Lady in Lace: Regency Timeslip Page 13

  Emma took pity on them and stood her ground. "Thank you, Captain, but we must decline, for here is Sir William come to join us. Lady Augusta Sinclair-Smythe is his godmother, you know. So we ought, at the very least, to wish him good day."

  Captain Musgrove's sigh of relief was a little too heartfelt.

  Will raised his hat and sketched an elegant bow. "Good afternoon, Lady Emma. Patience."

  This time, Patience merely dropped a curtsey, Emma was glad to see. Kissing Will would have been highly improper in such a public place. The girl did have some sense of decorum, after all.

  "I must say that I am surprised to find you ladies in company with such reprobates as these three," Will added, grinning.

  "Reprobates?" gasped Musgrove. "Why, coming from you, that's—"

  "He's roasting you, Musgrove," Captain Grimond intervened calmly. "Best not to rise to the bait."

  "What? Oh. Oh, yes." Musgrove frowned at Will who was still grinning wickedly. The captain swallowed hard but said nothing more.

  Emma decided it was time to take charge. "Would you gentlemen care to walk with us for a space? May I suggest that Patience, in her green, would make a splendid picture between you two red-garbed gentlemen? Perhaps you would each offer her an arm? Meanwhile, I will happily make an ill-assorted trio with Captain Grimond and Sir William." She held out a hand to each of them. Being gentlemen, they did precisely as she asked. Patience was stymied.

  Another point to me.

  "Ill-assorted, indeed," Will exclaimed, loudly enough for the Rifleman to hear.

  "Well, Captain Grimond is very fine in his Rifle green. I am sadly ill-matched in blue, while you, Sir William, are…"

  "…wearing the tail coat and pantaloons of any gentleman taking a stroll in the park, ma'am. Sadly we civilians cannot compete with regimentals. You have the advantage of us there, Grimond."

  Captain Grimond chuckled. "You could, if you wished, sir, appear in all your naval finery so that we lowly army captains would have to defer to you."

  "Hmm, yes. There is that. Perhaps I should try it one day." He sounded perfectly nonchalant. But there was nothing nonchalant about what his fingers were doing. First his thumb stroked her gloved palm where it rested on his wrist. Then he pushed something small and sharp-edged inside her glove.

  Emma stiffened automatically. What was he up to now?

  "I shall take note," Will continued without a pause, "for the future."

  Emma let out a breath. She hadn't missed the emphasis on the word "note". The sharp-edged intruder in her glove was a note from him. He was a clever and conniving man, she realised. He had come to the park prepared to pass a note to her, even though he'd had no way of knowing she would even be there.

  Am I taking on more than I know, pitting my wits against Will Allmay?

  She glanced up into his face and then quickly away. It didn't matter. Given the way his eyes rested on her, and how she felt about him, she had no choice.

  ~ ~ ~

  Will's note seemed to be burning into her hand. She longed to discover what he had said but she was not fool enough to retrieve it while Patience Sinclair-Smythe was around. Patience's long elegant nose was quite capable of prying into anything. So Emma forced herself to be patient – like Patience's formidable mama, she reminded herself – and went through all the conventional elements of a stroll in the park with four eligible gentlemen and one lady.

  In fact, Patience soon tired of the company of her red-coated rattles. They had fought in battle, to be sure, and were probably mature and capable officers in the field, but their society conduct needed work. They were lightweights, both of them. Perhaps after all the horrors they had seen, it was understandable? Yet Captain Grimond, of the Rifles, was no lightweight, even though he seemed to be no more than a year or two older than the men of the 44th. Captain Grimond was a sensible man who knew how to behave in company and could converse most entertainingly with a lady.

  Emma focused much more on Grimond than on Will, on her left. She was trying very hard to put out of her mind that her hand was on Will's arm and that his message was tucked into her glove. So she fixed her gaze on Captain Grimond, trying to remember all that she knew about the Rifle Brigade. She had read historical accounts during her researches, but she was also a fan of the Sharpe novels. If the fictional Richard Sharpe epitomised the officers of the Rifles, with their independence of mind and innovative flair, it was perhaps not surprising that Captain Grimond was so much more personable than his infantry friends.

