An Early Engagement (11 page)

They threw down a few pounds here and there at the craps tables, or at
rouge et noir,
admiring the females, tossing back a few glasses of Blue Ruin—“It’s free at those places, don’t you know”—and feeling very well up in the world indeed. And then ...

* * * *

“You got into a game of cards with
whom?”

“Your uncle Aylesbury?”

“You clunch! Everyone knows what he is. No one ever plays with him but greenheads, and they never, ever win.”

“I know, but I couldn’t very well ignore him.”

“Why not? I do.”

“It’s different in a club like that, with his friends all around.”

“That makebait doesn’t have any friends. He’s such a cur, it’s a miracle Aunt Ingrid hasn’t prayed her way into heaven yet, trying to make her morality compensate for his lack of principles. I am ashamed he is my relative, and mortified that he wears my father’s title, yet you play cards with him, you complete—”

“You don’t understand, Em.”

She did, though, understand how two well-mannered, friendly boys wouldn’t know how to extricate themselves from such a trap. There was venom in her voice. “How much?”

“All of it. I lost the rest of this quarter’s allowance, and the governor’s gold watch. Rem went through his bank account, too, to the tune of about five hundred pounds. Your uncle—” At her glare he amended that: “Lord Aylesbury said he’d take our vouchers, but we had sense not to go that route.”

“Thank goodness for small favors. So then you left, and now you are ready to slink off to Arstock and wait for next quarter-day before you can buy a friend a drink or send a lady a bouquet of flowers?” The quill pen snapped in her fingers. “I won’t have it!”

“Nothing you can do about it, Em. Debt of honor and all that.”

“There is nothing honorable about an old Captain Sharp chousing allowances out of farmboys. No, we’ll just have to get the money back. And your father’s watch.”

“But—”

“But nothing. It’s my family; I’ll handle it. You get yourself ready to escort us to Lady Cheyne’s this evening. The refreshments there are free, too.”

* * * *

By Jupiter, this was something Smoky should be handling! Emilyann fumed as she waited in her carriage outside Arcott House for Aunt Ingrid to leave for her four o’clock Tuesday afternoon prayer meeting. She was so angry at her uncle for being a dastard, at Geoff for being a trusting fool, and at Smoky for being right and being gone, she hadn’t a thought to spare for the might-have-beens, seeing the elegant old house again. When her aunt’s coach left, Emilyann marched right through the doors of her family’s one-time home and demanded to see her uncle.

She did not know the new butler and he did not know her, but he recognized quality, and a blazing temper at that. He murmured, “The library,” and stood aside.

“I want it back. All of it Geoff’s, Remington’s, the watch. Now.”

Uncle Morgan was still trying to keep his eyeballs from jumping out of his head at the door’s slamming open. “Lower your voice, girl. My poor head!”

“Jug-bitten again, Uncle? My, my.” She pounded her fist on the desk in front of him. “You’ll have more than a headache if I don’t get the money back.”

As soon as he could take his shaking hands away from his throbbing temples, he took a better look at his caller. “Damn if you ain’t growin’ more like your mother in looks every time I see you.” He reached for a bottle and glass. “And more like your father in temperament.”

“Thank you. The boys’ money?”

“Now, why do you think I should return the lads’ blunt, assuming I still have it, that is? I won it fair.”

“That word’s not in your vocabulary. That’s why.”

“A matter of opinion only, girl. Won’t hold up in court or anything, you know. No, I don’t think you’ve got a winning hand there.”

She did have an ace in the hole, however, besides a pistol in her pocket. She pulled a chair closer to the desk and sat down without being asked. “You’re a gambling man, Uncle. What do you say we cut cards for it?”

His reddened eyes opened wider. “And if you lose?”

“I’ll double the sum.”

Morgan’s trembling hand reached into the top drawer of the massive desk—her father’s desk, where he had transacted affairs of state—for a pack of cards.

“We’ll use my cards, Uncle.” Her voice was firm, her determination unwavering, her deck well worn. She shuffled competently, set the pile in front of him. “One cut. High card.”

Morgan nodded, staring at the cards. He licked his lips, reached, cut. The ten of clubs.

