La Petite Four Page 3

  “A Mr. James Cropper,” her butler had said when she’d cornered him after breakfast. “He had a letter of introduction from a fine gentleman known to His Grace and wished to have words on a private matter, so it seemed appropriate to allow him to wait in the sitting room.”

  How very odd. Did thieves have letters of introduction?

  “If he should call again,” Emily had said, “I want you to find me straightaway.” She supposed Mr. Cropper had not come calling today, for she’d heard nothing more.

  Now Priscilla rose to pace the room. Her hair was as bright as the gilt chairs, and her blue muslin day dress with its white lace collar looked like a pale copy of the Wedgwood blue wallpaper.

  “Then all is not lost,” she declared. “We have only to convince Lord Robert that you must wait until after the ball. Think, Emily. What can we use against him?”

  Emily raised her brows. “Against him? What do you plan, Pris, blackmail?”

  Priscilla paused in her pacing. “If necessary.”

  “Surely we can reason with him,” the ever logical Ariadne protested.

  Emily could not feel so confident. Ever since her father had told her he agreed with Lord Robert’s plans last night, she’d felt squished, her bones pressed together, as if her body were trying to curl into a snail’s shell. She’d tried to protest, but her father had seemed so very happy about the entire matter that she couldn’t find it in herself to disappoint him. Having her friends here now made it easier to breathe, and to think.

  “Perhaps this isn’t so horrid,” Priscilla said, coming to sit near Emily on one of the delicate little blue chairs. “Some people might even say you’re fortunate. With his family connections, Lord Robert is quite a catch.”

  Possibly, but Emily wished she understood why she’d caught him. It wasn’t as if their lands marched side by side. His Grace’s estates were all entailed to Cousin Charles, and she brought only a small estate from her mother to the marriage. And if it were a duke’s consequence he craved, there must be other dukes with marriageable daughters. Why her?

  “I still cannot like it,” Daphne said, shifting in her gilt chair across from Emily. The weak spring sun, trickling through the windows, made the green sprigs on her white muslin dress look like little tufts of grass. “Lord Snedley is most particular about the way engagements are to be announced, and sneaking behind people’s backs would not meet with his approval.”

  “Well, it isn’t as if it were totally unexpected,” Emily hedged, crossing her ankles under her heavy skirts. The spruce-colored wool gown had completely suited her mood that morning. “His father and mine talked of uniting our families forever. They were great friends in school. But I cannot believe that’s all that motivates Lord Robert. When we were younger the only use he had for me was to torment me. He once snatched my riding crop and ordered me to kiss his boots before he’d give it back.

  “You didn’t!” Daphne gasped.

  “No,” Emily admitted. “I stomped on his instep. I was only thankful Mother noticed and put a stop to his wretched game. I only wish I knew what game he’s playing now.”

  “It may not be a game,” Priscilla said, leaning closer. “Your father said Lord Robert wishes this marriage. So long as Lord Robert allows the ball, I’d go along with him. The engagement will put you in the best position. You can flirt, and no one can get peeved because they’ll all know you’re taken.”

  “And you can eat whatever you like,” Ariadne added, “without fear that you won’t fit in your presentation gown.” She reached for another comfit, and Daphne nudged her hand away.

  “You see?” Priscilla said. “Besides, everyone will want to congratulate you. As your dear friends, we’ll be quite popular.”

  That was the one problem with Priscilla. She tended to think of her own needs first.

  “But Priscilla,” Daphne protested, “how could we enjoy ourselves, knowing we’d consigned Lady Emily to a monster?”

  “Having a beastly childhood does not make Lord Robert a monster,” Priscilla began when there was a cough at the door. Warburton met their gazes with a smile.

  “Forgive the interruption, ladies, but the monster, that is Lord Robert, has come calling, and I wasn’t sure you wished to receive him.” He eyed the girls pointedly.

  Emily raised her chin. “I’d very much like to have a word with him, Warburton. Please show him up.”

  “But do give us a few moments first, Mr. Warburton,” Priscilla said sweetly.

  Emily thanked him and turned to ask Priscilla why they needed time. But one look at her friends and she knew.

  They were all primping.

