A Proper Companion (16 page)

"Oh, here's Uncle Tony," Louisa said. "Please excuse
us, Aunt Doro," she said, tugging Emily in the direction of a newly
arrived older gentleman in a startling waistcoat of fuchsia and
gold stripes. "He's the black sheep of the family, you know," she
whispered as they approached him. "He's Grandmother's younger
brother."

Emily was soon face to face with the tall,
silver-haired gentleman who was introduced as Lord Anthony Poole.
He leered openly at Emily.

"Enchanted, my dear," he drawled as he took her hand
to his lips.

Emily had an almost overwhelming desire to wipe the
very wet back of her hand on her skirt, but her good manners would
not allow such rudeness.

"Behave yourself, Uncle Tony!" Louisa said in mock
outrage. "Miss Townsend, I only introduce him out of duty, but I
recommend you avoid him at all costs. He's a rogue of the first
order. We suffer his presence merely because he is a sometimes
entertaining raconteur"—she grinned fondly at her uncle—"although
most of his stories skirt the very edges of decency."

"Ah, my darling girl," he replied, placing a
possessive arm around Louisa's waist, "you were always most fond of
my ribald tales. Never one to blush. Takes after Frances. My
sister," he said to Emily.

The Windhursts arrived in due time and were
introduced to the other guests by Lord Bradleigh. Emily was
chatting with Simon and Julia Cameron when Lord Bradleigh
approached with the Windhursts in tow. Simon, a jovial young man,
was Lord Bradleigh's cousin and heir presumptive. His new bride,
Julia, was very young and almost painfully shy. Emily had been
attempting to put Julia at ease when they were confronted by the
Windhursts. Julia took one look at Lady Windhurst, extravagantly
draped in silver gauze and sporting a jeweled turban, and visibly
retreated into her timid shell. Lord Bradleigh performed the
introductions. Lord Windhurst was polite though obviously somewhat
overawed by the level of the company. He was a short, compact
gentleman with a head of thick, unruly gray hair and a pair of
bushy gray eyebrows that moved constantly up and down as he spoke.
Emily was momentarily distracted by the animated brows and missed
some of the subsequent remarks, but was snapped back to attention
by the shrill voice of Lady Windhurst.

"Well, Mr. Cameron," she was saying, "I suppose your
nose is quite out of joint that my Augusta will surely produce an
heir to overset your current expectations. Only natural, don't you
know. But we won't hold that against you, will we, Augusta? We
shall all be friends regardless. Isn't that right, Augusta?"

"Yes, Mama," Augusta replied, eyeing the floor in
obvious embarrassment at her mother's forwardness.

Emily saw Mr. Cameron's eyes narrow briefly while
his wife's widened in astonishment. Lord Bradleigh caught his
cousin's eye, smiled ruefully, and quickly rolled his eyes
heavenward and down again. Emily was thankful the Windhursts were
at his side and unaware of the gesture. Nevertheless, she found
that both she and Mr. Cameron had to bite back laughter.

"And, Lord Windhurst," Lord Bradleigh interrupted,
"allow me to present to you Miss Townsend." He nodded toward Emily.
"Augusta, Lady Windhurst—you remember my grandmother's
companion?"

Lady Windhurst eyed Emily from head to toe. "Yes,"
she said with a sneer, immediately turning away and taking the earl
by the arm. "I'm told your cousin the Marquess Haselmere is among
your guests. Please introduce us."

As they watched the Windhursts move away, the
Camerons and Emily shared several speculative glances. "Good God!"
cried Simon when the Windhursts were out of earshot. "What a
harridan!"

"Simon!" his wife scolded.

"Well, what would you call her, my dear? She ain't
exactly angelic. What can Rob be thinking of? Well. .. the
beautiful Miss Windhurst, of course. My God, but Grandmother must
be having fits!" He looked over at Emily, and neither could hold
back the laughter any longer.

