Chapter 1 #2
Let’s see. I am now twenty-nine, so Lance, you are thirty-one.
“Cuz!” Diana sat wide-eyed and nigh unto panting at the vision of handsome Lance at the door. “Who is that?”
“The new earl or…um…something.” Honestly, she never remembered names. They were like recipes, long and too involved. “I don’t remember.”
“But you looked at him for ever so long, so you do know him, though?”
“She did,” Kaitlin rolled her eyes at Emma. “Very well.”
Diana shivered. “Oh, you must be thrilled. I mean. Will he come introduce himself?”
“If he presents himself, Di, he does because it is the correct thing to do.” And if he does venture this way, he’d better make it all brief. The Shackleford Woman took no prisoners. Ever. And with his appearance and hers, the biddy would make a fuss to compare only to Waterloo.
Emma’s sketchy understanding of formal rules of the ton left her bereft of the rule for who greeted whom. Man to woman? Old friend to renewed? Emma hated the ton’s rules. None had ever helped her. Until now when society curried her favor because she had money.
She did her best not to sneer at the very idea.
Money. Quite a bit. More than many a lord or lady could strangle from their impoverished estates.
For her new-found wealth—they honored her for its acquisition, inherited though it was.
Let her back into their graces, as if she’d forgotten all ridicule—and forgiven it, too.
And she did. She did it for Diana’s sake.
“Don’t worry, Diana,” Kaitlin said with a wicked smile on her face. “If he does not appear—which I sincerely doubt— you and I can stroll his way and renew my acquaintance with him.”
“Thank you, Lady Lawton. But why not you, Cuz?” The girl knew nothing about the disaster of years ago, only that the gossiping likes of Lady Shackleford had done her worst.
“Why? Because, Di, we are no longer friends. We were once, but now Lord… Oh, drat it, Kaitlin. It begins with a ‘w’. What is his new title?”
“Weatherby-Soames of Pickford and Fife.” Kaitlin winked at Emma, her whimsy to fill in such silly gobs of information for her scatter-brained friend.
“My, my,” said the girl, dreamy-eyed, “all that and such dashing good looks, too.”
Emma hummed. She refused to feast on the mature looks of the man her childhood best friend had become. Refused to turn or acknowledge the powerful picture of his sun-streaked cinnamon hair, broad shoulders, bronzed cheeks and of course, his lips. His unforgettable sensuous lips.
“He’s not married,” supplied Kaitlin for Diana, though she kept her merry gaze on Emma. “But the on dit constantly heard is that the man is looking for a spouse.”
Emma set her teeth at that. She’d told Kaitlin she would not discuss Lance Winters.
Not his new title and wealth. Not his soldier’s past in the Army Engineers.
Nor his love of horses and mules. And definitely not what he’d done one fine afternoon in Derby as Emma passed through a small village in a hired coach with six other passengers on board.
“How old is he?” Diana asked, now besotted. Beneath those mischievous sea green eyes, the girl clicked the locks on leg-shackles to poor Lance Winters.
“What is he, Em? Thirty-four? Five?”
“One,” she let out through pursed lips. “One and thirty.”
“So just the right age to marry,” said Diana with a satisfied giggle. “And set up his nursery.”
That Emma would not discuss, so she sprang to her feet. “I do believe the sun has doubled every freckle I own. Come, Di, we’ll say our thanks to our hostess and find our way home.”
“No!” The girl pouted. “We just got here.”
“Not really.” For effect, Emma lifted the tiny face of her watch pinned to her the shoulder of her jade sarcenet gown. “One hour and eleven minutes.”
Diana frowned. “Cuz, please. Let us stay long enough for Lady Lawton to approach Lord Weatherby-Sizzle and Fizzle or whatever his name is. You know I long to do well in society, now that we have…” she leaned over the table to whisper “…you know, filthy lucre.” Di thought the ton’s need of wealthy women a joke on their short-sightedness.
Emma sat quite still, her blood gone cold over the idea of money.
Her cousin knew nothing about how their wealth had resurrected Emma from the low rungs of the social ladder.
It was best she not know. Neither would Emma ever tell her.
What had happened ten years ago on that Derbyshire road would stay there.
Her cousin would benefit from not knowing…
just as Emma would from never looking back.
“We are leaving. Come, Di.” She leaned toward Kaitlin to buss her cheek in goodbye.
Her friend allowed the kiss then cocked a brow at her. “You do not wish to do the gracious act of congratulating the new viscount of Weather and Storm personally?”