  She supposed she should do the same—fluffing up the curls on either side of her face, as Priscilla was doing or biting her lips to make them appear rosier, like Ariadne. She wasn’t sure why Daphne was flapping her arms up and down like a goose, but she guessed it was on the fool-proof advice of Lord Snedley.

  Still, Emily saw no need to posture for Lord Robert. He’d offered for her after ten years before he’d even seen her again! She was ready to level him immediately, tell him that under no circumstances would she marry him. But when he paused in the doorway a few moments later, words failed her.

  He looked like one of the heroes in her paintings, tall and broad-shouldered. Against all odds, he had the same glorious mane of hair as Mr. Cropper, though it was artfully styled around his handsome face. His eyes were a deep clear blue that warmed with his smile. His dove gray coat and black trousers were so fitted, they showed nary a crease as he bowed.

  Priscilla eyed him, Ariadne paled, and Daphne stared open-mouthed, despite all of Lord Snedley’s sophisticated advice.

  “Heaven is missing a few angels today, I see,” he said as he straightened.

  “I have read that line a dozen times before,” Ariadne whispered to Emily. “He could do better.”

  Lord Robert evidently thought he’d done well, for his smile was confident as he strolled into the room. He went to Priscilla first, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

  She smiled. “Such a pleasure to meet you, my lord. Lady Emily has told us so much about you.”

  And not a whit of it good. What was Pris thinking, smiling so fetchingly that dimples danced at the corners of her mouth? Lord Robert blinked as if he’d forgotten his own name, until some other emotion flashed across his face. Disappointment? Of course! He didn’t know which one of the girls was Emily.

  Emily rose. “You can stop the pleasantries. I’m not going to marry you.”

  He raised his brows, as if he had not expected her to attack and now must marshal his thoughts. Priscilla rolled her eyes as if begging heaven for help. Daphne nodded her support so vigorously, she was in danger of hitting her sister with her swinging curls.

  “But of course you are, dear Lady Emily,” he said, moving to her side. She caught the scent of cloves and had to stop herself from inhaling like a child in a kitchen with freshly baked cookies. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. The warm pressure sent a shiver up her arm.

  “I am your most devoted servant, I assure you,” he murmured, releasing her. “I was crushed we could not meet at Barnsley, so I came here straightaway this morning.”

  As it was now nearly noon, she doubted he’d been in any particular hurry. Still, if he could be polite, then so could she. “These are my dear friends Priscilla Tate and Daphne and Ariadne Courdebas.” Very likely she’d said their names so quickly, he wasn’t at all sure who was who, but Lord Robert obligingly nodded to them all as Emily returned to her seat.

  “Did I interrupt your conversation?” he asked politely, spreading his coattails to sit beside her.

  Priscilla and Ariadne exchanged glances, and Emily glared at them in warning.

  “We were discussing etiquette, my lord,” Daphne announced, affixing him with a narrow-eyed look. “And how do you feel about the subject?”

  Lord Robert pursed his lips. “I suppose I’ve never given it much thought. A gentleman is m
erely a gentleman.”

  Daphne frowned, but Priscilla jumped in. “And surely it is good etiquette to congratulate you, my lord. We were so excited to hear of your engagement.”

  Excited was hardly the word, but he could not know that as he smiled at Priscilla. “I am the most fortunate of mortals.” He spread his arms along the top of the camel-backed sofa, and his fingers brushed Emily’s shoulder. She should blush, giggle, bat his hand away, but she merely wanted to get up and walk out. She knew she was, by her nature, entirely too suspicious, but she could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. How could he be such a paragon? She’d always considered him a toad!

  Priscilla clapped her hands together. “Oh, I just had a vision! We will toast your engagement at the ball! I’ve heard of the most cunning fountain, all bubbles and froth, and the ladies might dip their goblets for a taste. It will be the talk of London!”

  Lord Robert withdrew his arm from Emily’s shoulder, leaving her suddenly cold. “Ball? What ball?”

  “My coming out ball,” Priscilla said, dimples popping into view once more. “On April twelfth. Do say you’ll come.”

  His smile was sad. “I regret that I cannot. Lady Emily and I will be in Devonshire by then, preparing to wed.”

