening. Think what a heyday the gossips would have if they sniffed out such an arrangement between you and such a woman. It would prolong the life of the tittle-tattle tenfold. “

“Does that trouble you, Miss Haliburton?”

“Not on my own account, my lady. I care nothing for the opinions of members of the
ton
. From what I have observed in the short time I’ve lived amongst them, they are all too shallow and worthless to be taken seriously. “

“‘They toil not, neither do they spin.’ Matthew 6:28,” Lady Cloris quoted in her sweet singsong voice. “You must try one of these scones, Miss Haliburton. Cook has outdone herself this morning.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Cloris, do be quiet.” Lady Sophia fixed her piercing silver gaze, so like the duke’s, on Emily. “If you take no stock in the gossip, what then is your objection to the proposed arrangement.”

“In less than two months, I shall return to the Cotswolds,” Emily said. “I doubt the reputation with which I have been branded will reach that far and, if it does, the few people I care about will never believe it. But London is your
milieu
; you will have to live with the gossip long after I am gone.”

Lady Sophia blinked in astonishment. “With all that is on your plate you are worried about
our
reputations? Well, I never.” She extracted a handkerchief from the pocket of her severe black gown and blew her nose. “I begin to see how the duke came to hoodwink you so successfully—for you are quite obviously a silly chit who is given to maudlin flights of fancy. A dangerous trait, Miss Haliburton, and one you should endeavor to control. “

Emily stared as Lady Sophia wiped her eyes and blew her nose again. She could not believe the old virago could be so moved by a simple expression of concern.

“Save your solicitude for those who need it,” Lady Sophia said brusquely, obviously embarrassed by her show of sentiment. “For your information, there is no one in London, with the possible exception of George Brummell, who more adept at twisting the tails of the
beau monde
than I and luckily the Beau is eager to join forces with us in this little endeavor. “

She returned the square of linen to her pocket. “I learned long ago that to be timid in the face of scandal is to invite society’s vicious
quidnuncs
to crush one like a bug. As Brummell has so often noted—the more outrageous one is, the more the fools will grovel at one’s feet. And, pray tell, what could be more
outré
than for the Duke of Montford’ s aunts to sponsor the very woman he has ruined?”

Despite herself, Emily began to warm to the idea. What did she have to lose? Her reputation couldn’t be any more tarnished than it already was, and the idea of two old ladies and a simple country woman getting back some of their own from the powerful Duke of Montford was almost too tempting to resist. “Do you honestly think we could succeed?” she asked.

“Frankly, I do not know,” Lady Sophia replied. “But I cannot remember when I have looked forward to anything with such anticipation. There is nothing which stirs one’s blood like taking a risk—and in this endeavor we risk everything.

“If all goes as planned, you will become the toast of London society and Lady Cloris and I will once again be its leading arbiters. If we fail, we shall be forced to retire to some spot in the country and live out our days in obscurity. But either way, we shall have a wealth of memories to warm our hearts on cold winter nights.”

“But you must promise me you will not be too severe with dear Jared, sister, for I could not bear to see him deeply wounded.” Lady Cloris folded and unfolded her serviette with quick, nervous movements. “A little rap on the knuckles, figuratively speaking, should suffice, I think. He is not a cruel man, after all. Only one who is so isolated by his wealth and power, he tends to be careless with the feelings of lesser mortals.”

Emily closed her ears to Lady Cloris’s anxious plea and to her sister’s mumbled assurances. She did not want to think of the duke as lonely and isolated; nor did she care to hear any excuses for his reprehensible behavior. It was easier to hate the cruel, unfeeling man she believed him to be. And hate him she must—or else face the utter despair of admitting the unprincipled devil still held her foolish heart in his hands.

