The Marriage Wager (21 page)

“I’m told I dropped my father’s pocket watch in the honeypot,” she admitted.

He laughed. “I’m shocked.”

“Oh? I suppose you were an utter paragon? The sort of child mothers pointed out to others as an example.”

Colin grimaced at the picture. “There was an incident with some ferrets,” he mused.

“Aha! Ferrets again. I begin to see a theme here. What?”

“I was allowed to keep ferrets down at Trevallan when I was a youngster,” he told her. “But I was not permitted to bring them into the house.”

“Very sensible,” put in Emma.

Colin smiled. “But we had a violent, unseasonable cold snap, you see. And there was a litter just born. And I was afraid they would die of exposure.”

“So you brought them in,” she concluded.

“In a sturdy box,” he assured her. “And they did quite well until…”

“Yes?”

He shrugged. “When they got a bit older, one of the more enterprising chewed through the box, and the whole litter found they preferred the walls of the house to such confining quarters. A few mornings later, my mother sat down to breakfast and found herself eye to eye with a young ferret seated in the middle of her plate.”

Emma started to laugh.

“I imagine he wanted toast,” Colin added meditatively. “I’d been feeding them the scraps left from the morning meals.”

“What did the baroness do?” asked Emma through her laughter.

“Oh, well. Screamed. Knocked over her chair and a tea urn. Turned the place upside down searching for the poor creatures.”

“I can hardly blame her.”

“I had already recaptured three,” responded Colin defensively. “I would have gotten them all in a day or two more.”

“With toast?” giggled Emma.

“A very effective lure,” he agreed. He hadn’t smiled, but his violet eyes were glinting with amusement. “Perhaps there is hope for young Nicky,” he conceded. “If Caroline will stop spoiling him.”

“When his new sister, or brother, arrives next year…” Seeing Colin’s surprised expression, Emma stumbled. “Hasn’t Caroline told you? I didn’t realize.”

“It’s quite all right. I’m pleased to see you becoming friends.”

“She’s been very kind.”

“Caroline’s a good sort—always has been.”

“Did she like ferrets?” asked Emma mischievously.

“Thought they were charming,” he assured her.

The clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour. “Oh, I must go,” said Emma. “I have an appointment with the dressmaker.”

“Does your protégé still have time for you, then?” he teased.

Emma smiled. Since she had begun going about in society, and other ladies had seen her gowns, Sophie had been besieged with orders. Emma had amused Colin one night by describing the Frenchwoman’s complacent delight at this development. “Always,” she answered.

“I’ll look forward to the results,” he said, as she moved toward the door.

She hurried out. Colin sat back in his chair, but did not at once go back to his estate papers. Emma’s light, beguiling scent hung in the air. The smile she had brought to his lips lingered there.

He saw much less of her here in town, he thought. Of course, that was only natural. She seemed to be enjoying the distractions of the Season, and she was, of course, demonstrating to the gossips that she was entirely suited to be a nobleman’s wife. She had dignity, easy manners, an air of distinction—in short, everything that one could ask for. It was ridiculous to become nostalgic about an earlier Emma, soaked to the skin with her hair falling untidily about her shoulders, clutching at the tatters of an ancient riding habit.

Colin shook his head. He had arranged his life most rationally and satisfactorily. He ought to be—he was—completely contented. And there was an end to the matter. Determinedly, he returned to his work.

As she was about to leave the house on her way to Sophie’s, Emma was accosted by Clinton in the front hall. “A… person has called, my lady,” he said. His disapproval was palpable.

“Who?” said Emma, pulling on her glove. “I can’t see anyone now. I’m late for an engagement.”

Silently, he extended the small silver salver he held, upon which rested a pasteboard visiting card.

Emma took it and read the overly ornate script. Then she closed her fist around the card and crumpled it into a tiny ball. “Tell Count Orsino that I am out,” she said angrily. “And do not admit him to this house again.”

Clinton looked gratified. “Yes, my lady,” he said.

***

“The rose garlands,” Caroline said without hesitation. “You’ll tire of stripes in a month. This pattern is far better.” She handed the two pieces of wallpaper back to Emma as if there were no more to be said on the subject, and turned to exclaim, “Nicky, do not climb on the mantelshelf. You’ll hurt yourself.”

