A Proper Companion (2 page)

* * *

The dowager continued to gaze out at the river.
Anyone else, anyone else at all, she thought. Why, even someone
like Emily would be a better choice. In fact, now that she thought
on it, Emily would be an excellent choice for Robert. She was
certainly beautiful, with her honey-gold coloring and patrician
bones, though she tried to hide behind plain, dark gowns and severe
hairstyles. She was, of course, no longer in her first blush of
youth, being all of six and twenty; but then, Robert was no young
pup, either. He would probably rub along better with a more mature
woman than with some naive debutante. As for Emily's background, it
was really quite respectable. Lady Bradleigh was one of the few
people who knew that Emily's mother had been the daughter of the
Earl of Pentwick. Despite the estrangement, the connection was
there and must be seen in Emily's favor. And even though her father
had been a Catholic, Emily had been raised by her mother in the
Anglican faith; so religion was not an issue. As for her lack of
fortune, it was only a minor concern, especially when a rich man
was involved.

Indeed, it had been the dowager's hope when she had
first employed Emily that she would be able to act as a matchmaker
and find Emily some nice gentleman in Bath with whom she could
settle down. Unfortunately eligible bachelors did not abound in
Bath. Even so, Emily had from the first shown a strong
disinclination for such maneuvers. The dowager had sensed her
discomfort and had thereafter ceased to make an effort. She had,
however, developed a deep affection for Emily during the past year.
In fact, she already thought of Emily as family, so it required no
great leap of the imagination to see her as Robert's wife. Ah,
well, she thought, it was only a foolish daydream. Robert would
never stoop to notice a paid companion. Nevertheless, she knew that
there must be other more acceptable debs on the market this Season.
She must find one to take his attention away from the Windhurst
girl.

There was, of course, the minor detail of Robert's
betrothal. He would be honor-bound to go through with the marriage,
unless Miss Windhurst cried off. Although a woman always had the
option of canceling an engagement, a gentleman was committed once
an offer was made. Their blasted gentleman's code of honor did not
allow a man to back down, regardless of the circumstances. Those
few men who defied that code of honor and jilted their fiancées
were completely ostracized from Society.

So, mused the dowager, she must take it upon herself
to somehow get the Windhurst chit to cry off. How that could be
done need not be determined as yet. The first order of business was
to get to London.

"Emily," she suddenly declared, "pack your bags. We
are going to London."

* * *

A knock on the morning room door interrupted
whatever response Emily might have offered, as Barnes, the
imperious butler, opened the door. "His Lordship, the Earl of
Bradleigh," he announced.

Emily looked up to see the earl as he stood framed
in the doorway. She sucked in her breath as she gazed at one of the
handsomest men she had ever seen. He was quite tall and broad of
shoulder, fairly dwarfing the elderly Barnes. His dark chestnut
brown hair fell in a deep wave over one brow. He was still covered
with the dust of the road, which, together with the mischievous
gleam in his brown eyes and his boyish grin, gave him an appearance
more youthful than his thirty-five years.

He had relinquished his greatcoat to Barnes along
with his curly brimmed beaver. Though slightly ruffled from the
drive, he nevertheless appeared quite appealing in his dark blue
superfine coat of impeccable cut, buckskin breeches, and top boots.
His cravat was simply tied and his shirtpoints were conservatively
low. Although he obviously patronized an excellent tailor, his
dress spoke more of comfort than of high fashion.

Emily stared openly at this man of whom she had
heard so many tales. He was no doubt handsome enough for a rake,
but there was also a certain boyishness about him which was most
appealing.

"My dear boy!" exclaimed the dowager as she
stretched out her arms to her grandson. In two quick long strides
Lord Bradleigh was at her side, clasped her to him in a fierce bear
hug, and then swung her through the air like a young girl.

"Put me down, you fool! I am an old woman!" she
snapped, although her eyes gleamed with delight.

Lord Bradleigh returned his grandmother to earth and
planted an affectionate kiss upon her cheek. "Old woman?" He
grinned. "Ha! You are forever young, my dear heart. You look
wonderful."