T
here were times during the ensuing fortnight when Emily felt as if she had wandered into one of the Drury Lane farces where all of the characters disguised their true identity behind clever masks. For she had instantly deduced that Lady Sophia ‘s haughty demeanor and sharp tongue hid a heart as big as Westminster Abbey and while Lady Cloris might claim to have the memory of a flea, she was anything but a flea-brain. Even that notorious cynic and avowed misogynist, Beau Brummell, turned out to be a true and caring friend once he committed himself.

In truth, she herself was the greatest change-artist of all, for it scarcely seemed possible the elegant lady-of fashion she encountered each time she peered into a mirror could be plain Emily Haliburton. The vivid colors Madame Fanchon had chosen for her exquisite gowns made her skin look fresh and glowing, and the delicate fabrics draped her body in such a way that even Beau Brummell had clapped his hands and declared, “Magnificent!”

Just this morning, she had finally agreed to let Martha try her hand at arranging her hair and the result had been truly miraculous. The little maid had swept her heavy locks into a coronet which added inches of height and with a couple of snips of the manicure scissors, had created two soft tendrils that curled along her cheek-line to create a provocatively feminine look. Emily had to admit that no one seeing her for the first time would ever guess she was a simple lass from the Cotswolds.

The problem was that the more she listened to Lady Sophia and Brummell map out the strategy of “the plan,” the more certain she was that this particular farce would soon turn into a comedy of errors. Even now, on the morning of the fourteenth day Emily had been in residence at Grosvenor Square, Lady Sophia was eagerly awaiting Brummell’s daily visit with yet another of her outrageous ideas. Not even Lady Cloris’s persistent objections could dampen the spirit of her militant sister.

Meanwhile, Emily was enduring another of Madame Fanchon ‘s interminable fittings—this time for a riding habit in a luscious periwinkle blue. “Please reconsider,” she begged Lady Sophia. “This is such a ridiculous waste of money. I shall not be in London long enough to get any wear out of a riding habit—and there will be the added expense of hiring a mount.” She groaned. “I shall be in debt the rest of my life at this rate.”

Lady Sophia looked up from the copy of
La Belle Assemblée
over which she and Lady Cloris had been poring, and scowled fiercely at Emily. “I cannot credit what a selfish, ungrateful girl you are, Miss Haliburton. Can you not see how much Lady Cloris and I are enjoying being back in the swim of fashion, if only vicariously. Are you so engrossed in your own concerns, you begrudge two helpless old ladies a few moments of pleasure?”

“Helpless old ladies!” Emily burst into laughter and was rewarded with a jab of one of the fitter’s pins. “If Wellington had an army of such ‘helpless old ladies’ as you, Lady Sophia, he would have defeated Bonaparte long ago.”

“I’m afraid she has your measure, sister,” Lady Cloris said with a chuckle.

“She has an impertinence that is beyond anything I have ever encountered,” Lady Sophia grumbled. “I’ve half a mind to abandon ‘the plan’ entirely and let the thankless chit go on her way.”

Emily turned, as the fitter directed, which put her back to the two onlookers and gave her the courage to speak her mind. “Then do so, my lady, for I fear the scheme is doomed to failure anyhow. I’ve little interest in and even less aptitude for playing the role of ‘the toast of London society.’”

“Thinking of doing a
volte-face
, are you, Miss Haliburton? You disappoint me. I thought you were made of sterner stuff.”

Emily gritted her teeth in frustration. Lady Sophia had a way of turning one’s words to suit her needs which was absolutely infuriating. “I am made of as strong a fabric as you, my lady, and shall live up to our agreement just as long. But I tell you this: I have stood for the last fitting. What clothes I do not now have, I shall do without. You have already ordered more gowns and shifts and slippers and fans than most ladies buy for their trousseau, for heaven ‘s sake.”

The fitter turned Emily again and out of the corner of her eye, she noticed an add look pass between the two sisters. It was not the first such look she had espied in the past fourteen days, and it made her vastly uneasy. She had, in fact, been growing more uneasy about her involvement in “the plan” as each day passed. Fond as she had grown of the two old ladies, she felt as much a square peg in a round hole here in Grosvenor Square as she had under the Hargraves’ roof. The sad truth was, the useless life of the
beau monde
bored her to flinders, and she could not imagine how she could carry off the charade they had in mind.

