A Proper Companion (8 page)

When the discussion reached Sir Percy Whittaker,
Robert began teasing Emily about her conquest. "It is clear the man
is besotted with you, Miss Townsend. When are you going to put him
out of his misery?" he asked, grinning at Emily.

"Sir Percy is merely a good friend, my lord," she
replied shyly, "nothing more. Our conversations generally go no
further than a discussion of his latest novel."

"You can forget about Whittaker, Robert," the
dowager interjected. "We can do better than that. We have spent the
morning with Madame Dubois, preparing a new wardrobe for Emily. I
have no doubt that her new look will have gentlemen falling at her
feet. More interesting specimens than Sir Percy, you can be
sure."

Emily stared at the dowager in astonishment.

Robert flashed her a roguish grin. "Yes, I can think
of several gentlemen of my acquaintance who might be willing to
oblige."

Emily suddenly sat up even straighter than usual,
and she felt her jaw tighten as she tried to hang on to her
composure. She studied her two smiling companions with narrowed
eyes. "Excuse me," she said very quietly, "but if I am correct in
sensing there is matchmaking afoot, I beg you to leave me out of
it." She turned stiffly to face the dowager. "My lady, I very
reluctantly accepted your generous offer of a new wardrobe because
I thought—"

"Yes, yes, my girl," the dowager interrupted, "the
new wardrobe's purpose was exactly as I stated it to you. I simply
required that you appear more fashionable when you accompany me to
Town. However," she continued as she flicked a nonexistent piece of
lint from her sleeve, "if it also results in drawing eligible
admirers to your notice, then I will be doubly pleased."

"Oh, dear," Emily said, her voice cracking in her
distress. She could no longer look either of her companions in the
eye. Anger and fear immobilized her. These people had lived in the
highest echelons of wealth and privilege their whole lives. They
could have no idea what it meant to be dependent upon others for
one's very existence. They could surely never understand the
humiliation that would result from active matchmaking on her
behalf, the shame she would feel if presented to Society as an
impoverished gentlewoman on the hunt for a husband.

Years ago, when her father's death had left her
destitute, she had made a conscious decision not to present herself
on some distant relative's doorstep, to be taken in as a poor
relation. She would certainly never have approached her mother's
hateful family. Instead she had chosen a life in genteel service,
which had allowed her to maintain some degree of dignity. She
suddenly felt that that last scrap of dignity was was about to be
torn away from her.

She knew the dowager's determination was sometimes
an unstoppable force. If the old woman had decided to find her a
husband, she would be tenacious in achieving that end. She must
think. Her mind was in a whirl, but she must think. Somehow she
must not allow the dowager to place her in such an awkward
position.

Lord Bradleigh apparently noted the distress on
Emily's face and jumped into the fray before his grandmother could
cause more damage. "Don't worry. Miss Townsend," he said in a soft
croon that caused Emily to look up again and meet his eyes, "I can
assure you from experience that Grandmother is not given to
matchmaking. She has left
me
alone for years. Although," he
added with a wink at his grandmother, "I suspect now she wishes she
hadn't."

Emily returned a weak smile, but then dropped her
eyes once again, staring at the hands clasped tightly in her
lap.

"Miss Townsend," he said gently, "you may trust me
when I tell you that I will not allow Grandmother to embarrass you
while you are guests in my home."

"Robert!" the dowager cried. "You offend me!"

Emily lifted her eyes to find the dowager smiling
affectionately at her.

"I am very fond of you, my dear," the older woman
said, "and only want to see you happy. But I would never do
anything to embarrass you," she said, glaring briefly at Robert,
"no matter whose guest you are. But, honestly, what harm is there
in simply introducing you to a few eligible gentlemen?" She flicked
a speaking glance at Lord Bradleigh.

"I confess, Miss Townsend," Robert said, grinning
sheepishly, "that I have agreed to bring a few of my friends to
your attention. I would be pleased to introduce you, if I might be
so bold."

"Your friends?" Emily asked softly, still somewhat
bewildered by this conversation.

