A Proper Companion (9 page)

"Indeed," the dowager said. "I am glad you approve,
Robert. We will soon see our dear Emily relinquish all her old,
dark round gowns in favor of more fashionable ones. She will set
London on its ear, do you not think so, Robert?"

"Undoubtedly," Robert said, his eyes still fastened
to Emily's.

"Right you are," the dowager said. "Now, let us go
in to dinner. I am quite sharp set."

The last days in Bath passed fairly quickly in the
wake of feverish preparation for the removal to London. The
household staff was well organized under the leadership of Barnes
and Mrs. Dougherty, leaving Emily free to accompany the dowager,
along with the earl, to the Pump Room most mornings. The brief walk
from Laura Place across the Pulteney Bridge and along High Street
was a favorite ritual of the dowager's. Although the distance was
inconsiderable, the dowager encouraged her reputation as an
eccentric by refusing to take a chair. She was frequently heard to
claim that the exercise was more beneficial to her health than
drinking the nasty-tasting waters of the ancient spring for which
Bath was famous. Holding court in the Pump Room, the dowager was
able to make her temporary farewells to the numerous friends and
acquaintances she found there.

The earl seemed to find wicked amusement in making
note of the presence of the ubiquitous Sir Percy on each of their
trips to the Pump Room. Robert generally had a lady on each arm as
they strolled along the perimeter of the elegantly collonaded room,
stopping frequently to allow the dowager to greet an acquaintance.
"But before we reach the great Tompion clock" he would tease, "we
can count on Sir Percy having joined our group, relieving me of
Miss Townsend's arm."

At such times Emily deliberately avoided catching
Lord Bradleigh's eye, as he would surely make her laugh.

On one occasion Emily asked to be excused from the
dowager's side in order to speak with Lady Mary Haviland. Lady Mary
had become a particular friend of Emily's, as they shared many
interests in common. A spinster only a few years Emily's senior,
Lady Mary had established herself in Queen Square a few years
before, after her father's death had left her a comfortable
independence. She stood several inches shorter than Emily, had
straight brown hair, and generally unremarkable features, with the
exception of fine hazel eyes. Though she might be considered plain,
her natural vivacity and good humor elevated her from the ordinary.
Emily found Lady Mary to be a constant source of entertaining and
intelligent conversation. Though she felt her position should not
allow friendships with wealthy, titled women, Lady Mary encouraged
their acquaintance, and Emily was pleased to have a friend near her
own age.

The young women strolled arm-in-arm through the
crowded room, so rapt in their conversation that they scarcely
noticed the small chamber group in the western alcove playing a
Haydn quartet, and they skirted without a glance the busy counter
overlooking the King's Bath, which dispensed glasses of the prized
mineral water. They were chattering excitedly about Emily's
impending departure for London, when Emily looked up to find Lord
Bradleigh approaching. She introduced him to Lady Mary.

"Your servant, my lady," he said as he bowed over
Lady Mary's outstretched hand.

"So," she said, making a show of ogling his lordship
from top to toe. "This is the notorious Lord Bradleigh. Tell me, my
lord," she said, a twinkle in her eyes belying her stern
expression, "are you quite as wicked as one hears?"

"Much more so, I assure you." He offered a grin that
was positively wicked.

"But I am told you are soon to marry," she said.
"Surely that will interfere somewhat with your... er ... normal
activities?"

"You are quite right, my lady. I have in fact
determined to forsake my evil ways. I intend to become a pattern
card of respectability."

"How very tiresome," she said, and then sighed in
exaggerated boredom. "I always find a rogue far more
entertaining."

Emily suppressed a giggle at her friend's
outrageousness. Lady Mary was often bold to a fault, still
relishing her independence from her late father's strict household.
Emily could not help but envy such spirit, and often longed for the
freedom to give rein to the natural liveliness of her own nature.
She recognized, though, that such forward behavior would never be
tolerated in a woman in service.

