Scandal

Chapter 17

"Do tell me what you were doing in the nursery with Charles and Devlin, my lord," Emily said from the other end of the dinner table that evening. "I am most curious."

"Curiosity is not an admirable trait in a female." Simon surveyed the exotically spiced East Indian curry George had just placed in front of him.

Emily gave him a mischievous grin. "You could hardly expect me to ignore all those loud thumping noises as I went past the nursery door."

Simon was aware Emily was deliberately teasing him. He was equally aware that Greaves and George were listening to every word as they stood watch over the dinner table. "In future, my dear, you will kindly knock before you enter a room in which you hear thumping sounds."

"Yes, of course," Emily said with an acquiescent nod. "I mean, one never knows what one will encounter when one opens a door after hearing a thumping sort of noise, does one? It might be anything. One might even chance upon three men who are not wearing their shirts or something equally outrageous."

"That is quite enough conversation on the subject, madam wife." He shot Emily a severe glare.

The response was an irrepressible giggle. "I refuse to end this discussion until I know what you were doing. Were you practicing a fighting technique of some sort?"

Simon gave up. "Yes, we were. I am not certain how it came about but somehow your brothers managed to talk me into demonstrating it for them. It is something I learned during my years in the East."

"Would you teach me?"

Simon was truly shocked by the suggestion. Emily's charming eccentricities could be amusing at times but there were definitely occasions when she went too far. "Most certainly not. It is not a proper activity for a female and it is definitely not the sort of thing a man teaches his wife."

"Hmm. I am not so certain it would be a bad notion to teach me," Emily mused, unintimidated. "After all, the streets of London are not particularly safe, to say nothing of places like Vauxhall Gardens. One never knows when one might encounter a dangerous villain on a dark path, for example, and be obliged to defend oneself from a fate worse than death."

"That is quite enough, madam."

George, the footman who was serving that evening, was suddenly overcome with a fit of loud, sputtering coughing. He rushed from the room. Outside in the hall the coughing turned into a roar of laughter. Greaves, the butler, looked extremely pained.

Simon glowered at Emily. "The dangers of the streets are one of the reasons why you are never to go about unaccompanied in town, my dear. And speaking of going about, my aunt tells me she has received a voucher for Almacks for you."

"She mentioned it," Emily said vaguely as she helped herself to chutney. "But, truthfully, Simon, I have no particular interest in going to Almacks. Celeste says the assemblies are dreadfully boring. One only goes if one is obliged to look for a husband and I have no need to do that, have I?"

"No, but an appearance at Almacks will do no harm," Simon told her firmly. It would be another jewel in the crown of Emily's recent social success. "I believe you should attend next Wednesday night."

"I would rather not. Simon, your chef serves the most remarkable meals. Did you find him in the East?"

"Smoke has been with me for several years, yes."

"Why is he called Smoke? Because he burns the food?"

"No, because he was the bastard son of an island woman and a British seaman. No one wanted him after he was born and he survived by learning to move and act like smoke. Always there, but rarely noticed." A particularly useful talent when one made one's living lifting men's purses in dirty port towns, Simon reflected silently.

"How did you come to meet him?"

"I believe he was attempting to rob me at the time," Simon murmured.

Emily laughed in delight. "What made you decide to give him a position as your cook?"

"He is more than happy to prepare the sort of food I came to enjoy in the East. With him in the kitchen I am not obliged to eat the usual English fare of tough mutton, greasy sausages, and heavy puddings."

"I have noticed we eat a great many dishes with noodles and rice in them," Emily observed. "I must say, I enjoy them. The wonderful spices are very stimulating to the sensibilities."

Simon gave her an impatient glance, well aware she was attempting to change the topic. "You will go to Almacks, my dear," he said softly and deliberately.

"Will I?" She looked delightfully unconcerned about the whole thing. "I shall talk to Lady Merryweather about it. She is a fount of wisdom on how to carry on in Society, is she not? Simon, I am thinking of starting my own literary salon. I attended one this afternoon and, I must say, I was quite disappointed. We hardly touched upon literary matters at all. Everyone wanted to talk about investments."

That comment succeeded in diverting Simon's attention at once. "Did they, indeed?" He took another bite of the curry and watched his wife's face carefully. "Who attended the salon?"

