Runaway Miss. Mary Nichols
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I will rise to it. Tell me I must do something and I will refuse, tell me I cannot and I will most decidedly attempt it.’
‘Then I pity any husband of yours and perhaps I shan’t ask Freddie to introduce you to his friend after all. He would not thank me.’ She paused and nodded towards a young man making his way towards them. ‘Here comes Freddie, so I’ll leave you to enjoy yourself.’
Emma danced with several young gentlemen, none of whom set her heart racing, but she was honest enough to admit she did nothing to encourage them and they must have found her extremely dull. It was not like her to be so ungracious, but she could not concentrate on her partners when her mind was filled with the prospect of meeting Lord Bentwater. Who was he? What was he like? What was to be done if she took him in aversion? Perhaps, after all, he would be young and attractive and she was worrying for nothing. Or perhaps he would not turn up.
Her latest partner took her back to where her mother sat, bowed to them both and disappeared. ‘Who was that?’ her mother asked. ‘It was not Lord Bentwater, was it?’
Emma turned towards her in surprise. ‘Have you not met him?’
‘No.’
‘Then what is your husband about? Surely he has confided in you?’
‘He wishes to see you settled. As I do, dearest.’ It was said quietly, but Emma knew that her mother was not at all happy about it.
‘Am I to have no say in the matter at all?’
‘Oh, Emma, please do not be difficult. George tells me the gentleman is in every way suitable…’
‘Do you know, Mama, I cannot help wondering what Sir George is expecting to gain by it.’
If her mother intended to enlighten her, she did not do so because Harriet returned on Freddie’s arm and after he had bowed and left them, they sat chatting about the young men who were present, none of whom matched up to Freddie in Harriet’s eyes. As for Emma, she could not take any of them seriously. They were either dressed in the exaggerated fashion of the tulip, too young, too short or too old. Was Lord Bentwater among them and, if so, which was he?
‘Harriet, do you know who that man is, talking to my stepfather?’
‘I believe his name is Mr Jeremy Maddox. Don’t tell me he has taken your fancy.’
‘Goodness, Harriet, you do not think I have developed a tendre for someone I have only seen at a distance, do you? And he’s a dandy if ever I saw one. I was curious, that’s all. I thought he might be Lord Bentwater.’
Harriet laughed. ‘Good heavens, no! Why did you think it was him?’
‘I didn’t, particularly. My stepfather is set upon introducing me to Lord Bentwater and I am expected to be amiable. I am curious to know what he looks like…’
‘Bentwater! Oh, Emma, he does not expect you to marry that old roué, does he? He is fifty if he is a day and has gone through three wives already and not one has managed to produce an heir. I hear he is desperate. You cannot possibly consider him.’
‘Then I shan’t.’ She spoke firmly, but they both knew it would not be as easy as that. Perhaps Harriet had been exaggerating or perhaps there was more than one Lord Bentwater.
She realised her friend had not been exaggerating when her stepfather tapped her on the shoulder a little later in the evening. ‘Emma, may I present Lord Bentwater. Bentwater, my stepdaughter, Lady Emma Lindsay.’
‘My lady, your obedient.’ He made a flourishing leg, bowing low over it, giving her time to appraise him. He was taller than she was by an inch, but that was all she could find in his favour. He was thin as a lathe, with sharp features and black brows. His coat and breeches were of black silk, his black waistcoat was embroidered with silver; his calves, in white silk stockings, were plumped out with padding. Emma was reminded of a predatory spider and shivered with a terrible apprehension. Surely her stepfather did not expect her to marry this man?
He was looking her up and down, taking in every detail of her face and figure, and she longed to tell him she was not a brood mare being trotted out for his inspection, but knew that would be unpardonably rude; for her mother’s sake, she resisted the impulse and met his gaze unflinchingly. She curtsied. ‘My lord.’
He offered his hand. ‘Shall we dance, my lady?’
She accompanied him on to the floor where they joined an eightsome. The steps were intricate and they were never close enough to permit a conversation, but she was aware as she moved up and down, across and sideways, that he was looking at her all the time, even when he was executing steps with another of the ladies. How uncomfortable he made her feel! At the end of the dance, she curtsied and he bowed and offered his arm to promenade.
‘My lady, you must learn to unbend,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You are as stiff as a corpse and I would not like to think you are unhappy in my company.’
‘My lord, I am neither happy nor unhappy and as the dance has ended, you do not have to endure my company any longer.’
‘There, my dear, you are wrong. It is my earnest wish that we shall be often in each other’s company in future. Every day. Has your papa not told you of my intent?’
‘My father, my lord, is dead. And if you refer to my mother’s husband, then, no, he has not.’
‘No doubt he left it for me to do so after we had spoken together.’ When she did not reply, he went on with an oily smile. ‘You are a haughty one, to be sure, but that can be made a virtue, so long as your haughtiness is aimed at those beneath you and not your husband…’
‘My lord, I have no husband.’
‘Not yet. But the deficiency may soon be rectified. The details have yet to be settled with Sir George, but I think you understand me.’
‘You are offering for me?’
‘Yes. The offer has been made and accepted.’
‘Not by me, it has not.’
‘That is by the by. First things first. I have received the proper permission from your guardian to approach you and I shall call on you tomorrow when we will tie the thing up nice and tight.’
She stopped and turned to face him, drawing herself up and taking a deep breath. ‘Lord Bentwater, I am aware of the honour you do me, but I must decline. We should not suit.’
He threw back his head and laughed so that one or two people close by stopped their chattering to turn towards them. ‘You suit me very well and it suits Sir George to give you to me…’
‘Give me?’ She was shaking with nerves and seething with anger. How could he assume she would meekly give in? He was a dreadful man. He was older than her stepfather, he had small currant eyes and bad teeth, and his manner was arrogant and self-satisfied. The very idea of being married to him repelled her. ‘Why does it suit Sir George?’
He drew his lips back over his yellow teeth in a mockery of a smile. ‘Let us say that he has his reasons for wishing to accommodate me.’
Emma realised he had a hold over Sir George and she guessed it was something to do with money. She was being sold! ‘My mother will never sanction such a thing.’
‘Lady Tasker will obey her husband as every good wife does. Now, my dear…’ Again that awful smile. ‘Let us not quarrel. I shall not be a bad husband, not if you please me…’
‘But you do not please me, Lord Bentwater. I bid you good evening.’ She broke away from him and went to sit beside her mother. ‘Mama, you wanted to know which of the gentlemen was Lord Bentwater and now I can point him out. He is that black spider over there, laughing with Sir George, no doubt over me. He tells me he has bought me—’
‘Bought you, child?’
‘Yes, bought me. I do not know what he has given, or promised to give, your