Scandal

Chapter 11

Simon looked up from the papers on his desk at the sound of loud commotion out in the hall. Apparently his aunt and Emily had returned from their shopping expedition. Curious about the results of the foray to Oxford Street, Simon stood up and crossed the lair full of jeweled dragons. He opened the library door and smiled in amusement at the sight that greeted him.

The two footmen were hastening to fetch a vast quantity of parcels from the carriage that stood at the bottom of the steps. Emily, dressed in one of the pastel morning gowns she had brought with her from the country, was dashing about giving orders in an excited voice. Her red curls were partially concealed under a flower-trimmed straw bonnet and she had her spectacles perched slightly askew on her nose.

Lady Araminta Merryweather stood aside to watch the scene, obviously as amused as Simon.

"Please take it all straight upstairs," Emily said, inspecting each package as it came out of the carriage. "Tell Lizzie she is to unpack everything immediately. I shall come up at once and just make certain all is in order. Oh, do be careful with that, Harry. It's the most beautiful parasol you have ever seen. It's got little green and gold dragons all over it."

"Aye, ma'am," Harry said, giving his mistress a broken-toothed grin that had been known to make grown men flee in terror. "No need to sass. I'll look after it as if it were something I'd snaffled for meself."

There were a few other things broken and missing on the beefy ex-pirate besides some teeth. The list included a broken nose that had never healed properly and a missing left hand that had been replaced by a vicious-looking hook. Due to the footman's unpredictable effect on visitors, Greaves did not allow him to serve at the dinner table on the rare occasions when Blade entertained at home. But when the butler, on Simon's orders, had cautiously assigned Harry to serve the new lady of the house, Emily had been completely unperturbed by the hook. Harry had been won over instantly.

"Thank you, Harry. That is very kind of you." Emily gave the footman a brilliant, grateful smile.

Simon watched Harry blush and stammer like a schoolboy and wondered fleetingly if Emily understood that snaffled was thieves' cant for stolen.

Emily turned a delighted face toward Lady Merryweather. "I have had an absolutely thrilling morning, Araminta. How can I ever thank you?"

"It was my pleasure, Emily." Araminta stood back as an especially large box was brought into the hall.

"Gracious, do have a care, George," Emily instructed the other footman as he carted a parcel up the steps and through the door. She hurried over to check anxiously on the condition of the box. "It came from Madam Claude's and it is the cleverest little hat in the world." She caught sight of Simon lounging in the doorway and her eyes brightened. "Wait until you see it, my lord. The hat is à la militaire, and I have ordered a beautiful riding habit to accompany it. It will have epaulets and frogging and all sorts of military details and it will be positively dashing."

"I look forward to seeing you in it," Simon said gravely.

George, the footman, a hatchet-faced individual who had led a boisterous life on the rough docks of the Far East, headed for the stairs cradling the precious hatbox as if it were a baby.

Emily spotted yet another parcel being unloaded and scurried forward to supervise. "These are my new half boots," she told Simon over her shoulder. "I also bought several pairs of slippers and pumps. It was a fearful expense but your aunt said I must have a different pair for every gown."

Simon folded his arms across his chest and cocked a brow at his fashionable aunt. "Lady Merryweather would know."

Araminta gave him a serene smile.

"I also got several fans and four new reticules," Emily called back over her shoulder as she flew up the stairs. "I shall be down in a few minutes."

She vanished at the turn on the landing, the pale skirts of her gown sailing out behind her.

Araminta gave Simon a laughing look as he ushered her into the library. "She is charming, Simon. Utterly charming. And she will be quite an original when she is properly dressed. She still needs to be reminded to take off her spectacles when she is in public, and those red curls need taming with a pair of shears, but I can already predict the end result will be quite spectacular."

"I leave it all in your hands, Aunt. But see that she is not allowed to put any of those foul concoctions made of mercury water, lead, or sulfer on her face in an effort to cover up the freckles."

"You need not worry. I am a great believer in homemade cosmetics made from herbal ingredients. I take it you like the freckles?"

"Yes," said Simon. "I do."

Araminta chuckled. "I should have guessed that when you finally chose a wife, you would pick something quite out of the ordinary. I still cannot believe she is a Faringdon."

"She is not a Faringdon. Not any longer." Simon closed the door very firmly and crossed to his desk.

Araminta gave him a sharp glance as she sat down on one of the ornate black lacquer chairs and stripped off her gloves. "She seems to think she is not yet entirely your wife, either. Where does that leave her?"

"She said something about not being my wife?" Simon asked sharply.