Emily was amused but not surprised at her friend's
easy banter with the earl. Lady Mary especially enjoyed teasing
gentlemen, particularly those considered "dangerous," the ones
gently bred females were warned against. Lady Mary believed that
she held no physical attractions for them and was therefore
completely at ease in their company. Emily suspected, however, that
more than a few gentlemen were nevertheless charmed by Lady Mary's
unaffected manners.

"I shall try to retain something of my former self
beneath the new veneer of propriety, my lady," Robert said. He bent
over and put his face close to Lady Mary's ear. "But only to be
revealed to my closest friends," he added in a low, soft voice.

"Then I shall hope to become your friend, my lord,"
she replied, totally unabashed by the earl's seductive charm.

"It is my hope as well, Lady Mary," he said,
impressed by her composure. He considered himself a master in the
art of flirtation and was unused to having his well-practiced
charms show no effect. Rather than being disappointed, he instead
found that his initial estimation of Lady Mary's character had
risen considerably.

Perhaps he should have come to Bath more often. In
this short visit he had already met two out-of-the-ordinary young
women who more than piqued his interest. He experienced a brief
moment of frustration that his betrothal was so quickly affecting
his normal way of life, before he returned his attention to the
ladies.

"I regret," he said, "that I must now ask Miss
Townsend's indulgence, as my grandmother is ready to begin the walk
back to Laura Place."

Emily turned at once and bid farewell to her friend.
She and Robert walked away after exchanging final pleasantries with
Lady Mary. "I liked your friend. Miss Townsend," Robert said as he
steered them through the crowded room toward the dowager. "She is
delightfully plain spoken."

"Yes," Emily said, smiling, "Lady Mary does speak
her mind. I find her artless manners most refreshing. I am glad you
like her."

They soon joined the dowager, who was anxious to
depart. Before they had reached the door, Sir Percy had dashed up
to make his farewells. As they began their walk past the Abbey and
the Orange Grove toward the Pulteney Bridge, Emily blushed in
silence as Lord Bradleigh and the dowager teased her over the
enthusiastic attentions of Sir Percy.

* * *

The dowager's normal evening entertainments had come
almost to a halt while the household readied itself for the move to
London. With the exception of one Wednesday evening concert in the
Upper Rooms, most evenings found the dowager, her grandson, and
Emily staying at home and dining without company. Although the
dowager preferred a larger group to dine, providing more diverse
conversation, she did not wish to put her staff to the additional
trouble of entertaining guests during this busy time. She was also
well aware that these intimate evenings provided the perfect
opportunity for Robert and Emily to become better acquainted.

Emily had learned much of Lord Bradleigh's history
and character by listening as he matched wits and anecdotes with
his grandmother. She noted that the only subjects he seemed
unwilling to discuss involved his betrothal or his betrothed. She
did, however, begin to suspect that he was less of a libertine than
he let on. She had even picked up a few hints that much of his
unsavory reputation was deliberately manufactured by the earl
himself in an attempt to make himself an unsuitable candidate for
the Marriage Mart. He had laughingly admitted to having allowed
several lurid but wholly untrue stories of his various debaucheries
to spread through the grapevine of the
ton
. Emily began to
see that by denying nothing, the earl had implicitly encouraged
belief in the stories, thereby further enhancing his reputation as
a gamester, a womanizer, and a general rakehell.

As he tended to be candid with his grandmother,
Emily could not help but notice that he avoided denying the story
of Lady Theale in the vaults of St. Paul's. Or was it Westminster
Abbey?

* * *

Robert had discovered Miss Townsend's company to be
as delightful as his grandmother's. He was pleased to note that she
was not shy of displaying her intelligence or erudition, and he
enjoyed frequent lively discussions with her on issues of politics
or literature. Their literary tastes differed widely—he preferred
the classics, while she was more fond of the modern poets— but they
did share a passion for Shakespeare, which had led to several
intense discussions of their favorite plays.