  “We most certainly will not,” Emily argued.

  As he frowned, Priscilla put in smoothly, “Surely Lord Robert is teasing us. No gentleman would deprive his betrothed of her first Season.” Emily thought she was not the only one who heard the steel behind the tone.

  “It is with great regret that I must do so, Miss Tate,” he assured her. “I’m sure Lady Emily mentioned to you that my dear father went to his reward this past October. My poor mother, Lady Wakenoak, is heartbroken. As this marriage was my father’s dream, I ease her pain by honoring his wishes, particularly by marrying at our country seat in Devonshire.”

  “My condolences on your loss,” Emily said, remembering His Grace mentioning Lord Wakenoak’s passing in a letter and feeling like a selfish oaf for wanting to distress the poor widow further. “But I truly do not wish to wed, especially in the next eight days.”

  His russet brows drew together as if he were not certain what she was about.

  Daphne nodded her support, curls bobbing. “We’ve been looking forward to this ball for ages, my lord. It is the pinnacle of our achievements and will signal to the world that we are ready to take our rightful places in Good Society.”

  “Well said,” Ariadne put in admiringly. “I shall ask you to repeat that later so I can copy it into my journal.”

  As Daphne beamed, Lord Robert leaned closer to Emily. “Surely,” he murmured, “we shouldn’t quarrel over such a small matter, my pet.”

  Those lovely blue eyes pleaded for understanding. It was quite like looking into the coming night and the secrets it promised. The thought set her cheeks aflame. Would all young men make her blush so? She’d have to rethink her wardrobe, or she’d spend the entire Season clashing with her skin!

  “This is no small matter, sir,” Priscilla said with a pointed look to Emily. “This ball is Lady Emily’s chance to gain entrance to the Royal Society for the Beaux Arts.”

  The Royal Society. Her paintings. Her dreams made Lord Robert’s lovely eyes fade in comparison. Emily rose once more, head high. Even the swish of her skirts sounded defiant. “Yes, Lord Robert. This ball may be my best opportunity to impress Lady St. Gregory. Joining the society is by her invitation, you know. It is the only way for me to become an acknowledged artist. Painting is my life’s passion.”

  Propriety demanded that he rise as well, yet he gazed up at her, smiling still. “Now, now. I fear you will be too busy to paint. And we will be in Devonshire by this time next week, so you will not be able to attend Miss Tate’s ball.”

  As Emily joined Priscilla in glaring at him, he rose at last. “Ladies, I should get to my purpose in calling. My mother is hosting a dinner party this Sunday to celebrate the engagement. Because His Grace is so busy, we’ll likely sign the marriage settlements then as well. In any event, we’ll make our bows to Society as the bride and groom to be. I trust you can all come.”

  Emily wanted to pick up the pot of tea and douse his ridiculous smile. He had the audacity to ruin her entire Season—nay, her entire life!—and then expected her and her friends to dine with him?

  Had he no sensibilities? No refinement of spirit?

  No idea he had laid down a challenge she had no choice but to accept? For she would not give up the ball or her painting, and Lord Robert Townsend would rue the day he dared to stop her.

  4

  He Must Be Up to Something

  She threw him out, of course. Or rather, she stalked out of the elegant withdrawing room, forcing him to follow, and led him down the carpeted stairs to Warburton.

  “Our guest has a pressing engagement,” she said. “Please see him out.”

  Lord Robert blinked, but his good manners apparently prevented him from arguing with her. He suffered himself to pick up his top hat and gloves and be ushered out the door by a dignified Warburton.

  When Emily returned to the sitting room, she could see that her friends were not nearly so composed. Indeed, they looked as depressed as she felt. Priscilla was staring off in the distance, her chest rising and falling as if she was concentrating on taking deep, even breaths. Ariadne sat slumped in her chair, her reticule pooled in the lap of her gown like a wilted flower. Daphne chewed her lower lip and blinked rapidly, as if fighting tears. Either that or Lord Snedley advised blinking when faced with disaster.

  Seeing Emily in the doorway, Priscilla rose to her feet and shook out her muslin skirts. “Everyone up. We have no time for this nonsense. We have much to do in the next eight days.”

