The Marriage Wager (23 page)

“Yes?”

“If I did something that you didn’t quite like, that… annoyed you…” She stopped. She didn’t think he would like her plan at all, so she did not intend to tell him about it until it was well under way. But keeping it from him was a bit uncomfortable.

“Like what?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know.” She wished she hadn’t brought it up.

“Then neither do I,” he replied. “If you took a lover, I would wring your neck.”

“Colin!”

“But if you, oh, quarreled with the cook so that she left us, I would merely beat you a little and send you to the kitchen in her place.”

“And I would poison you at your next meal!”

He chuckled softly. “What mischief are you planning?”

“None.” It wasn’t mischief to save him from the vulgar tongues of gossips, Emma thought. But she couldn’t rid herself of that nagging uneasiness.

“Then we needn’t worry our minds over the question.”

“No,” Emma said softly. “I’m sure there is nothing to worry about.”

***

Colin rose early the next morning to ride in the park. He preferred the place soon after dawn, when all the fashionable promenaders who would crowd it later were still safely in bed and out of his way. Then, he could almost imagine himself at Trevallan, with miles of open country around him and the possibility of riding as long as he liked without encountering any simpering gossips or insincere heartiness. Had the war spoiled him for London? he wondered as he urged his mount to a gallop in the silent, empty parkland. Not really, he concluded. He had never been much taken with the city, despite his mother’s love of it. How he would have liked to remain in Cornwall, he thought, his heart lifting at the idea. Then he remembered recent events. If they ran from the wagging tongues and malicious stares, the
ton
would consider the worst confirmed, and Emma’s chances of taking her proper position in society would be ruined. Scowling, Colin turned his horse back toward home. He would have to call on his mother, he supposed, and find a way to combat the gossip. He would far rather have faced a line of French infantry, bayonets at the ready, than deal with this, he thought.

Striding into his own drawing room a little later, still holding his riding crop, Colin found not Emma but a young girl dressed all in black who sprang to her feet as soon as she saw him. “Good morning,” he said politely.

“I am not here by my own will,” she exclaimed dramatically. Her large blue eyes bored into him. Her lower lip trembled. She brought one small gloved hand to her breast.

Startled, Colin blinked.

“I would never,
never
have intruded upon your household after what has passed between us, but my mother and your”—she choked artistically—“your wife have fixed it all between them.
I
was not consulted.”

“Er…” temporized Colin, playing for time.

“I
know
,” she declared. “It is excruciating. But others do not possess the same depth of emotion as we do, you see. So they have no
idea
what it is like.”

Suddenly, he realized who she was. “Good God,” he said.

She nodded as if he had expressed something profound.

Colin looked around, hoping to discover some other member of his household nearby.

“I cannot help my feelings,” she was continuing, “but I shall not
embarrass
you by expressing them.” Belying her words, she gazed at him longingly and twisted a handkerchief in her hands. “You have made your choice,” she added, in a voice that throbbed with the emotion of an opera singer. “We shall not speak of regrets, or mistakes.” She moved a step closer. “Although
I
shall never recover,” she finished in a piercing whisper.

Colin took a step backward.

She followed. “I think you
might
tell me, however, what you found lacking in
me
that—”

“Excuse me a moment,” he muttered, backing out of the room.

“Can you not bear it?” she asked, trailing after him. “I do not know how I am doing so myself. My mother says women are the stronger, but I do not think—”

“Must go,” said Colin hurriedly. “Duties.”

“Duty.” She sighed. “We are all of us terribly constrained by duty, are we not? My mother says it is my duty to be here, but—”

Colin turned and fled.

“It is
terribly
hard, seeing one another again,” murmured the girl, as if someone was still there to hear, or as if she was composing an anecdote to entertain a sympathetic audience. “To come face to face, alone, with no one to hinder us from opening our hearts to one another. And yet duty prevented it.” She sighed again, heartrendingly.

Encountering the footman in the hall, Colin demanded, “Where is her ladyship?”