"It was held in Lady Turnbull's house," Emily said airily. "There were several people there. I have forgotten some of the names, I confess." She frowned intently. "There was a gentleman named Crofton, however. I do remember him because I did not particularly care for him."

If Crofton was there, Ashbrook would not have been far behind, Simon reflected grimly. He decided to probe gently for more information. "I believe I made Crofton's acquaintance once on the street in front of his club. I was not impressed by him, either. Do you recall anyone else in attendance at Lady Turnbull's salon?"

"Well…" Emily shot him a cautious glance. "One or two others, perhaps. As I said, I did not get all the names."

So Ashbrook had, indeed, attended and for some reason Emily was trying to conceal the information. Simon went cold with sudden anger, sending Greaves from the room with a single look. He waited until he was alone with his wife, who was munching enthusiastically on a bite of curry and chutney.

"I would like to know everything that happened at Lady Turnbull's salon today, Emily."

"The thing is, my lord," Emily said earnestly, "I would rather not tell you until I know for certain if things are going to work out."

Simon stared at her in baffled fury. Bloody hell. Was she planning to run off with Ashbrook a second time? He could not credit the notion but at the same time the jealousy was already starting to gnaw at his insides. "What, precisely, do you intend to work out, madam?"

"Tis a secret, my lord."

"I wish to know."

"If I tell you, it will no longer be a secret, my lord," Emily pointed out reasonably.

"You are a married woman now, Emily. You do not keep secrets from your husband."

"The thing is, this would be terribly embarrassing for me if matters did not conclude happily."

Simon, who had picked up his wineglass, set it down again before he accidentally shattered it between clenched fingers. "You will tell me what this is all about. I am afraid I must insist upon knowing, madam."

Emily heaved a small sigh and darted him a searching glance. "Will you give me your word of honor not to tell a single soul?"

"I certainly do not intend to gossip about my own wife."

Emily relaxed slightly. Her eyes glowed and she was suddenly bubbling over with an excitement that she had apparently been hugging to herself all afternoon.

"No, I do not suppose you would. Well, my lord, the secret is that Ashbrook has promised to read my epic poem and tell me whether it is good enough to be shown to his publisher, Whittenstall. I am so anxious and excited, I can hardly bear it."

Simon felt the cold tension in his gut unknot at the expectant look in Emily's eyes. Of course she was not planning on running off with Ashbrook. He must have been mad to even consider the notion. He knew her better than that. Emily was helplessly in love with her dragon of a husband.

His reaction to the unlikely threat was, however, a clear indication of how powerfully she affected his self-control. Simon scowled.

But now he had another problem on his hands. Emily might not be planning to get herself seduced by the poet, but there was absolutely no doubt in Simon's mind that Ashbrook's goals were not innocent. Emily was fast becoming all the rage and Ashbrook considered himself extremely fashionable. Forming a liaison with the charming, eccentric wife of the Earl of Blade would no doubt strike the poet as an interesting challenge. He was probably wondering just what he had missed out on five years ago when Emily had used a chamber pot on his skull.

Ashbrook, you bastard. You guessed immediately that the one sure way to get Emily's attention was to show an interest in her writing. Simon decided he would definitely have to attend to the poet but in the meantime he did not have to worry that Emily was going to leave.

Even as he told himself not to be alarmed, Simon was obliged to realize just how important Emily had become to him. He was grappling with that uncomfortable notion when Emily spoke again.

"Well, Simon? Is it not the most marvelous opportunity for me?"

His mouth twisted laconically at the hopeful excitement in her lovely eyes. "It is certainly a most interesting development, my dear."

Emily nodded in satisfaction. "Yes, it is, and now you can see why I did not want anyone to know until Richard has given me his opinion. It would be too humiliating if he decides The Mysterious Lady is not suitable for publication. I have discovered that the ton dotes on humiliating gossip."

"You are quite right to keep the matter a secret," Simon murmured. "And I think it would be a very good notion to establish your own literary salon rather than attend Lady Turnbull's. She is not known for her genuine appreciation of literature, I fear. Her salons are simply excuses for a certain crowd to gather and share the latest gossip. And, as you have noted, here in town the gossip can be quite cruel."

