An Infamous Proposal (11 page)

“In that case, put me at the top of your list!”

“You’re already there, Sanichton,” Nick said.

Sanichton smiled. “I’m off then. You amuse Maggie, will you?”

Nick dutifully joined Lady Margaret, but when he saw Sanichton tuck Emma’s hand under his elbow, he felt again that worm of discontent. A little gnawing, nagging worry that something was not quite as it should be. What could it be?

There was nothing amiss with Sanichton. He was an excellent fellow and would make a fine landlord for Whitehern. Of course, he would not live there himself. He had his own larger estate in Devonshire, but he would keep an eye on it, see it was well run.

Nick shook away the wisp of worry and applied himself to the task of entertaining Lady Margaret. When they returned to their box, Emma said quietly in Nick’s ear, “I like your Lord Sanichton. I am to drive out with him tomorrow afternoon. Does that please you?”

“Very much,” Nick said, but he had to force a smile.

Lord James returned late to the box, wearing a suspiciously smug expression, and disappeared entirely after the performance. James always could be counted on to bite the hand that fed him. He had arranged to meet Lady Capulet and join a little party that was going out to eat and drink.

“You will see that Emma gets home safely, Nick,” he said. “She looks so ravishing this evening that I cannot trust myself with her.”

“Don’t fall into a scrape with your new actress friend,” Nick cautioned. “Your papa won’t pull you out a second time.”

James took offense at this little lecture. “I’ve learned my lesson,” he said. “It is perfectly safe. She’s married.”

That being the case, Nick offered no further instructions. When he went to offer Emma his arm, he found her hiding in a dark corner, with tears flowing freely down her cheeks. The only thing he could think of was that she and James had had a tiff. He sat beside her, to conceal her grief from Sanichton.

“Emma,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “He’s not worth it, my dear. Come, the rest of us will go out for supper.”

She sniffled and accepted the handkerchief he pushed into her fingers. “Oh, it was awful, Nick. I had no idea.”

“What the devil did he say to you?”

“To me? Nothing. How should he speak to me?”

“Then what—”

“It’s them,” she said, nodding toward the stage, where the curtain had already closed for the last time. “I didn’t know they
died!
What a wretched takein. I thought
Romeo and Juliet
was supposed to be a romance. It’s a horrid tragedy.”

Nick bit back a wry smile and blotted away her tears. It struck him that Emma was as innocent and foolish as Juliet. He felt an urge to take her in his arms and tell her it was going to be all right.

“It’s only a play, Emma,” he said gently. “Romeo and Juliet will be back on the boards tomorrow night, to die again and rise like a pair of phoenixes.”

Her lips trembled open in a watery smile. “You’re right, of course. You must think me a goose.” She peered at him uncertainly. “Could we come back and see it again before we leave?”

“If you like.”

A radiance of pure joy shone on her upturned face. “Oh, I would love it of all things! I have never seen

anything like it. And now let us go for that dinner. Crying always makes me hungry. I’m ravenous.”

“A lady is never ravenous,” he told her. “Peckish is the greatest hunger permitted to her.”

“Oh dear. I fear I’m giving Lord Sanichton a very poor opinion of me. I noticed he and his sister exchanging smiles when I mistook Miss Drew’s carriage for the Prince Regent’s.”

“Sanichton has nothing against innocence. Nor have I,” he added, and led her out to the waiting carriage.

Chapter Twelve

It was arranged that Lord Sanichton would take Lady Capehart for a visitor’s tour of London the next afternoon. Hansard would accompany them, along with Lady Margaret. Emma chose her most stylish day gown of jonquil jaconet with a pointed lace collar. She tilted her yellow chipped-straw hat over her eye and carried a silk umbrella against the sun, which might possibly show its shy face before they returned.

As Lord James had not returned home the preceding evening, it was unknown what plans he might be hatching. When he showed up for luncheon that day, tired and drawn from his amorous exertions, he was in the boughs to learn of what he called Hansard’s “betrayal.”

“After summoning me to Waterdown to nab Emma, you pull this stunt on me, dropping Sanichton in over my head the moment my back is turned. That sheep in sheep’s clothing! As if Emma would care for him. It is infamous, Cousin! You shan’t get away with it. I shall join you in the outing. And by the by, it is a perfectly wretched afternoon you have planned. Just what one would expect of you and Sanichton. No one but gluttons for punishment would want to see the Tower of London and the Exeter Exchange and St. Paul’s
again.”

