Emilia
It was a quiet May afternoon in
the village of Little Compton, Hampshire, and Lady Brentwood was in her
summerhouse with her two daughters, discussing their toilettes for the upcoming
assembly at Alton.
Lady Brentwood was an invalid,
and although, in the course of the years, she had become accustomed to her
secluded life, there was a keen sense of regret when she thought of her poor
daughters, whom she would have loved to escort to various entertainments. To
bring them out in London was one of Lady Brentwood's favourite dreams, but, she
felt, there was no chance of ever doing so. She had once tried to enlist her
sister-in-law's assistance, but had not been very successful. Mrs. Brentwood
had three daughters of her own to dispose of, and was not at all willing to
ruin their chances by presenting them along with their prettier cousins.
Because, to be honest, and without wishing to be unkind, one had to say that
Mrs. Brentwood's daughters were among the plainest girls to be found in London.
Lady Brentwood was heartily sorry for them, but she felt it was highly unfair
that, due to their cousins' plainness, her own girls were deprived of their
chance to shine in the Metropolis. She looked at her girls with considerable
pride.
Of the two Brentwood sisters the
younger, Miss Emilia Brentwood, was by far more beautiful. She reminded her
mother of what she had been in the days of her youth. Emilia was the one of the
sisters that turned everyone's head wherever she went, and Lady Brentwood did
not blame people if they stared. Emilia was a beauty, with her classic
features, her skin like porcelain, and her rich, chestnut-coloured curls. Large
green eyes added some distinction to her face, and her figure was spectacular.
If she had one flaw, it was her size. Emilia was not very tall, but she made up
for this with a lively, unaffected manner and a kind heart. For, though she was
the local Beauty, it had not gone to her head. She did not think herself
superior to others, and did not want to cause pain to anyone. It was no wonder,
Lady Brentwood thought, that young men circled her like moths circled the
light.
Her elder daughter, Matilda, was
pretty as well, as no one who knew her would have denied. It was true that in
comparison to her sister's more spectacular looks Matilda was hardly noticed.
Her hair was brown like her sister's, but not quite as radiant, and her eyes,
though green, had a greyish hue that diminished their sparkle. Matilda was
taller than her sister and her figure was pleasing as well, and Lady Brentwood
felt that, had Matilda not been quite so shy, she would have done very well for
herself. Unfortunately, Matilda did not speak up very often and was to content
to walk in her sister's shadow. Whenever Emilia tried to put her sister forward
which she did quite often, feeling that no one paid her the credit that was
her due Matilda shrunk back even more. It seemed she had resigned herself to
the lot of the unattractive sister, which was a crying shame. One would not
have thought a girl who possessed so much common sense as Matilda would be so
foolish in such matters.
Had it not been for their
neighbour Mrs. Morton, the two girls would have been confined to their home and
not got anywhere. Luckily, Mrs. Morton was only too happy to present the two
girls to the local society. She was a widow and, though she had two sons, had
no daughters of her own. She was excessively fond of company, and glad to have
an excuse to go into company as often as she chose. Since both Mrs. Morton's
reputation and manners were faultless, Sir Harry Brentwood had given his
permission that she should, on occasion, take his daughters to various
functions. Lady Brentwood felt greatly obliged to that lady, but felt resentful
towards her husband, who had gone off to the East Indies without arranging a
London season for his girls, as she had asked him to do. They could have easily
afforded to rent a house for the Season, and Lady Brentwood was certain that
Mrs. Morton would have consented to take the two girls there to be presented.
With a tinge of malice, Lady Brentwood thought of her sister-in-law, who would
have deserved such a set-down. But it was not to be. Sir Harry had left England
and was not likely to come back within the next twelvemonth. In the meantime,
her girls would probably be on the shelf. Unless they managed to find suitable
husbands at the assemblies of Alton or Winchester, which, Lady Brentwood
thought, was highly unlikely.
"Look, Mama," Emilia
exclaimed and took her copy of Ackermann's Repository to her mother.
"Would this hairstyle not look splendid on Tilda? She says it is too
dashing for her taste, but I believe she would look ever so lovely if she wore
her hair in such a fashion."
Lady Brentwood examined the
picture critically, and agreed with her daughter.
"I do not like these
striking fashions," Matilda protested. "You know I feel uncomfortable
when I am decked out in such splendour."
"I do not see why you
should," Emilia said. "You are a lovely girl, so why should not
everybody see that you are? Mama, tell Tilda to give it a try, at
least."
"If Matilda says she is
uncomfortable wearing her hair in such a fashion, I advise her not to do
so," Lady Brentwood said. "Because, my dear, everyone will notice
that she is not at ease, and her spectacular headdress will do her more harm
than good."
"Thank you, Mama,"
Matilda said gratefully. "I knew you would understand."
Emilia shook her head in
disbelief. "How will you ever catch Sir George Harbury's attention if you
keep acting in such a manner?" she asked her sister in exasperation.
"If I can only catch his
attention by acting out of my nature, I had better refrain from doing so,"
Matilda said coolly.
"Do you have a tendre
for Sir George?" Lady Brentwood asked her eldest daughter. Matilda blushed
violently.
"No," she said curtly,
in a tone that contradicted her words.
"Do not believe her,
Mama," Emilia said dryly. "Tilda is head over ears in love with Sir
George Harbury."
Lady Brentwood did not blame her
daughter. Sir George Harbury was a very handsome and charming young man, and
one of the few eligible bachelors in the neighbourhood. Falling in love with him
was, in her opinion, a sign of good taste, and so she told her daughter.
"Much good it will do
me," Matilda said darkly. "He only sees Emilia whenever we
meet."
"Whenever? How often have
you met him?" Lady Brentwood asked. Sir George had spent most of his time
in London ever since he had come into his inheritance. If he had begun to
prefer country life to the gaieties of London, there could be only one reason
"Oh, he seems to turn up at
every assembly in Winchester," Emilia said dismissively.
"Which does not seem to
make much of an impression on you," Matilda said accusingly.
"Of course not,
Tilda," Emilia said with a smile. "Sir George is yours."
Sir George was quite unaware
that he was trying to court the wrong sister, which, Emilia thought, was
unfortunate. Instead of realising Matilda's much greater worth, and falling in
love with her, he tried to fix his interest with Emilia, who was not at all
interested in him.