"Yes, that was what I concluded." Emily went back to work on her curry. "I shall establish my salon as soon as possible. I believe I shall invite Celeste and her mother and Lady Merryweather, of course. And there are two or three other ladies I have met recently who are quite interested in the latest style of literature. I hope they will attend."

"You must give me a list of the names of those you plan to invite," Simon said.

Emily looked up quickly, a wary expression in her eyes. "No, my lord, I am not going to do that."

He blinked at the unexpected defiance. "May I ask why not?"

She pointed her fork at him in an accusing fashion. "Because I have finally discovered from your aunt how you go about managing things, my lord. You are apparently in the habit of intimidating people into doing what you want them to do. To be perfectly honest, I would not put it past you to coerce everyone on my guest list into attending my salon."

Simon was at first startled and then reluctantly amused.

"Very well, Emily. Invite whom you wish and I will stay out of the matter entirely."

She gave him a suspicious look. "I am quite determined on this point, my lord."

"Yes, I can see that. Do not fret, Emily. I will not frighten your guests."

"Excellent." She smiled approvingly, her brow clearing as if by magic. "Then I shall get started on the project at once."

"Do not forget you still have to make preparations for your soiree."

Emily's expression immediately turned anxious. "I am working very hard on it, my lord. I vow I am doing everything I can to make certain it is a success. Although I still do not know how we will get everyone inside the house."

Simon eventually tracked Ashbrook down at one of the St. James clubs. The poet was ensconced in a chair near the fire with a bottle of port, apparently taking a breather from the card tables.

"Well, Ashbrook, what a convenient circumstance." Simon sat down in the chair across from the poet and picked up the bottle of port. He poured himself a glass of the dark red wine. "I have been looking for you for the past hour or so. Where is your friend, Crofton?"

"I am meeting him later." Ashbrook flicked open his snuffbox with a one-handed, negligently elegant gesture he had no doubt practiced for hours. "We are planning an entertaining tour of some of the more intriguing brothels."

"Just as well he is not here." Simon sampled the port. It was somewhat too sweet for his taste. "I wanted to talk to you alone."

Ashbrook's fingers tightened around his glass. "I do not see why. I have abided by our little agreement. I have not breathed a word about the scandal in Emily's past."

Simon smiled dangerously. "I have no idea what you are talking about. There is no scandal in my wife's past. Are you implying there might have been one?"

"Good God, no, I am not implying anything of the kind." Ashbrook gulped his port. "What the devil do you want from me, Blade?"

"You have, I believe, something that belongs to my wife. I would like it sent back immediately."

Astonishment lit Ashbrook's gaze for an instant, quickly replaced by an indolent stare. "We are discussing her epic poem, I collect?"

"We are." Simon smiled without any humor. "Ashbrook, do not play games with me. We both know why you offered to read the poem for her. You could not resist trying to seduce her, after all, could you? She no doubt seems far more interesting now than she was five years ago. The more jaded one becomes, the stronger the appeal of naivete and innocence, hmm? And you think to attract her by praising her writing."

Ashbrook crooked a brow. "You sound as though you are familiar with the technique. Is that how you convinced her to marry you, Blade? By complimenting her poetry instead of her eyes?"

"How I got her to marry me is none of your affair. All you need keep in mind is that she is married to me. I am warning you that if you attempt to lure her into your bed, I shall see that your blossoming career as an author is nipped in the bud."

"Are you threatening to call me out, Blade?"

"Only if it becomes absolutely necessary. I prefer more subtle methods of persuasion. In your case, I believe my first move would be to call upon your publisher, Whittenstall, and convince him that you lack talent, after all."

Ashbrook's mouth dropped open. "You would pay him not to publish me?"

"I would see to it that no reputable bookseller or publisher in town would find it worth his while to publish you. Do I make myself clear, sir?"

Ashbrook closed his mouth and leaned back in his chair. His initial expression of shock was fading to a look of reluctant admiration. "You are quite incredible, Blade. I have heard rumors of how you go about getting what you want, but I confess I had not entirely credited them. I am impressed."

"It is not necessary that you be impressed. It is only important that you do not attempt to tease my wife by dangling the lure of getting her poem published in front of her."

"You do not think her work good enough to be published?" Ashbrook asked shrewdly.