"Oh, don't worry," he said with a laugh, "not all of
my acquaintances are rakes and libertines. I actually know a few
upright fellows who might even be considered respectable."

Emily realized that she may have inadvertently
insulted the earl. Her innate politeness rose to the surface,
overwhelming any previous awkwardness. "I had not thought
otherwise, my lord. I should be pleased to make the acquaintance of
any friend of yours." She looked at the dowager, her resolution
once again in control. "You must understand, however, that I am not
interested in marriage, and I would be made to feel quite
uncomfortable if it were generally believed that I did hold such
hopes. It would be most awkward, considering my position. I
appreciate the kind sentiments of you both, but I must ask that you
respect my wishes in this matter."

"It shall be as you say, Miss Townsend," Lord
Bradleigh said. He rose and bowed toward both ladies. "I shall
leave you now to your discussion of your shopping trip. I will join
you again for dinner."

The dowager swiftly launched into a lively monologue
of the various fashions they had seen that morning, obviously
determined to avoid any further mention of matchmaking. For the
moment, thought Emily with rueful resignation.

As they discussed their purchases, the dowager
insisted that Emily wear her new dress that evening for dinner. "We
must try it out on Robert!" she exclaimed, rubbing her hands
together in anticipation.

"I beg your pardon?" Emily asked warily.

"I mean, let us see how Robert likes it," the
dowager replied, a sheepish flush staining her cheeks. "He has
excellent taste, you know. Why, you should have seen some of the
gowns he had made up for ... Well, never mind that. Anyway, he is a
great judge of fashion. I should like his opinion. I do not mean to
criticize, my dear, but you were just a tiny bit more conservative
in your selections than I would have preferred. I know that Madame
Dubois was very agreeable to your suggestions, but I think we need
a man's opinion."

Later that evening the dowager sent Tuttle, her own
dresser, to help Emily dress for dinner. This lofty personage was
obviously put out at having to work for someone in Emily's
position, but the dowager had insisted, and Tuttle condescended to
do as she was asked. The dour Tuttle was almost a relief for Emily
after having endured Lottie's endless prattling for the last half
hour.

"Oh, miss," Lottie had gushed upon seeing the new
dress lying on the bed, "'tis a lovely gown. It's right glad I am
to see you dress more ... well, you know, more feminine, like.
Thomas told us he had carried in a heap of parcels for you when you
came home this morning. We was all so glad to hear that her
ladyship opened her purse for you. It'll be a rare treat to see you
in such finery, miss."

She went on and on in this vein while Emily waited
patiently for her to finish with the fire and remove the basin of
used water. "Oh! And won't his lordship think you're fine!" Lottie
exclaimed. "Now mind, miss, what I said before. He's a rogue, that
one. When he gets a look at you in that dress ... well, I don't
like to think what might happen. You watch your step, miss."

"Don't worry about me, Lottie," Emily replied,
smiling at the girl's serious expression. "I will keep up my
guard," she teased, "though I am sure it won't be necessary."

"Little you know," Lottie muttered as she left the
room.

Tuttle had made her entrance a few moments later and
began with a close inspection of the new dress. She mutely helped
Emily into it and began fastening the tiny buttons at the back. It
was a dusky rose lutestring, with a high waist and low bodice edged
with Brussels lace. A darker rose satin ribbon tied around the high
waist, just under the bosom, and the ends floated down almost to
the hem. The dress emphasized Emily's tall, slender figure. New
pink kid slippers peeked out from the scalloped hem.

Tuttle next sat Emily down at her dressing table and
began to dress her hair. Emily started to object, being quite
comfortable with her modest chignon, but instead held her tongue.
Tuttle brushed out Emily's long, softly waving hair and then
twisted it into an intricate Grecian knot high up on her head. She
then deftly tugged a few curling tendrils forward near her face and
allowed one long curl to escape at her nape. The loose tendrils had
a softening effect, and the entire result enhanced the impression
of elongated elegance.