With the exception of one notable mistress some
years back, Robert had never so enjoyed verbally sparring with a
woman. He generally had little interest in a woman's company
outside of the bedroom. But despite Miss Townsend's considerable
attractions, he found that his feelings for her were, for the most
part, extremely proper. Given their circumstances, there could
never be anything more between them, and so he had resolved to be
content with a chaste friendship.

He wondered if Augusta would be at all understanding
of such a friendship. Good God, he had never realized how much his
life would change with his betrothal and marriage. Only a few weeks
had passed since his betrothal, and already he could feel the noose
tighten.

After an initial reticence in his company, no doubt
due to her strict interpretation of her position. Miss Townsend had
gradually relaxed her guard. She now appeared quite at ease in his
presence. She still bristled whenever hints of matchmaking entered
the conversation, but Robert had so relentlessly teased her that
she now seemed almost acquiescent to the idea. Either that or she
had simply chosen to ignore him. He couldn't be sure. But it was
certain that she no longer voiced her objections. Robert took this
as a signal to proceed, and was still planning to introduce her to
some of his more respectable unmarried friends. It was the less
respectable ones who worried him. How, for example, was he to keep
Black Jack Raebum away from her?

Robert was content to enjoy her company and
conversation for the moment, and to forget the potential evils of
London Society awaiting its new deliciously innocent victim. And to
forget what Augusta might have to say about his friendship with
Miss Townsend. Emily. He had begun to think of her as Emily, though
he had never requested permission to use her Christian name.

During their many evenings together, Robert noted
that Emily spoke little of her own past, while she seemed
thoroughly diverted while he and his grandmother discussed their
more colorful histories.

"So you see, Emily," the dowager said one evening as
the three of them lounged rather informally in the drawing room
after dinner, "Robert is actually a much more upstanding gentleman
than he pretends to be."

"Grandmother!" Robert said. "Have a care for my
reputation."

"It is true that I don't discount every tale that
comes my way," the dowager said to Emily. "He is no saint, thank
God."

Robert placed his hand to his heart and quoted: "
'They say best men are molded out of faults. And for the most,
become much more the better for being a little bad.' "

"I suspect," the dowager continued, ignoring Robert,
"that his primary motive in achieving such a black name for himself
is to rebel against his father's sober conservatism."

"I am merely attempting to live up to the standards
set by you and Grandfather," Robert said lazily as he tossed back a
second brandy. "I have heard that wildness skips a generation."

"My son Frederick," the dowager said to Emily, still
ignoring Robert, "was quite ashamed, I think, of our rather madcap
way of life. Just to spite us he became a somber, conservative,
stiff- rumpled aristocrat."

"Oh, he wasn't so bad as all that," Robert
interjected. "You must admit that Mother was always able to soften
him up a bit."

"Father did persist, though, in referring to his
parents as those lunatics." He threw back his head and laughed at
that remembrance.

This set off the dowager—who was at her most
voluble, having indulged in Robert's brandy in a most unladylike
fashion—on a lengthy reminiscence of her late husband. He and Emily
listened patiently as the dowager discoursed at length on her life
of shared passions with her beloved Thomas.

She had never really stopped missing him since his
death over twenty years before, and as she drank more brandy her
reminiscences became more melancholy. She had hoped to see her
children find that same joy in their lives that her marriage had
brought to hers.

"And yet," she said, addresing Emily, her natural
drawl enhanced by a slight slur, "each of them approached marriage
as a business arrangement, a convenient alignment of families and
fortunes, without any engagement of the heart." She sighed loudly.
"I had even higher hopes for Robert, who always seemed closer in
temperament to myself than any of my own children. But now," she
said, her voice lowering to an ominous pitch, "those hopes appear
virtually dashed with this loathsome betrothal."

Robert was determined to put a halt to this line of
discussion. He moved to the dowager's side and pulled her gently to
her feet. "Come, my love," he said softly. "You're foxed. Off to
bed with you before you put Miss Townsend to the blush."