The Marriage Wager (24 page)

“That is not how it was at all!” sputtered Lady Mary.

“No?” Emma held her gaze in a battle of wills that seemed to surprise the younger girl. She was utterly spoiled, Emma thought. She was used to getting whatever she wanted without any opposition. But not this time. She wondered how long it would take for the girl to realize she had met her match. Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw a party of riders approaching them. “Smile,” she murmured sweetly, and they turned to face another barrage of questions.

More than an hour passed in similar encounters. Emma found it wearing, but she thought they did very well. She had the strongest of motives to succeed, and she suspected Lady Mary was beginning to enjoy the role she was playing. She was certain, at least, that she enjoyed the attention. And Emma was confident they had begun to stem the tide of gossip, though the battle was by no means won.

At last, she was able to direct the coachman to head for the Morland house, where she would gratefully drop Lady Mary. As he was turning around, however, a high-pitched voice from the side of the road called, “Emma, my dear.”

Emma turned, and was extremely displeased to find herself confronting Arabella Tarrant, who stood on the grass verge arm-in-arm with Count Julio Orsino.

“It’s vastly fortunate that we should encounter you this way,” said Arabella before she could speak. “I’m feeling quite unwell, and I was hoping to see some friend who could drive me home.”

Without waiting for a response, she marched up to the barouche and opened the door. Orsino stepped smoothly forward and lowered the steps for her before either of the footmen could move.

“Dizzy, you know,” insisted Arabella as she climbed in. “I am distressingly susceptible to heat.”

Orsino quickly followed her into the carriage and joined her in the forward seat, where he sat smiling at Emma with smug effrontery.

She could not have them thrown out of her carriage without causing just the sort of scene that would fuel yet more gossip, Emma thought, fuming. She was neatly trapped. She signaled the coachman to proceed. “It isn’t hot,” she said sharply then.

“Not to those of us who have lived in the South,” replied the count. He smiled at her warmly, intimately, as if they knew each other very well indeed.

“The least degree of warmth oversets me,” claimed Arabella, fluttering her hands and causing the ghostly green ribbons that trimmed her piercing yellow gown to shiver and sway. “I declare, it’s been an age since I’ve seen you, Emma. You look as lovely as ever.” Malice etched her voice like acid.

She had arranged this with Orsino out of spite, Emma realized, because they had ignored her since returning from Cornwall. Colin had sent her a substantial sum of money, yet Arabella wanted only to take advantage of his position in society. She resented that they would not let her use them. A flash of anger shook Emma. Arabella hoped to cause trouble, and she had already gotten her wish. Emma gritted her teeth. She had to find a way
not
to make introductions. Lady Mary was gazing in fascinated horror at Arabella’s garish gown. Orsino should certainly not be made acquainted with a young, unmarried, and very wealthy debutante.

“I am sorry that I cannot take you home,” Emma said to Arabella. “We are expected at once in Grosvenor Square.”

“No, we aren’t,” said Lady Mary, sensing a mystery. “Mama is visiting my aunt.”

Taking the matter out of her hands, Orsino leaned forward, putting his hand to his breast. “I am Count Julio Orsino,” he said. “From Italy.”

“Really?” said Lady Mary. “My father went to Italy on a grand tour when he was sixteen. He liked it very much. We have a lot of pictures from Italy in our house.”

“Your father must be a man of great good taste,” replied the count. “Miss, er…”

“I am Lady Mary Dacre,” said the girl. She held out her hand.

Emma bit her lip in irritation, longing to shake her. But there was no saving the situation now. “This is Mrs. Arabella Tarrant,” she added, and noticed the girl perk up at the last name. Splendid, she had heard that gossip as well.

“Enchanted,” murmured the count, offering Lady Mary a broad smile. “But I must offer my condolences?” He made it a question, and indicated the deep mourning dress Lady Mary wore.

“My grandmama died,” she confided.

“Ah. I am sorry.”

The girl nodded. “I am
very
sorry. I miss her very much. But, you know, she would
want
me to go out and enjoy myself, and not be draped in black and shut away from the world.”

The count’s eyes gleamed. “Of course she would,” he agreed.

