La Petite Four (15 page)

Hercules, Apollo, and Hades. Only La Petite Four knew Lord Robert very likely deserved the title of Lord of the Underworld more than his dark-haired friend. Even Lady Rollings looked impressed when he bowed over her hand. He had a smile for every kind word, a self-deprecating jest for every bit of praise.

“Did you see that?” Priscilla whispered. “Lady Skelcroft simpered at Lord Robert. She is
clearly
still enamored of him.”

“Perhaps,” Emily allowed, “though I doubt I could hold down my ratafia if she simpered at me.”

Beside her, she felt Ariadne begin to shake. Glancing at her friend, Emily saw that Ariadne’s gaze had dropped to the toes of her white satin evening slippers, and her skin was so pale, it was nearly translucent.

“Ariadne?” she asked with a frown. “What is it?”

“Shush!” Ariadne begged. “Here they come. Oh, I never know what to say to gentlemen!”

“It’s only Lord Robert’s friends, silly,” Daphne said, taking a step closer, as if to comfort her. “They’re very likely no better than he is.”

“Nonsense,” Ariadne said heatedly, raising her gaze long enough to glare at her sister. “Just because Lord Robert is horrid, it need not follow that he must have horrid friends. They might have been blinded by his charm, just like poor Lavinia Haversham.”

There was no more time for encouragement, for the gentlemen were upon them. Lord Robert took Emily’s free hand and clasped it in both of his.

“Forgive me for not rushing to your side, my darling,” he begged. “Duty, you know.”

Emily kept her look cool as she retrieved her hand. “Pray allow me to do mine, then. You remember my dear friends Miss Priscilla Tate, Misses Daphne and Ariadne Courdebas.”

They all dipped curtsies, and Emily was only thankful that Ariadne did not wobble. She still looked as if she might faint as Lord Robert’s friends gazed at her.

“Ladies,” Lord Robert said with a nod. “How wonderful you could join us tonight. I must make my friends known to you. Viscount Quincy and Mr. Cunningham pride themselves on knowing every beautiful young lady in London.”

There he went calling them beautiful again. Truly, he used the word at the least provocation. Still, Ariadne swayed, and Daphne swallowed as if to keep herself from drooling.

“Charmed,” Lord Quincy drawled, making him sound anything but. Perhaps he deserved the title of Hades after all.

“Enchanted,” Mr. Cunningham said with a gamin grin. “And may I say you look lovely tonight, Miss Courdebas and Miss Courdebas. There is nothing like a lady gowned in purest white.”

“I told you so,” Daphne hissed with a swift elbow in Ariadne’s side.

That was all it took. Ariadne’s hands were shaking so much that the bump broke her hold on the glass’s stem. She stared in obvious horror as the goblet tumbled to the Oriental carpet, splashing her rosy beverage all down the front of her gown.

“Or red, it seems,” Viscount Quincy drawled.

Ariadne’s face was scarlet. “Excuse me, please,” she muttered before fleeing the room.

Emily did not wait to see what Lord Robert or his friends would do and hurried after Ariadne. Priscilla might consider the matter before deciding that the company of three handsome gentlemen was much to be preferred, even if one
was
an unconscionable scoundrel. Daphne would no doubt be too busy trying to remember Lord Snedley’s advice for removing stains from silk. Ariadne needed help
now
.

Emily caught up with her in the corridor just outside the withdrawing room. “Are you all right?” she asked.

Ariadne sniffled, the candlelight from the golden sconce on the wall casting delicate shadows on her tearstained face. “Oh, I shall survive.”

“At least you won’t have to wear that dress again,” Emily pointed out. “Knowing how you feel about white, I imagine that will be a relief.”

Ariadne giggled through her tears. “There is that. Oh, Emily, was there ever a bigger fool?”

Emily linked her arm with Ariadne’s and led her toward the door to the ladies’ retiring room. “Nonsense. Anyone could spill. I’m certain there must be some remedy. What would Lord Snedley advise?”

“Something terribly useless, no doubt. But don’t fret over me. You should go back. This evening is in your honor, after all. I’ll be along shortly. Just don’t let Priscilla latch onto all the Eligibles.”

