A Proper Companion (20 page)

Robert stayed for the requisite thirty minutes,
listening to Augusta prattle on about nothing in particular, and
took his leave. The sapphire brooch remained in his pocket.

* * *

Meanwhile, the morning room at Bradleigh House, more
sedately furnished in polished mahogany and rose silk damask, was
crowded with afternoon visitors come to pay respects to the
dowager. Against her better judgment, Emily had been convinced to
take a seat directiy next to her employer, rather than hang along
the wall or in a far corner as was her usual practice.

"Mark my words, my girl," the dowager had said,
clasping Emily firmly by the arm and steering her to a chair in the
center of the room, "many an interfering old tabby will attempt to
find out what happened between you and Lord Pentwick last night.
Most, thank goodness, know little more than that he somehow
insulted you and that Robert squelched the entire incident with a
proper setdown. But you can be sure that the curious, on the scent
of potential gossip, will be trying to entice the full tale out of
one of us."

The dowager arranged herself on a sofa and coaxed
Charlemagne onto her lap. He sat up and playfully licked at her
face, and in return she nuzzled his nose with her own, cooing
French endearments. Emily regarded her employer with affection. The
sight of that long, powdered aristocratic nose rubbing up against
the tiny black pug nose brought a smile to Emily's hps. Watching
her play with Charlemagne, the often blunt, sometimes
sharp-tongued, and almost always arrogant old woman appeared
positively girlish. But when she looked back up at Emily, the usual
steely determination was once again in evidence.

"You must stick by my side, my dear," she said, "and
let me direct the conversation. Not that I don't trust you, you
understand. It's just that you have no experience with Society's
vultures, who can take the tiniest morsel of information and turn
it into a juicy tidbit. Leave everything to me, my girl."

Emily had been glad to do so. In fact, the dowager
could not have more accurately predicted the direction the
afternoon would take than if she had used a gypsy's crystal ball.
The interrogation began with the first visitor and continued almost
to the last.

"Ah, Miss Townsend. Wasn't that Lord Pentwick I saw
you speaking with last night?"

"My dear Miss Townsend, whatever did Lord Bradleigh
say to Lord Pentwick before he whisked you off onto the dance
floor?"

"Miss Townsend, you simply must tell us what Lord
Pentwick said to you."

"Everyone knows, my dear, that Bradleigh does not
offer such a setdown lightly. What on earth prompted him?"

"You may be unaware, Miss Townsend, that Pentwick's
considered something of a bounder. How is it that he came to be
speaking to you in the first place?"

It was marvelous to observe how deftly the dowager
was able to deflect all such inquiries toward some completely
unrelated topic without providing any information at all, and yet
without seeming the least rude. There was help from an unexpected
quarter as well. Lord Sedgewick arrived midway through the
afternoon and remained attentive to Emily throughout his short
visit. Even before his departure the attitudes of many of the other
callers had warmed, and most ceased their insistent probing
altogether. As she watched him leave, the dowager leaned over and
put her lips near Emily's ear as she appeared to be reaching for
the teapot.

"Good man, Sedgewick," she whispered. "He is
well-regarded among the
ton
. His attentions will not go
unnoticed."

His attentions were not unnoticed by Emily, either.
Before his departure he had solicited a promise to drive with him
in the park later in the week. Emily was feeling quite flushed by
everyone's attention, but most especially Lord Sedgewick's. It was
an entirely new experience to her, with the small exception of last
evening's debacle, to be the focus of
anyone'
s attention.
Though the sort of fascination she held for most of today's
visitors caused her nothing but mortification, Lord Sedgewick's
regard was most pleasurable.

She wondered if the rest of her stay in London would
go on as it had begun. Heavens, but that was a daunting thought.
How would she be able to endure her own increasing popularity? she
thought with a faint smile.

Finally all of the guests save one had departed.
Lady Dunholm was a particular friend of the dowager's and made no
pretense of adhering to the socially correct half-hour visit. She
had waited for the other guests to leave with the specific intent
of having a comfortable and private coze with her good friend. The
two ladies were already chattering amicably, delightedly ripping to
shreds most of the afternoon's guests, when Emily rose to leave.
The moming room door was opened at that moment by Claypool, who
carried a card on a silver tray.