  She found herself wondering whether it might be worth getting to know Captain Grimond a little better. Competition for Will? It would depend on whether Grimond was eligible, of course.

  Almost any gentleman is more eligible than Will Allmay.

  They had been chatting and laughing for some fifteen minutes when the sun went in and the wind became suddenly much colder. Emma stopped, shivering a little in her thin spencer. "I think, gentlemen," she said, loudly enough for all four to hear, "that Miss Sinclair-Smythe and I shall return to the barouche. It grows chill. But we do thank you, indeed, for your most entertaining company." She raised an eyebrow to Patience. "I am sure you will join me in thanking them, Miss Sinclair-Smythe?"

  "Oh, certainly," Patience said, not very convincingly. She extracted her arms from her companions and came across to join Emma. "Perhaps you would escort me back to the carriage, William?" she said pointedly. "Since Lady Emma is having such a comfortable coze with Captain Grimond, she will not miss you, I dare say." She smirked as she tucked her arm into Will's and towed him away.

  It was left to Emma to perform the courtesies with the other young men. "Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure to walk with you and I thank you for your company. On behalf of both of us. I do hope we shall meet again soon." She dropped a tiny curtsey in response to their salutes. It was the least she could do after Patience's lack of manners.

  By the time Emma turned back to Captain Grimond, Patience and Will were a good twenty yards ahead of them on the path.

  She really needs to prove she can take him from me. Emma clenched her fists involuntarily. Will's note, which she had finally managed to forget about, dug a corner into her palm. She almost laughed aloud.

  Poor Patience. If only she knew.

  Having helped Patience into the barouche, Will was standing by the carriage door, talking to her, but clearly waiting to offer his hand to Emma in turn. It was an unnecessary courtesy. Captain Grimond was perfectly capable of performing that service himself. Emma decided that she would ignore Will's hand and look for Grimond's. Anything to show Will that he could not order Emma's conduct as easily as he seemed to believe.

  But it did not pan out that way. Will was not only older than Grimond, he was also much senior in rank. So when Will moved forward to offer his hand to Emma at the carriage steps, Grimond immediately stepped politely back. Yes, Captain Grimond was a very polished gentleman.

  Will merely nodded to Grimond and stood waiting for Emma to put her hand in his. And when she did, she felt the distinct pressure of his fingers. No, whatever Patience thought she had going with Will Allmay, she was mistaken. Will was totally focused on Lady Emma.

  At least for now.

  ~ ~ ~

  It was hard, but Emma waited until she was alone in her own bedchamber before she stripped off her gloves and extracted Will's note. Was it a farewell, maybe? She doubted it. Not after that pointed encounter at the side of the barouche.

  The note itself was very small and scribbled in pencil. It looked like a scrap of paper torn from a pocket-book. So had Will written it in the park when he spied her from a distance? That was certainly possible. And it made him seem less coldly calculating than she had first thought.

  Emma's pulse was racing as she opened it and pounding fit to burst by the time she finished reading.

  It contained very few words: Come tonight. Cab waiting from 8 in Mews behind your house. There was no signature, not even initials.

  The room started t
o spin. She collapsed into her chair with a thump but it didn't help. She clutched the arm of her chair for support and closed her eyes. Eventually, the dizziness subsided and she could begin to think. What was she to make of it? Where did he plan to take her? Did he have some backstreet hideaway for his assignations? He must have somewhere discreet for meeting all those mistresses.

  He will not take me where he takes them.

  Emma was not sure why she thought that, or why she was so certain of it. But she was. And if she went, she would be putting herself in his power.

  And what did he mean about a cab?

  Presumably, he'd realised that she could not drive to a rendezvous in her own carriage with her own servants. But why was he sending a hackney for her? Why not a proper carriage?

  Because a carriage or its horses might be noted or recognised. Will was certainly practised in the art of seduction. He would count on the fact that no one would remember one hackney cab among so many in London.

  They might not remember the cab, but they might well remember the passenger. For Will's cab trick to work, Lady Emma had to get into it without being seen.

