The Marriage Wager (30 page)

“Jane and Eliza think I made the whole thing up!” Lady Mary was saying indignantly. “They don’t believe St. Mawr ever showed any special interest in me at all.” Her pretty face set in petulant lines, she added, “Alice isn’t sure. Not
sure
! How can they treat me so? They are supposed to be my
best
friends
.”

Emma murmured something noncommittal.

“If they were
truly
my friends, they wouldn’t doubt my word,” said the other fiercely. “I won’t have
anything
to do with them after this.”

“I suppose it’s a matter of perspective,” said Emma. “People have different views—”

“Friends don’t
have
perspectives,” interrupted Lady Mary. “They are supposed to be on your side no matter what. Did
you
think people were your friends when they told you not to marry your first husband?”

Emma caught her breath, her attention firmly captured at last. The girl’s effrontery was amazing.

“Well, did you?”

She was like one of those small dogs that looked fluffy and harmless, and then fastened its teeth into you with mindless fury, Emma thought. “No,” she admitted.

“There, you
see
!” said the girl.

“And I was very, very sorry,” Emma added, half to herself. She had never been sorrier than right now, as the mistakes of the past threatened to wreck her future.

“Why?” Lady Mary stared at her with wide, china-blue eyes that were completely devoid of tact.

“Because they were right,” Emma replied curtly. “He was a hopeless gamester. He cared for nothing but the tables, and himself.”

“You mean he didn’t love you?”

“No,” said Emma, prepared to be rude if this went on much longer.

“So you cared for someone who did not love you, either,” was the response. The thought seemed to give Lady Mary a great deal of satisfaction.

Emma simply looked at her.

“Of course, St. Mawr is not a gamester. I suppose he is a rather admirable person.” The girl was tentative, as if she had never considered such a question before.

Emma said nothing.

“So
I
chose better than you,” said the girl complacently.

There was something almost awe-inspiring about this level of self-absorption, thought Emma.

“And also, I shan’t have to endure
years
of unhappiness. I daresay the gossip will die down soon.” Lady Mary turned to contemplate her once more with those wide, merciless eyes. “So, you are not some perfect creature who has always had everything her own way.”

Startled, she shook her head.

“And you are not trying to make me look clumsy and ridiculous in comparison to you.”

“Why would I do that?” said Emma, shocked at the idea.

“Oh, people do,” said Lady Mary. She threw Emma a sidelong glance that suggested she knew far too much about this topic, and perhaps not all of it from the side of wounded virtue.

“Vulgar, hateful people,” said Emma firmly.

“Well, but—”

The drawing room door opened and the footman announced Robin Bellingham, who strolled in on his heels.

Emma’s brother wore an ensemble so fashionable that he could scarcely move in it. His heavily starched collar points framed his face like a white basket, and clearly made turning his head next to impossible. His neckcloth rose in snowy waves that looked to Emma as if they might strangle him at any moment. The excessive padding in his coat made his stance stiff. Only his fawn pantaloons, stretching smoothly over a creditable pair of legs, accommodated themselves to his movements. When he had made his bow to Emma, he had to turn his entire torso to look at the rest of the room. “You here?” he said rudely when he noticed Lady Mary.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” answered the girl, bristling.

“Well, I’d think that was obvious,” he said.

“Robin! Could I speak to you?” interrupted Emma. “A matter of family business,” she told Lady Mary as she drew him into the far corner of the room. Robin threw a smug look over his shoulder. The girl stuck out her tongue.

Emma had meant to confer with Robin and explain everything before Lady Mary arrived, a plan that was thwarted by the girl’s early appearance. Now, she hurriedly explained everything to her brother in a low voice, ending with a plea for his help and support. “I would be so grateful,” she finished.

Robin preened a little.

“Of course, it means being polite to Lady Mary,” Emma warned, “and appearing to be her friend.”

When Robin looked mulish, she added, “Or at least an amiable acquaintance.”

Robin turned an unenthusiastic eye on the girl. She glared back at him as if he had leered. “But will she be polite to me?” he wondered.