Emily stood before the cheval glass and was
astonished. She almost failed to recognize herself, having become
so accustomed to her plain gowns and simple chignon. Emily was not
oblivious to her appearance. She knew that many found her to be
attractive, and had certainly been aware of her effect on the young
men in the household in Kent where she had first been employed as a
governess. She had even suffered a few mild flirtations from more
than one of the dowager's visitors. She continued to affect as
simple and unremarkable an appearance as possible, however, feeling
that her position required that she draw attention away from
herself. This mode had become so natural that Emily had totally
relegated thoughts of her appearance to the back of her mind. She
was therefore dazzled by what she saw reflected in the mirror. She
smiled with genuine pleasure. "Oh, Tuttle. This is quite
wonderful." The normally reticent Tuttle allowed herself a smile of
appreciation.

"Do you know, Tuttle, I think I should like to wear
my mother's pearls." Emily went to her bureau and pulled out a
small jewelry case. Inside were the only treasures she owned: those
jewels of her mother's which she had managed to save, the rest
having been sold by her father to pay off gambling debts. There was
a fine emerald pendant with matching earrings, a small diamond and
ruby brooch set in gold filigree, and a single strand of perfect
pearls with matching drop earrings. Emily removed the pearls and
held them up to her throat. As Tuttle fastened them, Emily was
suddenly reminded of her mother, whom she closely resembled. She
could recall her beautiful mother wearing the pearls on several
occasions. Emily had never until now had the occasion to wear any
of her mother's jewels. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror,
wishing her mother could see her now.

At that moment there was a brief knock on her door.
Tuttle opened the door to admit the dowager, who stopped in her
tracks. "Good God!" she cried. She circled Emily, eyeing her up and
down through her jeweled quizzing glass. She stopped in front of
Emily, taking both her hands. "My dear girl, where have you been
hiding? You look absolutely divine! Tuttle, my congratulations."
She fingered the pearls at Emily's throat and raised a questioning
brow.

"My mother's," Emily said.

"Perfect!" The dowager took Emily's arm, smiling
triumphantly, and together they descended to the drawing room, with
Charlemagne, as always, close behind.

* * *

Robert had preceded them and was pouring a glass of
sherry. He looked up as the two women entered the room, and his
breath caught in his throat. From the first moment he'd met her, he
had thought Miss Townsend a very attractive woman. But just now she
looked utterly beautiful. The glow of the candles in the nearby
sconces set lights dancing in her green eyes and shot sparkling
golden highlights through her hair. The new hairstyle gave her
high-cheekboned face a softer look. He had never really noticed how
tall she was, but just now she looked as regal as a duchess. Good
God, she was glorious! His hand involuntarily reached out toward
her.

Emily smiled at the earl, and he smiled back with
such warmth that she felt herself blush. He locked eyes with her as
he began to cross the room, hand outstretched, oblivious to
Charlemagne's determined dash toward his favorite chair.

Dog and man collided with a force that sent Lord
Bradleigh tumbling on his backside. Charlemagne growled accusingly
at him, then made his way to the cherished fauteuil. The earl,
thoroughly stunned, looked up at the grinning ladies in
confusion.

"You see, Emily," the dowager drawled, "I told you
that gentlemen would be falling at your feet. Behold: your first
victim!"

The earl dropped his head into his hands and shook
with laughter. The ladies could no longer contain their own
amusement and laughed along with him. Finally each reached out a
hand and helped tug him to his feet. After brushing himself off and
running a careless hand through his hair, he reached down and took
Emily's hand and bent over it.

"Please forgive my clumsiness, but I am afraid you
quite literally took my breath away, Miss Townsend," he said in a
soft, seductive tone. "You look lovely."

Even after such an ignominious fall, the charm that
had helped establish his rakish reputation was much in
evidence.

"Thank you, my lord," Emily answered as she felt the
telltale heat of a blush color her cheeks.

"I can see that your shopping trip was a great
success." He spoke without taking his eyes from Emily.

She felt compelled at first to drop her eyes, not
sure she could bear the heat she felt from his gaze, but rejected
this instinct, and vowed to hold her ground. She was not, after
all, a green girl fresh from the schoolroom. She locked her eyes
boldly to his and held them, arching a teasing brow.