"I have come to the conclusion that my wife's considerable array of talents lie outside the world of literature. I do not mind if she amuses herself by dabbling in poetry and the like. But I will not allow you or anyone else to use her interest in literary matters as a means of engaging her attentions."

"You think she can be lured away from your side so easily?" Ashbrook's mouth curved into a mocking smile.

Simon finished the port. "My wife is incapable of infidelity. It is simply not in her nature. But she can be hurt by promises made by people who have no intention of carrying them out. She tends to believe the best of people."

"You do not think I mean to give The Mysterious Lady a fair reading?"

"No," Simon said as he got to his feet. "I do not believe it for a moment. I shall expect to see the manuscript returned tomorrow morning."

"Damn it, Blade, hold on. How do you expect me to explain this to Emily?"

"Tell her you did not think you could give an impartial judgment," Simon suggested. "It is nothing less than the truth, after all. How can a man make an honest assessment of someone else's manuscript when he knows that his own writing career is hanging in the balance?"

"Bastard." But Ashbrook sounded more resigned than defiant. "You had best take care, Blade. You have cultivated a variety of enemies. One of these fine days one of them might decide to try his luck in getting past that lot of villains and bodyguards you fondly call a house staff."

Simon smiled. "Not likely. You see, Ashbrook, I do not have as many enemies as you seem to think. That is because, on the whole, I grant more favors than threats. I can be useful, on occasion. You are welcome to keep that in mind."

Ashbrook nodded, his gaze speculative. "I see now how you operate. You are indeed as clever and mysterious as they say, Blade. Useful favors granted in exchange for cooperation, certain retribution if you are crossed. It is an interesting technique."

Simon shrugged and walked away without bothering to respond. He had completed his business for the evening. It was time to find Emily. She was due to put in an appearance at the Linton's ball, he recalled. He looked forward to another waltz with his wife.

Twenty minutes later he alighted from the carriage and walked up the steps of the large mansion. Footmen in blue livery scurried about, taking his hat and ushering him into the hall and upstairs to the ballroom.

The strains of a country dance could be heard above the din of laughter and conversation. Simon came to a halt in the doorway and glanced around, searching the crowded ballroom for signs of Emily. Lately it was not hard to locate her. One simply looked for a large knot of people gathered around a redheaded elf.

The knot would consist of a variety of Emily's new friends and admirers. Among the males there would be several aging gentlemen who wanted to talk about shares and investments, a group of aspiring poets with tousled locks and smoldering eyes who wanted to discuss romantic poetry, and a cluster of young dandies anxious to be seen conversing with a genuine original.

And there would be just as many females in the flock surrounding Emily, Simon knew as he spotted his quarry and started through the crowd. There would be ladies who were as enthralled by the latest romantic literature as Emily was and a variety of women such as Lady Northcote and her daughter Celeste who found Emily a charming friend.

The group would also include a number of women whose astute husbands had encouraged them to cultivate the friendship of the new Countess of Blade. There would be girls not long out of the schoolroom whose mamas had comprehended that an association with the new countess meant their daughters would be brought into contact with a variety of eligible males. And last, but not least, there would be a selection of bluestockings who considered Emily intelligent and delightfully eccentric.

Simon had just reached the outskirts of the throng that surrounded Emily when she sensed his presence. A murmur swept through Emily's crowd of admirers as they stepped aside to let her husband pass.

"Blade." Emily raised her quizzing glass for a quick look and then let it drop. She smiled widely in welcome, her eyes lighting up with pleasure. "I was hoping you would find time to drop by."

"I have come to beg a dance with you, my dear," Simon said as he inclined his head over her hand. "Do you by any chance have one to spare for me?"

"Do not be silly. Of course I do." She threw an apologetic glance toward a young man whose blond hair had been laboriously styled with a crimping iron. "You will not mind if we postpone our dance, will you, Armistead?"

"Not at all, Lady Blade," Armistead said, giving Simon a respectful glance.

Emily turned a laughing, eager countenance toward her husband. "There, you see, Blade? I am quite free to dance with you."

"Thank you, my dear." Simon experienced a surge of possessive satisfaction as he led Emily out onto the floor. When Emily stepped into his arms, her eyes shining, he was coolly aware that everyone in the room knew what he knew.

Emily was his.

