Lady Emma's Dilemma (9781101573662) (12 page)

The complimentary note he had sent along with his floral tribute this morning should certainly have impressed her, he thought with satisfaction.

The rustling of parchment continued for several more minutes before the earl finally set the sheaf on the neatly organized desktop.

The old man raised his head and fixed Monteford with his gaze, his expression bereft of any discernable emotion.

“Thank you for being prompt, Monteford. You may pull that chair a little closer to the desk,” he said in a strong voice with a hint of a rasp.

“Yes, sir,” Monteford replied in his most respectful tone and did as the earl directed.

Once seated, he did his best to wait patiently for his
grandfather to explain the reason for his peremptory summons. To do otherwise would only prolong the visit.

The earl leaned back in his chair, crossed his hands over his chest and pronounced, “In the last week I have been the recipient of no less than four visits from your mother.”

Ah, the situation was becoming clearer. “Am I to understand, by the tone of your voice, that you did not desire these visits, Grandfather?”

The earl eyed him charily and Monteford cautioned himself to tread carefully and keep any hint of sarcasm from his voice. His grandfather would pounce like a falcon if he suspected any hint of disrespect from his grandson and heir.

Despite the earl's advanced years, no one in the large Litton family doubted that his faculties were as still as sharp as ever and that he wielded ultimate authority over almost every aspect of their lives, especially the financial aspect.

“Under ordinary circumstances I welcome the occasional visit from my daughter-in-law. However, it is most distressing to receive her when she is near hysterical,” he said with a tone of accusation lacing his voice.

“Hysterical, sir? This is indeed disturbing news. May I inquire as to what has caused my mother such anxiety?”

At this innocent question the earl's upper lip curled in a contemptuous sneer. “Playing coy is unbecoming to a gentleman, boy. But if you insist, I will put the unseemly truth into words. Your mother is taken by the hysterics because of the manner in which you are making a byword of yourself by flaunting your doxy among Polite Society. No less distressing is the money you throw away on her keep. By gad, she lives better than a queen.”

At this blunt speech, Monteford swallowed hard, and struggled to keep his nervous hands motionless. “Sir, I would hate to revisit this very old argument. If I had my own income, this issue would not—”

“Own income!” the earl rasped in mounting fury. “Any amount of money I would settle upon you would be gone before the Season ended. You have been bleeding me for
years, but it is going to cease. You are almost five and thirty—”

“Six and thirty,” Monteford interjected without thinking.

The earl's look of contempt made Monteford feel like squirming. “Even worse, boy! I am not going to keep throwing my money down a poisoned well. Enough is enough. It would not be so bad if you at least did something to improve the situation. Why can you not be more like your friend Devruex? He overcame his straitened circumstances by being clever and wanting to do his family name proud instead of dragging it through the mud.”

A familiar stab of anger and jealousy pierced Monteford at his grandfather's praise of Devruex. He had to listen to comments like this during most of his encounters with his grandfather. As much as Monteford admired Devruex, at moments like this he could almost hate him.

“Believe me, sir, Devruex is very far from being an angel,” he said, attempting a dismissive chuckle.

“Angel? Who cares about angels? Devruex had a bad hand dealt by his dissolute father. Shameful business. But Devruex never let the side down.”

Monteford felt his temper begin to seethe, but said nothing. By long experience he knew it was much better not to gainsay the old man.

“Do not delude yourself, boy,” the earl continued. “From this moment your life has changed. You are going to marry as soon as may be. Besides the need to settle down, it is past time for you to provide an heir. I will not allow the earldom to be entailed out of the direct line.”

Monteford stared at his grandfather in alarm. It was one thing to sit through the ignominy of a dressing down, but never before had his grandfather made such a direct threat.

“I mean no disrespect, sir, but I have no desire to marry and as we do not live in medieval times I can see no way for you to force me.”

“Don't you? Then you are not nearly as astute as I thought. Do not mistake me—if you do not do your duty, I
shall cut you off immediately. In fact, as of today, you are cut off without a farthing until you present me with your future wife. I suspect that you will not like the idea of your tailor bandying about Town that you cannot pay for your newest waistcoat.”

Monteford felt his clenched fingers grow cold as his grandfather eyed him with icy resolve. He knew he had been pushing his luck when he had agreed to take Sally to Drury Lane, but he never suspected that his grandfather would react so vehemently.

Feeling desperate, Monteford could think of nothing to say to soften his grandfather's attitude.

“I suggest that you start looking around for a bride,” the earl said in a calmer tone. “It should not be too difficult. There is any number of suitable ladies in Town this Season.”

By
suitable
, Monteford knew the old man meant
wealthy.
Suddenly, just when he felt he would drown in his grandfather's despotic control, the vision of sea blue eyes and beautiful serene features came to mind. The moment their eyes had met across the theatre he had known there was something unique about Lady Fallbrook, not the least of which was the rumored size of her fortune.

“Lady Fallbrook,” he said in an unthinking whisper.

The earl slapped the desk with a resounding thwack. “That's the spirit! Good gracious me! If you could marry one such as Lady Fallbrook, I would settle ten thousand pounds upon you! Tell me, have you managed an introduction? If not, I am well acquainted with the dowager Duchess of Kelbourne.”

