Shattered Rainbows (60 page)

With most heartfelt regards,

Chris Tremayne

Emily could scarcely believe her ears. What kind of cold fish was this Duke of Montford to blithely relegate the choosing of his wife to two elderly spinsters? Lady Hargrave's cook gave more personal attention to choosing the mutton for Sunday dinner than this peer of the realm did to choosing the future mother of his children.

In the two months since she had joined the earl's household as her cousin Luanda's companion, Emily had observed that most of the high-sticklers of London society were a shallow, jaded lot. But this top lofty duke must surely be the most outrageous of them all.

She shuddered. A cruel twist of fate had landed her amongst these philistines, and here she must stay for the next four months until she could receive the modest portion her grandmother had willed her. But then, God willing, she would leave the dirt and decadence of London behind forever and return to her beloved Cotswolds.

Warily, she looked to her aunt to gauge her reaction to this amazing missive just received. As she might have expected, a smile as bright as the sun flooding the window of the cheerful morning room lighted Lady Hargrave's plump face. Laying the note aside, she reached across the table to clasp her daughter's hands. "Never say your mama has not looked out for your welfare, my darling. Now do you wonder why I spent all those tedious hours teaching Lady Cloris to knit? Just think of it. My little girl is a duchess!"

Lady Lucinda's already pale skin blanched a shade whiter. She was a timid little thing who, at the slightest provocation, swooned gracefully away. Emily normally found such missish behavior very off-putting, but in this case she could scarcely blame her cousin for feeling faint.

"But, Mama," Lucinda gasped, clutching the edge of the table as if it were a lifeline, "I do not think I would like to be married to the Duke of Montford. He is so… so stiff and so grand."

"Of course he is, you silly goose. He's Montford. The first Tremayne crossed the Channel during the reign of Charlemagne, and they have been rich as Croesus ever since. Why, even the regent and the royals compete for the honor of entertaining the Duke of Montford." Lady Hargrave breathed an ecstatic sigh. "Just imagine, you may soon be visiting Carlton House on the arm of your husband, the duke!"

Tears welled in Lucinda's china blue eyes. "I should be absolutely terrified," she declared, "but at least the regent is rather fat and jolly-looking, and when I was presented to him at Lady Halpern's musicale last Tuesday, he tweaked my chin and said I was 'a rare little beauty.' The duke just walked right past me without a single look."

"Well, he won't ignore you at Brynhaven, my pet."

Lucinda gulped back a sob. "But what shall I do if he expects me to talk to him? I am not at all clever like cousin Emily."

"He won't," Lady Hargrave said with absolute certainty. "The last thing a man like the duke is looking for in a wife is clever conversation. Just curtsy and smile prettily and make certain you never step on his toes when he dances with you."

"I shall be required to dance with him?" Lucinda shrieked. "Oh, Mama, never say you expect me to do such a thing. I would simply die if he touched me. He does not look at all kind."

Lady Hargrave shrugged. "Dukes rarely do. I am sure it has something to do with being catered to from the moment one is born. But"—the corners of her mouth lifted in a sly smile—"I know this is not a topic for innocent young ears, and I only mention it so you will understand what is at stake here."

Her voice lowered to a discreet whisper, and, fascinated, Emily leaned across the table to hear her aunt's latest
on-dit
. "Montford is rumored to be excessively generous to his paramours. That emerald necklace of Lady Crawley's which you admired at the opera Sunday last was a gift from the duke—and she is merely his mistress and unattractively plump at that. Think, my precious darling, how generous such a man would be to a beautiful young wife who presented him with his heir!"

Lucinda's finely arched brows drew together in a puzzled frown, and she looked at Emily as if for guidance. "I would very much like an emerald necklace like Lady Crowley's," she admitted.

"And furs and jewels and elegant dresses and a carriage of your own with the duke's lozenge on the door," Lady Hargrave prompted.

"Of course, Mama. Who would not? But I still would not like to marry the Duke of Montford. My abigail said that any man who marries me will expect to share my bed. I most certainly would not want to share my bed with
him.
I am quite certain I should die of mortification if he ever saw me in my night rail."

Two angry red blotches stained Lady Hargrave's cheeks. "That insufferable chatterbox will be given her walking papers today and without one word of reference," she declared vehemently.

Emily turned away, afraid the disgust she felt for her aunt must surely be stamped on her face. It was difficult to believe this crass schemer could be dear Mama's only sister. Aunt Hortense had the sensitivity of a turnip; without the slightest compunction, she was tossing Lucinda to this wolf, who was currently prowling London's fashionable marriage mart, without explaining any of the more intimate aspects of marriage to the poor innocent.

While Emily had no actual experience in the ways of men and women, she had, like most country girls, a working knowledge of the breeding of sheep and horses and dogs. The correlation with human procreation seemed fairly obvious. She was very much afraid her pretty little cousin would find there was much more to the marriage bed than being viewed in one's night rail.

She saw the fear in Luanda's eyes, and her heart ached for the girl. She found herself wondering just how sensitive to such fears a jaded aristocrat like the duke would be.

Lady Hargrave had maintained a long moment of ominous silence while she gathered her forces. Now she resumed her attack on Lucinda's objections to the duke's bizarre invitation with a vengeance. Emily listened as words poured off the countess's tongue like rain off a clogged gutter spout, one tripping over the other in their eagerness to be said. "I will hear no more of this foolishness," she screeched. "The die is cast. We have been invited to Brynhaven, and to Brynhaven we will go. I cannot believe you are such a featherhead as to think we would dare refuse the hospitality of the Duke of Montford even if we should want to. We would be social outcasts, my girl. Pariahs. Every door in London would be closed to us. Is that what you want?"

"No, Mama."