“It is a great deal to ask, I know,” soothed Emma. “But I have faith in you.”

“You do?” He seemed startled by the idea.

“Yes. I think you are capable of great things in the right cause,” she assured him.

Robin stood straighter. Despite the stiffness of his shirtfront, he pushed out his chest. “I’ll do it!”

“I knew I could count on you,” replied Emma, relieved that her plan for Robin seemed to be working. She would keep him occupied and far from the gaming tables. At least she could save
him
from ruin, she thought. “You will escort us to the Royal Academy, then?”

“Pictures?” Robin balked.

“All the
ton
is going to see the new exhibition of paintings. It seemed a good place to show ourselves.”

He still looked mutinous.

“Everyone I meet is talking about it,” she added. “I feel positively Gothic, not having been.”

“All the crack, is it?” Robin frowned over this, then gave in. “I suppose I can look at a few pictures.”

“Splendid.” Emma moved back toward Lady Mary. “Are you ready to go?” she asked.

“
He
isn’t coming with us?” complained the younger girl.

“He is my brother, and I wish him to come,” answered Emma gently.

Robin gave Lady Mary a smug smile. She wrinkled her nose and sneered at him.

Climbing into Emma’s elegant barouche, Robin and Lady Mary argued about who would take the forward seat. Lady Mary claimed that any
gentleman
would not hesitate to face backward to accommodate ladies. Robin maintained that a proper, modest deb would offer to take the less comfortable place, not wishing to thrust herself forward.

Lady Mary won that round by the simple expedient of plopping down in the seat and spreading her skirts around her, giving Robin a look that was both triumphant and defiant. However, Robin got his own back when Lady Mary attempted to direct the coachman to the Royal Academy. He subjected her proposed route to severe, and justified, ridicule and substituted a better one with an annoying superior air.

They were the same age, Emma realized, both just barely out of the schoolroom. And they brought out the lingering childishness in each other. With a tiny bit less control, it might have come to hair-pulling and shoving and shrieks for mother to mediate. She sighed quietly.

At the academy, Robin offered Emma his arm with exaggerated politeness. Lady Mary sniffed and walked through the doors ahead of them, her head high. “We are friends on an outing together,” Emma reminded them. “We are having a pleasant time.”

Lady Mary smiled, and as before, it transformed her conventionally pretty face. Robin blinked in surprise at the change, and then seemed to have difficulty looking away for quite some time.

“Is that the best you can do?” hissed Lady Mary through her teeth. “You don’t look happy. You look poleaxed.”

Robin smiled at her.

He also had a beautiful smile, Emma thought. In fact, with his pale coloring and silly, dandyish clothes, you didn’t notice precisely how handsome a lad he was until he smiled. Oddly, it made him look more masculine and assured, too.

It was Lady Mary’s turn to be startled. Her eyes widened and her lips opened a little, as if something completely unexpected had jumped out in her path. She examined Robin with more care, and seemed to find something of interest in the survey.

“I suppose we must make a show of looking at these pictures,” Robin said. But this time he offered his arm to Lady Mary.

Emma, in her turn, smiled as they walked into the gallery together.

But the lift in her mood was brief.

“There is that man we met in the park,” Lady Mary commented five minutes later. “The one you were so shockingly rude to.”

Robin turned to stare, looking startled at this accusation of his extremely well-mannered sister.

Emma turned as well, and her heart sank as she found Count Orsino approaching them with a broad smile. He had to be keeping watch on her house and following her, she thought with a tremor of fear. His constant appearances could not be mere coincidence. He was purposefully tormenting her. “Turn around,” she urged, taking Lady Mary’s free arm. “I don’t wish to meet him.”

The girl pulled away. “I do. He’s interesting. Good day, Count,” she added in a louder voice.

Orsino took off his low-crowned beaver hat and gave the group a bow. “Ladies,” he said, coming toward them, “you outshine the work of the artists around you.”

Lady Mary giggled.

“Are you enjoying the display?” he continued as he joined their group.

