Lady Emma's Dilemma (9781101573662) (2 page)

As Grandmère and Lord Harwich continued to chat, Emma resumed her perusal of the theatre. The last play she had attended had been with Charles in the early years of their marriage, when she had still been hopeful that they could find something in common to enjoy. However, Charles had hated everything about Town, especially the theater. “A play? Who wants to mix with the rabble?” he used to say whenever she suggested a visit to Drury Lane.

Scanning the luxurious boxes, she realized that they most likely held people she had been well acquainted with years ago. She smiled at the prospect of reestablishing some of those connections.

Shifting restlessly in her chair, she leaned forward slightly to look over the front of the box down to the
narrow rows of seats in the pit below. The seats were filling quickly with a colorful assortment of people.

Again, she looked around the large oval space, recalling that the theater had not been nearly this grand ten years ago. The news of the fire that had razed the previous building had even reached her in Yorkshire. This new building, with its impressive domed rotunda, tiers of ornately ornamented boxes and sweeping double staircase in the entrance hall, was a splendid example of the new style of architecture.

As the crowd swelled and the candlelight glinted off the fronts of the gilded boxes, Emma felt excitement fluttering in her stomach.

Why had she waited so long to return to London? she wondered for the hundredth time since arriving in Town three days ago. She had missed the excitement that had always accompanied a Season, and now that she was here, all her previous hesitation seemed ridiculous.

Well, no matter now, she told herself. She was here and she was going to enjoy herself.

“I am probably not the first to inform you, dear Duchess, that Devruex is come to London. He had a prime bit of blood make its first appearance today. The filly beat one of Grafton's favorites by a nose.”

At Lord Harwich's words, Emma was pulled from her musings and left reeling in surprise.

Devruex.
Her head whipped around to look from Lord Harwich to her grandmother in alarm. Jack Devruex was in London!

Grandmère, the porcelain skin around her blue eyes crinkling with her smile, leaned toward her old friend. “My dear Lord Harwich, I am a day or two ahead of your news. Several of my friends who have unmarried granddaughters are already scrambling to send Lord Devruex invitations. In truth, I doubt their efforts will do much good. Though he usually comes to Town for the Season, Devruex is notorious for shunning the more mundane entertainments. Unless
racing, gambling, or fencing is involved, Devruex rarely puts in an appearance in Society.”

Harwich chuckled and nodded his gray head. “You are always aware of everything worth knowing, dear Duchess.”

“In truth, there are so few young people who interest me, I make sure I know what they are up to,” she said. “It keeps me young.”

“You are eternally young, m'dear,” Lord Harwich said with a warm smile for the dowager.

A wave of cold panic washed over Emma's body.

Frantically scanning the crowds for a tall, black-haired man, Emma gripped the chair arms to prevent her hands from trembling.

He could be anywhere! She craned her neck in an attempt to see into the nearest boxes. Her anxiety rising, she knew she could encounter Jack Devruex at any moment!

Before coming to London, she believed she had prepared herself for such a thing. After all, she had quite gotten over the fact that young Baron Devruex broke her heart thirteen years ago. Now that she faced the very real prospect of seeing him again, she prayed that it would not be tonight.

Foolish, foolish Emmaline, she chided herself. How could she have ever thought that thirteen years would be long enough?

On the verge of pleading a headache so that she could escape, she caught a glimpse of a black-haired gentleman among the crowd below. Her heart leapt with mounting dread.

Half rising from her chair, she hazily formed a plan to leave the theatre box and hide in the cloakroom if need be. An instant later, the dark-haired man turned and the abject relief that he was not Lord Devruex shook her from the grip of panic.

Relaxing back into her chair, she took a deep breath and waited for her heart to slow its frantic pace. She concentrated on keeping her expression pleasant, and on all the
reasons why she had decided to come to London rushed up to rescue her roiling emotions.

Good Lord, I'm almost one and thirty, not some missish schoolgirl!
Finally, she felt her fingers begin to relax, and she released her painful grip on the chair arms.