“No.” Emma ignored how her dear friend tormented her by calling Lance by an obviously wrong title. Instead, she yanked on her gloves. “And you know why.”
“Why?” asked Diana, her sea foam gaze full of innocent inquiry.
* * *
Lance Winters stood in the entrance to the garden and searched for his hostess. The one whom he’d spotted the minute he’d entered was the one he purposely sought. But he needed entry, didn’t he?
He did not court society. This garden party, like the two balls he’d attended a few nights ago, was a maze to him. Rather like looking at the horizon of strange uncharted Spanish territory he had to conquer.
“At least, with my horses, I knew I had friends to help me out.” Here? The best he could hope for would be a sympathetic hostess who’d take pity on him and introduce him to a few.
Especially to the only one who mattered to him.
The best he could hope for would be that his hostess, Lady Trilling, would take pity on him at once and lead him over to Emma.
He had hopes that Em had not spied him and that he had time to play at a being a good guest, then somehow get Lady Trilling to help him over to Em and her friend Kaitlin Manning, whatever-her-married name was, and allow him a few moments of success.
Yes, he was here for Emma. Who the hell else would he want in this crowd of giggling ladies, and self-impressed peacocks, eager for the right chance?
But he would be a good boy in these circles. So, he followed the footman to the gazebo with an eager smile. He sought to ingratiate himself with these people. If only to get Emma to smile at him. Or more than.
“Lord Weatherby!” His hostess trilled out his name in her glass-breaking soprano. How fitting to be named ‘Trilling’. “We are delighted to welcome you to our little gathering. I understand you are ever so busy moving into your homes in the north and in London.”
“Just so, my lady.” He gave her his most charming smile. It was the best he could do with his valet having tied his cravat to a murderous inch. He bowed, too, as he took the woman’s hand. “But I am keen to meet so many and I am grateful for your kind invitation.”
“We are thrilled to have you, my lord. Many in London are affable and good hearted. And we are especially thrilled to welcome into our fold former soldiers who did so well in Spain and France.”
He wanted to scoff at that. London had not been kind to Emma after he so brashly ruined her ten years ago.
He disliked whoever had demeaned her by implying she had done something wrong when he had been the ‘bandit’ who kissed her.
Indeed, he cared not for accolades for his military service.
War was a dirty, nasty business. He’d much preferred his assignment to the wilds of Canada last year.
Yet now, his sole objective was making his life round and plentiful—and doing the same for Emma Tomkins too.
“I look forward to the acquaintance of those who will be so kind as to smooth my way into my duties. I am green at this business and I am not averse to admitting it.”
The lady extended a hand. “Allow me to introduce you to a few of those.”
He offered her his arm, and as they strolled by little groups of her guests, he did the pretty and won them to his purpose.
“All the ladies will be fluttering like butterflies to learn more about you, sir.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Emma shoot to her feet. Leaving are you? But then you don’t flutter, you fly.
“Well, my lady, I will tell you now that not much is intriguing about the life of an Army Engineer.”
“In that corps, you do not fight other soldiers but the very earth, sir. That, in itself, is a Herculean effort.”
“Often one more fit to be ascribed to Sisyphus.”
She tipped her head, her eyes locked on his, truly interested in her response. “How so?”
He inhaled, his vision filled with the sight of a pontoon across a slow-flowing Catalan river.
He’d calculated every angle, depth, speed of water, height of obstructing rocks.
But he’d been wrong. His team of four horses stuck in the silt of the bed and his flat blocks over which all would travel—men, mules, cannon—had stuck.
Pulling the mess from the river took three days and nights.
Thus, the British missed their advantage over the French exposure.
He credited Lady Trilling for her interest, and softened the blow of his bitter memory of the disaster. “One’s miscalculations are as misfortunate as those of one’s enemy. War is a constant battle to gain sight of tomorrow. One day’s labor is often a duplicate of the last.”
“Oh,” she said with a frown and a pat of his arm. “I fear too many of our returned soldiers tell tales of tedium and delay.”
“I’m sure many do. We mustn’t criticize them, but know they do that to repress the nightmares of bullets, bombs and men screaming for their mothers.”
“My dear Lord Weatherby, should you need anything—and I do mean anything—to aid you now that you are home, you must tell me.”
He met her with frankness in his gaze. “You were once my mother’s best friend and in that spirit of good heartedness I ask you if you have you heard of my behavior ten years ago to a certain lady who is your guest?”