Emilia gave an inward sigh when
Sir George came towards her at the assembly, asking her to dance the first two
dances with him. Fortunately, she had already bestowed the first two on Mr.
Morton, her chaperon's eldest son, and she found it easy to pass Sir George on
to her sister but she knew that this was hardly a compliment for Matilda. If
only she could find a way to make Sir George realise that Matilda would suit
him much better
but she could not. As long as he fancied himself in love with
her, he would not even notice Matilda's presence. There had to be a way
to cure him of his infatuation, Emilia thought, but unfortunately she had not
found any just yet.
Sir George finally contrived to
engage her for the last two dances, and was radiantly happy about it. It was
strange, Emilia thought, that she could not love him he was an amiable young
man, good-looking and intelligent, and she knew her Papa would give them his
blessing immediately, after all Sir George was not a Nobody. But, owing to
Tilda's tender feelings for him, Emilia had never seen him as husband material.
Brother-in-law material, yes. Husband material, no. Even if she had been
inclined to marry him, Emilia thought, she could never do anything that hurt
her sister.
Sir George's hints during the
Assembly should have forewarned her, and yet Emilia was surprised when, the
next morning, he came into the drawing room along with her mother and her
mother sent her to "show Sir George our rose garden". That Sir George
Harbury was not at all interested in roses but had something else in mind was
evident. Emilia saw the look of anxiety in her sister's eyes and hardened her
heart. She would not, she determined, give in to Sir George's pleading,
no matter how sorry she felt for him. But what reason should she give him for
not wanting to become his wife?
I do not love you, Emilia thought, is an honest answer,
but will it suffice to keep him at bay? Very likely not. It will just convince
him that he has to try harder to make me appreciate him. No, that will not do.
The truth? I cannot marry you because my sister is in love with you?
Impossible! Tilda would never forgive me if she found out. But what else can I
say?
Sir George, as she had expected,
led her to the summerhouse, made her sit down and declared himself. It was a
flattering proposal, Emilia thought, he expressed himself just as he ought, and
that he meant what he had said was obvious. For a while, she said nothing,
biding her time.
"Miss Emilia," Sir
George said, in an insistent voice. "What do you say?"
"I do not know what to
say," Emilia said desperately. "This is most unfortunate!"
"That you do not know what
to say, or my proposal, Miss Emilia?"
"Your proposal, sir,"
Emilia said, blushing.
"It is unwelcome?" He
gave her a disbelieving look. "Miss Emilia, I am aware that I may have
been rash but
if you need time to think about it, I am prepared to wait for
your decision. Do tell me may I hope?"
There was her chance, Emilia
thought, to put off the decision for a while but it would not be fair on Sir
George. Her decision was already made, and she should tell him about it and get
over with it, not keep him in suspense for sheer cowardice. He was an honest,
decent man, and deserved to be treated with respect. If only she could give him
a reason for her refusal a reason he would find acceptable. A reason that
would make him put her out of his mind and look for another.
"You see," Emilia
began hesitantly, and stopped when he took her hand. "Don't, Sir
George," she said quietly. "I cannot marry you, sir."
Had been angry, had he shouted
at her Emilia would have been prepared to endure the unpleasant scene. But he
did not. He merely gave a sigh of disappointment, and quietly asked her the
question she had dreaded most.
"Why not?"
"Please, sir, do not
question my motives," Emilia pleaded. "Just trust me I cannot marry
you. There is one reason that makes it
that makes it impossible for me to
accept your highly flattering offer."
"Without wishing to seem
impertinent, Miss Emilia may I know that reason?" he asked. "It
would make it easier for me to accept your refusal."
"You may be sure, sir, that
if it concerned only me, I would tell you," Emilia said. It was
true. She would.
"There is someone else
then," he said dejectedly.
"There is," Emilia
agreed. This, too, was the pure and simple truth though she knew that he put
her words in another context. He now thought she was in love with another man,
when it was actually another woman who was in love with him. A
woman who would be devastated if he married her sister. But if he thought she was in love with
another man, that was fine with her.
"Who is he?" he
suddenly demanded to know.
"Does it matter?"
Emilia asked.
"Yes it does," he
said. "I want to know whom I will have to contend against."
"Sir, there will be no
competition," Emilia said in exasperation. "I said there was someone
else, and you will have to be satisfied with that."
"But I am not," he
said fiercely. "Forgive my jealousy, Miss Emilia, but I do love you
I will not hand you over to whoever he is without even trying to make
you change your mind."
"I will not change my mind,
sir, so your attempts will be useless," Emilia said. There was no other
man there never had been. Emilia wished there had.
"You sound as if this
affair was serious," Sir George said.
"As serious as it can
get," Emilia said. "You see
we are betrothed." That, she
thought, would scare him away. One little white lie what did it matter? It
was all for Tilda's sake.
"I do not believe it,"
Sir George said determinedly. "If matters were thus, why did Lady
Brentwood not tell me that there was a
a previous attachment when I asked for
her permission to pay my addresses to you?" Sir George was no fool, Emilia
thought appreciatively. He would do very well for Tilda.
"Our engagement is to
remain secret until Papa returns from India," she said.
"So confidential that not
even your own mother is admitted to the secret?" Sir George asked
sarcastically. "Come, Emilia, you must think me a complete fool to believe
that."
"Oh, she does know about
it," Emilia said. "But she is not very happy with it my father and
one of his friends have arranged it, you see, and she thinks I should not marry
a young man I barely know just because our fathers used to be at school with
each other."
"So she thought you might
wish to marry me instead?" Sir George asked.
"This must have been
it," Emilia agreed. She felt immensely guilty for telling him this
enormous pack of lies, but now that she had begun doing so, there was no way
out of it. She would have to see it through and face the consequences.
"Who is he?" Sir
George asked again.
"I told you our engagement
was a secret still," Emilia said.
"Never mind that," he
said. "I shall not believe a word of that story of yours unless you
furnish me with the name of your fiancι. Or are you ashamed of
him?"
"I am not," Emilia
exclaimed heatedly. "There is no need to be ashamed of him. He is a very
pleasant gentleman, with excellent manners and
and
very handsome too."