The ton would also know that he would protect what was his.

Two days later Simon arrived home in the middle of the afternoon and was astonished to be told by his butler that his wife was entertaining three ladies in the drawing room.

"Lady Merryweather, Lady Canonbury, and Mrs. Peppington," Greaves said without any trace of expression.

"Bloody hell," Simon muttered as he stalked toward the drawing room door. "What the devil is she up to now?"

"Madam has ordered the best Lap Seng tea to be served," Greaves added in a low voice as he opened the door for his master. "Smoke was asked to prepare an assortment of sweet cakes. He is still complaining."

Simon threw his butler a scowling glance and stepped into the library. He halted at once as he took in the sight of his wife conversing easily with the wives of his two old enemies. Emily looked up and smiled at him.

"Oh, hello, Blade. Will you join us? I was just about to ring for more tea. You know Lady Canonbury and Mrs. Peppington, I believe?"

"We have met." Simon acknowledged both women with a chilling civility. They, in turn, appeared flustered and uneasy.

"Actually, I am afraid we really must be going," Lady Canonbury said, rising majestically from the settee.

"Yes, I have several other commitments this afternoon," Mrs. Peppington said quickly.

"I understand." Emily shot her husband a glowering glance as the two women hurried out into the hall.

When the door closed behind them, she calmly poured Simon a cup of tea and handed it to him as he sat down. "There was no need to frighten them away, Simon."

Araminta Merryweather chuckled. "Simon is good at that sort of thing."

Simon ignored his aunt and fixed his innocent-looking wife with his most intimidating expression. "I would be interested in knowing what you found to talk about with those two particular ladies, madam."

"Umm, yes, I imagine you would." Emily smiled winningly. "Well, my lord, the truth is, we discussed business."

"Did you, indeed?" Out of the corner of his eye, Simon saw his aunt wince at the coldness in his voice but Emily appeared not to notice. "What sort of business?"

"The mining business," Emily said. "Apparently both Lord Canonbury and Mr. Peppington have sunk considerable amounts into a mining project. They now face the prospect of getting the ore to market and have made the astonishing discovery that the canal they planned to use is privately owned. The owner will not give them a firm agreement to use the canal services. He has kept them dangling for months."

"I see."

"The canal is owned by you, my lord," Emily said pointedly. "Nothing moves on that canal without your permission. You have the power to make the entire mining project a financial disaster for Canonbury and Peppington. They are both extremely anxious about the matter. Such a loss could destroy them. They have sunk a great deal into their mining project."

Simon shrugged, not bothering to hide his satisfaction. "So?"

"So, I was just telling Lady Canonbury and Mrs. Peppington that you will no doubt decide to sell the canal to their husbands."

Simon's tea sloshed violently in the delicate china cup. Several drops spilled over the side and cascaded down onto his pristine buff-colored breeches. "Bloody hell."

Emily eyed the tea stains with concern. "Shall I ring for Greaves?"

"No, you will not ring for Greaves or anyone else." Simon slammed his cup and saucer down on the nearest table. "What the devil do you think you're doing making such promises to Lady Canonbury and Mrs. Peppington? How the hell do you expect to fulfill them?"

"She is not expecting to fulfill any promises, as she did not actually make any," Araminta said gently, her eyes dancing. "Emily is expecting you to do so, Simon."

Simon shot his aunt a furious glance before swinging his angry gaze back to Emily. His wife appeared serenely sure of herself, he noticed. Obviously he had been far too indulgent with her lately. "Well, madam? Explain yourself."

Emily delicately cleared her throat. "I am fully aware of why you wish to exact vengeance on Canonbury and Peppington, Simon. Your aunt has explained the matter and you have every right to want to punish them."

"I am glad you appreciate that fact."

"The thing is, my lord," she continued gently, "as I talked to Lady Canonbury and Mrs. Peppington, I realized that they have already suffered a great deal and there really is no need to add to their misery."

"Is that right? How, precisely, have they suffered?" Simon demanded through his teeth.

"Lord Canonbury, it seems, has a bad heart. His doctors have advised him that he may not live out the year. He has also had several severe financial losses in recent years. His only joy in life is his granddaughter. You remember her? The one who had a fit of the vapors and collapsed when you entered that ballroom?"

