Let the Lady Decide Page 3

  A prickle of jealousy disturbed him from his perusal of the men. It was unpleasant to see those inferior fellows pestering such an elegant young Lady for attention. James was used to chasing after the most beautiful woman in the room himself. Now he was forced to sit back and watch.

  "Are you well, Mr Marsden?" asked Lady Sarah. James started. He hadn't meant to let his dissatisfaction show on his face.

  "I was just considering young Digby," he said. "He looks awfully keen on Lady Emily. I wonder what his chances are."

  Lady Sarah bit her lip to conceal a smug smile. "Is that who you suppose he is pursuing?"

  "It certainly looks that way to me."

  "I could tell you a story that would change your mind."

  James was about to answer when he was interrupted by Lady Harriet, a horrified look on her face.

  "But how can you know, Sarah, dear? I haven't told you a thing about his visit!"

  The smug expression was wiped instantly from Lady Sarah's face. "Lord Henry Digby visited you, too?"

  "He told me I was the only woman in London for him!"

  Sarah looked as though she were about to cry. "That's exactly what he said to me!"

  That's Digby's chances finished, thought James. All three in one blow! Lady Sarah and Lady Harriet were still squabbling, so James took each girl's hand in one of his and pressed them to his lips.

  "Ladies, peace. You are each among the finest blooms in London, and it would be my honour to dance with you both this evening. Let us show Digby what he's missing."

  "Forgive me, Mr Marsden, but that's hardly enough vengeance for me," said Lady Sarah. The glare she shot in Digby's direction was enough to set a man aflame. "I don't mean to offend, but you would dance with anyone in a skirt."

  James pressed a hand to his heart. "My lady! You wound me. Let me prove my worth to you. I'm sure I can come up with some suitable revenge for young Digby."

  Digby's fortunes must be in dire straits if he was paying court to so many young heiresses at once. James almost pitied him – almost – as he watched Lady Emily follow him happily onto the dance floor.

  How dare Digby waste her time?

  James danced an energetic quadrille with Lady Sarah, following it with Lady Harriet for a stately cotillion. All the while, his eyes were travelling the room, following Emily wherever she went.

  He envied the gentlemen receiving the benefit of her conversation. From the brief meeting they'd had, he found her to be sharper and more self-assured than most women of the ton. That sort of woman was a delight to spend an evening with.

  Emily danced once with Viscount Tilbury, making sure to tap her fan at the end of the dance when she knew James was watching. She spent a great deal of time in conversation with the Earl of Corden, which made perfect sense – his father was a Duke, and who but Emily would make a perfect Duchess? – but, strangely enough, he did not ask her to dance. Another tap of the fan went to an Italian nobleman James did not recognise.

  He was about to make his way across the room to ask her to dance himself when she accepted the hand of Lord Jonathan Granger. James gritted his teeth in disappointment, and tried to get a handle on his irritation. He was not there to dance with Emily, after all. He was there to watch only. To observe the grace of her first curtsey. To note the ease with which her feet covered the dancefloor. The way she moved as though she were flying. The laughter in her large brown eyes as she clapped her hands.

  Emily was having the time of her life at the ball thrown in her honour. James was glad for her.

  Altogether, he counted six gentlemen vying for Emily's hand, which was almost more than he could keep straight. He repaired to the gaming room. Not to play – James despised nothing more than men who wasted their money gambling – but to take in some cooler air than the stifling heat of the ballroom.

  He was surprised to see that Lord Jonathan Granger had not stayed to chat with Emily after their dance, but was sitting down at the whist table.

  "What's the buy in?" he called out, loudly enough that the whole room heard him. "Ten pounds? Ten pounds only? Let's make it more exciting, gentlemen. We must raise it to fifty!"

  James accepted a glass of whisky from a footman and stood in the corner, watching Granger lose his money. A darkness rose in his soul, which he reminded himself was personal prejudice only. Almost everyone in the ton enjoyed a little gamble every now and again. The pastime was generally considered harmless.