“I believe she is upstairs, getting ready to go out, my lord,” John replied, a bit startled at his master’s savage tone.

“Thank you,” Colin replied, and started up the steps two at a time.

John rolled his eyes and went to inform the staff that their master was in a taking about something.

“Emma!” said Colin when he burst into her bedchamber and found her at her dressing table. “The Morland chit is in our drawing room.”

Emma turned with a smile despite the sudden acceleration of her pulse. Lady Mary had arrived early, and she had been confident they would be out of the house before Colin returned home. “Yes, I know.”

“What in blazes is she doing there?” Remembering the encounter, he shuddered. “It’s clear the girl really is suffering from some form of mental disturbance. I suppose we should pity her.” He grimaced. “I find it difficult to do so. She spoke to me in the oddest way. And the look she gave me, Emma, was enough to freeze one’s blood.”

“She is somewhat upset because—”

“She?” He turned back toward the door. “To have the effrontery to come here. It shows what a disturbed state she must be in. I’ll get John to escort her home, and I’ll send along a note to Morland, by God, telling him—”

“No, wait,” said Emma. “You can’t. We… we are going driving in the park.”

“As soon as she is gone, we will do so,” he replied.

“No,” she said again. “I mean, Lady Mary and I are going.”

“What?”

“I arranged for her to go driving with me, because—”

“With you?” he exploded. “After the things she has said? Have you gone mad as well? The chit has spread the most insulting rumors about both of us, and you wish to take her for a drive?”

“But don’t you see, that’s just it. If she is seen to be friends with me, people will be much less likely to believe the stories they hear.”

Colin came back into the center of the room and frowned down at her.

“It is a plan I conceived, to prevent a scandal,” she continued. And to save you from the whispers and the doubts, she added to herself.

Colin’s frown had eased only a little. “You mean to make a show of being friends with Lady Mary Dacre?” he echoed, as if making certain he understood.

“Yes,” replied Emma brightly.

“And you believe this will convince the gossips that the rumors are untrue?”

“What will they be able to say, if we face them down with coolness and determination?” she replied.

“Full frontal assault?” he suggested. “Sabers drawn and don’t spare the horses?”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “I suppose that is one way of putting it,” she acknowledged.

Colin considered in silence.

“Your mother thought it a good plan,” Emma added.

“Did she?” Was his mother playing a double game? Colin wondered. But no, she wouldn’t risk it with something as serious as this. He tapped his leg with his riding crop, not pleased but not seeing any real objection he could make. “Are you sure the chit has agreed to this?” he asked, recalling some of her disjointed remarks to him.

“Well, not entirely,” said Emma. “But the duchess, her mother, was taken with the idea. I’m sure Lady Mary will come round.”

Colin raised one dark brow. “Are you?”

“She will see that it saves her from being the center of a scandal.”

“And if she wishes to be?”

“To be what?” said Emma, confused.

Colin shook his head. It seemed to him that Lady Mary Dacre wanted very much to be the center of something. And a scandal would do if that was the only choice.

“I don’t understand.” Rising from her dressing table, ready to go out, Emma cocked her head at him.

But he said only, “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“How else can we stop this gossip?” inquired Emma. “Do you have a better plan?” She was quite ready to hear it, she thought. Her contacts with Lady Mary so far had not made her eager for more.

“No,” answered Colin slowly. He gazed at Emma, fresh and lovely in a gray morning dress with blue piping. He hated the thought of scandal touching her, and even more of her being rejected by the leaders of fashionable society. Remembering the drunken innuendoes at his club, he clenched his fists at his sides. Something had to be done. “Oh, very well,” he conceded. “I hope you do not expect me to accompany you, however.”

“No.” Emma smiled at him. “I do not think that advisable.”

“Wise,” he replied. “Are you really set on this, Emma?”

“I see no other way,” she answered, determined to save him.

“I can’t think of one just now,” he admitted, thinking only of her.

Their eyes met and held, full of feeling. Each of them wondered just what the other was thinking to make that gaze so intense.