Emily wanted to protest. She had no wish to return to that room, to be gaped at and talked about, to pretend that she was enjoying the prospect of marrying Lord Robert. But Ariadne had a point, and Emily knew she shouldn’t stay away from the festivities for long.

So she turned, squared her shoulders, and told herself she could do this. She
had
to do this. Too much was at stake.

Then she saw him.

Jamie stood in the corridor for a moment before turning and murmuring something to the footman just behind, as if he preferred to enter the room unannounced. Emily wasn’t sure why. He certainly looked the part of a gentleman: black coat, black breaches buckled at his knees, a green-striped waistcoat, and a simply tied but absolutely spotless cravat. His hands were encased in white kid gloves, and his evening shoes were every bit as shiny as Lord Robert’s.

Seeing her there, he touched two fingers to his forehead. “Mr. James Cropper, reporting as requested, your ladyship.”

Hope rushed through her. Here was an ally, a helper Lord Robert and his friends could not intimidate. Yet as she walked toward him, she noticed that his smile was not quite as bright as she remembered, as if he was unsure of his welcome, unsure of her. She saw questions were written in those gray eyes, questions she wasn’t sure how to answer.

Lady Skelcroft and Lady Baminger exited the withdrawing room just then and stopped when they saw Jamie standing there. Lady Baminger merely frowned, but Lady Skelcroft’s mouth opened and closed as her face paled. Then she hurried past Emily for the retiring room.

“Do you know her?” Emily could not help asking Jamie.

He opened his mouth to answer, but Lord Robert strolled out of the withdrawing room, every bit as if he had been following the ladies. He too jerked to a stop at the sight of Jamie, his handsome face flushing red.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

19

Jamie stared at Lord Robert, and Lord Robert stared back. This was what Emily had planned, but she felt as stretched and taut as one of her canvases. What if they came to blows? Lord Robert might lose his handsome face to Jamie’s knuckles, but she was more concerned for Jamie. Striking an aristocrat was a hanging offense for a commoner.

She dashed up to them and placed herself squarely between them. “
I
invited Mr. Cropper, Lord Robert. It seemed as if the two of you had much to discuss.”

Lord Robert grabbed Emily’s arm and linked it through his own. “Mr. Cropper,” he said, spitting out the name as if he’d eaten a bug, “and I have nothing to say to each other. He should have refused your invitation.”

“I dislike refusing a lady,” Jamie grit out with equal venom.

Beyond them, Emily saw Ariadne scamper out of the ladies’ retiring room. Her face was flushed, and the ribbon around her waist was askew. Meeting Emily’s gaze, she started forward, only to jerk to a stop when she saw Mr. Cropper and Lord Robert.

“The lady is unaware of the implications,” Lord Robert sneered to Jamie. “You, however, are not. If you had any notion of good breeding, you would have refused.”

Had Emily truly put Jamie in such a difficult position? Obviously he knew how to get along in Good Society. Why would good breeding demand that he stay away?

And what was wrong with Ariadne? Her friend stood down the corridor, mouthing words at her. It looked a bit like “He’s a dastard.”

Yes, Lord Robert certainly was! Emily just wished she could prove it.

“You’d definitely be more familiar with good breeding than I am,” Jamie said. “You have all the trappings—fine house, fine clothes, paste jewels.”

Emily tugged her arm from Lord Robert‘s grip. He was obviously too focused on Jamie to notice. “Starting rumors, are you, Cropper?” he demanded.

“Or investigating one.”

Investigating paste jewels? Why? The girls had already established that Lord Robert
wasn’t
a jewel thief, much to Emily’s dismay.

Ariadne was still trying to get her attention. Now she seemed to be saying, “He’s his mother.”

But that made even less sense!
“What?”
Emily mouthed back.

Lord Robert leaned closer to Jamie, eyes narrowing. “I’ll not have you questioning my guests. This is my home, and you cannot accuse me without a writ from the magistrate.”

Accuse him? Of what? Had her suspicions been correct after all?

“Now why would I accuse you, my lord?” Jamie asked, meeting his gaze without flinching. “You being such an upstanding gentleman and all.”

Lord Robert drew himself up. “It is because I am a gentleman, Mr. Cropper, that I don’t have the footman throw you out on your ear. You are a guest in my home, and I know how to treat guests, just like my father.”

Jamie blanched.