  Only James's bitter experience made the card tables so repulsive. He tried to tell himself that it would be unfair to crush Granger's chances based on so small a vice. When the whist table raised the stakes again, James had to turn away.

  He found Lady Sarah and Lady Harriet gossiping together over glasses of lemonade, as they rested their tired feet in a corner.

  "Mr Marsden! Do come and join us. We are arguing over the handsomest gentlemen in the room. I think Viscount Tilbury is very good-looking, but I cannot make Harriet agree with me."

  "I should be interested to know your opinion of the Viscount," James admitted, taking a seat beside them. The two girls were too absorbed in their silly argument to take much notice of him.

  "It is not that I don't think him handsome," said Harriet, and blushed too deeply to finish the sentence.

  "Ah!" cried Lady Sarah. "See, Mr Marsden, she is in love with someone else!"

  Harriet blushed again and would not meet James's eyes. "I only meant that… that I prefer blue eyes to brown ones!" she announced defiantly, and got up immediately and hurried away.

  "Harriet! Harriet, please come back!" Lady Sarah rose to follow her, turning back at the last moment to give James a stern look. "Mr Marsden, I declare I never noticed how blue your eyes are."

  More fool Harriet if he was the object of her affections, James mused mournfully. He liked the girl well enough, as a friend. But even if there was anything more between them, her father was the Marquess of Aldershot and would never agree to her settling down with a fortuneless second son.

  The Earl of Ramford took one of the empty seats the two girls had left. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked gruffly. James shrugged.

  "Your sister dances very well. I've half a mind to ask her myself."

  Ramford gave him a dangerous look. "That's not the favour you were asked for."

  "All the same." Children of noble families were often too used to people doing as they were told. James had never been obedient enough to satisfy the aristocracy.

  "My mother is watching Emily's every move," said Ramford warningly. "One foot out of line and you'll not be welcome in this house again."

  "Is she vetting all of Lady Emily's partners?"

  "From a distance, yes. Father wanted Emily to have the image of independence."

  "If not the reality."

  "You'd be hard put to find a lady of the ton who was truly independent of her family, Marsden. Particularly one who is not yet of age."

  "True." James tapped his chin thoughtfully. "The Earl of Corden did not ask her to dance. That was odd. Is he promised elsewhere?"

  "He can't hope to do better than Emily. A Duke's daughter for a Duke's son." Ramford swilled the champagne in his glass mournfully, doubtless considering the predicament of his own future marriage.

  "And there she is now dancing with the Marquess of Chiltern." James had to admit they made a striking couple – he tall and stern, with streaks of silver in his hair, she young and delicate, a butterfly on the dancefloor. "Is he not a little…?"

  "Out with it. Emily has engaged you for your frankness."

  "A little old?" James asked, in a low voice. Ramford laughed.

  "What's age compared to a fortune as large as his and the title of Marchioness? I dare say Chiltern will be a frontrunner for Emily's hand. He's good friends with my father."

  "Really." James allowed his concern to show on his face – only for a moment. "Come, Ramford, let's not sit out too many dances like the old men we'll someday become. I challenge you to find a prettier girl in t
he room to dance a reel than I do."

  "Ah, there I have you beat," Ramford beamed. "I've already promised it to my sister."

  James waited until his friend was out of earshot before responding.

  "Yes, there you have beaten me indeed," he mused to himself. Across the room, Emily curtseyed to the Marquess. It was like a butterfly landing on the nose of one of the stone lions which adorned the Duke's front gates.

  James shook the daydreams from his head and went off to find more champagne.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was the early hours of the morning, and the Duke of Rawly's ballroom was still bustling as everyone said their goodbyes. Emily was surrounded by an excited gaggle of girls, Lady Sarah and Lady Harriet not least amongst them.

  "You danced with Viscount Tilbury!" Sarah cooed. "The most handsome man in London! I do declare, if it had been proper, he would have asked you to dance with him twice in a row!"

  "Let's not get overexcited," said Emily, a flush of pleasure colouring her cheeks. She was exhausted from her efforts – she had not sat out a single dance all night – but her friends' excitement gave her a fizzing energy. "I danced with plenty of people."

