Chapter Twelve #2
“That’s why I need your advice.”
“I’ll give you some advice, Lord Wolverton,” she said, her voice climbing. “You should return to Berkshire and—”
He drew her in the direction of the window. “Did you happen to notice my carriage?” he asked.
“I could hardly miss it.” Nor had she missed how he had changed the subject at the mention of returning to his home. She had glimpsed a genuine pain in his eyes. Perhaps he was not even aware of it himself. Perhaps there were unpleasant memories of his past that haunted him still.
His voice dropped to a whisper. “The old duke sent it to collect me in style. It’s a little pretentious, don’t you think? I’m embarrassed to be seen in it.”
“Your personal code of conduct is what should embarrass you,” she whispered back.
“Then it’s a good thing I’ve come to you, isn’t it?” he asked, his warmth returning.
In fact, the heat in his hazel eyes could have melted stone. Emma was chagrined at how much she enjoyed being again in his provocative company. “I’m not at all convinced of that. I am in the middle of class.”
“I prefer private lessons myself,” he murmured. “Are you available to give guidance to the socially lost and lovelorn?”
She looked up slowly with a little smile. “Not unless you wish my brothers to be included in our instruction. I’m sure it could be arranged.”
“Your brothers?” he asked, bending his head into hers.
“Yes.” She leaned away, indicating the door behind him. “Heath and Drake have arrived as we speak, and oh, yes, here comes the youngest Boscastle demon, Devon. Sometimes it’s difficult to tell them apart. You did say Heath was expecting you?”
Adrian straightened abruptly as the three dark-haired Boscastle brothers strode forward to greet him.
“Good day, Lord Wolverton,” Emma murmured.
He sighed.
“Hello, Wolf,” Devon said, throwing his arm around Adrian’s broad shoulder.
“Come to show off your ancestry today? There’s a crowd gathered in the street to see who owns that fancy piece.
Let’s rescue you from the dangerous little debutantes and take a drive around the park.
Innocence can be rather overwhelming at times, don’t you think? ”
What Adrian thought, as he was skillfully escorted into the presence of Emma’s three masterful brothers, was that he had just been given another friendly warning that their sister was under their protection.
At least until such time as another man assumed the responsibility.
And as Adrian had come to the decision that he was the most appropriate, the only current candidate for her affections, he would need permission from her brothers to court her.
This posed a dilemma, considering the promise he had made to her.
For now he was forced to pretend she was a mere friend.
He wouldn’t impress Emma by embarrassing her.
Would she think better of him if he visited his father?
He frowned. He supposed he appeared to be a coward in her eyes by avoiding the inevitable.
And to his surprise, being in the company of the close-knit Boscastles had made him wish to see his own brother and sister.
He remembered that they had cried when he left home. Had they found happiness?
“Has Grayson seen that gilded monstrosity of yours?” Heath asked as they walked back to the door that looked upon the street. “I vow he’ll be quite jealous.”
“It arrived from my father only this morning.” Adrian paused. He knew better than to assume Heath would believe he’d wandered into the ballroom by mistake. Or that after only three days he had missed Heath’s company.
Heath confirmed his hunch in the next instant. “I suggest you take a drive over to visit Grayson in the next week or so. I’m sure he would be interested in talking with you.”
And not about carriages, either, if Adrian understood what Heath meant. Grayson Boscastle, the fifth Marquess of Sedgecroft, was the family’s patriarch and former scoundrel himself. He was the man to grant dispensation as well as to issue social death sentences.
Heath’s message could not have been clearer. If Adrian intended to pursue Emma, he would have to ask permission of Grayson first and declare himself.
And he would. He honestly would. Just as soon as he persuaded Emma he was sincere and proved to her that even a ruthless misadventurer could be redeemed.
Perhaps in the course of this endeavor, he might even persuade himself that his redemption was possible.
Sir Gabriel Boscastle glanced back from the entrance of the town house at the ducal carriage that swept down the street.
An audience of admiring pedestrians, street vendors, and urchins had congregated to witness its departure.
“That wasn’t Adrian, was it?” he asked his cousin Heath a few minutes later, after a housemaid had directed him to the library. “One would think he were a—”
“—duke?” Lord Drake Boscastle said with a cynical smile. He and Gabriel had been at odds in the past, but since Drake’s recent marriage to his governess, their old enmity had begun to fade away. “He and Devon have gone driving. You can probably catch up with them if the crowd lets you through.”