"And his name is?" Sir
George asked.
"His name is
" Emilia
paused. She had to find a name that sounded impressive, a name that would sound
real but did not exist in reality.
"I am all ears, Miss
Emilia," Sir George said, with an amused grin.
"Lord Elham," Emilia
suddenly said. Sir George's smile vanished, and he turned white. It was obvious
he had not expected her to come up with a name, she thought triumphantly, but
she had.
"Lord Elham," he
repeated, slowly.
"Quite so," Emilia said.
"How long have you been
acquainted with Lord Elham?" He gave her an earnest look.
"Oh, not long," Emilia
said lightly. "But we soon grew fond of each other."
"I daresay," Sir
George said and offered her his arm. "In that case, Miss Emilia, I have nothing
more to say to you but how sorry I am to have put you through this ordeal. Be
assured it will never happen again. May I take you back to the house?"
Emilia allowed him to escort her
back to the front entrance of the house, where he took leave of her.
"Good bye, Miss Emilia
Brentwood," he said with a sad smile. "We shall not meet again, I
believe."
"Why not?" Emilia
asked. "We can still be friends, can't we?"
Sir George gave her a look she
could not fathom. "We will see," he finally said, bowed, and went
towards the stables to get his horse.
"You did what?"
Tilda gasped when Emilia told her what had passed between her and Sir George.
"I told him I was engaged
to a Lord Elham," Emilia said. "There was no other way to convince
him that I would not marry him. He asked if there was someone else, and I said
there was so he demanded to know who his rival was. He should have asked who my
rival was instead, but that's men for you."
"You lied to him!"
Tilda said, glaring at her sister accusingly. "And I suppose he knows. We
will never see him again thanks to you! Oh, Emilia, what have you done?"
"I am sorry," Emilia
said, crestfallen. "I just wanted you to be happy, Tilda."
"Well, thank you very
much," Tilda said sarcastically. "It will be a great comfort to me, I
am sure."
"At least there is no Lord
Elham," Emilia said with a forced smile.
Suddenly, Tilda got out of her
chair and went out of the room. A couple of minutes later she returned,
carrying her father's copy of the Peerage.
She slammed it onto the table in
front of her sister.
"Read," she demanded.
"What
" Emilia asked,
puzzled.
"Just read, Emilia."
Emilia started to read the
passage and blenched. This could not be true! There was an Earl of Elham
in existence but the Earl was eighty years old. Emilia was engaged to be
married with a man old enough to be her grandfather. An old man whose father
had been at school with hers. Should Mama ever find out about this,
Emilia thought, she will kill me. In cold blood. And I'd deserve it, too.
Her only hope now was that her lies should never come to either her mother's or even worse Lord Elham's ears. Her mother might, she felt, understand her motives. Lord Elham would not.
Sir George did not care to stay
in Hampshire. After his disastrous proposal to Emilia Brentwood, he returned to
his family home only to give some peremptory orders to his valet to pack his
trunks, for they would return to London the following day. He fervently wished
to leave Hampshire behind him, never to see the setting of his humiliating
experience again.
He had not believed Emilia's
story not until she had told him her fiancι's name. Elham. The Earl of Elham.
One of his closest friends. Damn him.
Had she known that he was
acquainted with her betrothed? Certainly not she had never mentioned him in
his presence before. On the other hand, if the engagement was not to be
announced before her father returned, it was very likely that she would not
talk about Elham, to avoid gossip. A young lady's reputation was fragile.
But why had Elham not given him
a hint? Why had he not warned him to stay away from his bride? He had never
said a word when Sir George had gone to Hampshire to see the beautiful Miss
Brentwood. Neither had he ever accompanied him. What would have been more
natural for Elham than to make use of their acquaintance to go to Hampshire and
meet his betrothed whenever he could? This was a mystery that had to be solved,
and Sir George determined he would pay his friend if he deserved that name
a visit to find out. After that, one would see. He was not sure he wanted to
keep up a friendship with someone who allowed him to make such a fool of
himself without giving him a word of warning.
Desmond Ingleton, Earl of Elham,
would have been greatly surprised had he been aware of his friend Harbury's
sudden resentment. But he was sitting in his club, playing a quiet game of
cards with his brother, not suspecting what was in store for him.
"You're quite in luck
tonight," Mr. Ingleton observed when his brother had won the third game in
succession.
"Good," Lord Elham
said with a grin. "That means I'll run out of luck in other matters."
"Des, you're
ungrateful," Mr. Ingleton said. "If only half as many ladies lay at
my feet as they are lying at yours
"
"You'd have fled the
country by now," Lord Elham finished his brother's sentence. "Which I
am much inclined to do."
"Is it as bad?"
"Are you joking?" Lord
Elham gave a bitter laugh. "I have a feeling as if every single female in
London is trying to hunt me down. Apart from that, my mother and grandmother
want to see me married at last. I have the Family to consider, they say. I need
an Heir. I owe it to our Name. God, you'd think I was in my dotage! Besides, I have
an heir! You!"
"I am touched," Mr.
Ingleton said with a smile. "But you know, I don't fancy being an earl.
Thank you all the same."
"Besides, Gerry," Lord
Elham continued in a bitter voice, "You don't think those ladies are all
captivated by my natural charms, do you? Even if I were a nasty,
quick-tempered, ugly old hunchback, they'd still be lying at my feet!"
"You're not ugly,
Des," Mr. Ingleton said with a teasing grin.
"Thank you," his
lordship said dryly.
"I may be biased,
however," Mr. Ingleton said. "One becomes accustomed to one's
brother's features over the years. I hope you'll forgive my frankness if I
tell you that you never seemed to object to the ladies' partiality for you. On
the contrary."
Lord Elham was known to be most
appreciative of female beauty, as his brother knew very well. One only had to
look at his most recent mistress to realise that more than one gentleman
coveted Elham's place in the fair Chloe's bed.
"But I do," Elham
insisted. "I don't believe for one moment that it's me they are fond of.
My title and fortune, perhaps, and they may not find me altogether repulsive,
but
Just once I'd like to meet a girl who does not fall over herself
to please me the moment she sets eyes on me."
"She'd annoy you to no
end," Mr. Ingleton predicted. "Because you're spoilt, dear
brother."