“We just got here,” the girl replied.

“Indeed? I am fortunate. Perhaps you will allow me to take you round. I have some knowledge of art.” He offered his arm.

To Emma’s intense annoyance, Lady Mary took it. “I told my father I had met someone from Italy,” she said. “He spent the whole evening recalling his journey there.”

Orsino smiled down at her. “Should I offer you my abject apologies for being the cause of this reminiscence?”

She giggled again.

“We already have an escort, Count,” said Emma a bit desperately. “So we will not require your services.” When he turned and looked inquiring, she cursed herself, for this forced her to introduce Robin to the man.

“Young Bellingham?” was the response. “But I have heard of you, have I not? Someone was telling me that if I wished to know just how to get on in London, I would do well to model myself on Robin Bellingham.”

Robin goggled at him, then flushed. “Me?”

“Yes, indeed. And I can certainly see why. Would you consider it an impertinence if I asked who made that waistcoat?”

Robin’s answering smile was like a knife through Emma’s heart. Her brother was far too young and inexperienced to see through this kind of blatant flattery. And he so wished to be seen as a pink of the
ton
. The look the count threw over his shoulder as the three of them moved away from her made it clear that he knew exactly what she was thinking and was enjoying her anguish thoroughly.

She had to get them away from him! Emma looked around the gallery. She saw no one she knew well. Short of dragging her two young companions out by force, she didn’t see what she could do.

“Where are you staying in London?” Lady Mary was asking when she caught up with them.

“Alas, I find myself in the clutches of one Mrs. Groat, who provides apartments for travelers. Quite a terrifying woman. I fear I’ve made a poor choice of lodgings. Last night I heard most suspicious sounds in the wall. Unless I am mistaken, there are rats.”

“Ooh,” replied Lady Mary with a shudder.

Orsino shot Emma a meaningful glance. For one horrified moment, she thought he was going to mention that she had been to his lodgings, then he turned away again with a smug smile. He was vile, Emma thought, as she unclenched her fists—despicable, ruthless, inexorable. What was she going to do?

***

Colin was spending his morning in quite different pursuits. He had by no means forgotten Count Orsino’s intrusion into their theater party, nor his feeling that he should find out something about the fellow. It was not difficult to identify him; a few well-placed questions at his club soon uncovered a name, for the count had been making determined efforts to force himself upon English society. But no one seemed to know anything more—beyond a general impression that there was something unsavory about the man.

However, Colin had a good deal of influence and many contacts around the city of London, and he used all of these powers now to investigate the history and character of Count Julio Orsino. His hunt led him in many directions and into very different locations.

He spent a profitable hour in a tiny, dark office in the warren of streets near Saint Paul’s Cathedral, with a sinister man named, implausibly, Smith. Mr. Smith’s business was knowing everything, or at the very least being able to find it out within a very short time. He provided Colin with some very shrewd observations about Orsino and his habits, and why he was in London. His predictions of the man’s future plans did not make for pleasant hearing.

Colin spoke to acquaintances in the army. He called at the Italian embassy and spent a cordial couple of hours with an official there who agreed to a speedy search of his government’s records in return for certain future favors. In an English government office, Colin spoke with an old school friend and, between reminiscences, got a promise that he would make inquiries through official channels. Finally, Colin interviewed the proprietors of a several exclusive gambling establishments, who were known to have a broad web of contacts among their counterparts abroad.

In the end, as information about the count began to accumulate, Colin’s uneasiness turned to dread. The man was not a simple gamester. He had been involved in a hundred shady enterprises and unsavory transactions. There was a suspicion, unproven, that he had been a source for the white slave trade during his time in Constantinople. There were dark rumors of murder. Colin was appalled that Emma should even be acquainted with such a man.

But she was. The life she had been forced to lead had put her in contact with a variety of dangerous individuals. He recalled her story of her first encounter with Ferik and shuddered slightly. He found that his fists were clenched. It was fortunate that Tarrant was dead, because otherwise he would have been forced to kill him, he thought somewhat illogically.