Emilyann ignored his smirk. Her hand hesitated delicately over the cards for a moment, then she made her cut, a king. She gathered the cards back into her reticule and stood, expectant. Morgan rubbed his face with his hands, but did reach back into the drawer for a leather pouch and tossed it across to her. She did not move.

“It’s all there, the watch, too. What are you waiting for now?”

“I just wanted to give you a little advice, Uncle. If this ever happens again—Geoff, Remington, any of my friends—I’ll go straight to the magistrates. No, not to accuse you of fleecing the lambs. I’ll simply mention Aunt Ingrid’s jewelry, you know, the family heirlooms that were entrusted to your care.”

His whiskey-flushed face turned a sickly green. “You wouldn’t do it, girl. Think of the scandal.”

“Still a gambling man, Uncle? Don’t bet on it.” She turned to leave, then went back and pulled some pound notes from the pouch. “Here, now you can get the roof fixed. A tile fell as I was driving up. It only missed Aunt Ingrid by inches.”

* * * *

“There’s some missing, Geoff. Consider it well spent if you learned anything.”

“Lud, Emmy, I swear I did! But how in blazes did you manage to get it back?”

“It was simple. I used one of his own old decks of cards.”

When they stopped laughing, and Geoff stopped congratulating his sister-in-law for being the best and bravest, he asked, “Ah, Em, you won’t, that is, you don’t need to mention this to Smoky, do you?”

Tell Smoky she had gone alone to her uncle’s house with a pistol and a shaved deck of cards to win back his brother’s money? Hah! She wasn’t
that
brave.

See?
she wrote.
You worried for nothing. We are all settled in and having a delightful time. We are very well received, judging from all the invitations on the mantel, and Nadine spends hours each day deciding which we shall accept. We have heeded your dictates—
she crossed that out and amended it to
advice—and have elected not to travel to Vienna. Although the company does get a little thinner as so many travel to the gaiety of the Congress there, after being kept from travel on the Continent for so long, we feel there is quite enough to keep us content in London for the nonce. We hear the peace talks are stalled, while the festivities there increase. Our social rounds in London are flourishing well enough....

Indeed, the Stocktons’ popularity could not have been greater. Geoff could be counted on to dance with the shyest girls, those who intimidated him least, pleasing the hostesses no end. A toned-down Nadine was delighted with the steady stream of beaux and flower baskets through Portman Square, and the smiles and nods from the callers’ mothers. If her laugh was too loud on occasion, at least she was not considered a milk-and-water miss.

But it was Emilyann, the Little Countess, who was taking London by storm, to everyone’s surprise including her own. Rounded brunettes or stately golden beauties were the fashion, until one small, thin, silver-blonde became the rage. Ladies were cool, reserved, bored—until a laughing, blue-eyed pixie charmed a smile out of the starchiest matrons and the most careworn Parliamentarians.

And men, single, married, young and old, bucks and beaux, flocked to her like Geoff’s pigs followed the slops bucket. She never made fun of the callow youths nor turned a deaf ear to the prosy old gents who were her father’s cronies nor let a hardened rake go beyond the line. If anyone accused her of being a deliberate flirt, she laughed back. “But everyone knows I am only an old married woman, how could I lead anyone on?”

She never singled out one of her admirers, except young Remington, who gave her puppylike devotion in return for his purse back from Uncle Morgan. She refused to hurt his feelings, and she still had hopes of him for Nadine. Mamas of young lads realized their babes were safe; jealous wives saw their husbands secure in numbers; marriageable girls took lessons and were happy for a friendship that kept them in the vicinity of every eligible
parti
in town.

Emilyann laughed and danced and teased, and never lost her own sense of style, wit, intelligence, and charm. She was in no danger of becoming spoiled by her popularity; she was in no danger of losing her heart, either. She was pleased with her success and complimented by so many men’s regard, but she held them all up to Smoky, and none met his measure.

She could not lie to herself that she knew her husband well: she had not seen him in over a year, and then for hours only. Childish dreams, girlhood fantasies, and his friendly letters (when he was not lecturing) combined to form an image of him in her mind and in her heart. He was wise and brave and kind and comical. He was tall and thin and rugged, with broad shoulders, black curls, and gray eyes that smiled down at her as he tied her bonnet’s bow along her cheek on their wedding day. He had kissed her forehead and told her she was safe now. No other man ever gave her that feeling of belonging. Now she needed more than that, but only from him.