"Idle speculation,"
Elham said. "It will not happen, Gerry. The females are nothing but a
bunch of scheming, avaricious vultures. I have yet to meet one that is
different."
"I'll live to hear you sing
a different tune," Mr. Ingleton said laughingly. "Once you meet the
right girl."
"And until then, I'll pass
my time quite pleasantly with the wrong ones," Lord Elham said with a
wicked grin, putting his cards on the table. Mr. Ingleton groaned in mock
desperation. He had just lost the fourth game in a row.
"How much do I owe you,
Des?" he asked.
"Do you think I'll demand
payment of your debts and draw my mother's attention to myself?" Elham
asked with a laugh. "I don't think I want to hear what she has to say on
the subject of robbing my poor brother of the paltry means he's got."
"I don't think I want to
hear what she has to say on any subject," Mr. Ingleton agreed with
a laugh. Their mother was not known for the intelligence of her conversation.
Their pleasant discourse was
interrupted by a stormy-looking Sir George Harbury coming into the room and
walking past them as if they were not there.
"Was that Harbury?"
Gerry asked in amazement.
"That was Harbury,"
Lord Elham said. "In a temper."
"I never thought I should
live to see the day," Gerry said with a grin. "Harbury, the paragon
of good breeding, giving you the cut direct. What have you done this
time?"
"For once, Gerry, my
conscience is clear," Lord Elham said. "I refuse to be responsible
for Harbury's fits of the sullens."
"Come, Des, you must have
done something," Gerry insisted. "Harbury is never cross without a
reason."
"You will have to beg him
to enlighten us then," Lord Elham said calmly.
This turned out to be
unnecessary. About five minutes and a couple of whiskies later, Sir George
Harbury approached their table and asked Elham, in icy accents, if he could
spare a few minutes.
"So we are on speaking
terms again, Harbury?" Lord Elham asked with a grin.
"You
" Sir
George exclaimed before he could stop himself. "This is not a laughing
matter," he added in a fierce whisper. "So, will you oblige me or
not?"
"I am a most obliging
person, Harbury." Lord Elham said. "Unburden yourself."
The amusement in his tone of
voice was evident and infuriated Sir George even more. In his opinion, Elham
did not take matters seriously enough. He might have been able to forgive his
friend's transgression, had he shown proper remorse. But he did not. In fact,
he behaved as if he did not even know what this was about. There were no limits
to his effrontery.
"What have I done to you to
deserve being made to look like a fool?" Harbury asked bitterly. "I
suppose I should have seen it coming, after all I have experienced your warped
sense of humour often enough."
"My warped sense of
humour?" Lord Elham asked. For a moment, he was taken aback but then
matters became clear to him. Harbury had simply gone mad. Poor fellow.
"You knew all the while
that I was going to propose to the Brentwood girl," Sir George said
accusingly.
"I fail to understand what
this has to do with my sense of humour," Lord Elham said. "Besides,
if she is one of the Brentwoods I am thinking of at the moment, I must
tell you I would have credited you with better taste. But we shall not argue on
that matter."
"Stop this!" Sir
George bellowed. "I know you're engaged to her! There is no use in denying
it! She told me!"
"Me engaged to one of the
Brentwood girls?"
"Miss Emilia Brentwood, of
Little Compton, Hampshire. Does that ring a bell, Elham?"
In his mind, Lord Elham reviewed
all the Misses Brentwood he had ever met. He was quite certain there had never
been an Emilia. Nor was any of them from Hampshire.
"You strongly remind me of
Chloe enacting one of her tragedies," he said.
"Now that is
rich!" Sir George ranted. "First you made me look like the greatest
fool on earth by not telling me that you were engaged to the woman I wanted to
marry, and now you take things even further by trying to deny it all!"
"Did you not just tell me
that there was no use in denying it?" Lord Elham asked with a dangerous
glint in his eyes. That his friend had believed him to be capable of such a
nasty trick was bad enough, but making a scene in the club was even worse an
almost unforgivable transgression.
"And then you have the
audacity to speak of your mistress! Do you mean to tell me that,
although you are engaged to the most beautiful, sweet-tempered creature on
earth, you still keep up your relationship with that
that
"
"Woman," Elham
suggested helpfully. "I am not married yet, Harbury."
"You don't deserve
her," Harbury said.
Lord Elham quite agreed. He did
not deserve a girl who told such blatant lies to a perfectly amiable fellow
like Harbury. Someone ought to give her a set-down. How would she like to see
her lies exposed to everyone in London society? Lord Elham tried to think of a
way to accomplish this without actually committing himself. He was not a
fool. Announcing an engagement would make him liable to all sorts of blackmail.
"I suppose not," he
said, looking into his friend's eyes. "I never said I did. And I
understand why you are upset, Harbury. I had no idea you were talking about her,
otherwise I would have dropped a hint now and then."
"You thought I was talking
about her sister?" Harbury asked, suddenly recollecting himself. He had
never thought of that possibility. In company, he had only referred to
Emilia as "Miss Brentwood". If Elham had indeed thought he was
talking about the elder sister, it was no wonder he had not interfered. Why
should he, especially when his friend spoke of his honourable intentions
regarding Miss Brentwood? He might even welcome the possibility of their
becoming brothers-in-law.
"Quite a pretty girl, her
sister," Lord Elham said. True, it was a wild guess, but if one sister was
a beauty, as she appeared to be according to Harbury, the other girl could
hardly be a fright.
"Well, yes, she is not
ill-looking," Harbury admitted grudgingly. "And quite clever, I have
always thought."
"You should have been more
specific in your description of the young lady," Lord Elham said.
"How was I to know you were talking about my
fiancιe?"
The ironic emphasis on the word
"fiancιe" was lost on Harbury but it alerted Gerry. He did not say
a word, but gave his brother a warning look. Gerry knew his brother well enough
to know when he was up to some mischief.
"It seems I have done you
wrong," Harbury said hesitantly.
"Let us talk no more about
it," Lord Elham said and ordered some drinks for himself and his friend.
He noticed that a certain Mr.
Wells, one of London's most notorious gossipmongers, was drawing nearer to
them, no doubt expecting to overhear something of interest. Lord Elham broke
into a wicked smile. This was just the sort of man he wanted to overhear
something. Within the next twenty-four hours, the news of his supposed
engagement would be all over London especially if he asked Wells to keep
everything he had overheard to himself. In fact, twelve hours would do if he
did so.