  "Yes, you lucky thing!" sighed Harriet. "I had to sit out two."

  "But it was Emily's ball," said Sarah. "It would not have been proper for the gentlemen to neglect her. Tell me, Em, what was that Italian gentleman like? Could you understand a word he was saying?"

  "The Marchese di Montecchio? I hardly know him – I don't think anyone does! But his English was quite perfect." Emily wrinkled her nose. "I wish I could say the same for my Italian."

  "Nonsense! We all know you're the Queen of Studies," laughed Sarah. "How many languages do you speak fluently?"

  The flush in Emily's cheeks turned to the red of embarrassment. "I was very fortunate to have a tutor in several languages when I was a girl. I cannot help my good fortune, Sarah."

  "I meant no harm. Only that it's so impressive, when I can hardly find the time to read a novel, that you spend so many hours at work!"

  "It is just as important to cultivate a fine mind as a handsome wardrobe or a well-run household," said Emily primly. The other girls laughed. She had not meant to joke, but she laughed along all the same.

  She had long ago given up on finding anyone to truly understand her.

  "Now, let me kiss you all goodbye. I must go and find my brother. Where on earth has he got to?" She was really thinking of James Marsden. She knew her own opinions of the evening, but she longed to find out what his might be. Until she knew his thoughts, she could not make a firm decision about which gentlemen to favour. Some had been pleasant enough, certainly, but none stood out – and she had no idea at all which of them were genuine in their attentions.

  "I saw a crowd of gentlemen going upstairs together," whispered Sarah, as a regally-dressed Marchioness bid Emily a formal goodbye.

  Emily curtseyed to the Marchioness and stepped back out of the way of her sweeping skirts. All around them, people were yawning and leaning against each other as they made for the door.

  "Upstairs! What on earth for?" Had Jacob managed to get himself into trouble again? He always began the evenings with good intentions, but when his friends were about he had a tendency to get carried away. Emily waved a farewell to the ladies and made her way up the elegant staircase. This staircase was the pride and joy of her father's townhouse, with its shining mahogany balustrade imported from the Americas, and its dramatic swoop into the hallway. Emily was aware she made a pretty sight, rising up from the glittering remnants of the ball into the darkness above, but she did not care to pose. She lifted her skirts to allow her to half-run up towards the bedrooms.

  It would not do to let her father catch Jacob behaving in an unbecoming manner.

  The mystery of where she might find the gentlemen was resolved the instant she stepped into the upper hallway. A raucous noise of mirth and merriment was spilling out from one of the guest bedrooms. Emily hurried towards it. She was certain it could not be improper – after all, this was her own house, and she expected to find her own brother behind that door.

  The gentlemen were crowded around the large windows at the far end of the room, which opened out onto a balcony. Emily pushed her way forwards, seeing Jacob at the front of the crowd.

  "Why, Ramford!" someone called out – someone who'd had a great deal too much to drink – "it's your sister!"

  "My lady," cooed another red-cheeked young man, making her an elaborate bow.

  "Jacob," snapped Emily, pushing past the men, "what on earth is going on?"

  Jacob's eyes widened when he saw her. He flung out a hand to stop her coming any further forwards. "Careful now. Careful!"

  Emily looked out of the open windows and immediately saw why her brother did not want her to make a fuss.

  James Marsden was standing on the balustrade. On his left, a short but painful fall onto the stone balcony. On his right, a staggering drop onto the unforgiving patio of her father's gardens.

  He was blindfolded.

  Emily's heart rose into her mouth as the gentlemen goaded James on to take one step, then another. He was grinning breathlessly beneath his blindfold, his feet searching carefully for the narrow bar in front of him and his arms spread wide.

  On the third step, he wobbled. His arms jerked from one side to the other. Emily couldn't bear it any more. She pushed Jacob's restraining arm away and seized James by the waist, tugging him down onto the balcony.