"I should think not! And if you care not a whit for me, at least give a thought to your poor father. With all the financial reverses the man has suffered this past year, he was forced to cash in his precious consols to give you your season. 'But never fear, my lord, your daughter will not fail you,' I assured him. 'With her pretty face and winning ways, she is bound to attract a rich
parti
who will keep you out of dun territory.'"

She pressed her hand to her ample bosom and sighed dramatically. "But Montford! Oh, my stars and garters, never in my most blissful dreams did I hope to reach that high. Wait until I tell the earl.

"But first things first," she declared, ignoring the fact that her daughter was still sobbing quietly into
her soggy handkerchief. "Emily, alert John Coachman that we shall need the carriage in a half hour. I want to be away from here before that insufferable gaggle of fribbles who moon over Lucinda descend upon us."

Emily smiled to herself. Just yesterday that "insufferable gaggle of fribbles" had been delightful young men who, as potential suiters for Luanda's hand, were welcomed with open arms by the countess.

"We must hurry to Madame Fanchon's salon and engage her services before someone else thinks of it," Lady Hargrave explained. "As it is, she will have to put on extra seamstresses to finish everything we need in time."

"But, Mama, have you forgotten how unpleasant Madame Fanchon was the last time we visited her. I am certain she meant it when she said we could run up no more credit."

"Nonsense. Watch that French needle pusher change her tune when she learns she is dressing the future Duchess of Montford—which reminds me, one thing you absolutely must have is a new riding habit. The duke is famous for his brilliant horsemanship. He will most certainly expect his duchess to ride to the hounds."

"But, Mama," Lucinda cried, reaching for Emily's hand beneath the table, "I am not at all good with horses. They frighten me to death."

"You will simply have to get over it. Mind over matter, my girl."

"But, Mama—"

"But me no more buts, young lady. You have been blessed with the opportunity to make the most brilliant marriage of this or any other season. I expect you to make the most of it."

Lady Hargrave turned to Emily. "And I expect you to talk some sense into this foolish child. You know all too well what it is to be poor and without prospects. Tell her how humiliating it is to have to wear your cousin's ill-fitting, cast-off dresses and hire out as a paid companion to keep body and soul together." She shuddered. "Ask her what she thinks her life—indeed, all our lives—will be like if her father is sent to debtors prison… and all because she failed to bring the duke up to scratch."

With a last admonishing glance at Emily, the countess swept from the room clutching Lady Cloris's precious missile to her breast and demanding, at the top of her voice, that someone find the earl.

She had scarcely closed the door behind her when Lucinda flung herself into Emily's arms. "I cannot bear it," she sobbed. "I'd rather die than marry the Duke of Montford. He is a horrible man… and he must be a thousand years old."

"You are exaggerating as usual," Emily said, giving her cousin's heaving shoulders a comforting pat. "I was,at Lady Halpern's musicale too, you know. I remember the duke well. He was neither old nor horrible. A bit stiff-necked and proud, I admit, but quite amazingly handsome… in a chilly sort of way."

In truth, she knew exactly why Lucinda found Montford forbidding; she'd developed a few shivers of her own in the brief instant she'd come under his frosty regard. She had even found herself thinking of him at odd moments ever since, and each time she thought of his dark, brooding countenance, those same shivers traveled her spine.

She racked her brain for something to say which would comfort the frightened girl. "Think of all the lovely new gowns you will have to wear."

"What good will they be if I die of fright?" Lucinda wailed, dropping in a crumpled heap onto a nearby chair.

"Isn't it early days to be turning this into a Cheltenham tragedy? After all, there is only a one-in-five chance the duke will choose you."

Lucinda's eyes widened in astonishment. "How could he not choose me? I am this season's Incomparable. Everyone who is anyone says I am the most beautiful girl to make her come-out in years." She sniffed. "I cannot even imagine who the other four might be."

Emily grudgingly acknowledged that while not exactly humble, her cousin's statement was probably true. Even now, when such a fit of weeping would have left any other woman with puffy eyes and a mottled complexion, Lucinda's perfect golden beauty remained undiminished.

"Brynhaven is known to be one of the grandest country homes in all of England," Emily said, deciding to try a practical approach to the problem. "I sincerely envy you the chance to see it. And since you really have no choice in the matter, why not make the best of it and enjoy your fortnight?" She paused. "And pray for a miracle."

Lucinda raised her head—her lovely eyes wide and frightened. "What do you mean, you envy me the chance to see Brynhaven? Never tell me you mean to let me face this terrible ordeal alone!"

"The invitation was addressed to you and your parents," Emily reminded her gently. "I do not remember any mention of other relatives."

"But surely it includes maids and valets and footmen and such. Everyone takes one's own staff to such affairs."

Emily gritted her teeth. She had grown very fond of her pretty, flutter-brained cousin in the short time she had spent with her, but there were times when the girl's tongue ran ahead of her wits. "Much as it may sometimes seem so, Lucinda," she said crossly, "I am not a servant. Just a 'poor relation,' as my aunt so aptly put it. I am afraid you will have to do without my services in this instance."

"I shall do no such thing! If I
must
spend a fortnight at Brynhaven with the dreadful duke, I shall need you beside me every minute to tell me what to do. You know very well thinking gives me a headache."

Lucinda's perfect, heart-shaped face assumed a mulish mien Emily had never before seen. "I'll tell Mama and Papa I will not go to Brynhaven unless I can take you as my companion. Not even if they lock me in my bedchamber with nothing but bread and water for the rest of my life."

She tossed her silky, burnished curls defiantly. "So you might as well begin packing your portmanteau, dear Emily. Mama will simply have to make the proper arrangements when she pens her answer to Lady Cloris."

From
The Duke's Dilemma
by Nadine Miller

Have you read a Signet Regency lately?