"I remember her."

"Poor chit was dreadfully afraid Blade was going to demand her hand in marriage as vengeance against her grandfather," Araminta murmured.

"Nonsense," Emily said. "As I told Celeste, Blade would never marry a young lady who was prone to fits of the vapors. Now, as I was saying, his granddaughter is Canonbury's greatest joy in life. He wishes to use the profits from the mining project to provide her with a suitable dowry. She will be left penniless if you ruin him, Simon. I knew you would not want the poor chit to be forced to endure the marriage mart without a decent dowry."

"Good God," Simon muttered.

"And as for Peppington, I was deeply saddened to learn that he lost his only son three years ago in a riding accident. His wife says he has not been the same since. All that keeps him going, apparently, is the knowledge that his grandson is turning out to be a fine, intelligent young man who shows a great interest in acquiring land. Peppington wants nothing more than to leave the boy a decent legacy."

"I do not see why I should have the least interest in the futures of Canonbury's granddaughter or Peppington's grandson," Simon said.

Emily smiled wistfully. "I know, my lord. In the beginning I was not particularly interested, either, but then I began to reflect upon the importance of children and grandchildren, in general, if you know what I mean."

Simon pinned her with a steady gaze. "No, I do not know what you mean. What in blazes are you talking about now?"

"Our children, my lord." Emily demurely sipped her tea.

Simon was speechless for a moment. "Our children?" he finally managed. Then the most peculiar jolt of exultation roared through him. "Are you telling me you are breeding, madam?"

"Well, as to that, I am not able to say. I do not think so. At least not at the moment. But I imagine I soon will be, don't you? Bound to happen sooner or later at the rate we are going." Emily turned pink but she was still smiling.

Araminta sputtered and coughed on a swallow of tea. "I beg your pardon," she said weakly, gasping for air.

Simon paid no attention to his aunt. All he could think about at the moment was the possibility of Emily growing round with his babe. It struck him that until that moment he had not really thought much about the future. All his schemes and plans and thoughts had been focused on the past. Now here was Emily talking about having babies. His babies.

"Hell and damnation," he muttered.

"Yes, I know what you mean, my lord. It is something of a shock to think in such terms, is it not? But we must, of course. And I confess it was the thought of how much we shall love and cherish our own children that made me realize you would not wish to hurt Lord Canonbury's granddaughter or Peppington's grandson. It is not your nature to be cruel, my lord. You are a noble and generous man at heart, as I well know."

Simon just sat there staring at Emily. He knew he ought to be lecturing her on the subject of staying out of his business affairs but he seemed to be unable to tear himself away from the image of his son in her arms.

"Do you think our son will have your eyes?" Emily asked thoughtfully, as if she had just peeked into his mind.

"I can just imagine him running about the place. Full of energy and mischief. You can teach him those fighting techniques you are teaching to my brothers. Boys love that sort of thing."

"I believe I really must be on my way," Araminta said softly as she rose to her feet. "If you will excuse me?"

Simon was barely aware of his aunt taking her leave. When the door closed softly behind her, he realized he was still staring at Emily, picturing her with a dark-haired, golden-eyed babe at her breast. Or perhaps a green-eyed, redheaded little girl.

"Simon?" Emily blinked inquiringly at him.

"If you will pardon me, I believe there are one or two items that require my attention in the library," Simon said absently, getting to his feet.

He had clung to his past for twenty-three years, Simon thought. It had given him strength and will and fortitude. But now it finally struck him that the day he had married Emily he had acquired a toehold in the future, whether he wanted it or not.

Simon was still struggling with the idea of Emily surrounded by his children, still feeling bemused and oddly uncertain of his own intentions, when he walked into one of his clubs that evening.

As fate would have it, the first two men he saw were Canonbury and Peppington.

An image of Canonbury's silly granddaughter fainting in a ballroom and Peppington's serious young grandson studying land management came into his mind. With a deep sigh, he crossed the room toward his two old enemies.

Simon made the offer to sell the canal to Canonbury and Peppington before he could give himself any further chance to think about it. The stunned shock on the faces of both elderly men was extremely satisfying.

Canonbury got to his feet with painful slowness. "I am very grateful to you, sir. I am well aware you had other intentions a short while ago. Intentions that would have ruined both Peppington and myself. May I ask what changed your mind?"