  As Emily frowned, Daphne obligingly leaped to her feet, setting the teapot on the table beside her to clattering.

  Ariadne got up more slowly. “What must we do?”

  Priscilla waved her hands as if shooing away any potential objections. “Prepare for the ball, of course!”

  Daphne brightened. “Then the ball is still on?”

  “The ball,” Priscilla said with a sniff, “was never off.”

  “Well said,” Emily agreed, moving into the room. “But what do you know that I have missed, Pris?”

  Priscilla raised her chin so that her golden curls caught the sunlight. “Only that you cannot listen to Lord Robert. Some gentlemen are entirely too full of themselves, and I can see that he’s one of them.”

  “I told you he was not to be trusted,” Daphne added. “’A gentleman is merely a gentleman’ indeed.” She rolled her sky blue eyes. “Perhaps he should read Lord Snedley.”

  Emily knew she should probably invite them to sit back down and have a cup of tea, but the silver pot and the dainty flowered china cups had never looked less inviting. Instead she wandered to the window and gazed out at the garden below. Tulips lined the redbrick path to the stables, and wrens darted about, as if they enjoyed their freedom. Was she never to have any?

  “Lord Robert has always been arrogant,” Emily told her friends. “Though he’s only a second son, he puts on the airs of a prince. At least he is thinking of his family instead of himself for once.” She puffed out a sigh that fogged the glass. “Still, I cannot quite believe he is reformed. Why agree to marry me? Why must we wed now, when the season has barely started? Why must we rusticate in Devonshire?” She turned to face the others. “He must be up to something.”

  Priscilla sighed as well. “I never have understood why you must see the dark in every situation, Emily, but I fear you’re right this time.”

  Ariadne rubbed a hand over the gilded wood of her chair. “Perhaps his love of Emily motivates him. Perhaps he cannot bear to share her with the rest of the world.” She brightened. “Oh, that’s good.”

  Priscilla shook her head. “If he truly loved her, he would want her to be happy. How can she possibly be happy if we must cancel the ball?”

  “He didn’t say you mus
t cancel it,” Ariadne reminded her. “Only that Lady Emily cannot attend. You could still come out.”

  Priscilla touched her slender neck as if she felt unseen hands strangling her. “Impossible. Even if Lady Emily did not wish to impress Lady St. Gregory, she must attend. Mother’s told everyone the Duke of Emerson’s daughter is a dear friend. The prince won’t come just to see me, and neither will a great many others in London Society, not after Aunt Sylvia’s fall from grace. We may have hidden the full extent of the scandal, but they’ll all have heard she’s now residing with keepers.” She uttered that last word so quietly it was almost inaudible.

  Ariadne’s and Daphne’s faces melted into pity. Emily knew hers must look much the same.

  “It isn’t your fault your aunt went mad and tried to smother Lord Brentfield with a feather pillow,” Ariadne assured Priscilla. “Who could possibly have foreseen that outcome?”

  They all nodded. They had discussed last month’s strange events at Brentfield Manor so many times that there was no need to go over the fine points. Priscilla’s aunt Sylvia had grown greedy, pure and simple. Unsatisfied with the money she received as a widow, she’d set her cap at the new Lord Brentfield instead. When the fellow had preferred their art-teacher-turned-chaperone to her, Sylvia tried to kill him. She might have succeeded if Emily hadn’t suspected her. And if Priscilla’s aunt hadn’t taken a bad fall trying to escape, the woman might even now be in Newgate Prison, waiting to be hanged.

  And wouldn’t that have been a terrible scandal!

  “Aunt Sylvia’s madness surprised everyone,” Priscilla said now, lowering her gaze and tracing a pattern in the carpet with the toe of her blue leather slipper, “most of all my parents. Besides, it was Aunt Sylvia’s money that paid for my gowns, the Elysium Assembly Rooms for the ball, the one thousand crimson roses. There’s nothing left. If I am to redeem us, I must marry well.”

  “But what of love?” Ariadne asked with a frown.

  Priscilla raised her head and tossed her curls. “I imagine love and compatibility are very nice for those who can afford them. After this business with Aunt Sylvia, I have no choice but to look for more.”