The ladies sat in Caroline’s drawing room after the splendid dinner she had offered her guests. The gentlemen still lingered over their port in the dining room. The party included Colin’s Great-aunt Celia as well as Emma’s father, but the rest were not family members.

The sound of porcelain smashing brought all the women’s heads around. Nicky, who had continued to try to shinny up the marble column that decorated the side of the fireplace, had gotten his hands on the china figure of a shepherdess and knocked it off. It lay in pieces on the slate hearth. “Oh, Nicky,” said Caroline. “I told you to stop.”

The nursemaid hurried forward and began pulling the boy away from the broken figurine. Nicky protested strenuously, howling at the top of his lungs and kicking out at her. As most of the women gathered in a loose circle around the struggling pair, Great-Aunt Celia’s penetrating voice was heard to remark, “Why doesn’t someone slap the child? In my day, we were taught to behave.”

“Nicky,” said Caroline. “Stop this at once or you will have to go upstairs and you will not get a macaroon.” She looked over her shoulder at Emma and another guest. “I promised him one from the tea tray.”

Nicky continued to howl.

“When we have children,” said a soft voice behind Emma, “they shall be shut in the nursery the moment they are born and not let out until they reach the age of reason.”

Emma turned to find that the gentlemen had joined them, and that Colin stood close by. Caroline’s husband was wading through the crowd toward his son. “Nicky is overexcited and tired out,” said Emma. “He should have been put to bed long ago. He seems to me too young to be brought down for an evening party.”

“You appear to have a solid grasp on these matters,” approved Colin. “I shall leave them completely in your hands.”

“Oh, no, you won’t,” answered Emma. “There are times when a father’s influence is vital. See how well Lord Wrotham is dealing with his son.”

His lordship had swept the little boy up into the air, stopping his howling with this surprise attack. He set him on his shoulder, where Nicky surveyed the room with blinking, reddened eyes. “Won’t be a moment,” said his lordship, striding toward the door with the nursemaid at his heels. “’Ware your head, Nick,” he added, ducking through the archway and into the hall.

“You see?” said Emma.

The howling started up again in the distance, fading as a door shut.

“Indeed,” replied Colin.

The tea tray arrived, and Caroline took her place behind it to pour. One of the young ladies seated herself at the piano and began to play softly. Colin received a preemptory summons from his great-aunt and went to sit at her side.

“Things are going rather well for you,” began the old woman in her usual no-nonsense manner. “Pleased with yourself, are you?”

“Modestly,” he answered, teasing her.

“Humph. She’s doing all right,” she added.

There was no need to ask who she meant. They both looked at Emma, who was talking amiably with one of the other guests.

“One thing, though.”

Colin raised an inquiring brow.

“Can’t you persuade her to get rid of that pirate, or whatever he is, who follows her about town?”

“Ferik?”

“No notion of the fellow’s name, but he’s causing talk. Foreigner. Odd-looking. Not a proper attendant for a baroness.” She fixed him with her gimlet eye. “Frightened Julia Winters out of her wits at Gunter’s, I hear.”

Colin returned her gaze unmoved. “I do not know the lady, but—”

“You wouldn’t like her,” interrupted his great-aunt. “Bird-witted, prone to hysterics. However…” She rapped her cane on the floor when Colin would have broken in, “a first-class gossip. Knows precisely how to tell a story. Damned entertaining.”

“I see.”

“Can’t you get rid of the man? Pension him off? Or at the least, find him some other position, so he’s not trailing around town after Emma?”

“He is her servant,” said Colin coolly. “It is not my decision.”

“What sort of nonsense is that? You’re the head of the household. Tell her there’s no place for him!”

“But there is. Ferik has been of… immeasurable service. He will not be turned off.”

“What sort of service?” demanded the old woman.

Colin was silent.

“Eh?” She glared at him. “What sort?”

“I’m not going to tell you,” he answered.

Great-Aunt Celia fixed him with the look that reduced most of the family to quivering jelly. Colin remained unmoved, and after a few moments, she gave it up. “I warned you,” she said petulantly then. “If you don’t want my help, there is of course nothing more to be said.”