  Hmm. And to do that, I would have to get out of the house alone and also without being spotted. Not exactly the easiest thing I've ever done.

  Emma rang the bell to order a tray of tea. She needed to think of ways to leave the house alone and without summoning her own carriage. What's more, she needed to be wearing the lace ballgown. Just in case she needed to disappear. It was a knotty problem, the kind that Sherlock Holmes might have called a three-pipe problem.

  It was only when she was drinking her second cup of tea that she realised what she was doing.

  I have decided to go to him, haven't I? I must be out of my mind. He professes to love me, but he is going to marry that woman. What reason do I have to trust him now?

  It made no difference. If she could find a way, she would go to him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  "The gold lace again, my lady?" Bailey sounded outraged, rather than surprised.

  Of course, it would reflect on the abigail if Lady Emma were not seen to be at the forefront of fashion. Emma allowed herself to sound a little annoyed when she replied. "I have told you before, Bailey. I am working to win support for my charity from the wealthy ladies of the ton. I plan to wear this gown so often that none of them can avoid the issue."

  Bailey harrumphed.

  "So let us have no more discussion about often I choose to wear this gown. Will you put up my hair now? Perhaps something a little more daring for this evening?"

  "As you wish, m'lady." Bailey reached for her comb.

  She could certainly work wonders with Emma's curly red hair. In the space of less than fifteen minutes, it had been pinned up into a very flattering style with loose curls hanging down behind Emma's left ear.

  Not quite as far down my breast as Patience's, Emma thought uncharitably, but then my lace gown is not nearly as low-cut as her cornflower blue one. If she'd leaned forward, she'd have fallen out of it.

  "There," Bailey said, with a last twitch of the long curls. "Does that please you, m'lady?"

  "Very well indeed, Bailey, thank you. You are a wonder with a comb and pins."

  Bailey smiled, for the first time in the best part of an hour. "For what time shall I order your ladyship's carriage?"

  Ah. If the carriage was ordered and Emma did not go down to meet it, she would be rumbled. "I have no need of my own carriage this evening," she said quickly, grabbing the first idea that came into her head. "Lady…Lady Mumford offered to call for me in her carriage so that we could go to the rout party together."

  "Lady Mumford?"

  "Indeed, and what is so strange about that, pray?"

  "Um. Nothing, m'lady."

  "Quite. Her ladyship offered and I accepted. I thought it was time that my coachman had an evening to himself."

  "Oh." Bailey was visibly stunned at the idea that servants might get a night off.

  Careful, Emma told herself. Behaving in ways that are too unlike the real Lady Emma is risky. The servants will start watching me more closely, if only to see what strange things their mad mistress might do next.

  "And the horses need their rest too." That was better, judging by Bailey's expression. Horses had to be cosseted; servants did not.

  "At what time should we expect Lady Mumford?" Bailey asked, reasonably.

  "Ah, later. I can't quite remember the exact hour that was agreed. I made a note, somewhere. But I know it was later. In the meantime, help me to dress, please."

  Bailey gave her a quizzical sideways look, but said nothing. She fetched the lace gown and helped Emma into it. It looked very fine. It was definitely earning its keep, these days. "What jewels will your ladyship wear this evening?"

  Ah. More potential pitfalls. "Um. I don't know. What would you suggest, Bailey?" Emma was making a habit of this, but what choice did she have? There must be a jewel case somewhere, though Emma could not remember having seen it.

  "The emeralds, perhaps?"

  "Fetch them and I will decide." Bailey disappeared into the dressing room, giving Emma a few blessed moments to herself. She had no clue yet how she was going to get out of the house unnoticed. And how was she going to account for the fact that Lady Mumford's carriage, so carefully "arranged", was not going to turn up at all? Emma's spur-of-the-moment, and lame, excuse for turning down her own carriage could lead to all sorts of problems.

  She was tying herself in knots. Again. Running assignations in the Regency was turning out to be very difficult indeed. But other people, other ladies, managed it. Will had had many other women in his bed. So how had they escaped their servants? Or indeed their husbands?