"Blast!" the dowager exclaimed. "I thought we were
through with visitors." She reached out her hand to take the card,
but Claypool did not offer the tray.

"I beg your pardon, my lady," he said, "but the
gentleman asked that I give this to Miss Townsend."

Emily cast a questioning look at her employer.

"Go ahead, my dear." The dowager laughed. "It is
probably another admirer. What with Hamilton's flowers and
Sedgewick's attentions, I believe you will have to get used to
it."

Emily felt herself flush, but took the card. All at
once her heart dropped to her toes.

Hugh, Viscount Faversham
, it read.

"I believe the gentleman has written a note on the
back," Claypool said calmly, obviously unaware that Emily had lost
the ability to breathe.

Emily turned over the card.

I beg you to admit me, Cousin.

I am devastated over my father's behavior last
night.

Please allow me to explain.

"Oh, God," Emily whispered as her hand clutched at
the ruffed collar of her white cambric chemisette.

"What is it, my dear?" the dowager asked with
obvious concern. She had risen to place her hand on Emily's arm.
Emily handed her the card. The dowager read it, and Emily watched
as the old woman's brows disappeared beneath steel-gray curls
peeking out from under the Mechlin lace cap.

"Egad, but the fellow has cheek."

Emily was shocked by the hint of amusement in the
old woman's voice. Her face must have registered her distress, for
the dowager turned and took her by the hand.

"I say we should admit him," the dowager said. "I
confess that I am agog with curiosity to hear what the fellow has
to say. This should be most interesting. Oh, don't look so stunned,
my girl. Perhaps he's genuinely contrite."

Emily gave an unladylike snort.

"Well, perhaps not," the dowager said. "But I think
it behooves you to give the fellow his five minutes. Remember, my
dear, that you escaped his father's attempt to disgrace you with
all your dignity intact. You are the one in the more advantageous
position. Besides, Claypool will be standing by ready to throw the
jackanapes out if he so much as steps one foot wrong. Oh, and don't
worry about Dolly," she said, tilting her head toward Lady Dunholm.
"She'll be as silent as an oyster, won't you, dear?"

Lady Dunholm nodded, and the dowager joined her once
again on the sofa.

"All right," Emily said, though she was not feeling
at all sure about this. "Send him in, Claypool."

"She's got spirit, Fanny, I'll grant you that," Lady
Dunholm whispered.

Emily overheard that remark and hoped it was true as
she watched the morning room door with more than a little
trepidation. Claypool returned shortly and announced her cousin. He
stood looking at her for the briefest moment before entering the
room. Emily had been so distraught the night before that she had
little recollection of him. She saw now before her a man of medium
height and slender build, with blond hair much the same color as
her own. She would guess him to be no more than thirty years old.
He might have been handsome but for the deep lines etched between
his nose and mouth and the hint of dissipation about his gray
eyes.

He smiled as he approached, holding out his hand,
but the smile was flat and empty and did not reach his eyes. Emily
had seen many such condescending smiles in her years of service and
was not affected by its insincerity. She arranged her own
expression to one of cool disdain.

"My dear Miss Townsend," he said in an unctuous tone
that caused Emily to wrinkle her nose in distaste before quickly
remembering to school her features.

She was reminded of a particularly persistent sales
clerk at a perfumery in Bath who had always tried to force Pear's
Almond Bloom on her, though she had repeatedly expressed no
interest in it. She wondered what this gentleman was selling.

"Cousin," he said as he held out his hand to receive
hers.

Politeness was deeply bred in Emily, and she knew
she had to acknowledge him. She tilted her chin up, fixed him with
an arctic gaze, and offered two fingers.

"Lord Faversham," she said in the chilliest tone she
could muster.

