Candice Hern (25 page)

"No, you may not," her mother replied. "You must watch your figure, my girl. Once you have landed a husband, then you may grow plump as a Christmas goose, if you wish. Until then, you must not risk any potential blemish to your beauty."

Emily was more likely to risk fainting from hunger. She would ask Aunt Beatrice if they could stop at a pastry shop on the way back to Brook Street.

"As for Lord Thayne, I think you are wrong," her mother said to Aunt Beatrice. "Shall I tell you the gossip I have heard?"

"About me?" Emily thought it horribly vulgar to be the subject of gossip. Unless, of course, it was something flattering.

"About you and Lord Thayne. More than one person has told me that he is frequently found at your side at every ball you attend. And that he has more than once been seen in your drawing room, Beatrice, on those afternoons when you receive callers. Several people of my acquaintance seem to be under the impression that his lordship does indeed have a tendre for our Emily."

Aunt Beatrice gave a soft groan.

"What I think," her mother continued, "is that you have mistaken his aristocratic bearing for disinterest. A man of his upbringing is not likely to be ardent or effusive in public."

"No," Aunt Beatrice said in a definitive tone that Emily found rather irritating. It was irksome that her aunt was so determined that Lord Thayne was not attracted to her. Even if it was true, did she have to hammer the point home so forcefully?

"I am not mistaken," her aunt said. "I can assure you Lord Thayne is not interested in our Emily. He is often seen with us because he is in the company of Mr. Jeremy Burnett, his particular friend. It is Mr. Burnett who is smitten with Emily, not Lord Thayne."

Emily rolled her eyes.

"Mr. Burnett?" her mother said. "Mr. Burnett? I have never heard you speak of a Mr. Burnett, my girl. Who is he?"

"He is nobody," Emily said. "Just an annoying gentleman who lurks about altogether too much. He does his best to draw my attention, but I will have none of him."

Especially not after some of the things he'd had the temerity to say to her. He was forever teasing her and charming her with that lopsided smile, and he frequently made her laugh. But the last time she had seen him, he had told her she was too beautiful for her own good. She would admit that she had been flirting rather outrageously at the time with Viscount Ealing, who also happened to be heir to an earldom, and his lordship had been exclaiming about her extraordinary beauty. She had mentioned how thirsty she was, and Lord Ealing had sped away quick as a bunny to procure her a cool drink. Mr. Burnett had dropped his usual amusing banter and actually scolded her.

"You use your beauty to get all that you want in life," he'd said.

"Heavens, sir, it was only a drink."

"It is more than a cool drink. You believe your beauty entitles you to everything, that it will ultimately bring you happiness in life. Well, it won't, you know. Not because it is a fleeting thing — which it is, of course; you fool yourself if you think it will never fade — but because it is not important."

"Not important?" she'd replied. "How can you say such a thing? How many plain girls do you see winning a rich, handsome, titled husband? How many girls with spots? How many plump girls with extra chins? Of course it is important, you silly man."

"No, it is not," he said. "It does not define your character, your intelligence, your talents and abilities. You should be looking for a man who is not content merely to have your beauty at his disposal, as an ornament to his pride. You need a man who wants to know who you are, what you believe in, what's important to you, what you dream about, what makes you laugh. Those are the more essential things. For if you lost your beauty tomorrow, all the rest will still be there. The parts of you that truly matter."

"I suppose you are exactly that sort of man, the sort you think I need, the sort who doesn't care whether or not I'm pretty?"

"I am drawn to your beauty just like every other man with eyes in his head. How could I not be? But I care equally about the other things, about who you are. And so, yes, I am indeed the sort of man you need, for I would love you even if you fell victim to the pox and your face was forever marked by it. But I cannot offer you a title, so you will never have me. Will you?"

She had told him he was impertinent, turned on her heel, and walked away. But she still remembered every word of that strange conversation. It was the most unusual declaration of love she'd ever heard, and she'd heard scores of them.

And he'd been dead wrong about the importance of beauty. Of course it was important. It was everything. It was her path to fame and fortune, and her escape from Mama's shrill management.

"Emily?"