To top it all, the idea of revenging herself on the duke was rapidly losing its appeal. She should have realized it would, for she was not by nature a vindictive person. Nor was she a grudge-keeper. Hers was the kind of temper which instantly flared white hot, but quickly burned itself out when no new fuel was added to the fire—and right now she stood knee deep in cold, gray ashes. In short, she was ready to beg off, but she was trapped by her mounting indebtedness to the duke ‘s aunts—another instance where she had jumped her fences before thinking about what was on the other side. Mama must be tearing her hair out up in heaven.

Emily’s moment of introspection was cut short by the arrival of George Brummell, but this time he was not alone. Behind him, flapping about like a frenetic crow, hovered a tiny man, all in black from the top of his well-oiled black curls to his highly polished black boots.

Monsieur Pierre Lafitte, as Brummell introduced him, had small black beady

eyes, a tiny, black stiffly waxed moustache, and a pair of very large, very shiny silver shears.

He took one look at Emily and screeched at the top of his lungs, “
Mais non. C’est impossible!
Mademoiselle must have the hair cut.” He brandished the shears within inches of Emily’s head. “Curls—
beaucoup de
curls to enhance the so beautiful eyes.”

Despite the fitter’s protests, Emily stepped back as far from Monsieur Lafitte and his treacherous shears as she could get. “Never!” she declared firmly. “There I draw the
line. I cannot return to the Cotswolds with my hair cropped like that of a London demirep. What would my vicar say?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, my girl. Of course you must have your hair cut. It is all the crack this season.” Lady Sophia waved her hand in a gesture which signified Monsieur Lafitte should proceed. “And what, may I ask, would a country vicar know of fashion anyhow?”

Emily took another step backward, ready to do battle if necessary to save her precious locks, but to her surprise, Brummell intervened on her behalf. “Now that I reflect further on it, I do believe Miss Haliburton is right,” he said, studying the softer hair style Martha had created with the same absorption he had studied Madame Fanchon ‘s samples of fabric earlier in the week. “I agree Miss Haliburton’s eyes are one of her best features,” he said thoughtfully. “But let us be honest, she has another notable asset, which we have already discussed.”

Remembering the heated debate they had indulged in each time she’d complained of the shocking
décolletage
of her new gowns, Emily felt her cheeks flame with mortification.

Brummell smiled at her embarrassment. “Let us simply say I have come to the conclusion that Miss Haliburton’s most outstanding asset is best accented by the more classic hair style she has already adopted.”

Hours later, with a paisley shawl draped discreetly over her assets, Emily sat at dinner, listening despondently to the never-ending discussion of how “the
Plan” should be carried out. Lady Cloris had just lowered her fork to raise a mild objection to Mr. Brummell’ s latest proposal when the butler announced the arrival of the Earl of Chillingham.

“He’s back !” the earl declared as soon as Finster had withdrawn from the dining room. “Montford is back in London. Freddie Fabersham told me he saw him at Tattersall’s just yesterday and looking fit as five-pence.”

Emily ‘s heart took such a leap her “most outstanding asset” nearly burst from the daring neckline of her pale green spider-gauze dinner gown.

“Finally!” Lady Sophia cast a triumphant look at Brummell. “Now we can set a definite date for Miss Haliburton’s entrance into society. Friday next, I think. As I recall, that is the night Catalani has agreed to sing the role of Konstanza in a special performance of
Seraglio
to raise funds for the new wing of the Duke of York Hospital. Montford will be there, of course, since he is on the hospital board—as will everyone else who is still in town.”

“Oh no! Surely not the opera!” Lady Cloris gasped. “I cannot think you mean to humiliate poor Jared in such a public place as that, sister.”

