Chapter Four
“The evening is going very well,” Emmy whispered to Tess three nights later as the two filed into the Keswicks’ drawing room behind her mother and the other women guests. “I daresay you’ve made a conquest or two already and the evening is only half over.”
Emmy and Lady Keswick had organized tonight’s dinner party in Tess’s honor, which was intended as both a show of support, as well as an opportunity to show her off to a handful of potential husbands. They’d just finished with dinner, and now the ladies would wait in the drawing room for the gentlemen to finish with their port and cigars—a tradition Emmy had never understood, but then, the ton did love its silly traditions.
“I admit, I did enjoy the conversation at dinner,” Tess said as they made their way to the refreshments table for a glass of sherry. “But I’m so nervous about performing in front of everyone.” She cast a glance at the pianoforte across the room, her brow furrowing. “I’ve only ever played for my father and brother. I’m not accustomed to playing for large audiences.”
Emmy hid her smile behind the rim of her sherry glass. She did not think a party of twelve qualified as large , but it hardly seemed helpful to point that out while the girl’s courage was flagging.
“You’ll do fine,” she said, squeezing Tess’s arm. “We settled on an uncomplicated piece of music, one you’ve played a thousand times before, and you shall play it beautifully, as you did only this morning.”
“This morning I played for an audience of one,” Tess pointed out.
“And I enjoyed the performance very much,” Emmy said. “Just as we all shall when you play the piece again tonight.”
Tess sighed before taking a large gulp of sherry. “I certainly hope you’re right.”
Emmy gave her arm another squeeze, and then she guided her to the empty sofa across from Lady Keswick and Tess’s aunt, Mrs. Lawrence, who sat chatting together in a pair of matching armchairs, their colorful gowns giving the appearance of two tropical birds perching on a tree branch.
“Tell me,” Emmy said to Tess, hoping to distract her from her nerves, “is there any particular gentleman who has caught your eye tonight?”
Tess pursed her lips. “Mr. Steffington is rather nice,” she said. “He doesn’t say much, but that doesn’t bother me. I am rather accustomed to laconic men, after all.”
Emmy sipped her sherry before asking, “Is your father as…taciturn as your brother?”
Tess smiled and it was both sardonic and affectionate. “Not quite, no,” she said. “But neither of them likes to talk for the sake of talking.”
Emmy nodded. Very few men did, in her experience, but Alex Whitcomb seemed especially self-contained, even for a man. In helping his sister these last few days, she’d spent a fair amount of time with him, and she could honestly say she had never met a better example of the strong and silent male archetype.
He was polite and pleasant, though, and aside from the brief flare of temper that first night they’d met, he was patience personified, even yesterday when he’d accompanied her and Tess on an afternoon of shopping, which included several stops and more than one return visit.
Without a doubt, he was the most controlled man Emmy had ever known, and she found herself thinking of him often, wondering what thoughts and feelings lay hidden beneath the placid mask.
Not that she had any intention of finding out. She was a naturally curious person, yes, and he was an unknown commodity, seemingly unknowable, and she could not deny that she found his… self-containment intriguing. Anybody would.
But she must keep her curiosity at bay, for he was not the Whitcomb sibling she was supposed to be thinking of, and she would do well to remember that.
“Ah, here are the gentlemen,” Lady Keswick said, rising from her chair as the men filed into the drawing room. Alex came in last, his expression typically unreadable, and Emmy wondered what he and the other men had discussed during their time in the dining room. A wry smile touched her lips. She could probably count on one hand the number of words he had uttered.
“Please, everyone, do take a seat,” Lady Keswick instructed, sweeping her arms wide. “Miss Whitcomb has a special treat in store for us all.”
Tess drew in a bracing breath and then forced a smile to her lips. “Well, it would seem the time has come,” she whispered, swallowing hard.
“You’ll do fine,” Emmy assured her. “And I shall be right here, cheering you on.”
Tess gave her a tremulous smile and then headed off for the pianoforte, her aunt following behind her with the intention of minding the sheet music for her.
Emmy’s mother reclaimed her seat, and the other guests followed suit, finding seats of their own. Alex sank onto the sofa beside Emmy, and she tensed when his shoulder brushed hers, the faint scent of spicy soap tickling her nose and tempting her to lean into him for more—which, of course, she did not do.
A hush fell over the room as Tess began to play, her fetching ivory gown with the mint green trim complementing her auburn hair to perfection. The first notes of Mozart’s “Piano Sonata No. Eight” trickled out in a hesitant plunking of keys, but with each passing moment she seemed to relax into the melody until she was playing with ease.
Emmy’s gaze caught hers and she gave her an encouraging smile, which Tess returned, a twinkle lighting her eyes as her fingers skipped along the keys.
She’d enjoyed spending time with Miss Whitcomb these last few days, getting to know her better, learning about her life in Berkshire and what she hoped her future would hold. She was a bright girl, innocent but not naive, and she possessed an inherent sweetness that made it impossible not to like her.