If only she had been shut away, thought Emma bitterly. She should have realized that Orsino would not be content to be turned away from her house and would plan some sort of revenge.

“I am surprised you stand for such treatment,” the man added.

She had to get Lady Mary away from him, Emma thought desperately. She looked around. They were nearing the gates of the park.

“I had thought to be riding in the park,” Orsino offered, “but I was sadly disappointed in a mount.”

“Did you hire a horse?” asked Lady Mary.

Orsino shook his head. “I will not allow you to call it a horse, dear lady. It would be a mortal insult to the breed, to every one of the fine animals we see before us.” He gestured to the riders on the bridle path. “The… creature has been returned to the stables where I rented it. But only after it had bitten my manservant, the landlady’s boy, and the man delivering… ah, coal, I believe it was. A very large, florid gentleman who threatened to bring the law down upon us.”

Lady Mary giggled.

“I have been advised to patronize another establishment, but I have not yet brought myself to, er, confront another English mount.”

“No doubt the horses in Italy are much finer,” said Emma tartly.

He made an airy gesture. “Shall we say more… refined?”

“Why not go back and ride them, then?” she suggested, her patience at an end.

“Ah, if it were possible,” he replied, and let out a deep sigh. “But I fear the late war deprived my family of its estates and fortune in my home country. It is sad, is it not, when a great noble family falls on such hard times?”

Emma’s lip curled. She had heard more than one person speculate on the legitimacy of Orsino’s title. And she was certain that there had never been any lands or fortune. He was a gamester, a swindler, and who knew what else. “Now that the war is over, perhaps you could go back and recover them,” she said sweetly.

The count shook his head, but did not offer any reason why this was impossible.

“It is like a novel,” said Lady Mary happily.

Probably because it came out of one, thought Emma sourly. She had to get Lady Mary away from this dangerous man. Desperately, she scanned the area for possible rescue, and noticed a hansom cab discharging a passenger on the road outside the park gates. At once, she turned to the footman perched at the back of the carriage. “John, get that cab,” she commanded. “Hurry!”

Looking startled, the man jumped down and ran to secure the vehicle.

“I must apologize,” said Emma with false sincerity. “As I said, we have an engagement. But fortunately, here is a hansom that can get you home. I hope you feel better very soon, Arabella. Pull up, please, Tobias.”

The coachman obediently stopped the carriage. Emma faced down Arabella’s obvious outrage and Count Orsino’s amusement in silence, merely waiting for them to get down.

They had no choice but to do so. Arabella was beginning to sputter objections, but Orsino simply gave her a bow that conceded defeat—for now—and put her into the cab.

“That was terribly rude,” said Lady Mary when they were on their way to her home once again.

“They are not proper people for you to know,” answered Emma curtly.

“Why?”

She ignored the question, absorbed in her own emotions. She seemed to have no luck at all in London. Everything she did threatened more social embarrassment. And Colin wanted a wife who did not enact dramas or make his life more difficult. Sooner or later, wouldn’t he decide these continual upheavals weren’t worth it?

“That man raised his hat to you,” pointed out Lady Mary.

Looking up apprehensively, Emma saw her brother Robin on the other side of the street, mounted on a good-looking chestnut. Relieved, she waved.

“I thought we were going home,” complained Lady Mary.

“In a moment,” promised Emma. They were closer now. “Robin!” she called.

At first, it seemed that he might not approach, but then he turned and came up beside them. “Morning,” he said coolly, tipping his hat. He didn’t smile. Indeed, Emma’s brother was still feeling extremely aggrieved. After their unfortunate encounter at the St. Mawr house, he had placed Emma in the same category as their father—someone who treated him like a child, to be shunted aside and ignored. His bitter disappointment in her had been compounded by the necessity of raising a rather large sum of money quickly. He had been forced to go to a most unpleasant moneylender and, as his friend Jack put it, “sign away his soul.” Unfairly, this had simply increased his resentment toward Emma. He had not answered the note she sent him, and had not called on her again.

“Robin, I have been wanting to see you,” said Emma.

Hearing the emotion in her voice, Lady Mary perked up, examining Robin with new interest.