She was jerked back to the present by her mother's loud voice.

"I am talking to you, my girl. Get your head out of the clouds."

"Sorry, Mama. I was woolgathering. What were you saying?"

"I was asking about Mr. Burnett."

"Oh."

"He is a perfectly charming young man," Aunt Beatrice said, "with the most engaging smile you will ever see. My Charlotte is very fond of him and he is exceedingly indulgent of her when he calls. He was in India with Lord Thayne, you know. Such things fascinate that girl and she is apt to plaque him to death with her endless questions."

"You are foolish to allow your girls to mingle with your guests on your afternoons at home. They are too young."

"It is good practice for them," Aunt Beatrice said, "and they are perfectly well behaved. Charlotte does tend to get excited about tales of elephants and such. Mr. Burnett is very kind to her, and very much infatuated with our Emily. His father is the Earl of Mottisfont, by the way."

"Mottisfont?" A sudden spark of interest lit her mother's eye.

"He is a younger son, Mama, so do not get your hopes up. There are two brothers ahead of him in the succession."

Her mother heaved a sigh. "How provoking. Well, never mind then. You must not waste your time with him."

"I am
not
wasting time with him. He is the one wasting time, hanging about like an idiot, thinking I'll toss my cap at him one day. Ha!"

"Good girl. And as long as your Mr. Burnett seems always to be in the company of Lord Thayne, there is still hope in that quarter."

"No, Ophelia, there is not. Allow that bee to fly out of your bonnet, if you please. Otherwise you will have your daughter seen as a flirt, if she pushes herself at Lord Thayne, and that will not do."

Once again, Emily had to wonder why her aunt was so dead set against the marquess. Was there some sordid tale she did not want Emily to know? And Mr. Burnett was forever warning her off as well. More subtly than Aunt Beatrice, to be sure, but he always seemed to imply that Lord Thayne had interests elsewhere. Emily could not imagine who the object of his interest might be, since he never singled out any girl in particular.

"Confound it, Beatrice, you are being positively pigheaded about this." Emily's mother pounded at the pillows again, stirring up a flurry of dust motes. "Do not stand in the way of a brilliant match or I swear I will leave this couch, hobbling or not, and take care of it myself. Let the girl encourage the marquess, for God's sake."

"I have no intention of encouraging him, Mama."

"Do as you are told, my girl. You will thank me one day, when you are a duchess."

There was no arguing with Mama when she got a notion stuck in her head. Thank goodness she was not acting as Emily's chaperone. She would be one of those embarrassing mothers who forced their daughters upon unsuspecting gentlemen. Emily did not need that kind of assistance, thank you very much. She would do very nicely on her own. There were plenty of perfectly eligible gentlemen who made calf's eyes at her every day, including the impertinent Mr. Burnett. She did not need to force herself upon Lord Thayne. True, he was a marquess, and marquesses were not exactly springing up like weeds all over London. Striking him from her list represented a significant compromise in her objective, but there was no way in blazes she would allow herself to be thought to chase after a man who ignored her.

Perhaps she could wheedle out of Mr. Burnett the identity of the woman who apparently
had
captured Lord Thayne's interest. Emily suspected he knew that secret, and she was dying to know who it was. Just as a matter of curiosity, of course.

"And what's this I hear," her mother said, "about that dreadful Lord Rochdale hanging about? You must definitely
not
encourage that one, my girl."

"I keep an eye on him," Aunt Beatrice said. "More than once I have sent him off with a stern look. I cannot imagine why he continues to come around."

"Even a scoundrel has an eye for beauty," Mama said. "Our Emily is bound to attract all types, some of them less respectable than others. But I trust you to keep any objectionable men away from her, Beatrice. Or will you fail me in that regard as well?"

"I do my best, Ophelia."

Her aunt's voice had grown angry, and Emily could hardly blame her. She was a thousand times more cautious a chaperone than Mama would ever have been.

"Rochdale has so far done no more than loiter about the edges of Emily's court of admirers," Aunt Beatrice continued. "He hasn't even got close enough to speak with her."

"I danced with him once," Emily said.