Her myriad wrinkles melted into each other as she beamed at him.
They had stopped, away from others to have this conversation.
“I have. A sad, unnecessary wagging of tongues. But only murmurs of it remain, thank goodness. Why, I do believe I hope you are interested in redeeming yourself for that peccadillo?”
“I am. Very much so.”
“Do enlist me in your campaign, my lord.”
“Then please. Lead on. I need all the help I can get.”
Just in time, too, as from his right, Lance saw a swish of jade skirts. So, his Emma came, not to greet him. No, no. She was here to bid adieu and escape him.
Lady Trilling had another idea. With a pat to his arm, she stepped toward Emma…and his darling was suddenly in front of him with nowhere to run. “My dearest Miss Tomkins!”
Emma stood frozen.
“Forgive me, Lady Trilling,” Emma said to her hostess while she herself remained standing face- to-face with the very man she had tried to avoid.
“Not leaving so soon, my dear! Why, you have not greeted our newest guest. I understand you are childhood friends. Miss Emma Tomkins, allow me to reacquaint you with Lord Weatherby.”
“Miss Tomkins.” Lance did the necessary, smiling broader, wishing harder than any time in his life that Emma would show some friendliness toward him.
“How wonderful to see you again, sir. You look fit.” What in hell was she going on about? “Congratulations are in order, too, for your new title and responsibilities.”
“The title is one I know so little about. Since I’ve been home, I’ve done nothing but walk the land and read the estate records of the past decade. It’s a mountain of information.”
“So, you have visited your estate? Forgive me, I cannot recall if you had ever been to your cousins’ home.”
Her voice quivered. She sounded like a schoolgirl. But then she remembered some manners and said to her cousin, “Allow me, my dear, to present Lord Weatherby. Miss Diana Tomkins, Lord Weatherby of …of Sloan and …and…”
“Firth.” The girl stepped into the breach of Emma’s lapse, the smile on her face aglow with a thousand lights and expectations. “My lord.” She curtsied. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“As am I, Miss Tomkins.”
“I hope you will be out and about at future parties,” the girl put in.
He looked startled at her forwardness. “I receive invitations by the dozens. Society has been welcoming.”
“Miss Tomkins,” Lady Trilling put in with a helpful tone, “is not yet out but her cuz brings her to less formal gatherings.”
“How kind of your cousin.” Lance took in the beauty of Emma, so full of trepidation at his nearness that he wanted to sweep her up and carry her away.
But then, that was his usual reaction to Emma…
and it only caused scandal. “I know her to be the most generous soul. You are fortunate, Miss Tomkins.”
His compliment pinked Emma’s cheeks and she shook herself to answer. “Lady Trilling, thank you for the lovely afternoon. My cousin and I have enjoyed it tremendously.”
“You must return then. Next Friday? I have begun these little affairs on a weekly basis.”
“Thank you so much, but I must decline. My cousin and I go to Brighton next week.”
That was news. What was attracting her to Brighton?
Well, wherever she was, there he would be also. “How long do you stay?”
She met his gaze with sharp lift of her chin. “Forever. I will buy a house. It has always been my fondest wish to live close to the sea. Now…with my new circumstances, I can do this.”
“I see. I am happy for you,” he said with a sincerity motivated more by his desire to uplift her. God knew he did not wish to see her leave London. Not when he had so nearly arrived and tried to settle himself into the social scene, only to lose her to Brighton.
“When do you leave?” Lady Trilling did his work for him.
“Friday, we go. My cousin is very excited. I am, too.”
Lance could not hide his gloom. “I am sorry to hear you leave town. I would like to resurrect our friendship.”
“Thank you, sir. That is kind. Perhaps if you ever visit Brighton?” She was too enthusiastic, pretending she wished to see him. He could see her warning to him to stay away, But, she offered her hand in parting.
Bad as he could be, he bowed and took it. Her long warm fingers tugged, like bands around his heart. “I will make a point of it now.”
He could see how she wanted to reprimand him, but she held her tongue.
With that, she and her cousin trailed off toward the main salon and Emma’s escape from him.
Wily woman. Ever was she the prankster, the escape artist, the one who brought mystery and laughter into his life.
Well, Emma Tomkins. I do not care how you wish to escape me. I have waited too long to see you again. Avoided your presence for years because I had nothing to offer. But I need you. Your humor. Your valor.
I will follow you.