Elham doubted Miss Brentwood had
wanted the news of their "betrothal" to get around. So he would see
to it that it did - he hoped it would make her learn her lesson. He had
nothing to lose, apart from those matchmaking mamas fawning over him. A
tempting prospect.
"Where did you meet Miss
Emilia Brentwood?" he asked his friend in a casual tone designed to be
overheard.
"At an assembly in
Winchester," Sir George said. "She was the most stunning beauty there
do you actually realise just how fortunate you are, Elham?"
"I am trying to get
accustomed to my good fortune," Lord Elham said dryly. He could almost see
Wells prick his ears.
"Be assured, Elham had I known
that she was
"
"I said we shall talk no
more of this," Lord Elham interrupted him, watching Wells from the corner
of his eye. He had succeeded in capturing the man's interest. Wells took great
pains in appearing unconcerned, which was a sure sign that he was anything but
unconcerned.
"You understand why the
matter has not been made public?" he continued, trying to think of a
probable excuse but not wishing to say too much he did not know what Miss
Emilia Brentwood had told his friend.
Sir George, very obligingly,
told him. "She said the engagement was to remain a secret until her
father's return from abroad."
"Just so," Lord Elham
said, giving the girl credit for some sense. Whatever faults she had, she was
not stupid, apparently.
"You may rely on my
strictest confidence, of course," Sir George said.
"May I?" Lord Elham
said sarcastically. "I am afraid, Harbury, that after your performance
tonight every man in this club is in the know, and though most of them will
keep quiet, I fear not everyone will be as kind as to mind their own
business." He cast a significant glance at Wells, who was trying to act
inconspicuously.
"Do you think he might tell
tales?" Sir George asked nervously, realising the fatal error he had made.
He should have confronted Elham in private, not here, with people like
Wells witnessing the ugly scene.
"There is no telling what
he might do," Lord Elham said. "But I will deal with him. Do
not worry."
Sir George left shortly after
that, worried at what mischief his unguarded behaviour might have caused. He
did not want Emilia's name to be bandied about, yet he knew that by confronting
Elham in public, he had started something that would be difficult to stop. But
Elham's influence might keep the damage within a tolerable limit. No one dared
to oppose him and those who did realised their error very soon. Elham was a
dangerous man to cross.
Mr. Wells was just as familiar
with that fact as anyone else, and when he found himself addressed by Lord
Elham later in the evening, he became rather nervous. Lord Elham was at his
most amiable, yet something in his demeanour told Mr. Wells that he was in
deadly earnest when he pointed out that he had better forget the scene he had
witnessed that evening.
"What scene?" he asked
innocently.
"You know what I am talking
about," Elham said. "I have my reasons for not wishing this to become
known, Wells. I hope you catch my meaning."
"I daresay it was a most
awkward situation for you, my lord," Mr. Wells said, trying to sound
sympathetic. "Such a quarrel between friends is painful, isn't it? But
may I take leave to tell you that the young lady must consider herself most
fortunate?"
That, Lord Elham thought, was
unlikely. She certainly wouldn't consider herself fortunate once he was
finished with her.
"Which young lady?" he
asked, in a threatening voice.
"Oh, your secret is safe
with me," Mr. Wells said with an odiously complacent smile.
"I hope it is," Lord
Elham said. "I would hate to see her name bandied about in London, sir,
and if it was, I would know whom to hold responsible."
"I give you my word of
honour that Miss Brentwood's name will never be mentioned," Mr. Wells
assured him.
"I shall be most
obliged," Lord Elham said with the blandest of smiles. He could be sure
that the news would be all over London by tomorrow morning.
Mr. Ingleton had been remarkably
quiet after the incident with Sir George, but when they were on their way home,
he asked his brother if there was any truth in what Sir George had said.
"Gerry!" Lord Elham
said in a reproachful tone, but with a mischievous smile. "How dare
you doubt the lady's word?"
"Honestly, Des," Mr.
Ingleton said. "Is there?"
"It seems I have reason to
be worried," Lord Elham replied. "What kind of ugly customer do you
take me for? Do you really think I'd play such a nasty trick on one of my
friends? You, of all people, should know better, Gerry."
"Then why did you not tell
him so?"
"Do you think he would have
believed me that I've never even set eyes on this Emilia Brentwood?" Lord
Elham asked. "Rather than believing that she'd lied to him, he
would have thought I was up to some prank or other. Which, for once, I wasn't.
But I shall make her pay for this, Gerry. No one does this to one of my friends
and goes unpunished."
"Was this why you set up
Wells' bristles?" Gerry asked with a grin.
"Of course. She wants to be
engaged to me? Fine. By the time I have done with her, she'll wish she'd never
heard my name."
"Des," Gerry said
anxiously, "Are you sure this won't backfire? You'll be in a devil of a
fix if the girl takes it into her head that she wants to marry you after
all."
"She won't," Lord
Elham predicted. "But it is nice to see that you have decided to be my
Voice of Reason, Gerry."
"What are you up to,
Des?" Gerry demanded, fearing the worst.
"Wait and see," Lord Elham said with an evil grin. "Just wait and see."
Lord Elham's estimation turned
out to be accurate. Before noon the following day, London was buzzing with
gossip concerning his betrothal. Though Mr. Wells had kept his word regarding
Emilia Brentwood's name, he had been able to furnish the curious with her
identity he had merely mentioned she was a young lady from Hampshire, related
to a well-known Member of Parliament residing in Grosvenor Square. Since Mr.
Brentwood was the only MP fitting the description, it was not hard to find out
who "E.B." was.
Lord Elham decided to wait a
couple of days until those gazettes dealing in gossip had spread the news to
Hampshire, as he felt sure they would - and then travel to Little
Compton to see the chit and introduce himself as her fiancι.
He'd give her a thundering scold
and show himself at his worst, demanding that she keep her "promise"
to marry him, for he would not be made a fool of. Elham was determined to be
rude and overbearing. That would convince her that not even his title and
fortune could outweigh his insupportable character, and it would teach her a
much-deserved lesson. She'd be glad to be rid of him in the end. Such were his
plans, but he had made his reckoning without his host that was, his
grandmother.