Feeling calmer, she reminded herself that she had lived an entire lifetime in the last thirteen years. She had faced loss and grief and other situations more onerous than possibly meeting a man who had doubtless given her very little thought since they had last met.

She had always known if she came to London there was a strong possibility that she would encounter Jack Devruex.

Nothing had really changed from a moment ago, came the reassuring thought. Nothing at all. She had a plan and she would see it through, she reminded herself with determination. She would set aside all her worries about the past—and the future—and think only of enjoying herself.

Hang Jack Devruex, she thought with relief and renewed confidence.

Feeling her spirits much restored, she turned back to her grandmother and stately Lord Harwich. Thankfully, neither seemed to have noticed her momentary discomfiture.

Hang Jack Devruex, she thought again, and there was a hint of vehemence in the sentiment. If—or more likely when—they met again, she would simply give him the most elegant cut sublime and move on. He certainly deserved no more from her.

Finally, just as the crowds were growing alarmingly restive, the heavy curtains drew back in a great wave from the stage. The orchestra, hidden from view in the pits, struck up a lively overture.

The audience quieted and the play began. But after several minutes, to Emma's great disappointment, the company displayed rather indifferent talent in a confusing comedy having something vaguely to do with mistaken identity.

Soon, she found her mind, as well as her gaze, wandering
from the stage. Scanning the other theatregoers, she thought many of them more diverting than the play. To her amusement, she noticed most of them following her suit—watching the notables rather than the rather dull show.

Though the actors struggled to be heard over the noise of the restive crowd, Emma still found the whole scene excessively entertaining. It had been so long since she had experienced this kind of excitement.

Then, as suddenly as the closing of a music box, the noise of the crowd ceased. Emma glanced back to the stage in surprise. Even the actors seemed to falter in confusion.

“What is happening?” Grandmère demanded, raising her lorgnette to get a better look at the stage.

Gripping the warm wooden armrests, Emma looked around the packed theatre, sensing the excitement and a palpable feeling of anticipation emanating from the crowd.

“Is the Prince Regent joining us tonight?” Emma could think of no other reason for this odd scene.

Grandmère gave an inelegant snort. “Tosh. No one gets that excited over fat little Prinny.” She continued using the lorgnette to peruse the crowd with curiosity.

“I suspect …” Lord Harwich began, squinting in the direction of a box not much removed from theirs. “Yes! Mrs. Willoughby has arrived,” he announced.

Grandmère immediately lowered the lorgnette and sat back in her chair with an indignant twitch of her shoulders. “Oh! I shall not look in that direction again!”

“Who in the world is Mrs. Willoughby?” Emma kept her gaze riveted on the box Lord Harwich indicated as a dark-haired woman entered on the arm of a formally dressed gentleman.

Emma observed them with great interest. Even the actors on the stage seemed to be aware of the late arrivals.

The beautiful brunette glided to the front of the box and stood for a moment where she could be seen more easily by the entire theatre.

It was difficult to judge her height, but her slim, graceful
figure gave the impression of regal tallness. Her dark hair, arranged in a riot of ringlets artfully erupting from a toque, must have taken her maid hours to perfect. Her claret-and cream-colored gown revealed an elegant expanse of alabaster décolletage.

Even from this distance, Emma saw that her complexion gleamed pale and flawless beneath the thousands of candles, and her lips were glossy crimson.

Emma, who had inherited a fondness for jewels from her mother and grandmother, took note of the glittering collar of rubies, or garnets, encircling Mrs. Willoughby's neck. A brooch with the same stone the size of a pigeon's egg rested in a gather of silk between her breasts.

Emma continued to observe the mysterious woman, fascinated by the manner in which the crowd seemed to be holding their collective breaths at her appearance. Mrs. Willoughby stood above them like a queen accepting tribute from her subjects.

“Who is she?” She directed her question to the earl, who cast Grandmère a hesitant look, as if seeking her permission to speak.