Emily grabbed her skirts with both hands to keep from reaching out to him. This wasn’t about stolen jewels or smuggled virgins. The injury was deep, on both sides. The pain radiated like heat from a wildfire. She wanted to soothe the wound, but she had no idea what had caused it.

“Does this have anything to do with Lavinia Haversham?” she ventured.

Lord Robert jerked away from her. “Enough! Do you see the damage you’ve done by insinuating yourself into my fiancée’s life, Cropper? If anything happens to her, I’ll blame you!”

“Emily?”

Relief fell like cool rain at the sound of His Grace’s voice. Here was someone who knew how to navigate difficult situations. That calm determination had settled disputes between squabbling monarchs and warring nations. She let go of her skirts and grabbed the arm of her father’s coat, pulling him into the corridor.

“Father,” she said with a smile. “May I present to you Mr. James Cropper, an acquaintance of Lord Robert’s and mine?”

For the barest of moments, her father hesitated, staring at Jamie, and Emily found herself staring at her father, her arms falling to her sides. Why didn’t he move? Her father was never at a loss for words, never discomposed. Could His Grace know Lord Robert’s secret?

Then His Grace held out his hand with a smile. “Mr. Cropper, a pleasure to meet you, sir. Please give my regards to your mother and assure her that she is remembered kindly.”

Now Lord Robert was staring as well, sweat beading on his brow, but Jamie’s smile reappeared.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he said, shaking hands. “Mother speaks highly of you as well.”

Had Emily somehow drifted out to sea? She’d lost all landmarks, had no northern star to guide her. His Grace knew James Cropper’s mother?

But how? Emily herself hadn’t even seen her father in months!

“Forgive me for interrupting your conversation,” His Grace continued smoothly, as if he did not notice her standing there with her mouth open, “but I believe Lord Wakenoak is awaiting us in the library.”

The library. The settlement papers. Something as thick as oil paint squirmed in her stomach. She could not make herself move as her father offered his arm.

He frowned. “Emily? Did you hear me?”

She did, to her everlasting regret. The dread in her stomach solidified into a rock. How she wished she could turn away— scrape Lord Robert off her life as she scraped away an unwanted blob of paint.

There had to be something she could do!

“Yes, Father,” she said, placing her arm on his. “I heard you.”

Her father smiled, then nodded farewell to Mr. Cropper. She could feel Jamie’s gaze on her as she passed. What would she see if she dared to meet his gaze? Sympathy? Pity?

She couldn’t look.

Lord Robert fell into step behind them as they made their way down the corridor, like an executioner carrying the ax to the block.

She tightened her grip on her father’s arm, forcing him to pause. “Must we do this, Father?” she whispered. “I . . . I’m not feeling well.”

He patted her hand, gaze warm and soft. “There, now. These are only bridal jitters. It is my duty not to let you fall prey to them and pass up so excellent a match.”

Her face felt like a mask, stiff and hot. “But the ball.”

“I assure you, Emily,” Lord Robert said, coming up beside them, his gaze just as warm, “there will be others.”

No, there wouldn’t. Not like this one. Who but Priscilla and the prince would have goldfish?

“There, you see?” His Grace said, squeezing her hand. “You have no reason for concern. I am persuaded that Lord Robert will make you a wonderful husband. And I only want the best for you. You understand that, don’t you?”

Emily managed a nod. She knew His Grace had her interests at heart. She simply had to find something to convince him her interests lay elsewhere. But she was out of ideas.

As they started forward again, the weight in her stomach grew heavier, spreading through her legs down to her feet. By the time they reached the library at the end of the corridor, she felt as though she’d walked ten miles. It seemed to take another ten to reach the desk before the fire, where Lord Wakenoak stood with a short man wearing spectacles, a solicitor.

“I’ve already signed,” Lord Robert’s brother announced as they gathered around him. “As the head of the family, I agree to the allowance being granted to my brother.”

Allowance
. Emily supposed she should care how much income Lord Robert brought to the marriage. She’d never thought to ask. His Grace did not seem at all concerned as he stepped forward to sign.

“And there’s my agreement,” he said, handing the quill back to the solicitor. “A fine dowry for my lovely daughter, with plenty of pin money to keep her in the finest of gowns.”