“Emma has never seen them,” Hansard pointed out.

“I look forward to it with pleasure,” Emma said.

James looked at her askance. “A dead bore, I promise you. A dose of laudanum is nothing to them. Ah well, I daresay it is one’s duty to see dull monuments once, but I doubt they warrant a special visit. Tomorrow I shall show you
my
London.”

Hansard trembled to think what this young rake’s London might consist of, but James spoke on to reassure him. “Emma and I prefer nature, you must know. Gardens, parks, perhaps a ride in Rotten Row.”

“That sounds delightful,” Emma said. Hansard could not in good conscience object, and peace was restored.

Rather than break up the party, it was decided to crowd five into Lord Sanichton’s carriage for the tour. James, being the slightest man, sat between the ladies and tried in vain to seize Emma’s fingers. When this failed he tried for Lady Margaret’s and was again thwarted, though the dame was delighted with his efforts, especially when Hansard smiled conspiratorially at her predicament.

After they alighted at the Exeter Exchange, James took Emma’s left elbow, Sanichton her right, and they set off, with Lady Margaret and Hansard following behind.

“There is nothing worth seeing here but the wild animals,” James said, and insisted on curtailing the visit to this trivial show. “It is the fashion to say the hippopotamus resembles Lord Liverpool,” he said derisively. “Anyone with an eye in his head can see the hippo is first cousin to Prinney. From the rear, I mean. The creature’s face is not quite so grotesque as our Prince Regent’s. More like Princess Mary’s.”

The hippo obligingly turned and trotted off, its fat rump waddling. “There! Put a pair of inexpressibles on it and you have Prince George!” James announced, in a carrying voice that won him a few cold stares. “Well, we have done Exeter Exchange. St. Paul’s Cathedral is next. You will find Wren’s boring domes scattered all over London. When you have seen St. Paul’s, you have seen them all.”

At St. Paul’s Lord Sanichton refused to be bulloxed into viewing only the exterior. He escorted Emma inside and spoke at length about the cathedral’s marvels, not just mentioning its dome and pillars and windows, but expatiating fully on the price of its construction.

“Seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds, and that was in the seventeenth century, mind. It was paid for by a tax on sea-borne coal.”

James yawned ostentatiously into his fist. Emma listened with half an ear, the rest of her attention on the magnificent architecture. She noticed that Hansard had led Lady Margaret on ahead to view the altar. He was pointing out features of interest to her as they went up the aisle. Emma also noticed that Lady Margaret’s face was quite radiant with pleasure at Hansard’s attentions. Was there something between them?

Westminster Abbey was also on their list, and again Sanichton seemed to find interest in the less magnificent aspects of the place. He lingered at the coronation chair, which struck Emma as a very insignificant piece of furniture for such a glorious occasion. There was no gilt, no upholstery, and the carving was crude. She had finer chairs herself at Whitehern.

James was awaiting them when they went outside. The clergyman manqué had had enough of ecclesiastical architecture for one day.

“Now may we go and visit a garden?” he asked. “God is not to be found inside on such a day as this. He is out enjoying the sun and flowers and pretty ladies.”

“We shall look at the Houses of Parliament while we are nearby,” Sanichton decreed. “Lady Capehart would not want to visit the nation’s capital and not see where its laws are promulgated. Then we shall go on to Buckingham Palace.”

James sighed. “Why not throw in Carlton House while we are about it?”

“I should love to see Carlton House!” Emma said.

James gave her a weary look. “Very well. Let us finish all the boring bits while we are here and have it over with once and for all. At least we can pass through St. James’s Park on our way to the palace.”

“It’s rather far for the ladies to walk. We shall drive,” Sanichton said.

Hansard noticed that Emma was disappointed at missing out on the park. When he had a private moment with Sanichton, he mentioned that perhaps they were tiring the ladies with so much viewing of grandiose architecture and suggested that they finish the tour for that day after viewing the Houses of Parliament. “What do you think, Lady Margaret?” he asked his companion.

“Whatever the rest of you want,” Lady Margaret replied.