A low growl was heard from the direction of the
sofa. Emily wasn't sure how the dowager was able to coax the tiny
pug into baring his teeth and snarling on cue, but she had seen it
often enough to know that Charlemagne had been trained to react so.
The trick came in handy when one wished to be rid of an unwanted
guest. Emily saw Lord Faversham glance at the dowager and Lady
Dunholm, both wearing their best scowls, and watched as the smile
slid from his face. He swallowed hard and turned to face those
ladies.

"Lady Bradleigh, Lady Dunholm," he said, executing a
sharp bow. "Your servant."

He turned back to Emily, who was still standing, and
made a slight move with his hand as if to ask her to be seated, but
seemed to think better of it. He grasped his hands behind his back
and stood looking at her expectantly. She decided to make him
sweat—it must be the dowager's subversive influence, she thought,
as she found herself truly enjoying his discomfort—and glared at
him for several heartbeats before she leisurely glided to the chair
she had recently vacated and slowly eased herself into it. She
carefully smoothed the skirts of her sprigged muslin day dress,
straightened the lace at her cuffs, and finally looked up at
him.

"I have only a few moments to spare, Lord
Faversham," Emily said, "as I have an appointment this afternoon."
It was true that she did have an appointment and was glad not to
have been forced into a complete falsehood. Mr. Hamilton was coming
to take her for a drive in the park, but not for another two and a
half hours. "Please say what you've come to say and be brief about
it."

His expression slowly altered to one of forlorn hope
as he took a chair near hers and leaned anxiously forward. "My dear
cousin," he said in a quiet voice, "I have come for one reason
only. To assure you that I stand as your friend despite anything my
father may have said last night. Believe me when I tell you that I
could not have been more distressed at my father's behavior. I had
thought he only meant to make himself known to you, and I asked to
accompany him, eager to meet you." He smiled briefly, but then his
gaze dropped quickly to the floor as he seemed unable to meet
Emily's frigid glare.

"I will not pretend to believe," he continued, "that
he was prepared to offer friendship or kindness. I knew that he
would not." He looked up again with an imploring expression. "But I
had no idea he would be so vicious."

He paused for a moment, apparently waiting for a
response from Emily. She made none, and so he continued.

"You see," he said, "I did not even know of your
existence until very recently. But since I discovered I had a
cousin I have been most anxious to make your acquaintance. We are
but a small family, you know. It is very important to me to be on
friendly terms with the few of us that are left."

"I am afraid, Lord Faversham," Emily said, "that
your father does not share your concern for familial ties."

"I am sorry for that, Cousin," he said, "but Father
is a bitter man whose character was molded completely by his own
father. The old earl—the one, I am ashamed to say, who rejected
your mother—was a hard man of unflinching principles. He was hurt
at your mother's elopement with a man of whom he strongly
disapproved and was too proud ever to retreat from his position. My
father simply echoed those long-held sentiments. You know, if
someone says to you 'the sky is green, the sky is green, the sky is
green' enough times, you actually begin to believe that the sky is
green. That is how it was with my father. Those things he said to
you last night were merely the words he had heard over and over
from the old earl."

"And you, my lord," Emily said, "are here to right
that wrong? To attempt to make up for six and twenty years of
neglect?"

"I cannot make up for those years," he said, bowing
his head slightly, "but I would have you know how much I regret
them." After a moment he looked up once again and pinned her with
an imploring gaze. "It is foolish to perpetuate the prejudices of
our fathers without cause. I am my own man, Cousin, and I would not
see another generation continue this painful and senseless
estrangement. My father and I have none but each other, Emily. My
grandparents and my mother are dead, and I have no siblings. I am
also aware that you are as alone in the world as I am. If you will
allow me to offer my friendship and ... and . .. well, my
affection, as your nearest relation, I am sure in time I can exert
some influence on my father's opinion. And if not... well, at least
you and I should be friends."

Despite her best intentions, Emily found herself
actually warming to the man. His words seemed so sincere,
regardless of her first impression of his character. She knew he
spoke no more than the truth. In fact, she was stunned beyond
imagination to hear someone of her mother's hated family speak so
openly about the injustice and pain of their long estrangement. For
all of her life she had believed that no one cared. To hear her
cousin speak otherwise quite disconcerted her.