Aunt Beatrice stared at her openmouthed, then said, "When? I have taken note of every partner who ever led you onto a dance floor, and I never saw you dance with Rochdale. I would not have allowed it."

"I should hope not!" Her mother looked thoroughly aghast at such a notion. "Good God, Sister, I cannot trust you to do anything right. Dancing with Rochdale, indeed!"

"It was at Aunt Wallingford's masquerade ball."

Aunt Beatrice grew pale.

"Dear God," her mother said. "What on earth was Mary thinking, to invite such a person? May I assume that you did not know his identity when you agreed to dance with him?"

"I did not know who he was," Emily said. "He was dressed as a pirate and I did not recognize him. But he told me who he was when I asked. I didn't expect him to tell me — one isn't required to do so at a masquerade, you know. But he did. I meant to tell you afterward, Aunt Beatrice, but you had disappeared and then said you weren't feeling well and that we must leave. Poor Aunt Beatrice has been ill again several times since, Mama. I think I have been overtaxing her, with all my parties and such."

"Is that true?" her mother asked. "Have you been unwell, Beatrice? Why didn't you tell me? No wonder you are falling off the job."

Aunt Beatrice appeared oddly flustered. Perhaps Emily should not have mentioned anything about her being ill. But she really did feel guilty about it, running the poor woman ragged, dashing from ball to ball, party to party. It must be hard on someone of her age.

"I have not been unwell," she said. "Only a headache now and then. Nothing to be concerned about, I assure you. I shall not shirk my duties, Ophelia."

"Good. Then you must be sure to keep Lord Thayne in our Emily's orbit. I am persuaded there is still hope in that direction."

And Emily was persuaded that her mother was doomed to disappointment.

Two weeks! Thayne would go mad if he had to wait two weeks to be with Beatrice again. He craved the pure, white perfection of her skin, the smell of her hair, her incredible breasts, everything. Desire for her lived in him now like a constant ache. She had become necessary to him. Two weeks without her would surely kill him.

But she could not promise another afternoon anytime soon, claiming she had too many commitments with Emily or her own daughters. He could not bring her to Doncaster House. Burnett was of no use, as he kept bachelor rooms at Albany. And Loughton House, such as it was, did not offer much hope, either. His bed had been deemed too small by his father, who had taken it into his head to buy Thayne a new one. The old bed, the bed where he had last loved Beatrice, had been dismantled and the new bed, properly grand enough for a duke's heir, had not yet been delivered.

It seemed the Fates that had once been so kind had turned against him. He wanted,
needed
to be with Beatrice again. He could not wait for the accommodating Wilhelmina Hertford to be free to lend them her house a fortnight later. Thayne wanted Beatrice tonight. But how to manage it?

He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he had to do
something
.

There was something else he was going to do as well. Thayne had given it a great deal of thought and had come to an inevitable conclusion. It was so obvious, and so perfect, he felt an idiot for not having thought of it before. It had taken that day at Loughton House — the entire afternoon, not only the time spent making love to her — for him to fully accept his feelings for Beatrice. He loved her. He wanted her in his life, not just temporarily, but forever.

It was useless to continue halfheartedly pursuing all those pretty young girls of eighteen or twenty who had nothing to offer but their potential. And what if he chose wrong? What if the girl who appeared to have the most promise turned into a shrew or a dullard or a featherbrained ninny? He would be stuck with her for a lifetime.

No, it was much smarter to choose a woman whose character was already fully matured and thoroughly admirable, who would offer no terrifying surprises after the wedding, either in the bedroom or the drawing room.

Thayne had more than his share of self-confidence and self-worth. He knew he tended to loom large, to intimidate, to take charge. He did not always like those aspects of his character — which he realized many people interpreted as supreme arrogance — but he could not change who he was. And although he might enjoy a pretty, young, biddable wife for a while, he knew without question that he would soon grow tired of a woman who offered no challenge, who acquiesced to his every desire, who let him rule every aspect of her life. He preferred a woman who could meet him on more equal terms, who would not acquiesce but might battle instead. He would ultimately have the upper hand, of course, but he preferred a bit of a challenge to get there.