"You have not lost your charm, I see." The dowager
glared up at him, still somewhat breathless. Without warning her
eyes darkened, and she reached up and soundly boxed his ears. "How
dare you!" she said.

Completely startled, Lord Bradleigh stammered,
"W-what is this?" while he rubbed his stinging ears.

"As if you did not know. Emily, show him."

Emily had observed the unusual scene with amusement.
Failing to completely suppress a smile, she offered the
Gazette
to Lord Bradleigh.

He turned, and for the first time noticed Emily's
presence. He hesitated a brief instant as his eyes caught hers,
full of amusement but with a hint of caution. He turned to the
dowager with a questioning look.

"I beg your pardon, my dear," she said. "This is my
companion. Miss Emily Townsend. Emily, this is my impudent and
surprisingly foolish grandson, Lord Bradleigh."

Lord Bradleigh turned to Emily and bowed. "Your
servant, Miss Townsend."

Emily nodded and dipped a tiny curtsy. "Lord
Bradleigh." She smiled as she held out the crumpled
Gazette
.
He returned her smile with a look in his eye that caused her knees
almost to buckle as he took the newspaper from her hand.
So
that's what it's like
, she thought
, to be stared at by a
rake
. It was a most unsettling experience.

Lord Bradleigh glanced down at the
Gazette
,
and his eyes immediately caught the announcement of his betrothal.
"Oh," he said blankly.

Clearly he hadn't yet seen the announcement, though
he did not appear entirely surprised. A fleeting expression of
irritation crossed his face. Emily guessed that his unexpected
visit to Bath was to let his grandmother, the Cameron family
matriarch, know of his plans, and he would not be pleased that his
future in-laws did not have the courtesy to wait until the Cameron
family had been informed before sending an announcement to the
papers.

Or was she reading too much into a momentarily
furrowed brow, and making hasty judgments based on the dowager's
low opinion of the Windhurst family?

"Oh? Is that all you have to say, Robert?
Oh
?"

Emily tensed as the dowager bellowed. This was
likely to be a very uncomfortable conversation.

"Please sit down, Grandmother, Miss Townsend." Lord
Bradleigh led the dowager to a small settee by the window.
Charlemagne scrambled up on her lap. The earl reached down and
tickled him behind the ears.
"
Bonjour, mon petit carlin. Veilles-tu sur ma
grand'mère
?" he
whispered to the pug.

Emily smiled at this gesture. Everyone who was
acquainted with the dowager was quickly made to learn that the pug
must be addressed in French, as the dowager was convinced he
comprehended only his native tongue.

Despite her curiosity about Lord Bradleigh, she had
no desire to be a part of what was sure to be an awkward meeting.
This was a family matter and none of her concern. She excused
herself to allow the dowager privacy with her grandson, saying that
she must speak with Mrs. Dougherty, the housekeeper, about
arranging rooms for the earl. She would also have fresh tea sent
up.

* * *

After Emily departed, the dowager turned to her
favorite grandson. "So. Are you ready to explain this proposed
mésalliance
?"

The earl grinned. "Now, dear love, do not be so
quick to judge."

"You have not developed a grand passion for the
chit, have you?"

"No, of course not."

"Then you lost another one of your silly wagers and
were forced to make an offer?"

"No."

"Good God. You compromised her!"

"No!"

"Well, then, what?" the dowager asked, her hands
flying up in exasperation. "You never even mentioned you had
intentions of marrying, though God knows I have wished it for ages.
After all, you have been on the town for years and years, with
mamas throwing their daughters in your path since you inherited
your title. What brought about this sudden capitulation, my
boy?"

"Nothing very extraordinary, my dear," the earl
replied. "But you are right. I have been on the town for too many
Seasons. As you are well aware, it was my disgust—no, indeed my
terror—of those mamas you mention that has caused me to avoid the
parson's mousetrap at all costs."

He paused as Barnes brought in a fresh pot of tea
along with slices of plum cake and tiny apricot tarts. The dowager
poured a cup of tea and handed it to the earl. He took a
restorative swallow.