Despite her age she was
approaching her seventy-eighth birthday the Dowager Countess of Elham was a
power to be reckoned with. Her mind was as sharp as a razor, and so was her
tongue. Lady Elham took a great amount of interest in both her children and
grandchildren's welfare, and gave her advice, whether asked for it or not. Lord
Elham had been her latest project it was "about time the boy set up his
nursery", she had said to his mother, and Lady Gilmorton, afraid of her
mother-in-law, had concurred.
So, when Lord Elham received an
invitation - or rather, a summons - from his grandmother to dine with her, he
knew what to expect.
He was surprised to see how
kindly the old lady received him when he presented himself in Clarges Street at
the appointed time. His mother, however, gave him a look of mild reproach and
informed him that she was indeed disappointed to hear that he took such an
important step as choosing a wife without asking for her advice or her
consent.
"Nonsense, Lydia," the
old lady interrupted her sermon. "He is the head of the family, he need
not consider anyone."
Lord Elham laughed.
"Grandmama, you would be most upset if I did not consider you."
"You did not ask me
for my consent either," the old lady said sharply.
"There was no need
to," he pointed out. "The engagement is not official yet."
"It's only the Topic of the
Day in London," Lady Elham said with a snort. "Not at all official,
oh no. Do not try to fool me, my boy. I've known you from the cradle, you
cannot deceive me. Something fishy is going on and I want to know what it
is."
"There is nothing fishy
going on, Grandmama," Lord Elham said calmly. He'd be mad to tell her the
truth he had no desire to be reduced to the status of a schoolboy. "I
thought you would be pleased to hear that I have finally decided to
settle
down."
He had almost said "marry", but that was the last thing he had on his
mind.
"But who is the
girl?" his mother wanted to know. "I have never heard of her before!
Emilia Brentwood!"
"Her lineage is
impeccable," Lord Elham said soothingly. He had not been idle that day
sensing that his grandmother would want to have a couple of questions answered,
he had made some discreet inquiries into Miss Emilia Brentwood's circumstances.
"You know Cyril Brentwood, the Member of Parliament?"
"I do," the Dowager
Countess said and added, "an amiable man, but his wife! She's a harpy if
ever I saw one!"
Lord Elham laughed. "Emilia
Brentwood is his niece," he said. "His elder brother's daughter. Her
mother, I am told, is related to the Leavens. A second cousin or some such
thing."
He knew his grandmother would be
gratified by this fact. Viscount Leaven that was, the father of the present
Viscount had been one of her many admirers in the days of her youth.
"Good stock, I admit,"
Lady Elham said, not mincing words.
Elham laughed. "Grandmama,
this is not a brood mare we are talking about!"
"Desmond, we have to
consider such things. There is no need for you to lose your temper about
it," Lady Elham said. "How old is she?"
"Twenty," Lord Elham
said.
"Twenty?" Lady
Elham exclaimed. "That's nearly on the shelf! What has she been doing with
herself all those years? Why is she not married yet?"
"Hampshire society is
somewhat confined, and Lady Brentwood is an invalid. She is not able to take
her daughters to London," Lord Elham said.
"Not an inherited illness,
I hope," Lady Gilmorton said worriedly.
"You, too, Mama?" Lord
Elham asked indignantly. Where was this questioning leading to, anyway?
"Well, there is no harm in
inquiring a bit more closely into this," Lady Gilmorton said. "We do
not want you to have an invalid on your hands and we must think of your
children too."
Lord Elham took this personally.
After plaguing him for months to get married, the two ladies should have been
delighted with the news of his betrothal no matter whether it was true or
not. Instead, they had goaded him into defending his unknown bride. He found
the entire situation most annoying. Did they not trust him to find himself a
suitable wife? It was almost enough to make him go ahead and marry the girl out
of spite.
"I hope you will forgive my
saying so, Mama, but I find your way of expressing yourself a trifle tactless,"
he said stiffly.
"Lydia, be quiet,"
Lady Elham commanded her daughter-in-law. Lady Gilmorton shrunk visibly, giving
her son an injured look for having brought his grandmother's censure on her
head.
"What does she look
like?" Lady Elham continued her cross-examination.
"Very beautiful," Lord
Elham said. He could trust his friend Harbury's judgement in matters of female
beauty. If Harbury said she was beautiful, she'd be a diamond of the first
water.
"That goes without
saying," Lady Elham said dryly, well acquainted with her grandson's ways.
"She would not have caught your eye if she were not. Where did you meet
her?"
Luckily, he did not have to
answer that question. A servant came into the drawing room and announced that
dinner was served, and Lady Elham did not continue the discussion during the
meal the servants waiting on them, she felt, should not be regaled with their
betters' affairs. There was enough gossip in the servants' hall as it was.
Lord Elham knew better than to feel safe, however, and his suspicion turned out
to be justified when, after having enjoyed a solitary glass of port, he joined
his mother and grandmother in the drawing room.
"Desmond, in your absence
your mother and I have discussed your fiancιe," the Dowager Countess
announced.
Lord Elham doubted that there
had been much of a discussion going on. More likely, his grandmother had
said something, and his mother had agreed.
"We want to meet her,"
Lady Elham declared.
"Err
. What?" Surely
he had misheard his grandmother's request.
"I said we want to meet
her," Lady Elham said. "Therefore I suggest you go to Hampshire
immediately and invite her to come to stay with us for a couple of weeks."
"Here? In London?"
"Where else?" Lady
Elham said. "The girl has seen enough of the country, I daresay, and it
will be a treat for her to come to town for a while."
This would without doubt be so,
Lord Elham thought. But it would not be a treat for him. He had planned
to keep up the sham engagement for a week or two, and then release the girl
from her "obligation" to marry him. Instead, he would be saddled with
her for he knew not how long.
"I do not know whether Lady
Brentwood
" he began weakly.
"Her mother will understand
the necessity of the visit. The girl must get acquainted with her future
husband's family," Lady Elham said. "And since she cannot take her to
London herself, I suggest that you will do this for her."
"Me?" Lord
Elham said weakly. "I am afraid I have promised Gerry to
"
He had not promised Gerry
anything, but he could rely on his brother to endorse him. His grandmother was
not inclined to take no for an answer, though.