  She was no further forward when Bailey returned, carrying two flat jewel cases. "I brought the sapphires as well, m'lady. In case you should not have a fancy for the emeralds. Diamonds would be quite wrong with that gold lace."

  "True." Lady Emma must be extremely rich. Not only emeralds and sapphires, but diamonds as well?

  When Bailey opened the first box, Emma only just managed to swallow a gasp. These emeralds must be worth a fortune. "Hmm. I'm not sure that I want to wear anything quite so heavy this evening." The emeralds were stunning, and full of mysterious fire, but for Emma's taste there were rather too many of them in the heavy necklace. The long earrings, on the other hand, were beautiful, with single square-cut stones suspended from a column of diamonds set in gold.

  Bailey opened the second box. Yes, that was much better. A pendant of a single tear-drop sapphire surrounded by baguette diamonds that pointed outwards like jagged lightning flashes. The pendant hung from a delicate gold collar. There were matching ear-drops, too, on a slightly smaller scale. And all the sapphires were an astonishing shade of ultramarine blue with subtle hints of purple. To Emma's eyes, it could have been a modern piece. And it was fabulous. "I think I prefer the sapphires, this evening, Bailey."

  "The emeralds would better reflect the colour of your eyes, m'lady."

  That would be true, but Emma doubted that Will needed emeralds to encourage him to look into her eyes. "Thank you for the compliment, Bailey, but I see no reason to wish for anyone to admire my fine eyes. I am not in the mood for flirting tonight." No, she was not. She was in the mood for some very serious love-making. And the glow, deep in her belly, was reminding her of that, more and more.

  The clock chimed eight.

  That's all I need, Emma thought. A reminder that his hackney is already waiting for me and I still haven't a clue how to get out of the house to meet it.

  Bailey finished fastening the pendant around Emma's neck and hooking the ear-drops into her ears. She fussed a little with the left-hand earring, to make sure it would not become tangled in Emma's hanging curls.

  "That looks very well. Thank you, Bailey. You may go now."

  "Were you not planning to come down to the saloon, m'lady?"

  "Not for the present. I have a slight headache. I shall lie down an
d close my eyes for a moment or two. I dare say it will be gone soon."

  "Let me help you off with your gown—"

  'No!" That was too sharp. "No, there is no need. On second thoughts, I shall sit quietly by the fire. The headache will pass, I am sure. If it should become worse, I will ring for you, Bailey, and you may help me to undress. I would not have my lace become creased. It has much work to do, these coming weeks." She stroked the skirt fondly and managed a little chuckle.

  Bailey sniffed her disapproval but said nothing.

  "I wish to be alone for a space. If I need you, I will ring. You deserve a few hours to yourself."

  To Emma's surprise, Bailey blushed.

  "Bailey?"

  "Well, m'lady, you see—" Bailey took a deep breath and began to speak very fast. "Tonight is Mr Bendridge's weekly prayer meeting. I am not often free to attend, but I should very much like to do so if your ladyship does not need me."

  Prayer meeting? It was the first Emma had heard of it, though Bendridge, she remembered, was the name of her butler.

  "Who usually attends?" That was a safe enough question.

  "Mr Bendridge insists that all the staff attend, particularly the maids and the footmen. He is a fine, stalwart Christian. And he takes his duties very seriously as the moral guardian of the household below stairs. He has doubts, you see, about the morals of some of the younger men—"

  "Really? I hope I am not harbouring rogues in my household?"

  "Not rogues, m'lady. Mr Bendridge says – only in the privacy of the housekeeper's room – that they are very young and unschooled in the ways of the world. They are always on the lookout for a chance to make mischief with the maids, he says. Feeling their oats, he called it."

  More oats? Emma seemed to be surrounded by lusty men sowing wild oats. But what did that matter? This could be her chance. Her heart had begun to beat very fast. Taking a deep breath, she said, as solemnly as she could, "So Bendridge insists that the young men listen to his lectures on morality, does he?"

  "Not exactly, m'lady. He reads them edifying extracts from the Good Book in order to show them a higher path."