"Not precisely. Just something to the effect that she does not feel in total harmony with you yet. I believe there was some vague comment about the two of you existing on different celestial planes at the moment or some such nonsense. What on earth is going on, Simon?"

Simon relaxed. "Nothing that need concern you. Emily often expresses herself in rather odd ways. She is very fond of romantic literature."

"I have noticed. I heard a great deal about an epic called The Mysterious Lady which she is apparently working on. Have you read it?"

"I am told it is not yet ready to be read," Simon said dryly.

"She is quite amazing, you know. She already knows the names of everyone on your staff and they obviously adore her. Perhaps you should caution her against becoming too familiar with this band of cutthroats and rogues you brought back with you from the East."

Simon was unconcerned. "Everyone on my staff understands that he would answer directly to me if he so much as looked at her in an improper fashion. In any event, none of them is about to harm a single hair on her head. She has already started to discuss several investment schemes for them with my butler. They are all quite fascinated by the notion of making so much money legally."

"Good heavens. Investments? For staff?"

"Yes, I know. It is quite a novel thought, is it not?"

Araminta shook her head in wonder. "As I said, a complete original. Wait until you see the gowns she had ordered, Simon."

"She appears to favor modestly cut gowns and soft, pale shades," Simon said, reflecting with approval on Emily's country wardrobe.

"Not any longer." Araminta grinned. "Henceforth she might as well be wearing your livery when she goes out in public, Simon. Everything we ordered today is to be made up in what she calls dragon colors."

Simon looked at his aunt. "Dragon colors?"

"Gold, green, black, and red, for the most part." Araminta glanced around the exotically decorated library. "I cannot imagine where she got the notion for such unusual hues. And all the motifs for embroidery, trim, and jewelry design are going to appear quite familiar."

"Dragons?"

"For the most part. Emily has decided upon her own personal style and she apparently plans to immerse herself in it." Araminta gave Simon a speculative glance. "As I said, she might as well be wearing your livery or flying a flag that proclaims her your personal property. You do realize, of course, that everyone will be bound to notice?"

Simon smiled with satisfaction. "I see no problem in that. Araminta, can you have her ready for her first ball by Friday?"

Araminta straightened alertly in her chair. "I believe so. Have you begun receiving invitations already?"

Wordlessly Simon handed her the card that had arrived that morning. He watched the startled look appear in his aunt's eyes when she read it.

"The Marquess and Marchioness of Northcote's ball," Araminta breathed in awed tones. "Simon, this is wonderful. What a coup for us. It is the perfect place to introduce Emily to the ton. Once it is known she has been entertained by Lady Northcote, all doors will be open to her."

"It should serve its purpose," Simon agreed laconically.

"It certainly will serve to launch Emily properly. But, Simon, how did this come about? You and Northcote are hardly friends. Not after what happened all those years ago. Why would his wife undertake to introduce your wife to Society?"

"Through a rather odd circumstance, their daughter and Emily have become fast friends. In addition, the marquess and his lady find themselves grateful to Emily."

"Grateful? Simon, what is going on here?"

"I am merely arranging for my wife to make a comfortable entrance into Society. If Northcote had not made things convenient, I would have found another means of accomplishing the same end."

"Really?" Araminta gave him an assessing glance. "Who would you have used if Lady Northcote had not come forward?"

Simon considered briefly and shrugged. "Peppington or Canonbury, no doubt. I am certain either one could have persuaded their ladies to be cooperative."

"Two more old enemies." Araminta stared at him. "Good lord, Simon. I begin to perceive what is happening here. I have heard rumors about your present connection with Peppington and Canonbury. They are both dangling on your strings, I am told. There are rumors that each is facing financial disaster. What is the real story?"

"I doubt you would be interested, Araminta. A dull business involving some mining investments, a canal, and some bad judgment on the part of Canonbury and Peppington."

"Ah, Simon," Araminta said, slowly shaking her head, "people are right when they call you mysterious and dangerous. Three of the most important men in London are in your pocket. You have them all, now, don't you? Northcote, Canonbury, Peppington, and Faringdon. You are playing cat and mouse with each of them."

"It is a game I learned well in the East."

Araminta shuddered delicately. "I vow, I am very glad I am on your good side, Simon. You make my blood run cold at times. But I do not think your lady elf understands that she is only a pawn in your grand scheme. She is still talking in terms of creating a pure and noble metaphysical connection with her new husband."

Simon scowled. "Emily is a very intelligent female but her thinking is frequently clouded by romantical nonsense. She will soon learn her proper role as a wife."