“We have met. In fact, sir,” Monteford said, beginning to warm to the idea, “we danced at Lady Colhurst's ball last night. I have every reason to believe that she will not discourage my interest.”

As he recalled her surprisingly direct gaze, his heart began to pound at the thought of being completely free from his grandfather's control. The look sparkling in his
grandfather's heretofore frosty eyes suddenly made him feel more than halfway in love with the fashionable widow.

“This is excellent, Monteford. Most excellent. Lady Fallbrook is a perfect choice.”

“Thank you, Grandfather. Now that we have an understanding, there is the matter of my boot maker….”

The earl wagged a long, bony finger at his grandson. “No, I shall stand firm, boy, or you will backslide. As soon as you present me with your future wife, all will be well. Now off with you.”

“G
randmère, would you mind if I cried off shopping with you this afternoon? I have a stack of correspondence that I would like to read,” Emma asked, as she and her grandmother lingered over their luncheon.

Grandmère preferred this room, the west-facing salon decorated in shades of cream and gold, when they dined privately, for it was smaller and slightly less formal than the dining room.

“I would not mind at all, my dear,” Grandmère said over her teacup. “I just hope you have not received a letter from that man managing your school saying that it is falling apart without you.”

Emma laughed and said, “I am sure it is not. I found very proficient people to take care of the everyday running of the school.”

“No doubt you did. You have always displayed impressive organizational skills. No, you have probably received a packet of billet-doux from all the gentlemen you slayed last night. Or did you receive them this morning with all those flowers I saw your maid carrying upstairs,” she said with a knowing twinkle in her lovely eyes.

“Lord Monteford's note called me the ‘Incomparable of Incomparables.”' Emma tried to keep a straight face as she relayed this information but failed at her grandmother's derisive snort.

“Just like Monteford to do the thing much too brown. I'd
wager that Devruex did not go so over the top if he sent you a tribute.”

Emma's fingers stilled on the delicate handle of her cup. “Lord Devruex sent a bouquet of pink roses. By your comment, I could almost believe that you like him.”

“I do,” Grandmère quickly rejoined, setting her fork precisely on the edge of her plate. “I may be old, but I am not blind. Devruex is as fine an example of masculinity as you'll ever find. He is just like his grandfather, who was one of the singularly most rapscallion men of my generation—but madly charming for all that. Devruex's grandfather could ride the hounds all day, dance all night, challenge someone to a duel at dawn, and start it all again the next day. His grandson is cut from the same cloth. And Devruex has exquisite manners. He calls upon me at least once every Season.”

“Does he really?” Emma never would have believed it, especially since Grandmère had never mentioned Devruex in any of her letters.

Nevertheless, though she never revealed her youthful indiscretion with Jack Devruex, Emma had always had a small suspicion that Mama had told Grandmère of the near disastrous event.

“Yes,” Grandmère continued. “He always stays above half an hour and has the very flattering gift of flirting back.”

“Grandmère!”

“Don't come off all prudish with me, my girl. Not after your talk of paramours,” the old lady said with a wag of her finger. “Seriously, I have always enjoyed Devruex. He has become quite the nonpareil in the horse-breeding world. Harwich says Devruex has an unerring eye when it comes to prime horseflesh. One of Devruex's horses is entered in the Severly Stakes next month and Harwich is going to place a wager for me.”

Setting her cup back in its saucer, Emma said softly, “Building a racing stable was always one of his dreams.”
Realizing that she had just revealed far too much, Emma cast a quick, nervous look to her grandmother and sent up a prayer that the keen old lady hadn't noticed.

“Is that so, my dear? How very interesting. Now off you go to read your letters” was all she said, to Emma's great relief.

Quickly, she did as her grandmother instructed. Setting aside her napkin, she rose from her chair and after pressing a quick kiss on her grandmother's cheek, she left the room.

Once in the sitting room next to her bedchamber, Emma moved to the pale blue velvet covered settee next to the large window. With a feeling of relief—for she needed something to distract her chaotic thoughts from Jack Devruex—she picked up the first letter in the stack on the small table next to the settee and saw by the familiar handwriting that it was from her mother.

Breaking the black wax seal, she noted that the return address was Brighton. Settling comfortably on the settee, she unfolded the sheets.

With an amused smile at the marriage reference, Emma set her mother's letter aside and reached for the next note. A quick perusal revealed that it was from Amelia and written that very morning. Taking a moment to admire the pretty handwriting, she read:

Emma glanced over at the mantel clock and decided that a nap would be just the thing, for she felt unusually fatigued
after being out so late last night and experiencing the disturbing events of the morning.

Not bothering to ring for her maid, she kicked off her slippers and managed to undo enough buttons on her afternoon gown to remove it by herself. Tossing the garment over the back of a chair, she crossed the room to the windows and pulled the drapery partially closed to dim the room.

Once settled beneath a light green satin coverlet on the downy bed, she closed her eyes and concentrated on her plans for the church bazaar in the autumn. Back home, the festive weekend, always one of the highlights of the year, took months of detailed preparations to ensure its success.