"What can be more important
than introducing your intended wife to your family?" Lady Elham snapped.
The furious expression in her eyes told her grandson that she would have no
opposition in this matter. She wanted him to present Miss Emilia Brentwood to
her so he had better present her.
When, for a couple of days,
nothing had happened, Emilia began to breathe more freely. Her little white lie
had not come to Lord Elham's ears she was safe. Sir George Harbury was
gentleman enough to keep the matter to himself. He was also gentleman enough to
stay away from her, she thought with a considerable amount of relief. There was
nothing she needed to be afraid of.
Her peace of mind was smashed to
pieces the following day, when Mrs. Morton came to call on them, carrying with
her a periodical that mainly concentrated on society gossip.
"My dear girl, I had no
idea you had made such a catch!" she exclaimed, beaming at Emilia.
"You must tell me all about it, you sly thing!"
"I have no idea what you
are talking about, Mrs. Morton," Emilia said, her voice trembling with anxiety.
Her mother gave her a searching look.
"What mischief have you
been up to, Emilia?" she asked in a low whisper.
"Nothing, Mama,"
Emilia whispered in reply. Her mother would suffer a relapse if she heard what
Emilia had done. She was ruined. Better keep the news from her mother as long
as she could. It was not long.
"Let me congratulate you on
your engagement, my dear," Mrs. Morton said.
"Engagement, Emilia?"
Lady Brentwood asked sharply. "What is this about?"
"Mrs. Morton must be
mistaken, Mama," Emilia said, blushing furiously.
"But the paper says
"
Mrs. Morton began, and then opened the page in question. "You had better
see for yourself, Emilia."
"Read it aloud," Lady
Brentwood demanded. There was no escape.
"It seems as if one of
London's most sought-after bachelors, Lord E., has surrendered to the charms of
one Miss E.B., whose uncle is a well-known Member of Parliament. Miss E.B. is
to be congratulated on her conquest Lord E. has been known to be fastidious
to a fault. Society awaits the formal announcement of the betrothal with bated
breath but, according to His Lordship, no such announcement will take place
until the young lady's father has returned from a prolonged stay in the East
Indies. - Oh, no!"
"You must have met Lord E.
at one of the assemblies at Winchester," Mrs. Morton said. "Though
for the life of me I cannot remember what he looks like. You must know, Lady
Brentwood, that your daughters are very popular young ladies. I cannot possibly
keep track of every young man desiring an introduction."
"You never said a word,
Emilia," Lady Brentwood said, looking at her daughter earnestly. "Who
is this Lord E.?"
For a moment, Emilia considered
telling her mother the truth. Then she realised how disappointed her mother
would be with her for acting in a manner so unbecoming to a young lady of
quality. She had been rather ill lately, and Emilia knew that if anything upset
her mother, she would suffer another attack of her illness. It would not do.
"Lord Elham," she said
guiltily. Lady Brentwood misinterpreted the remorseful look in her eyes in
her opinion, Emilia felt at fault because she had not told her mother about her
betrothal.
"You allowed him to pay his
addresses to you before he had spoken to either me or your father?"
she asked indignantly.
"I had no idea that was
what he wanted," Emilia said with tears in her eyes. In comparison to
lying to her mother, lying to Sir George had been a treat. If only she could
unsay the things she had said to him, she thought miserably. Nothing of this
would have happened, had she just held her tongue.
"There, there, my
dear," Mrs. Morton said. "I am sure you have no reason to cry. Lord
Elham is an amiable gentleman."
"Is he not a little old to
be marrying a twenty-year-old?" Lady Brentwood asked. "I met a Lord
Elham during my first Season in London, and I remember he was already quite
elderly then. Even his son, if he has one, must be in his forties, if
not older."
Emilia excused herself and went
in search of Matilda. She needed someone to help her get out of this scrape
although of late, Tilda had not shown quite as much support for her sister as
she had done before. Emilia supposed this was because she had hurt Sir George
Harbury. But what choice had she had? Between hurting Sir George and hurting
Tilda, she had chosen the lesser of two evils. But she realised she had been in
the wrong. She should not have lied to Sir George. She should have put up with
his continued efforts to win her affection instead of lying to him.
If only she could mend matters now, she thought and, for a moment, contemplated
writing a letter of apology to Lord Elham. He would be furious, no doubt, but his
opinion of her did not matter to Emilia. She wondered if, with Lord Elham's
help, she could right matters. The question was, did Lord Elham want her
to make amends? How had the papers got wind of her deception? What was she to
do? Her situation seemed absolutely hopeless.
Lord Elham was driving his
curricle towards the Manor House at Little Compton, trying to devise a
strategy. It would be prudent, he thought, to speak to Lady Brentwood first. He
had no desire to commit an act of grave impropriety by seeing the young lady
alone without having asked for her mother's permission. Lady Brentwood might
already be prejudiced against him somehow he had had to get engaged to
her daughter, and he had not asked for her permission to address her, had not
even made a push to get to know her. This solecism though it was not his
fault - would show him in a bad light. For all he knew, the lady was not
acquainted with her daughter's transgression, so he had better not mention it
to her not before he had seen the girl.
Unfortunately, when he arrived
at the Manor House, he was informed that Lady Brentwood was unwell and would not
see any visitors that day.
"Are the young ladies at
home to visitors then?" Elham asked the butler, handing him a visiting
card.
"I will see what I can do,
my lord," the butler said stolidly, showed him into a small but pleasant
parlour and left him to his own thoughts. For a couple of minutes, nothing
happened, and Elham had the unpleasant suspicion that he was going to be sent
away without having seen any member of the family. Then the door opened, and
the young lady coming in quite took his breath away.
She was not very tall not much
more than five foot, he guessed but her bearing made her look taller. Her
gown was simple and modest, as befitted a young lady of her age. Her rich,
auburn hair was done in a most becoming style some ringlets had escaped the
tight bun and formed an enchanting frame for an even more captivating face. A
pair of big, green eyes looked up at him apprehensively and she asked, in a
slightly nervous tone, "Lord Elham?"
Elham nodded, unable to say
anything just yet. Harbury had not understated her beauty.