Dinner was soon announced, and the guests assembled
in the large dining room, each checking the place cards for their
assigned seats. Emily found herself between Lord Windhurst and Lord
Peregrine Banham, the young son of the dowager's daughter. The
informality of the drawing room continued at table, where
conversation was general and often boisterous. Clearly Lord Anthony
was not the only raconteur in the group. Emily had some experience
with the dowager's and Lord Bradleigh's way with a story. She was
soon to witness those two, at either end of the table, matching
wits with Lord Anthony, Sir Richard, Lady Haselmere, and Simon
Cameron.

Lord Peregrine, recently down from Oxford and ready
to embark on a career as a poet, tried repeatedly to engage Emily
in a discussion on Lord Byron's most recent publication. But they
were interrupted each time by one family member or another who drew
them into the general conversation. Lord Peregrine leaned over
toward Emily after one particularly loud outburst of general
laughter.

"I hope you are not thoroughly disgusted by the
antics of my relations, Miss Townsend," he said. "But then, if
you've been with Grandmother in Bath, you must be used to her
unconventional ways. Frankly, I love these riotous family dinners.
I tell you, it is a welcome change from our home where, I can
assure you, Mother never allows such uncivilized behavior!" he
said, grinning.

Emily followed his glance across the table to his
mother, Lady Banham, who was indeed scowling at Simon Cameron as he
mimicked with devilish accuracy the mannerisms of a notable Society
matron who was the topic of recent gossip. Emily brought her hand
to her mouth to stifle a giggle as she recognized the
impersonation.

"Of course," Lord Peregrine continued, "m'mother
don't serve such good wine, either."

It was true, Emily noticed, that a great deal of
wine had been consumed. In fact, a majority of the guests were
slightly on the go.

The Windhursts each seemed in some way discomposed
by the unrestrained atmosphere. Emily had attempted several times
to converse with Lord Windhurst, who did little more than grunt in
return. He seemed thoroughly disconcerted, torn between contempt
and amusement, confused as to how to react. Emily glanced down the
table to see Augusta chatting with Lord Haselmere, the soft-spoken
marquess. She had more than once noticed the two in quiet
discussion at their end of the table, apparently oblivious to the
loud talk and laughter around them. Lord Bradleigh appeared to pay
little attention to his betrothed, seated at his right, as he
traded barbs and quips with the others. Since Augusta remained
somewhat aloof to the raucous environment, refusing to take part,
she must have been forced to rely on the shy marquess for
conversation. Surely this had been the dowager's intent. But what
was her ultimate goal? If she merely wished to demonstrate the
unsuitability of the match, there would be no point, for Lord
Bradleigh, as a gentleman, could not break off the engagement.

She turned her attention to the opposite end of the
table, where the dowager was deep in conversation with Lady
Windhurst, whose glance frequently strayed to the marquess. Her
direct looks toward the young man hinted that he might be the topic
of their discussion. My God, thought Emily with sudden clarity, was
it possible that the dowager meant to fix the interest of both
Augusta and her Society-conscious mother on poor Lord Haselmere? Is
she in hopes that his superior rank and fortune would entice
Augusta to cry off from her betrothal to Lord Bradleigh? Good
heavens, that must be it. She shook her head as she considered the
situation.

How very shrewd of the old woman, Emily thought—if
she could pull it off.

* * *

When the gentlemen returned to the drawing room,
Robert was surprised to find his grandmother chatting, apparently
amicably, with Lady Windhurst. He had expected she would treat the
whole Windhurst family with utter disdain, while making sure to
showcase the differences between their families. In truth, she
needed to do no more than gather his relations together in the same
room with the Windhursts, and the differences made themselves
glaringly apparent. Which, he naturally assumed, had been her
intention all along. Which also made this new coziness between her
and Lady Windhurst decidedly suspicious. What was the old woman up
to?