“Don’t be a ninny— Nowhere else would be half as effective.”

“But Mozart is his favorite composer, and I am certain our ‘plan’ will quite spoil the performance for him. Besides, you know what an intensely private man he is.” Tears glistened in Lady Cloris’s eyes. “I will not be a part of such cruelty.”

Emily cleared her throat. “I have to agree with Lady Cloris. When I consented to help put the duke in his place, I had no idea you intended to do so with all of London looking on.”

“
Et tu
, Miss Haliburton.” Lady Sophia glared down the table at Emily and Lady Cloris, who sat beside her. “I take it since you two pansy-hearts have lost your thirst for revenge, you have also abandoned the nobler cause of ‘the plan’ as well.”

“Nobler cause?” Emily and Lady Cloris asked in unison.

“It was my understanding,” Lady Sophia said, “that we all agreed the duke was sorely in need of a lesson which would teach him to consider the feelings of others. Am I not correct?”

Emily nodded halfheartedly and out of the corner of her eye saw Lady Cloris do the same.

“Very well then. In light of the news Brummell brought me yesterday, this lesson assumes a far greater importance than we first conceived. It appears the Regent has asked Montford to act as mediator between the mill owners and the Luddite rioters. Though heaven knows why. He is far too stiff-rumped ta be effective in such a role.”

Emily had to agree. The thought of Jared—the duke—mediating a dispute with such desperate men made her blood run cold. His idea of mediation would probably be to look down his aristocratic nose at the rioters and demand they follow his dictates.

Lady Sophia took a sip of wine before continuing. “The days of the feudal lords are long past—an unfortunate state of affairs in my opinion, since the system had considerable merit. However, so be it. The fact remains, in these troubled times even a duke must be careful what he says and does. My God, if that miscreant, Bellingham, could assassinate the Prime Minister within the very walls of the House of Commons last month, anything can happen. Is that not correct, Brummell?”

“It is surely something to consider,” Brummell agreed when he recovered from a sudden fit of coughing. Emily shuddered, remembering her horror when she ‘d read the terrible news in the
Times
, and once again a picture of Jared lying dead in a pool of his own blood flashed through her mind.

“And,” Lady Sophia continued in the same grim tone of voice, “if Montford persists in his autocratic ways, I fear
he
may end up with something far more life threatening than a bump on the head.”

Emily’s thoughts were as tangled as the embroidery skein she had tried to unravel for Lady Cloris before dinner. She suspected she was being led down another daisy path, this time by Lady Sophia. As Lady Cloris had reminded her, Montfords would do anything to get their own way. Still, as before, there was enough fact woven into the fiction to confuse even the most astute listener. How could she know what to do? And if she chose the wrong course, would she be able to live with herself if some day, safe in her little cottage in the Cotswolds, she picked up the
Times
and read the Duke of Montford had taken a Luddite bullet?

She turned to Lady Cloris and saw the same look of indecision in her troubled eyes. “Very well, Lady Sophia, you win,” Emily said with a sigh of resignation. “We will proceed as planned.”

A smoky yellow heat haze hung over the streets of London and the stench of sun-ripened horse droppings and human garbage was so overpowering, most pedestrians held cologne-scented handkerchiefs to their noses. It had been years since Jared had been in the city during the summer; he remembered now why he had made such a point of avoiding the dratted place during the dog days—which in some years extended from the first of June until October. This was evidently one of those years.

The handsome grays he had purchased at Tattersall’s just the day before were prime goers and required only the softest of hands on the ribbons to control them. He wheeled his stylish new high perch phaeton along St. James Street, nodding pleasantly to acquaintances he passed. But a knot of anger tightened his stomach when he noted the snide grins with which they returned his greetings. Apparently the Brynhaven scandal was still the most juicy
on-dit
of the summer and would remain so until some other member of the
ton
provided a new bit of titillation.