The final notes of the song filled the room and Tess looked up from the pianoforte as her audience applauded her performance with enthusiasm. She rose and curtsied, her smile both pleased and relieved as she edged away from the instrument.
Gradually the applause fell away, and conversation took its place as the guests began to mingle again. John Steffington and a second young man, Mr. Stephen Crandall, wasted little time in approaching Tess, and Emmy smiled to herself, more than a little proud of the way the evening was going so far.
“Thank you for tonight, Emmy. You’ve made Tess very happy.”
Alex’s quiet words drew her gaze to his, and she gave a little shrug. “It was my mother’s doing. Her dinner parties are always a success.”
“Perhaps. But you asked her to organize this one for my sister, and I am grateful for it.” He leaned in a fraction, one brow cocked, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Accept my thanks, Emmy.”
The teasing order made her chuckle, and she inclined her head. “Very well, Mr. Whitcomb, I accept. And you are welcome.”
His smile widened, his hazel eyes holding her mesmerized, piercing yet warm with…something. Gratitude, probably, but whatever it was, it sent heated tingles skittering along her skin.
He was immaculately dressed tonight in a dark gray tailcoat moulded to his shoulders and arms, and a pearl white cravat and emerald silk waistcoat that summoned the flecks of green in his eyes.
She swallowed, her cheeks warming as she pulled her gaze from his and forced her attention back to Tess again. You remember Tess, don’t you? The girl you’re supposed to be helping? The girl for whom this dinner party was planned?
Lacing her fingers together in her lap, she cleared her throat to speak. “Your sister is a lovely girl, by the way. You should be very proud of her.”
“I am,” Alex replied simply, economical as always with his words, but Emmy did not doubt his sincerity. The pride he felt for his sister shone through every time he looked at her.
“She is proud of you, too.” Emmy glanced at him and smiled. “In fact, she seems to idolize you. I’ve never heard a sister speak so highly of her older brother.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “You speak highly of yours.”
Emmy shrugged. “Griffin is a decent sort, and I love him, but I certainly don’t idolize him. And I certainly wouldn’t tell him if I did. He’s fat-headed enough as it is.”
Alex chuckled softly, the husky rumble sending those same pesky tingles up her spine. Ignore them, she ordered. Alex Whitcomb was an attractive man, yes, but she was not the sort of woman who blushed and tingled over every handsome face she saw. Indeed, she was more likely to tingle over a salacious piece of gossip than a member of the male sex.
She never had been all that interested in boys, not even in her adolescence. She’d never dreamed of love and weddings and babies like so many young girls did, nor had she ever experienced the aching, all-consuming stirrings of the heart that her friends had so often talked of, and she would sometimes wonder if something was wrong with her.
She no longer felt that way, thankfully. She liked who she was, and she had no regrets.
“I’ll miss her after she marries,” Alex said thoughtfully, and Emmy turned to him, her gaze sweeping over his face as he watched his sister across the room. “It’s selfish, I know, but sometimes I wish she would never marry and remain at Bristlewood with me and our father forever.”
The confession surprised her. Men did not often speak of their feelings, but this man did not often speak at all. That he had shared such a private thought with her was strangely pleasing.
“You don’t mean that, Alex,” she said, her voice gentle. “If you truly felt that way, you wouldn’t have brought her to London.”
“I didn’t want to bring her,” he admitted ruefully. “It was my father’s wish, and I didn’t have the heart to deny him. He…” Alex pressed his lips together, his brow creasing. “He is…not in the best of health.”
“Ah.” Emmy’s heart squeezed. “And he wants to see his children wed while he still can.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you not wish to…” She hesitated, worrying her lower lip, unsure if she should ask the question. It was too personal and absolutely none of her business. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained . “Are you…reluctant to marry?”
Silence settled between them as he considered the question, and she began to worry that her query had upset him. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him he needn’t answer her, when finally he spoke.
“I would not say I am reluctant,” he said slowly, uncrossing his legs only to cross them again. “But it is difficult to look at my father, at this faded version of the man he once was and not feel some trepidation. My mother—” He broke off, his jaw clenching. “My mother hurt him very deeply.”
Sadness washed over Emmy until her chest ached with it, and she could not help but think of her own mother and how much losing her husband had hurt her.
Emmy could not remember the months after her father’s sudden death—she was much too young—but she knew her mother had loved her father very much, and her grief must have been a terrible thing.
Still, at least Lady Keswick had the comfort, small though it was, of knowing that her husband had not left her willingly. He had not left his family on purpose, as Alex’s mother had done.
Emmy could only imagine how painful that betrayal must have been for his father.
“He must have loved her very much,” she said softly.
Alex drew in a deep breath. “He did. And he thought she loved him.”
But she hadn’t.