  A great deal of noise, wolf-whistles and complaints alike, rose up from the men. Emily let go of James the instant she was sure he was safe, jumping back from him as though she'd been burned.

  She'd never been so close to a strange man before.

  James had landed with quite a thump on his rear end, but he was still grinning as he lay sprawled on the floor. "I say, Ramford, was that you?"

  "Close," snapped Emily. "But not quite."

  The smile vanished from James's face. He pulled the blindfold from his eyes and staggered to his feet. "Lady Emily –"

  She turned away from him and tried to flounce off, but the crowd was blocking her.

  "Come now, Em, it was just a bit of fun," said Jacob. Emily's eyes flashed.

  "He was about to fall. Or are you all too bone-headed to keep a man from maiming himself for your silly entertainments?"

  "Lady Emily, I was only pretending – it's a game –" James protested behind her. Emily ignored him and elbowed past her brother, finally storming off.

  "I will expect you in the library, Jacob," she shot back over her shoulder. The men laughed at the spectacle of the Earl of Ramford being so thoroughly told off by his little snip of a sister. Entertainment indeed.

  She could not truly say why the thought of James Marsden behaving so recklessly was painful to her. Had she selfishly wanted him to spend the whole evening thinking only of her, and her own interests? Emily shook her head. It wasn't like her to be self-centred – at least, she hoped not.

  No, it was only that she felt responsible for his invitation in the first place. If he should disgrace himself – or worse, land on his head from a great height – part of the blame would be hers.

  She knew the sort of man James was – reckless, dashing, fond of fun and less fond of responsibility. She had engaged his services all the same.

  Still, it came to something when a gaggle of fully grown men needed a girl not yet in her majority to keep them out of danger!

  Emily bid goodbye to the last stragglers and, kissing her mother goodnight, went not to her room but to the library, where only a few candles burned. She busied herself lighting a few more while she waited.

  A great yawned racked her. She stifled it with a hand. What was the hour? Three, four in the morning? She had no idea how the older generation managed to keep up with the young people at these lively balls. If she had her way, it would have been a good deal shorter.

  All the same, the evening had been full of the most pleasant attentions.
Emily could not claim to a single wish which had not been answered that night. It was this happy thought which suffused her features with a glowing smile just as Jacob came into the room, James in tow.

  That was a pity. She had intended to appear stern. Instead, she knew she was radiant.

  There was one unexpected benefit. The witty remark which James opened his mouth to produce died on his lips the moment he saw her face. He simply stood and looked at her.

  Emily turned to Jacob. "I did you a favour just now. If Papa had caught you –"

  "I know." Jacob hung his head. "I know, Em, I know. It's just so – so terribly easy to get carried away, and I –"

  Emily stood up on tiptoe to plant a kiss on her brother's cheek. It was too difficult to be cross with him. "Remember you are to be the Duke of Rawly someday," she murmured. A favourite saying of their father's.

  "Well, not for a long time yet, I hope," answered Jacob, smiling ruefully.

  "And what's your excuse, Mr Marsden?" asked Emily, raising an eyebrow. James pretended to quail under her gaze. "You were the chief culprit in the mischief, I think."

  "That's quite an accusation," said James lightly. Emily simply stared at him, eyebrow raised, until he dropped the act. "The fact is, my lady, I did it for the thrill of it."

  "The thrill."

  "No-one goaded me on, no-one bet me a vast sum of money. I decided the evening needed a little more excitement."

  "My father's ball was not exciting enough for you?"

  "It's not the kind of excitement I desire."

  Jacob was staring at James in astonishment. He was evidently not used to hearing his friend speak so frankly.

  Emily could have pretended to be horrified, but it would have been dishonest. Had she not herself been thinking just a few minutes before that a ball would be better if it were kept to an early finish? She could think of a hundred things she found more exciting than dancing with yet another simpering young gentleman.

  No doubt quite a different sort of excitement to the sort James meant.

  "But we're not here to talk about me, my lady," said James, taking a seat in her father's favourite high-backed armchair. "It is your evening which concerns me. I identified six gentlemen vying for your hand – was I correct?"