“Been dashed busy,” he answered. “Rafts of invitations.” His airy gesture and bland expression were meant to convey a sophisticate’s weariness with these attentions. But he rather spoiled the effect by adding, “Didn’t want to
burden
you with my confidences.”

“It is not a burden,” declared Emma. Her concern for Robin had been the starting point for everything that had happened to her in the last weeks, she thought. She had had his interests at heart from the moment she saw him again. He did not know that however, she reminded herself.

“No need to concern yourself,” he replied airily. “I took care of everything. Shouldn’t have brought you into it in the first place.”

“Into what?” she asked. All her worry over his gambling came back in a rush. If he had been in trouble, no doubt that had been at the root of it. And she knew only too well the sort of things that could befall a young man when the gaming tables got the better of him. “Robin, won’t you tell me…”

He waved her question aside. “Going to introduce me?” he asked, implying that she had somehow slighted him once again.

Emma gave an exasperated sigh. “Lady Mary, this is my brother Robin Bellingham. Robin, Lady Mary Dacre.”

Lady Mary’s face fell as the pleasant fantasy she had spun about Emma’s betrayal of her husband with a shallow young lover evaporated.

“How d’you…” Robin paused. “Dacre?” he repeated. “Dacre? The one who’s spreading insulting stories about St. Mawr? What the deuce is she doing with you?”

“Robin,” admonished Emma. She looked around; there was no one near them just now.

“It was certainly not
my
idea,” answered Lady Mary.

Robin ignored her. “They’re saying at the clubs that she’s off her noodle. According to Freddy Blankenship—”

“Freddy is
despicable
!” cried Lady Mary. “And it is excessively rude of
you
to talk about me as if I am not even here.”

Robin looked her up and down as if she were a mildly interesting specimen at the zoo. “Freddy says she nearly pulled the same trick on him. Claimed he was paying her attentions when he only danced with her.”

Lady Mary gasped. She had turned bright red. The glare she aimed at Robin was murderous. “You… you…” she sputtered.

“Freddy says she thinks herself irresistible.”

“You
beast
,” exploded Lady Mary, having found her tongue. “You are worse than Freddy. You are the rudest, most unpleasant man I have ever met.”

“Well, at least you won’t be imagining that I mean to offer for you, then,” responded Robin callously.

“
You?
If you were the
last
man on earth, I would not accept you.”

“Rest assured, the question won’t come up,” said Robin.

Lady Mary burst into tears.

“Robin,” protested Emma.

“As if I should
ever
look at
anyone
with a waistcoat like that,” Lady Mary blubbered.

“What’s the matter with my waistcoat?” exclaimed Robin, looking down at this loudly colorful garment.

“It’s hideous,” she wailed, then retreated into her handkerchief.

“Lady Mary,” objected Emma.

“You hellcat,” said her brother. “I’ll have you know that this pattern is all the crack. Been excessively admired by any number of people with
taste
.”

“It looks like something a child would scribble if she got into a paintbox,” sniveled Lady Mary.

Robin drew in an outraged breath. “
This
creature caused St. Mawr to throttle a fellow in the middle of his club dining room? It’s a rotten shame, that’s what it is. Shouldn’t be allowed.”

“Caused
what
?” said Emma.

“Disrupted the entire place. Everyone staring. Must have been devilishly embarrassing.” Robin shook his head. “I’d have throttled
her
instead, I can tell you that much.”

“Robin, what are you talking about?” demanded Emma.

“Perhaps not throttled,” Robin was continuing to himself. “Not the thing to throttle a lady. Bad form. Shaken her soundly, maybe. Yes, that’s it.”

“What happened at Colin’s club?” repeated Emma, in a voice that could not be ignored.

“Um? Oh, it was that thing with Steyne. Came up to St. Mawr’s table at the club. Said something or other about this whole rigmarole. I never heard what. And St. Mawr went for his throat.” Robin looked torn between admiration and disapproval. “They say two of his friends had to pull him off Steyne or he would have killed him then and there.”

“Because of
me
?” wondered Lady Mary rapturously, her tears mysteriously dried.

“Insult to Emma, I heard,” contradicted Robin. “No one would get into such a taking over
you
.”