“I am deeply grateful for the help you have given me. However, in this case, I cannot—”

“Oh, go away,” she said. “I suppose people will get used to the fellow in time. If you want to make things more difficult, that’s your lookout. Fetch Caroline. I wish to talk with someone more biddable.”

“Someone you can terrorize?” ventured Colin, as he rose to do as she asked.

“Don’t try to cajole me. I am quite displeased with you.”

“Then I shall take care to stay out of your way.” But he rested his hand briefly on her bent shoulder before going to give Caroline the bad news.

The remainder of the evening took a conventional course, with music and a hand of cards and a great deal of talk. As it neared eleven, most of the guests departed, and Colin and Emma were about to go when there was a sharp ring at the front door, then the sound of urgent voices in the hall. “What can this be?” wondered Caroline.

In the next instant, her mother erupted into the room. “Something dreadful has happened,” she cried. “I have just heard, and it will be all over London by morning.”

“What?” said Caroline. “Mother, your hair has fallen out of its pins.” This in itself was shocking. She had never seen her mother less than perfectly groomed.

Colin led his mother to a sofa against the wall. Lord Wrotham poured brandy into a glass and brought it to her.

“No, no,” said the dowager baroness. “I don’t want it. We must think what to do.”

“About what?” shrilled Caroline.

“I am trying to tell you,” was the acerbic reply. She fixed Emma with a glare that made the others turn and look at her as well. Mystified, Emma looked steadily back at her. “This afternoon, the Duke of Morland’s eldest daughter dressed herself in a white ball gown, arranged herself carefully on her bed, and took a dose of laudanum which she
may
have thought was enough to kill her,” Colin’s mother informed the group.

Emma felt cold apprehension spread through her.

“I say
may
, because she carefully arranged matters so that she was discovered almost immediately and revived,” she added. “She sent notes well ahead of time to three of her closest friends explaining the reasons for her ‘desperate’ action.”

The others were beginning to look puzzled. “That is terrible,” said Caroline. “But…”

“What has it to do with us?” her husband finished. “Dreadful thing, of course. Very sorry for the girl and her family…”

“The notes
said
,” declared the baroness in a loud, ominous voice, “that she wished to die because Colin had jilted her.”

“What?” exclaimed Colin.

“She also mentioned that she had encountered the new Baroness St. Mawr and that she could not bear to do so ever again.” She glared at Emma. “What did you do to her?”

Heads swiveled toward Emma.

“Jilted her?” said Colin. “I cannot even remember her.” He, too, was looking at Emma, recalling their conversation earlier in the day.

“Not remember her?” replied his mother in an outraged voice. “Not remember Lady Mary Dacre?”

He made an impatient gesture. “No doubt she was one of the many girls you threw at me.”

The dowager baroness walked over to him and stared belligerently up into his eyes. “Lady Mary Dacre,” she said, emphasizing her words with a forefinger jabbed into his chest, “is one of the girls you pretended to court in order to spite me. You took her driving, sent her flowers, danced with her. You must remember her!”

Colin backed up a step, looking slightly self-conscious. “I, er, courted a number of them,” he answered.

“Just to drive me mad,” responded his mother bitterly. “To raise my hopes, and then dash them.”

“To persuade you to stop meddling in my life,” retorted Colin. “And I think this Lady Mary must be mad. It was obvious I was not serious. None of the other chits thought I was.”

Balked of her prey, his mother turned to Emma. “And what about you? What did you do to the girl?”

“Nothing,” said Emma quietly. Everyone’s eyes were on her. “She was outside the house this morning. She accused me of stealing Colin from her, said he was about to offer for her when she had to go out of town.”

“Ridiculous,” said Colin.

When Lady Mary had promised to make her sorry, Emma thought, she had not imagined this kind of dramatic, public gesture. Emma realized that she was trembling.

“Obviously, the girl is unbalanced,” said Colin. “I am sorry for her, but it has nothing to do with us.”

“Nothing?” sputtered the baroness. “Don’t be an idiot. Half the people who hear this story will believe you jilted her to marry Emma, and that Emma then drove the chit to suicide. The rest will think it must be even worse than that.” Putting her fists to her cheeks, she groaned aloud. “And after the gossip about your marriage. The family will never recover from this.”