Emily plunged into the glamour, excitement, and sophistication of her first major town ball with zest. The glittering chandeliers, the crush of people dressed in the first stare of fashion, the dancing, and the witty conversation all left her breathless and enthralled. It seemed to her that everyone in the haute ton must have been invited to the marchioness's grand event.

Dressed in an emerald green silk gown cut far lower than anything she had ever worn before in her life, Emily felt marvelously fashionable. She had green satin slippers embroidered with little gold dragons to match her gown and she was wearing a delightful little gold dragon in her newly styled hair. The dragon's eyes were tiny rubies. Two matching dragons dangled from her ears.

Lady Merryweather's hairdresser had pulled Emily's red curls back into an artful cascade that fell from the crown of her head to the nape of her neck. There were several artfully arranged tendrils curling down the sides of her cheeks. The whole was finished off with an elegant fan featuring a spectacular hand-painted dragon that dangled on a gold cord from her wrist, and a quizzing glass. Lady Merryweather had refused to even contemplate the notion of wearing spectacles to a formal ball.

Simon had been waiting in the hall when Emily descended the stairs on her way out for the evening. He had examined his wife from head to toe and looked extremely satisfied with what he saw.

"Will you be joining us later, Simon?" Araminta had inquired as she was handed up into the carriage.

"I am going to my club for an hour or so but I will find you both later and escort you home." He looked at Emily as he helped her into the vehicle. "Enjoy yourself, elf. You are definitely a diamond of the first water tonight. And definitely the most unusual creature Society will have seen in an age. You will set the polite world agog."

Emily glowed. "Thank you, Simon."

His mouth quirked as he closed the carriage door. "See that you do not get into any trouble."

Emily sat back in the carriage seat as they set off. "I do not know why he feels obliged to say things like that all the time. What sort of trouble could I possibly get into at Northcote's ball?"

Araminta smiled. "Sometimes I get the impression Blade does not always know quite what to expect from you, Emily. I think that is a good thing, on the whole. He needs to be rattled about a bit now and then."

"Nothing rattles Simon," Emily said with pride. "He is the coolest man I have ever met."

"Yes," Araminta said, looking out the window at the crowded street. "He does have that reputation. Some say it goes beyond cool all the way to cold-blooded. Some people are actually afraid of him."

"They must be people who do not know him well," Emily said confidently.

"Oh? And you do know him well?"

"Yes, indeed. As I have told you, we communicate on a higher plane." Emily frowned thoughtfully. "Sometimes. Perhaps people are a bit put off by his unusual staff. They are somewhat forbidding in appearance, although extremely pleasant and most interesting. I wonder where Simon obtained them."

Araminta smiled slightly. "You do realize what it was Simon did for the East India Company, don't you, Emily?"

"It is my understanding that he assisted them in some business matters and the company was suitably grateful."

"Grateful, indeed. His function was to discourage the pirates who are a constant threat to the company's ships. Simon used a most unusual approach to the problem."

Emily laughed softly. "Let me hazard a guess. Did he by any chance recruit ex-pirates to deal with the practicing pirates?"

"That is exactly what he did."

"Brilliant notion," Emily said with satisfaction. "And a few of them returned to England with him as his servants."

"If you can call them that," Araminta said dryly.

Celeste and her mother were all that was charming and welcoming. They introduced Emily to everyone and people lined up to meet her. Araminta explained during a brief lull in the introductions that it was because Society was fascinated to learn just what sort of exotic female the mysterious Earl of Blade had married. Emily had giggled behind her fan at the notion of being thought exotic.

Emily's exuberant mood lasted right up until the moment when she raised her quizzing glass for a quick look around and happened to spot Richard Ashbrook coming toward her. She froze for an instant as old memories rose to confront her.

He was Lord Ashbrook now, she thought as she quickly allowed the glass to drop to her waist on its velvet cord. Ashbrook had become a baron since she had last seen him five years ago.

He had always been quite handsome but now he was the perfect picture of the romantic poet, with his artistically tousled dark curls, intense, brooding gaze, and elegant figure. She noted that during the past few years he had achieved just the precise curl of lip that implied the appropriate mixture of jaded ennui mixed with cynicism. Emily did not find the look particularly attractive. But, then, she suddenly realized, she did not find Ashbrook very interesting at all any longer.

Next to the dragon who had entered her life, Ashbrook was nothing more than a somewhat amusing pet dog. Emily wondered what she had ever seen in him.