Sanichton agreed at once that the ladies were fagged. He had found Emma charming. Her enthusiasm reminded him of his own first trip to London and allowed him to feel sophisticated and experienced. His only regret was that Lord James was along to spoil the outing. They returned to Berkeley Square for tea. It was there that Sanichton said he would have a rout party the next evening in honor of Lady Capehart’s first visit to London.

“What do you say, Maggie?” he asked his sister.

Lady Margaret looked to Hansard. “Does that suit your plans, Hansard?”

“A delightful idea! It’s very kind of you,” he said.

Lady Margaret, who not only approved of Lady Capehart for her brother but had an eye on Hansard herself, then felt free to approve the notion and became quite excited about it.

That evening James mysteriously disappeared immediately after dinner. Lord Hansard and Lord Sanichton took the ladies to a private musical evening at Lady Mayhew’s and for supper at the Pulteney after.

Miss Foxworth, who had spent an agreeable afternoon driving in a carriage with Lady Gertrude, was fagged. She remained at home with her hostess, discussing the exorbitant price of muslin and the solace to be found in novels. They were just retiring when Hansard brought Emma home. They said good night and went upstairs, the two gray heads nodding wisely over the ingenuity of Mrs. Radcliffe.

Hansard poured himself and Emma a glass of wine and settled in for a chat. “Well, how do you like London so far?” he asked her.

“It is precisely as I imagined, only better,” she said. Her eyelids were already sliding closed, but she smiled in satisfaction. She looked like a tired child who was so enjoying herself that she didn’t want to go to bed. “So many magnificent things to see. And we haven’t even been to any parties yet.”

“What do you think of Sanichton?”

“Oh, he is very nice,” she said, but she didn’t say it with the sort of enthusiasm Nick had expected. “A very sensible gentleman. He seems to know a great deal about everything. About cathedrals and historical things, I mean.”

“He is very well to grass, you know. A fine estate and a mansion in London. You’ll see the latter tomorrow evening at the rout party.”

“Is he a good dancer?” she asked, stifling a yawn.

“Yes, excellent.”

“That’s nice, for I promised him the waltzes. James won’t like it.”

Hansard frowned. It was not so much at missing the waltzes as that mention of James. He gave her a wary glance. “Does it trouble you what James will think?”

“You’re wondering if I still find your cousin fascinating, I expect. He is not much interested in serious things. He seems trivial beside Sanichton, yet Sanichton is almost too serious to suit me.” She drew a weary sigh. “It really is difficult to find the right husband. I expect you experience the same thing in looking for a wife, Nick, or you would be shackled by now. Or have you discovered one who suits you?” she asked, and gave him a questioning look.

He again felt that heat rising around his ears. Was she going to repeat her proposal? James too trivial, Sanichton too serious—and himself in the middle, just right? He felt no sensation of anger on this occasion, but a surging excitement.

What should he say if she proposed again? His impression of Emma had altered since that first proposal. He found her more interesting, more agreeable.

“What—what do you mean, Emma?” he asked, in a queerly choked voice.

“I am referring to Lady Margaret, of course. She’s very nice. She suits you.”

The excitement subsided, to be replaced by a definite sensation of pique. He had always found Lady Margaret too stuffy, too serious to please him—and not at all pretty. She was a fine lady of impeccable manners and sterling character, but not the sort to make a man’s pulse quicken. In fact, she was cut from the same bolt as her brother. What had made him think Sanichton would do for Emma? She needed a livelier gentleman. Someone who would not prose her ear off with history lessons.

“We’re friends, nothing more,” he said stiffly.

“She likes you,” Emma said. “Have you not noticed how she hangs on your every word and agrees with everything you say? Take care, Nick, or you’ll receive another proposal. No, you shan’t though. Lady Margaret would never be so indiscreet. She will only sit and wait and hope. You shouldn’t encourage her if you don’t mean to have her.”

“I have never encouraged her in the least!”

“My mistake,” she said, frowning. It was the same mistake she had made earlier, thinking Nick’s friendly thoughtfulness indicated a deeper, more personal interest in herself.

“Where did you get such a notion?” he asked.

“I daresay it’s simply that you’re such a thoughtful escort. So nice,” she added, regarding him fondly. “I’m grateful to you for saving me from a dreadful mistake.”