"You really are Lord
Elham?" she asked. "I thought you were
" She broke off.
"You thought I was what,
ma'am?" he prompted.
"Older. I thought you were
older," she said.
"And just how old did you
expect me to be?" he asked. Her dignified, straightforward manner took the
wind out of his sails. That girl, he felt, would resist his attempts to
intimidate her.
She smiled apologetically.
"Eighty," she said. "According to my father's copy of the
Peerage, you were eighty years old."
He could not help it she
amused him. "That was my grandfather," he said, trying to hide his
amusement. "I inherited the title from him two years ago."
"I am Emilia
Brentwood," she said, holding out her hand to him. "And I owe you an
explanation, my lord."
Dutifully, Lord Elham took her
hand and kissed it lightly. "I would indeed like to know how I came to be
engaged to you," he said, trying to sound harsh. He failed miserably.
"Do take a seat, my
lord," she said. "I think it may take some time to explain."
She watched him intently as he
sat down on a sofa. "I am aware," she began, sitting down in a chair
facing him, "that what I say may seem hard to believe. Considering that
the first thing you heard about me was that I had told a lie about you, I
suppose I cannot blame you for thinking so. But you have my word that I am
going to tell you the truth."
"An admirable notion,"
Elham said.
"I thought you did not
exist," she said, after a short pause.
"Not five minutes ago you
said you thought I was eighty years old," he said mockingly. "Could
it be that you are contradicting yourself, Miss Brentwood?"
"It sounds like it, doesn't
it?" she said, with an uncertain smile. "Well, first I thought you
did not exist. Then I found out that you did and that was when I
thought you were eighty."
"But why did you invent a
fiancι in the first place, Miss Brentwood?" he asked.
"Isn't that plain?"
she asked, frowning.
"Not to me, Miss Brentwood,
whatever reasoning on your part may be behind it," he said dryly.
"I did not want to marry
Sir George Harbury," she said, quietly.
"Then why did you not tell
him so?"
"I did," she
protested. "But he did not want to believe it! He asked me why not and
and I could not tell him the truth about it. That is, I did tell him the truth,
but he
misconstrued it."
"Harbury misunderstood your
meaning when you said you were engaged?" Elham asked sharply.
"No. He asked me if there
was somebody else, and I said there was. He misinterpreted that."
"How could he misinterpret that?
The statement seems clear enough to me."
"He thought that I was in
love with another man," she said gloomily.
"Well, that is what it
means," Lord Elham said. Perhaps the girl had less sense than he had
thought.
"No, it doesn't," she
said heatedly. "What I meant was that there was another woman in love with
him."
"I see," Lord Elham
said. She had a point. "But I do not see why you could not tell him so
or why that made you refuse his offer."
"Because she is my s
-
someone who is very dear to me," she said, giving him an imploring look.
Her eyes were enchanting. Elham could well understand why Harbury had fallen in
love with that girl. If he did not take care, he'd follow suit. Perhaps it
would do no harm to keep in mind what she had done to his friend.
"She would never have
forgiven me if I had married him or told him about her affection for him. I
did not want to betray her confidence, my lord. So I thought if I made up a
non-existent fiancι he'd leave me alone, and he might turn to my si
my
friend." She gave him a rueful smile. "I daresay this sounds rather
muddled to you," she said. "But this was how it happened, and I can
only apologise for the inconvenience I have caused you, my lord. I hope you can
forgive me."
The confession managed to soothe
Lord Elham's ruffled feathers somewhat. She really was not as bad as he had
thought her to be she was a pretty girl and seemed to be a warm-hearted
little creature. Her lapse had not been lost on him and he realised that the
woman in love with Harbury had to be her sister. She had indeed been in quite a
predicament if that was true, and had taken refuge in a desperate scheme that
had gone awry. Her distress on finding out that there was a Lord Elham
had probably been punishment enough. He should quit Hampshire and leave her
alone, Lord Elham thought, and then realised that he did not want to. The girl
intrigued him. He wanted to get to know her better.
"So what are we going to do
now?" he asked her, giving her one of his famous smiles.
"Can there be a
question?" she said despondently. "We will have to let everyone know
what I did."
"I have a better idea than
that," Elham said. "We will stand by the engagement."
"You cannot be
serious," she said. "Why, you do not even know me!"
"True," he said.
"But, Miss Brentwood, I must tell you that you have placed me in an
awkward situation. If we told people now that the story about our
betrothal is not true, I will look quite the fool, for in a fit of gallantry I
did not deny it." He had never had a fit of gallantry in his entire
life, but Miss Brentwood did not know that. His manoeuvre worked.
"Oh dear," she said.
"I did not consider that! I am so sorry ... but tell me, my lord, for how
long will we have to keep up this pretence?"
"A couple of weeks will
do," he said soothingly. "After that, you are welcome to end our
engagement for whatever reason you choose, and I won't bother you again."
She got out of her chair and
walked around the room, apparently concentrating on the problem at hand.
"Very well," she
finally said. "I suppose I have no choice, my lord. As you have pointed
out, I have placed you in an awkward situation, and it is only fair I should
assist you in extricating yourself from it. But you must promise me one thing,
my lord I need not marry you."
"You need not marry
me," he agreed, getting up and taking her hand. "It's a
bargain."
"Good," she said with
a smile. "For I would not want to, you see?"
That, Lord Elham thought, had been quite an
unnecessary remark, and it irritated him to no end. Who did she think she was?
She should be glad he had been so generous as to show her a way out of her
dilemma without exposing her she should be grateful! Instead, she snubbed
him.
He got up and took her hands,
trying to pull her into his arms. An engagement had to be sealed with a kiss,
didn't it? Besides, why should he not try to get some fun out of this?
"Do not even think
about it," she hissed angrily, pushing him away.
He tried to hide his
exasperation behind a laugh. "Why not?" he asked her lightly.
"We're engaged."
"But we will never be
married," she said resolutely. "And I will not allow you to take
liberties with me, my lord. You may not believe it, but I am not lost to all
sense of propriety."
With a slight bow, his lordship
decided to let the matter rest for a while. But there would be one day, he
promised himself, when she would welcome his embrace. So far, every
woman had done so - sooner or later. Most of them sooner. Emilia Brentwood
would not be an exception.
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author.