"Tis Ashbrook," Celeste whispered excitedly. "Mama said she had invited him but I was afraid he would not come. He has the entree into any drawing room or ballroom in town and it is very difficult to entice him. He claims soirees and balls bore him."

Emily was about to reply but Ashbrook was suddenly in front of her, mouth twisted into an ironic smile, dark eyes veiled beneath half-lowered lids. His snowy white cravat was tied in a sculptured knot.

"Hello, Emily," Ashbrook said softly.

"Richard." Emily gave him her hand and wondered again why she'd once found him irresistible. After knowing a dragon, Ashbrook seemed quite tame.

"It has been a long time." Ashbrook bent his dark head gallantly over her wrist.

"Emily, you did not tell me you knew the baron," Celeste said.

"Lady Blade and I are old friends," Ashbrook said smoothly without taking his eyes off Emily. "Is that not so, Emily?"

"Acquaintances," Emily amended tartly. "Now, if you will excuse me, Richard—"

"Surely you will not be so cruel as to dismiss me without giving me the honor of a dance. Lady Northcote has allowed one waltz this evening, I am told, and I believe this is it."

"But, I—"

It was too late. Ashbrook was already leading her out onto the dance floor. His arm went boldly around her waist and Emily was swept up into the delightfully scandalous music of the waltz. It was a dance perfectly suited to a woman of excessive passions. Emily just wished Simon were her partner.

"You have changed, Emily."

"Not that much, Richard. Honestly, you make it sound as if I had turned into a different sort of creature altogether."

"Yes," he mused. "You have truly metamorphosed into a being of ethereal light and radiant beams, a creature who dwells on other planes, it seems."

"Richard, are you quoting yourself, by any chance?"

"A line or two from The Hero of Marliana. Have you read it?"

"No," Emily said crisply, "I have not."

Ashbrook nodded understandingly. "Too painful for you, I imagine. Do you ever think of us, Emily?"

"Rarely."

He smiled whimsically. "I think of you often, my dear. And of what I lost forever five years ago."

"I lost something, too," Emily reminded him.

"Your heart?"

"My reputation."

Ashbrook looked briefly irritated. "The incident apparently did not affect your marriage prospects. You have done very well for yourself, Emily. An earl, no less. And a very exotic and rather dangerous one, at that."

"Blade is not dangerous," she said impatiently. "I cannot imagine where everyone has gotten that impression of him."

"You, I take it, do not go in fear of your husband?"

"Of course not. I would never have married him if I had been afraid of him," she retorted.

"Why did you marry him, Emily?"

"We are twin souls who communicate on a higher plane," she explained. "We share a mystical, transcendental union."

"You and I once shared that sort of communication," Ashbrook reminded her in a meaningful tone.

"Hah! Not bloody likely. I was much younger then and did not know the true meaning or nature of a metaphysical union."

"And that is what you enjoy with your husband? Forgive me, but I find it difficult to believe Blade is capable of such refined sensibilities."

"Well, we are working on it," Emily mumbled. "It takes a while to develop perfect transcendent communication, you know."

"With us, it was instantaneous, as I recall. At least on my part."

"Is that so, my lord?" Emily lifted her chin proudly. "Then why did you presume to attack me that night at the inn, pray tell?"

Ashbrook came to an abrupt halt on the dance floor, took her wrist, and pulled her out through the open windows into the garden. There he turned and faced her.

"I did not attack you," he said brusquely. "I came to you that night because you had led me to believe our hearts were already forever joined in a nonphysical connection. I thought you were already one with me in the metaphysical realm and wished to be one with me in the physical realm, also. If we had spent the night together you would have learned the truth of a true, transcendent union."

Emily's brows drew together in a quelling frown as she recalled her wedding night. "I have heard the theory that what happens on one plane affects what happens on the other plane, Richard. I may as well tell you, I have serious doubts about the validity of that philosophy."

"Perhaps your grasp of metaphysical science is not as fully developed as it could be," Ashbrook said. "Tell me, Emily, do you still dabble in poetry?"

She hesitated. "As it happens, I am working on an epic poem at the moment."

Ashbrook was amused. "Going to give me some competition, eh?"

Emily felt herself grow pink with embarrassment. Whatever else he might be, Ashbrook was a published poet and she had never published so much as a single verse. "Hardly," she muttered.

"What are you calling this epic?"

"The Mysterious Lady."

"It sounds promising," Ashbrook allowed thoughtfully.

Emily looked up quickly, raising her quizzing glass to see his expression. "Do you really believe so?"