“I… I must go,” said Emma.

Silently, he held the door for her to walk through.

***

In the drawing room, Emma found Lady Mary flipping impatiently through an album of engravings. She looked pale and pretty in her black gown and dark, frilled bonnet, but her expression was extremely petulant. “I am here only because Mama made me come,” she said as soon as Emma appeared. “I do not wish to go driving with you, or anywhere with you.”

Emma bit back a sharp rebuke. “You wish to plunge Colin into a scandal, then?” she asked mildly. “Perhaps you would like to see him disgraced, as your revenge?”

“I would never do
anything
to hurt him!” exclaimed Lady Mary, her seemingly mild blue eyes suddenly blazing.

Emma refrained from pointing out that accusing him of jilting her, and making a show of ending her life as a result, hardly supported this assertion. “But will you do something to help him?” she asked pointedly.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” was the sullen reply. “Even though every
moment
I have to spend with you will grate horribly on my nerves and deeply offend my sensibilities.” She glared at Emma. “I shall pretend to be your friend for
his
sake,” she finished dramatically, “but I shall not really
be
your friend.”

“Thank God for that,” muttered Emma under her breath. But aloud she said only, “Agreed.”

On the short drive to the park, where it would now be the height of the fashionable hour of promenade, they were silent. Lady Mary scowled out one side of the barouche, while Emma gazed in the opposite direction. This was going to be more difficult than she’d realized when she formed the plan, she thought. She wanted nothing more than to shake her companion thoroughly and return her to her home. However, this was for Colin, she reminded herself. At the gates of the park, she said, “If this is to work, you must try to look happier.”

Lady Mary turned her scowl on Emma. She looked rather like Caroline’s son Nicky when he was forbidden to climb on the mantelshelf, Emma thought. Another carriage was coming up behind them as they turned in, and for a moment Emma despaired. Then Lady Mary straightened in her seat, put her shoulders well back, and smiled.

Emma blinked. The smile changed the girl’s doll-like face, giving it human character and warmth. It made Emma think there might be something worthwhile under the petulance after all.

“Like this?” said Lady Mary through her teeth.

Emma’s spark of interest guttered out. “Precisely,” she snapped, smiling herself in a way that could scarcely be completely convincing, she thought.

They drove into the crowded avenues of the park and began to pass the carriages, mounts, and walking parties of the
haut
ton
. Within minutes, they became a center of attention, and people began to whisper and, very discreetly, point them out.

“Will
he
be here?” asked Lady Mary through her fixed smile.

The way she said “he” made it clear she meant Colin. “No,” replied Emma.

“I suppose you will keep him from me through this charade,” said the girl. “Perhaps it is just as well. It was
terribly
hard, seeing him this morning.” She heaved a great sigh through her steadfast smile. “I could tell he felt it, too.” She clasped her black-gloved hands together.

Playacting, thought Emma savagely. She longed to tell the chit that Colin had wanted her thrown out of the house.

“
Why
did he choose you instead of me?” demanded Lady Mary passionately then. “It makes no sense.”

Since Emma had no intention of trying to answer such a question, she was grateful to the beady-eyed old countess who hailed them from her carriage just then and pulled up to exchange greetings. She was even more relieved when the girl played the part assigned her as they dismissed the rumors as mistakes and exaggerations. The countess took in all they had to say with avid interest; whether she believed it or not, Emma couldn’t tell.

“That stupid stuff will not do for Jane and Alice and Eliza,” Lady Mary said when the woman drove off.

After a moment, Emma remembered that these were the friends to whom she had sent her “farewell” notes. “You will have to speak to them personally,” she agreed.

“I shall tell them the truth,” declared Lady Mary with a toss of her head.

“Good,” answered Emma. “Then you will tell them that you were mistaken about Colin’s intentions, that you mistook politeness for love, that you somehow did not notice that he paid equal attentions to a dozen other girls and roused hopes in none of them. You will apologize for your behavior and ask that they mention the incident to no one.”