Emmy looked down at her lap, at her clasped hands, regretting that she could not use them to offer comfort.
“Poor man,” she whispered. “I am so sorry for him, and for you and Tess. That could not have been an easy time for any of you.”
The sympathy shining in Emmy’s dark eyes pierced Alex straight through, and he pulled his gaze away, shifting in his seat as if it might ease the tightness in his chest.
Her kindness continually surprised him. Beneath all her self-assurance and forthright speech lay a caring and compassionate heart, and this made her terribly easy to talk to. Dangerously easy.
He was not an exceedingly approachable person, never had been, and very few people could claim to know him well, but already he could see how effortlessly this woman might slip through if he let her. If he let his guard down.
Strangely enough, the notion was not unpleasant.
“Thank you,” he finally said with sincerity. “I don’t know why I told you all of that, but then, I suspect people often share their secrets with you.” He slid her a bemused glance. “Even if they don’t want to.”
Her only reply was a small smile, not quite smug but certainly satisfied, and Alex found himself smiling, too, simply because he’d pleased her.
Besotted fool.
He pulled his gaze from her tempting dimpled smile and glanced about the room at his sister and her gentlemen friends, his aunt, the fire in the hearth, but his thoughts were firmly on the woman beside him.
She was an uncommon and fascinating blend of traits—privileged yet unpretentious, plain-spoken but not unkind. Confident, mischievous, yet wholly without conceit.
She wasn’t beautiful, but she was attractive, and she was popular, a marquess’s sister who seemed to have London in the palm of her hand yet no man had won her affections. It did not make sense to him.
“Why are you not married?” he asked, blurting the words out before he could stop himself.
Emmy tensed, her back going rigid, but Alex pressed on, too curious to retreat now. “I find it a bit odd, that’s all. Catching a husband should be easy for someone like you.”
She met his gaze, her eyes cool and flinty, like granite. “I suppose I am something of an oddity. Here I am, four-and-twenty and still unwed, still neglecting my purpose on this earth. After all, is a woman even a woman if she has not reproduced?”
Her voice was low and as tight as a bowstring, her lips a disgruntled line, and Alex, never quick with a clever retort even at the best of times, was struck speechless.
She huffed out a sigh. “I’m sorry,” she said, her frown clearing. “ Not for my feelings—it infuriates me that so many seem to think that a woman’s only purpose in life is to bear children—but I did not mean to sound cross with you.”
Alex shook his head. “You struck me as more impassioned than cross.”
She shot him a smile that was both sheepish and grateful, and he realized she was embarrassed. It was not an emotion he’d seen her exhibit before, and he could honestly say until now he wasn’t sure she could be embarrassed.
“I suppose I have grown a bit weary of questions about my marital status,” she admitted. “My mother is obsessed with marrying me off, and I sometimes feel as though that is the only way I will make her proud of me. And the only thing that will make my life worthwhile in the eyes of the ton .”
Her voice had lost its fire, and she sounded resigned now, as if she knew this was a reality she would have to accept but could not bring herself to do it just yet.
Alex offered no platitudes, no words of comfort. He couldn’t speak to her mother’s feelings, but everything else Emmy had said was true, and they both knew it.
“To borrow your question from earlier,” he said, “are you reluctant to marry?”
She hesitated, and he waited on tenterhooks, watching the parade of emotions drift across her expressive face as she considered her response.
“My two dearest friends are recently married, and both of them married for love,” she said. “I am, of course, exceedingly happy for them, but I have to admit I do feel a bit…left out.” She furrowed her brow. “Which is very confusing because I’ve never given much thought to marriage. I like my life as it is, living in London for most of the year, doing as I please with no one to answer to—except my mother, of course—and I don’t want it to change.” She spread her hands out, palms up. “Marriage would change everything. Maybe even me.”
Alex parted his lips, intending to tell her that marriage didn’t have to change anything, but then his sister approached and drew Emmy away, leaving him alone on the sofa with his thoughts, which, unsurprisingly, were all of Emmy.
He watched while she joined his sister at the pianoforte, smiling as the two launched into a lively duet, their laughter filling the room.
Emmy was an attractive woman, and he was attracted to her, though she was not beautiful in the classic sense. Her forehead was a touch too broad, her eyes too large, her mouth too wide.
Everything about her was too something, and yet, all together, the pieces made up the most interesting and enticing woman he’d ever met.
She was easy to talk to, and that was a rarity for him. Somehow she had this way of getting him to share things with her, things he would normally never discuss with someone he’d known for only a week. Yet with her, he did. It was odd. And even odder that he didn’t seem to mind.
He was at ease around her, and when he married, he hoped his bride would make him feel as comfortable as she did.
He might actually have considered asking her to be his bride, if he thought there was even the smallest chance she would have him. Unfortunately, Emmy Keswick seemed determined to remain unmarried, and Alex had a feeling changing her mind on anything would be akin to moving mountains.