Runaway Miss. Mary Nichols
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downstairs, Emma found her mother and Sir George waiting for her in the drawing room. Her mother, in a becoming gown of rose-pink taffeta, was looking unhappy, her face pale and eyes bright with unshed tears. Sir George, arrayed in a mulberry evening coat, an embroidered waistcoat, white silk breeches and silk stockings, was standing with his back to the hearth, his mouth set in a thin line of annoyance. There was a tension in the air, which immediately communicated itself to Emma.
‘About time too!’ Sir George said.
‘Goodness, child, whatever do you do up there to take so long to dress?’ her mother asked more mildly. She had once been upright and sprightly, but age and being cowed by her demanding second husband seemed to have diminished her.
‘I’m sorry, Mama, but I was talking to Rose. She wants to leave.’
‘Why? Whatever have you done to her?’
‘Nothing, Mama. She has to go and look after her brothers and sisters. Her mother is enceinte again.’
‘Well, there’s nothing to be done about it tonight,’ Sir George snapped. ‘You can send her packing in the morning.’
‘In the morning?’ Emma queried. ‘She is prepared to stay until the end of the week.’
‘No doubt she would like to, but it is my experience that servants under notice are worse than useless; they do no work, undermine the morale of the others and use every opportunity to steal…’
‘Rose is not like that,’ Emma protested. ‘She is honest and loyal.’
‘So you may think, but it is my rule that when a servant expresses a wish to leave, they are turned off immediately.’ He turned to his wife. ‘You will see she goes tomorrow. Now, the carriage is waiting. If we are not careful, we shall be the last to arrive and I particularly wanted to be there on time. There is someone I wish you to meet.’
‘Oh?’ Had he tired of waiting for her to accept an offer of marriage and found a husband for her? She waited to be enlightened.
‘Lord Bentwater.’
‘I do not think I know the gentleman.’
‘No, of course you do not or I would not be going to the trouble of introducing you.’
‘And what am I to make of this gentleman?’ She spoke coolly because she would not let him intimidate her as he intimidated her mother; if he expected her to fall into the arms of one of his disreputable friends, then he was going to be disappointed. She was not so desperate to marry that she would accept anyone in breeches. In fact, she was not desperate at all. Her mother’s miserable second marriage was enough to put anyone off.
‘You may make of him what you will, miss. What is more to the point is what he makes of you. Come, now, the horses will be growing restive.’ Followed meekly by his wife and an exasperated Emma, he set off down the hall, where the front door was opened by a liveried footman. A few short steps and he was at the carriage where he stood to one side as one of the grooms opened the door for the ladies to enter. Sir George seated himself opposite them and gave the order to proceed.
Although Almack’s was almost certainly the most exclusive club in London, it could hardly be called grand. Lit by gas, the ballroom was enormous, made to look even larger by the huge mirrors and a series of gilt columns. Other smaller rooms were used for supper and cards. The Patronesses who presided over the weekly balls during the Season made sure only the best people attended and that everyone behaved themselves. It was here young ladies were paraded before the eligible bachelors in the hope of finding a husband. Emma thought it unbearably boring and could not understand why her stepfather should suddenly take it into his head to attend. Except for that hint about someone he wanted her to meet. She was curious, but not hopeful.
As soon as they arrived Sir George disappeared in the direction of the card room and Emma and her mother wandered into the ballroom, where the sumptuous gowns of the ladies and the richness of the gentlemen’s coats formed a shifting rainbow of colour as they walked and gesticulated and preened themselves between dances. Spotting Lady Standon and her daughter, Harriet, they crossed the room to join them.
Harriet, a year younger than Emma, had recently become engaged to Frederick Graysmith, lawyer and Member of Parliament. He was likeable enough, but there seemed to be no fire in him. He would be safe but dull as a husband. Emma decided she wanted more than that. She wanted excitement and passion and a little something extra, though she could not define it. All she knew was that she would recognise it when it came. If it came. And if it did not, would she be able to settle for second best? She had a dreadful feeling that her stepfather was about to try to force a match on her and, if Lord Bentwater was anything like Sir George, she knew she would not like him.
‘Emma, I had no idea you would be coming tonight,’ Harriet said, her brown eyes bright with excitement. She was dressed in buttercup yellow, which contrasted well with her dark hair.
‘It was Sir George’s idea,’ she said. ‘He says there’s someone he wants me to meet and it must be important, for he insisted on buying me a new gown for the occasion.’ She looked round to see her mother deep in conversation with Lady Standon and lowered her voice. ‘We had such a rush to find something in the time available.’
‘It is very becoming,’ Harriet said, stepping back to appraise her friend. ‘You mean he is matchmaking?’
‘If he is, I cannot think what is behind it. I’m not sure I shall like it.’
‘Being married? Oh, surely you do not mean to be an old maid.’
‘It would be better than enduring an unhappy marriage, don’t you think? Once the deed is done, there’s no going back on it.’
‘I know that. But why should your marriage be unhappy? I set my heart on Freddie from the moment I met him and I know we shall deal well together.’
‘Then I wish you happy.’
‘Oh, I am sure I will be. The wedding is to be in June. I know it is very soon, but we have to be back from our wedding tour by the time Parliament reconvenes after the summer recess. You will be one of my attendants, won’t you?’
‘I shall be delighted, if Mama says I may.’
‘I would be even happier if I thought you were suited too. Do take advantage of the dancing. Almost every eligible in town is here. I am sure if you tried you could find someone.’
Emma laughed. That seemed to be all that mattered: the thrill of the chase, the announcement of the engagement and later the wedding with half the haut monde in attendance. But that was only one year—what about all the years afterwards, the children, the problems of motherhood, the steadily growing older? If the man you had married was the wrong one, it would be purgatory. ‘Oh, I am sure I could, but how would I know he was not after my fortune?’
‘Does that matter, if he is in every other way suitable?’
‘Tall, you mean.’ It was said with a laugh.
‘Yes, but more than that, surely? He must be amiable and considerate and have no bad vices, like womanising and gambling.’
‘How right you are, especially about the gambling. I could never marry a man who gambled, however suitable he might otherwise be.’ It was Sir George’s gambling that was the cause of most of her mother’s distress and that had entrenched in her a deep abhorrence of the vice, for vice it was. ‘But do you know of such a paragon?’
‘No, except Freddie, of course. But no doubt he has a friend…’
‘Don’t you dare!’
‘I was only trying to help.’
‘I know you were.’ Emma was contrite. ‘I did not mean to hurt your feelings, but I am not going to allow myself to be thrown to the wolves without a fight.’ She wasn’t thinking of Freddie’s friend so much as her stepfather. Just what was his game? He had never shown the slightest interest in her before, except