Turning her nose up with a sniff, Grandmère said, “I am sure the subject of Mrs. Willoughby cannot be avoided for long. It is bad enough that the cits and hoi polloi speak of nothing else, but her name is on the lips of half the
ton
as well. And I cannot see why. I will own that she is an attractive woman, but certainly nothing out of the most common way. My granddaughter's beauty outshines hers tenfold.”

Lord Harwich inclined his head. “I agree. Lady Fallbrook has no rival in beauty, but Mrs. Willoughby has no rival in infamy.”

“Please, Lord Harwich, though I could happily listen to your compliments all evening, I am exceedingly curious about the mysterious Mrs. Willoughby.” Emma glanced back to see that the woman had finally taken the seat next to her escort.

“It's a shocking tale, Lady Fallbrook, though everyone
knows of it. Mrs. Willoughby burst on the scene last Season in some utterly forgettable opera. Soon Lord Monteford, old Pellerton's heir … er … befriended her. Shortly thereafter, she quit the theatre and started appearing all over town, driving a bright red carriage with white ponies, wearing a different set of jewels every day.”

Grandmère abandoned her indifferent pose and tapped her fan sharply on her chair arm. “She is a woman given over to a shameful want of decency and decorum. Monteford's mama, an old friend of mine, has taken to her bed over the fortune he has squandered on that wanton.” She glared at the box despite her earlier avowal not to look in that direction again.

“Is there a Mr. Willoughby?” Emma asked the earl.

“No one seems to know for sure. But there is a rumor that Monteford pays a bit of blunt to keep him snug in the country.”

“Despite her queenly demeanor, she is a wretched creature who does not even have the decency to be discreet in her depravity,” Grandmère put in.

Emma continued to watch Mrs. Willoughby and Lord Monteford. “Indeed, the better part of depravity is discretion.”

Lord Harwich chuckled at this quip and Grandmère scowled.

“She is exceedingly beautiful,” Emma continued. Though she was certainly not naïve about the ways of the world, she had never seen a mistress of a member of Polite Society show herself so openly in public. She found herself quite curious about Mrs. Willoughby, marveling at how the woman obviously enjoyed her notoriety.

“Yes. All of London has fallen under her spell. Crowds follow her and a day rarely passes without mention of her in the gossip papers,” Lord Harwich replied.

How daring, how fascinating, Emma mused, before turning her attention to Mrs. Willoughby's companion,
Lord Monteford. He seemed to take no notice of the crowd's attention and kept his impassive gaze on the stage.

To be sure, he was a rather impressive-looking gentleman. His pale brown hair was swept back from a nobly proportioned forehead. His features were handsome in the classical mode. The only flaw she noted—saving him from being almost pretty—was his rather thin lips. His build was above slim, though athletic, and his superbly cut evening clothes accented his shoulders.

As for his whole demeanor, she observed, he came off a bit proud, but that may have only been due to having to keep his chin lifted above his high collar, she surmised charitably.

As she did her best to watch Mrs. Willoughby and Lord Monteford inconspicuously, Grandmère and Lord Harwich conversed quietly and turned their attention back to the play.

After another moment, Emma followed their suit only to see that the play had not improved. She allowed her attention to wander again. Most of the crowd attended to their own conversations and gawked at Mrs. Willoughby. The players on stage could barely be heard above the restless din.

Suddenly, the lead actor caught Emma's attention by doing something quite strange.

He moved to the middle of the stage and remained completely still and quiet even though it was apparent that the next line was his. After a moment, as people began to take notice and quiet down, he turned away from the leading lady and faced the audience.

As the other actors looked at one another nervously, he moved forward to the edge of the stage, finally gaining the full attention of the spectators.

Emma exchanged a curious glance with her grandmother, but the old lady's shrug showed that she was just as confused by the actor's odd behavior.

Whatever his intention, the effect was quite dramatic.
Emma watched the man, fascinated to see what he would do next.

“Indeed, Gwendolyn,” he suddenly spoke in a tone that carried throughout the theatre, addressing the audience rather than the confused actress playing Gwendolyn. “There are few to rival you in beauty.”

His voice rose as he spread his arms wide before continuing, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.