Heath was seated at his massive military desk, his arms folded behind his head. As usual his expression revealed nothing of his thoughts. “Are you coming with us to the opera tonight, Gabriel?”
“Of course,” he said, nodding gratefully at the glass of sherry Drake had poured him. “I never sleep so soundly as during an aria.” He paused. “There is a definite pall over this gathering. Have I done something to offend anyone? I know that in the past, we were not as close as—”
“We have a slight family problem.” Drake glanced at his brother. “Do you think we should tell him?”
Heath laughed shortly. “You damn well have to now, after dangling that tidbit under his nose.”
Gabriel shook his head, his face amused. “Does this mean I’m actually to be included in some Boscastle intrigue—and do I want to be?”
“It’s Emma,” Drake said.
“And Wolf.” Heath ran his hand through his thick black hair. “Emma and Adrian. An improbable pairing if ever there was one.”
Gabriel took a long swallow of sherry. “Stranger affairs have occurred throughout English history. Take Nell Gwyn, an orange girl, made a duchess by the king.”
“A duchess. Now there’s a point. Adrian isn’t married. His father will be arranging a suit.” Heath glanced meaningfully at Drake. “I think this calls for a family cabal before Emma is involved beyond our help.”
“Grayson is in Kent until Friday, teaching Rowan how to hunt,” Drake replied.
“The boy can’t even walk yet,” Gabriel exclaimed, choking on his drink. “Isn’t it a bit early for him to be shooting a gun?”
“Not if you’re being groomed as the next marquess,” Heath said with a mordant laugh. “Drake, I say we meet on Friday evening. Will you do the honors of making sure that Devon attends? I would invite Dominic but he and Adrian are too close. It isn’t fair to put him on the spot.”
“So I am included?” Gabriel asked, looking pleased.
Drake grinned at him. “It wouldn’t be a complete cabal without your jaded perspective, cousin.”
“A caution.” Heath held up one hand. “The women are not to be informed. As dearly as we love them, their interference must be avoided at all costs. We do not want emotion to cloud whatever we decide.”
Gabriel finished his sherry. “My lips are stitched shut.”
“Mine are shackled,” Drake said.
Heath nodded in satisfaction. “None of us can break, not even under the duress of—well, you know their wiles. The women of this family, and I include our sisters and wives, have an uncanny sense for these affairs. If they suspect that we are making a decision without consulting them, our lives will not be worth living.”
Gabriel looked at him in disbelief. “Are you trying to tell me that the pair of you, former spies who did not break under torture, are really afraid that your wives will somehow find out about our meeting?”
Heath stared at the map of Egypt mounted on the wall. “You have no idea, Gabriel, what power the women in this family wield.”
Grayson Boscastle’s wife, the former Lady Jane Welsham, sister-in-law to Emma, and present Marchioness of Sedgecroft, lowered her field glasses as the head Boscastle footman, Weed, trudged breathlessly up the grassy knoll of the Kent estate toward her.
Her son Rowan lay gurgling upon his blanket while his father and the family gamekeeper attempted to share their hunting knowledge with a child who could not even talk.
Jane vowed that if Grayson showed Rowan that crossbow one more time, she would confiscate it.
She felt a flutter of anxiety in her chest. Weed waved a folded missive at her, puffing with exertion from what was apparently a frantic dash from the house.
“Who is it from, Weed?” she asked quietly, imagining that some tragedy had befallen any number of elderly aunts and uncles, her beloved parents, her wastrel brother, her sisters—
“I do not know, madam,” he wheezed, holding his side. “I was told only it was a matter of the gravest importance and that it must reach you posthaste.”
One of the three female attendants sitting at her feet arose with a worried look at Jane. “Please inform my husband that young Orion is in need of his afternoon rest,” she said, her gaze dark.
As the attendant scurried down toward the wooded preserve, Jane carefully broke the letter’s seal and scanned the missive. It was from Julia, Heath’s wife, in London.
And it was an urgent request indeed, tersely worded.
Emma. Adrian Ruxley. I trust you are able to read what discretion forbids me to write. Heath is cognizant of the situation and intends to call a cabal to decide her fate. May I ask you to intervene on behalf of the female contingency?
In the name of true love,
Your sister-in-law and no stranger to scandal,
Julia
Jane whipped around so abruptly that Weed, smiling at the sight of the marquess and young master below, nearly lost his balance. In fact, he might have slipped down the knoll had Jane’s hand not shot out to grasp his sleeve.