Have you any chance of coming home soon?
she concluded her latest letter, then added:
Oh, Aunt Ingrid is recovering nicely. The footman who tripped on Uncle’s foot, spilling the orange flambé in her lap, has been dismissed. And just in case you hear one or two small rumors about a race to Richmond after the masquerade, don’t worry. I won.
She signed it,
Your loving and obedient wife.

* * * *

Obedient? One or two small rumors? Hah! There were nothing but rumors floating around Brussels. Half of them concerned Napoleon’s possible plans to leave exile; the other half concerned Stokely’s own wife!

The major hated unproved information. He always had, volunteering to go behind enemy lines when he first signed up, to find the truth for his commanders lest they commit troop movements to ungrounded talk of enemy strengths and positions. Later, on the command staff, he gathered these reports from other men and helped plan the army’s strategies—with facts, not hearsay.

Now he was stuck in Brussels, playing nursemaid to petty officials of the Allied forces, while Boney considered wreaking more havoc on Europe. Damn, if he only knew the truth! Why couldn’t those bloody fools in Vienna stop waltzing long enough to find out?

Then there was the talk about his wife. His wife, by God! Half the time he forgot he even had one, and the other half he wished he didn’t. Every returning officer told him what a lucky dog he was. Pride kept him from asking for details; there was no way he could admit he hardly knew his bride. Every weeks-late newspaper had columns full of the latest doings of Lady S———, with this man’s escort, in that man’s box. Spindly little Sparrow? What the devil was going on? Carriage races and masquerades, indeed. Why hadn’t the little madcap been tossed out on her ear? Stokely didn’t understand any of it, and liked it less.

If she’d only stayed in the country ... Hell, if she hadn’t climbed that tree after him, he wouldn’t have broken his arm getting her down. Now there was no hope for a quiet annulment, not after the stir she was causing. It wasn’t as if no one had heard of her or the marriage. She would be ruined by the same blasted gossip that currently raged around her. They were truly married now, for good or for evil.

The major was not even sure if he minded so much. There were times when she infuriated him, like spending her money to outfit his sister for presentation at the queen’s drawing room. There were times when she terrified him, like when she wrote about wanting to be part of a balloon ascension.

And there were times when he felt an aching loss: it should have been him giving Sparrow her first sight of Vauxhall Gardens at night, with the fairy lights and fireworks. He should have shared her first taste of iced champagne ... and her first kiss. Then he remembered letting her trail after him on her first hunt, braids flying, her whole dirty face lit with a gap-toothed grin. Sparrow was just a child, an adorable imp. That was why all of London embraced her, wasn’t it, and forgave her all those fits and starts? But he was a man, not a monk, and would want more from a wife than a towhead tagalong. Lord, he was confused!

The British Army left in Belgium was well encamped and organized, provisions were flowing nicely, and the troops were in good spirits. Smoky knew to a man how many soldiers were billeted where and how much ammunition was on hand, so he decided the politicians and pettifoggers could be trusted, briefly, to watch out for the Corsican’s return; he had to see about his wife.

* * * *

The very correct butler raised his nose up, his chest out, and sonorously intoned: “My apologies, sir. The ladies are out for the evening. I shall be pleased to convey a message, or your card if you choose to leave one.”

“Put on your spectacles, you old charlatan, and get off your high horse. It is I, Stokely, and I own the damn pile, so you may as well let me in.”

“Master Everett, is that you? We weren’t expecting—that is, welcome home, milord. Welcome home indeed.” He took the major’s hat and snapped his fingers for footmen to assist Rigg, now in sergeant’s uniform, in with the baggage. “It has been a long time.”

Stokely looked around the entry hall, the gleaming furniture, the vases of flowers, the attentive servants in perfect livery. “It certainly has. Where did you ever come from? I thought you retired to your sister’s farm after my father stuck his spoon in the wall. However did Sparrow find you?”

The butler’s lip twitched. “Through the advertisement, m’lord, in all the papers. ‘Butler wanted,’ it said. ‘Mr. only.’ I knew it had to be me wanted, and Lady Emilyann as inserted it. She was the only one who ever called me mister. Said it did not suit my dignity to be summoned as Butler.”