"Definitely." Ashbrook paused with a deliberate air. "Excellent title. Quite suited to the sort of people who buy that kind of thing. Do you know, Emily, I might be able to take a look at your work and see if it does, indeed, appear promising. If so, I would be happy to introduce you to my publisher, Whittenstall."

"Richard!" Emily was stunned by the generous offer. "Do you mean it?"

"But, of course." Ashbrook smiled with a negligent confidence. "A word from me would certainly help to get Whittenstall's attention, I believe."

"Richard, it would be so very kind of you. I cannot believe this is happening. I shall have to get back to work on The Mysterious Lady immediately. I have been thinking of adding a ghost and a secret passageway to the story. What do you think?"

"Ghosts and secret passageways are always very popular. I have used them myself on occasion."

"I have not as yet allowed anyone else to read The Mysterious Lady. It needs some work before you see it." Emily reminded herself of all the changes, additions, and corrections she wanted to make on the poem. "But I shall start at once. Richard, this is so exciting. I cannot tell you how much your offer means to me. To undertake to introduce me to your own publisher. It is beyond anything."

"It seems little enough to do for an old friend."

"I do not know how to thank you, Richard."

He lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. "There is no need to thank me. But if you feel the necessity, you may do so by joining a small literary salon I attend on Thursday afternoons."

Emily was thrilled. "A real London literary salon? I would so enjoy that. I have missed my Thursday afternoon meetings of the literary society of Little Dippington." A pang of uneasiness assailed her. "But do you think your literary friends will want me there? They are probably much more widely read than I am and ever so much more sophisticated. I shall probably appear very rustic to them."

"Not at all," Ashbrook murmured. "I assure you Lady Turnbull and my other friends will welcome you. They will no doubt find you quite… charming."

Emily sighed happily. "It is almost too much to contemplate. My first important ball, an introduction to a literary salon, and an opportunity to have a real publisher look at my writing. Town life is certainly a great deal more exciting than life in the country."

"Yes," Ashbrook said. "It certainly is. And as a married woman," he added softly, "you will find you have a great deal more freedom here in London than you ever did as a spinster buried in Hampshire. The only rule in town, my dear, is to be discreet."

"Yes, yes, of course." Emily was totally unconcerned with the problem of discretion simply because she was not planning any indiscretions, least of all with this man who had once so casually ruined her. No woman who was married to a man like Blade could possibly be interested in a shallow creature such as Ashbrook.

Emily frowned thoughtfully. "Richard, do you really believe my title is a good one? I am not averse to altering it if you think it would make my work more interesting to a publisher."

"We shall discuss it after I have had occasion to read your poem," Ashbrook said, gazing over her head into the brilliantly lit ballroom. "And now, speaking of discretion, I believe we should return to the ball."

"You are quite right. Celeste will wonder what has happened to me."

Emily turned cheerfully to walk back through the open windows, her mind churning with ideas for The Mysterious Lady. She raised her glass for a quick glance around the room and nearly collided with her husband, who materialized like a large boulder out of nowhere.

"Oh, hello, my lord." She smiled up at him. "I was hoping you would arrive soon. It is all so exciting, is it not? I am having the most wonderful time. I was just speaking to…" She paused, glanced from side to side with her quizzing glass, and realized Ashbrook had not followed her back into the ballroom. "Never mind. Goodness, you look spectacular, Simon."

Blade, dressed in his elegantly severe evening clothes, gazed thoughtfully over her head into the garden for a few seconds. Then he looked down at Emily.

"I am glad to hear you are enjoying yourself, my dear. Will you honor me with this waltz?"

"Another waltz is to be played? I was under the impression Lady Northcote had only authorized one waltz tonight."

"I prevailed upon her to sanction another so that I could dance it with you." Simon led her out onto the floor.

"Simon, how wonderful of you," Emily breathed, thoroughly enchanted by the gesture.

"I was rather pleased with the notion myself." He swept her into the gracious pattern of the dance. "And Lady Northcote was, shall we say, cooperative."

All thoughts of The Mysterious Lady and her plans to join Ashbrook's literary circle flew out of Emily's head. She was dancing the waltz with her beloved dragon. Nothing could be more perfect.

Simon glided coolly around the room, aware that the eyes of the ton were upon him and his new bride. By tomorrow morning Emily would be the talk of the town. He and Emily made a compelling contrast on the dance floor and Simon knew it. The fact suited him.

What did not suit him was the flash of searing jealousy he had experienced when he had witnessed Emily returning from the garden with Ashbrook directly behind her.