"I recently celebrated my thirty-fifth birthday, as
you know," he continued. "And I suddenly realized that I could now
legitimately be considered middle-aged." His mouth twisted in
distaste. "I concluded that it was time to finally take that
dreaded and long- avoided plunge into matrimony in order to produce
an heir."

"At last!"

"Just so. As you know, I have never experienced a
serious emotional attachment to any woman, at least since the age
of seventeen. Once I had determined to marry, I was therefore not
very particular in my criteria for a bride. I required only that
she be young enough to bear my children, have a respectable
background, a spotless reputation, and at least passable
looks."

"That's it?" the dowager squeaked. "Why, any number
of women could have answered those requirements."

'True. The field was wide open, in fact, despite my
... er... reputation. But then I realized that I would prefer that
she not be a giggler or a chatterbox. That eliminates half the
Season's crop. And I cannot abide a watering pot. You see how the
field narrows. And I would have no patience with a clinging vine.
So now very few candidates remain. I would especially prefer that
she be practical and businesslike in approaching marriage. I would
be most uncomfortable with a female who fell head over heels in
love with me when I know I could never reciprocate such depth of
feeling. I wanted a woman who could accept me on those terms
without reproach. And I believe I have found just such a one.

"For the first time in my adult life I decided to
take a serious look at what the Season had to offer. You will be
astonished to know that I even went so far as to grace Almack's
with my noble presence. You know how I hate that place and its
self-righteous patronesses. But it was actually at Almack's that I
first met Miss Windhurst. Augusta."

He paused to take a sip of tea, then continued. "She
is nineteen years old, and her background, on her father's side at
least, is unexceptionable. She also happens to be very
beautiful."

The dowager nodded. "I am not so removed from
Society that I am unaware Miss Windhurst is this Season's
Incomparable."

"Yes, she exceeds all my requirements in that
respect. An added bonus, so to speak. She is also elegant, cool,
and supremely aloof. I have no apprehension about her
sensibilities. She does not giggle, chatter, whimper, swoon, or
cling. She suits my requirements down to the last peg, so I lost no
time in paying court to her. We have been much in each other's
company during the last month. Two days ago I spoke with her
father, who gave me permission to pay my addresses to her." He then
reached over and took his grandmother's hand. "I am truly sorry, my
dear, that you had to learn of my betrothal through the
Gazette
. I had every intention of breaking the news to you
myself. Indeed, I have come to Bath for just that purpose. I assure
you, I had no idea the announcement would be made public so
soon."

"No doubt," Lady Bradleigh said with a sneer. "I
suspect, however, that your future mother-in-law was anxious to
make everyone in the
ton
aware of her great good luck in
settling her daughter as a countess. What a triumph for her!"

Lord Bradleigh's face became grim, although his eyes
twinkled with amusement. "Now, Grandmother. You must try to
maintain a civil tongue when discussing my betrothed. Oh, I know
what you think of Lady Windhurst, but, after all, she's not the one
I'm going to marry. Augusta is cut from a different cloth
altogether. She will make a fine countess." He squeezed her hand.
"I had hoped for your blessing," he crooned in his most seductive
tone.

The dowager jerked her hand from his clasp. "Do not
go trying to turn me up sweet. You cannot wrap me around your
finger like all your other women. You have my blessing. But I give
it grudgingly and only because I do not see that I have a choice. I
am not happy with this arrangement, Robert. In the first place, I
still strongly object to having Lady Windhurst thrust into our
family circle. The woman is not to be tolerated. Secondly, I take
exception to this cold, calculating way in which you have
apparently chosen your bride. I suspect that you will regret your
heartless business arrangement in years to come. Have you no desire
for an affectionate, loving relationship at the center of your
life? Do you not think it is worth waiting until you find a woman
with whom you can share such a relationship?"

"You presume too much, Grandmother," the earl said,
scowling. "I have been immune to Cupid's arrow for thirty-five
years, and it is unlikely that I will succumb at this stage in my
career. Besides, I do not have the time, or the inclination, to
wait for such a miracle."