His other relations had more or less ignored the
Windhursts after a few unsuccessful attempts to draw them into the
informal bantering that had always characterized their gatherings.
Lady Windhurst appeared to have remained by his grandmother's side
for much of the evening, having been subtly dismissed by most of
the others as a result of one or another of her tasteless remarks.
Lord Windhurst, a minor baron, looked completely daunted by the
exalted company, despite their sometimes unusual behavior, and had
remained fairly quiet and apart. Robert could also not help but
notice Augusta's chilly reserve as she surveyed his family with an
attitude that hinted at disapproval. Somehow her mother must have
instilled in her a strong sense of propriety and decorum that had
been offended by some of his relations. Uncle Tony had probably
drooled over her hand and made some indelicate remark. Aunt Doro,
in her cups, had no doubt tried to engage Augusta in a political
discussion, and ended up insulting her lack of interest in social
reform. But they were family, and he adored them. It would not do
for Augusta to be too nice in her sensibilities. He supposed he
should take a little more care with his future countess, give her
more time to adjust.

Dammit, but he was tired of his betrothal
interfering with his normal way of life. He had anticipated that
having a wife would have little or no impact on his usual
activities, that once the business of producing an heir was
accomplished, he and his countess would lead more or less separate
lives. That had, of course, been the way of Society marriages for
generations. In deference to Augusta, however, he had gone so far
as to give his latest mistress her
congé
. But he had fully
expected to resume such freedom in his relationships once Augusta
had presented him with a son. As long as she was also discreet, he
wouldn't keep too close an eye on her activities either. That was
the way things were done, after all. Just look at his own
family.

His gaze found Aunt Doro in animated conversation
with Uncle Tony. The tales of his uncle's indiscretions were
legion. Aunt Doro had been involved in at least one lengthy affair
which had cast public doubt on the paternity of her youngest
daughter. And no wonder, considering her circle of friends. Lady
Melbourne, her closest friend and rival Whig hostess, had one son
believed to have been fathered by the Prince Regent. Even William,
her eldest son, was reputed to have been the result of her affair
with Lord Egremont. Now William's wife, Lady Caroline Lamb, was
making a cake of herself over Lord Byron; but of course she had the
example of her own mother, Lady Bessborough, who had borne two
illegitimate children by Lord Granville. And just a few years ago
Lord Granville had married Lady Bessborough's niece, Lady Harriet
Cavendish, who was now raising her aunt's bastards as her husband's
wards. And she was, of course, the daughter of the notorious
Duchess of Devonshire, who . . .

He shook his head as if to clear it. If one
contemplated too closely the amorous relations of the
ton,
one's head could explode. But this was the world he lived in, the
only way of life he knew. It was also clear, however, that things
were changing. Society no longer turned such a blind eye to public
indiscretions. In fact, it was considered positively ruinous to be
the object of gossip. Even Lady Caroline Lamb was finding herself
snubbed by some of the younger hostesses. Only look at his own
situation. Despite his title and fortune, he had found himself
unwelcome in many respectable drawing rooms—all because of a few
indiscreet liaisons with well-known Society matrons. Middle-class
morality was surely working its way up into the echelons of the
ton
.

Augusta came from a solid middle-class background on
her mother's side. Why had it never occurred to him before how
important the difference in their backgrounds would be to their
marriage? As he watched her ill-disguised disdain of his rather
flamboyant relations, he realized with sudden clarity that their
marriage would never be the uncomplicated Society alliance he had
envisioned. It was not going to be that simple. Augusta and her
mother would no doubt expect him to dance attendance on his wife to
a greater degree than he had planned, to be a pattern card of
respectability and propriety. My God, what had he gotten himself
into?

As his glance swept over the various groups in the
drawing room, he noted that Miss Townsend was chatting with an
unusually animated Julia Cameron. Leave it to that remarkable lady
to make a point of befriending his cousin's shy young wife. The
poor girl was seldom at ease among the boisterous Camerons, but she
seemed quite relaxed at the moment. He watched as she flashed a
brilliant smile at her approaching husband, drawing him down beside
her. Simon gave a grateful smile to Miss Townsend before joining in
their conversation.

Robert remembered the bit of diplomacy that Miss
Townsend had worked with the battling chefs, the results of which
had been plain this evening, and thought that her encouragement of
the timid Julia was all of a piece. He supposed that the many years
she spent in genteel service must have taught her the art of making
others comfortable. Despite her habitual prim composure, she seemed
perfectly at ease with his family. It was difficult not to be
forever comparing her to Augusta, but that was a fruitless
exercise, and he made a deliberate effort to shake such thoughts
from his mind.