"This is not some sort of new trick, is it, Blade?" Peppington asked suspiciously. "You have kept us hovering on the brink of disaster for the past six months. Why should you set us free now?"

"My wife tells me I have a noble and generous nature," Simon said with a cold smile.

Canonbury sat down abruptly and reached for his port. "I see."

Peppington recovered sufficiently from his astonishment to give Simon an assessing look. "Wives are extremely odd creatures, are they not, sir?"

"They certainly do tend to complicate a man's life," Simon agreed.

Peppington nodded, looking thoughtful. "Thank you for your generosity, sir. Canonbury and I are well aware that we do not deserve it. What happened twenty-three years ago was… not well done of either of us."

"We are in your debt, Blade," Canonbury murmured.

"No," said Simon. "You are in my wife's debt. See that you do not forget it." He turned on his heel and walked away from the two old men he had hated for twenty-three years.

As he went out into the night he realized vaguely that something inside him felt freer, looser, less confined. It was as though he had just unfastened an old, rusty chain and released a part of himself that had been locked up for a very long time.

The frantic message from Broderick Faringdon arrived a day later. Emily was in the midst of consulting with Simon's cook. The consultation had turned into a rather loud discussion.

"I do not mind having some of your wonderful, exotic specialties from the East Indies on the buffet table," Emily said firmly to the strange little man who wore a gold earring in one ear. "But we must remember that most of the guests will be unfamiliar with such foreign delicacies. The English are not terribly adventurous in their eating habits."

Smoke drew himself up proudly. "His lordship has never complained about my cooking."

"Well, of course he has never complained," Emily said soothingly. "Your cooking is marvelous, Smoke. But I fear his lordship's palate is considerably more cultivated and refined than those of many of the people you will be serving at the soiree. We are talking about the sort of people who do not consider a meal complete unless they have plenty of boiled potatoes and a large joint of beef."

"Madam is quite right, Smoke," the housekeeper chimed in. "We must serve some turbot in aspic, perhaps. And sausages and maybe a bit of tongue."

"Sausages! Tongue!" Smoke was outraged. "I will not allow any greasy sausages or tongue to be served in this house."

"Well, then, some cold ham would do nicely," Emily said hopefully.

A loud, urgent knocking on the kitchen door interrupted the argument. Harry, the footman, went to the door and after a short consultation with whoever stood outside, he approached his mistress.

"Beggin' yer pardon, madam. I am told there is a message for you."

Emily turned away from the squabble with a sense of relief. "For me? Where?"

"A young lad at the door, ma'am. Says he can only deliver the message to you." Harry raised his hooked arm. "Shall I tell him to be off?"

"No, no, I shall speak to him."

Emily went through the kitchens to the door and saw the grubby little boy waiting for her. "Well, lad, what is it?"

The boy stared at Emily's bright red hair and spectacles and then nodded to himself, as if satisfied he had the right person. "I'm to tell yer that yer pa's got to see yer right away, ma'am. He give me this note to give to yer." A small slip of paper, rather badly stained from a dirty little fist, was dutifully handed over.

"Very well." Emily dropped a coin into the boy's palm, a strong sense of foreboding washing over her as she looked at the paper. "Thank you."

The boy examined the coin closely, tested it with his teeth, and then grinned widely. "Yer welcome, ma'am."

Harry stepped forward to close the kitchen door. The boy gazed in admiration and wonder at the hook and then took off running.

"We shall have to finish planning the buffet menu later," Emily said to Smoke and the housekeeper as she hurried out of the kitchen.

She dashed upstairs, the note burning her hand. She feared the worst. When she reached the privacy of her bedchamber she closed and locked the door.

Trembling with dread she sat down to read the note from her father.

Emily felt sick as she slowly refolded the note. She had realized something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. She had tried to pretend her father would show some sense in his gaming but she had known, deep down, that his passion for cards and hazard was too strong. Her mother had often told her he would never change.

And now he was calling on his daughter for help, knowing that in doing so he was forcing her to choose between her loyalty to her husband and her obligations as a daughter.

It was too much. Reality had intruded once more into her world, ripping aside the romantic curtain she tried to maintain around herself.

Emily put her head down on her arms and wept.