Page 40 of Lady Emily’s Matchmaking Mishap (Merry Spinsters, Charming Rogues #5)

Chapter Twenty

The engagement brought the country party at Ashbourne House to an abrupt end.

There was little reason for them to stay on, Lady Willowthorpe confided to Lady Blakely in no uncertain terms. What use was there in pursuing a quarry that was no longer part of the hunt? The grand prize had already been claimed, and it was time to move on to greener pastures. Therefore, Lord and Lady Willowthorpe and their three girls left early the next morning, followed soon after by Lady Blakely and her daughter.

Only Hamish and his sister remained, and Hamish said, as he stretched out his legs in his armchair in the morning room, “We’re in no hurry to return, as we’re living in the vicinity. We can pop home any time Wolferton decides to throw us out. Besides, I must confess I’m rather enjoying it now that everyone’s gone. Aside from Chippendale, of course.” He nodded at Chippendale, who was dozing in the armchair opposite him. It was midday, and they’d just finished nuncheon.

“The idea is to go to London to introduce Lady Poppy to the ton before the official Season begins,” Wolferton said, leaning against the fireplace.

Hamish nodded. “Very wise move. This way, you spare her the public spectacle, scrutiny and gossip of the spring Season, allowing for a more discreet introduction now.”

“You will, of course, be staying with us at Grosvenor Square,” Aunt Araminta told Emily. “Wolferton has his own bachelor abode at the Albany. Lady Lydia is coming with us too.” She nodded to Cissy.

Emily and Cissy exchanged glances. London!

In all their years, they’d made sure to stay away from the city and its bustle of social activity, its balls, theatres, operas, musicals, galleries and museums. It had been a strategic move on their part to avoid running into familiar faces who might have known them under an alias in Brussels or Bath.

“We shall have to attend some minor social events,” Lady Jane added, “dinner parties and perhaps even a small private ball, but nothing on the scale of the Season. Needless to say, we'll take you to the dressmaker, the milliner for new hats and the cordwainer for the finest shoes London has to offer. I’ve always said a proper duchess needs to have proper shoes to stand her ground. Of course, no ensemble is complete without gloves from the glove maker and perhaps a visit to the jeweller—although it may be time to bring out the Wolferton jewels. I am referring to your mother’s garnet set, Jasper,” Araminta said to Wolferton, who was sitting in an armchair, reading a newspaper.

“I will have my secretary fetch them from the bank vault,” Wolferton replied lazily, without lowering the paper.

Good heavens! It was all happening too fast. Emily’s fingers clenched in her lap as she tried to catch his eye, but he merely turned the page, seemingly oblivious to her efforts to communicate with him.

It was only later, when he got up to meet his secretary, that she hurried after him and caught up with him in the corridor, tugging at his sleeve.

“There was never any discussion of me getting new clothes and jewellery,” she hissed. “That wasn’t a part of the agreement.”

A faint crease appeared between his brows. “It was implied.”

She dropped her hands. “Implied? How so?”

“It’s part of playing the part.” He shrugged. “If you are to be truly my affianced bride, then that is what would happen next. A duke’s bride has to look the part. It is expected, so go along with it.”

Emily shook her head vehemently. “But spending all this money on a sham relationship is not the right thing to do at all. It is a waste and downright indecent.” Poverty had taught her all about the value of money and that it ought not to be spent lightly.

His sharp eyes studied her. “You misinterpret the situation and seem to forget that this isn’t about you at all.”

“Isn’t it?” She crossed her arms.

“No. This is about my aunts and their delight at finally having a Wolferton bride to play with. This includes dressing you up like a doll and parading you about town. Humour them. Be true to your agreement and play along to the best of your ability. Be glad it’s not during the Season. That is all I can say on the matter. I beg you to excuse me, for I have a pressing meeting with my secretary.” With a curt nod, he climbed the stairs to the upper floor, leaving Emily to stare after him.

So it came that within the next few days, the three aunts, Cissy, the Duke, and Emily arrived in London at the Duke’s townhouse in Grosvenor Square, and they were immediately whisked away into a whirlwind of activities that left Emily’s head spinning.

In a single afternoon they visited Miss Blacklin, the dressmaker in Bond Street, Carter’s for shoes in Jermyn Street, Jeffrey and Jones, a jeweller on the Strand, and Gunter’s Tea Shop in Berkeley Square for ices, even though the weather was blustery and cold. Emily couldn’t resist trying the pistachio and candied violet ice, which was a most unusual combination, though probably not as unusual as parmesan and pineapple, which Cissy had ordered.

“It’s sweet and salty at the same time.” Cissy licked her spoon with delight.

When they returned from shopping, Emily found a lovely bohemian crystal bowl on the dresser in her room.

Emily admired the dish, then lifted the lid to find it filled to the brim with candied violets. She slipped a petal into her mouth and sucked on it with delight.

“Candied violets! My favourite.”

“His Grace ordered this especially for you, my lady,” her abigail explained as she unpacked the boxes from her shopping trip. “The dish is to be kept filled at all times. And your room is to have fresh violets every day.” She paused, wrinkling her forehead. “The housekeeper is at a loss as to where to find fresh violets at this time of year.”

“What a romantic gesture,” Cissy exclaimed, catching the maid’s words. “To make sure you always have your favourite flowers and sweets! He is positively spoiling you. I wouldn’t have thought the Duke capable of the slightest romantic inclination.” Her tone was teasing.

The truth was, there was a part of Emily that was charmed by the Duke’s actions. Candied violets! Emily popped another into her mouth and twisted her eyes in delight. How did he know they were her favourite sweetmeat? And the other day, when he’d come to take her for a ride in his curricle in Hyde Park, he’d also brought a small bouquet of violets, which he’d handed to her with a flourishing bow.

It wasn’t so much the gesture that had touched her, but the smile on his face as he did so. Carefree, as if she were the centre of his world and he was truly happy to see her.

Almost as if he’d meant it.

Almost as if he’d been sincere.

Almost as if he was truly in love with her.

Of course, it had been a ruse, a gesture made only for the benefit of his aunts, for they had stood in the hall, watching.

Aware that she, too, was expected to play a part, she’d simpered and extended her hand to him to kiss.

He’d done so, then pulled her into the loop of his arm and planted a kiss on her cheek. It had been such an unexpectedly sweet gesture that she’d blinked at him in confusion. There it was again, that jolt of heat rushing through her veins, leaving her heart galloping like horses bolting with a carriage.

It left her breathless, confused, and vexed.

Then, the other day, he’d given her a most unusual gift: a roll of ribbons. He had done so in the presence of his aunts once again. Emily stared at the satin ribbon in her hands.

“Very well done, Jasper,” Jane said approvingly. “A girl can never have too many ribbons. In red, too. It suits your complexion.”

“It’s not red, Aunt Jane,” the Duke pointed out. “It has a most unusual name. What was it again? Something outlandish. Ah yes.” He snapped his fingers. “Coquelicot.”

Coquelicot ribbons.

In her entire life, she’d possessed only one strand of coquelicot ribbon. It had been the length of a lady’s arm, enough for a small bonnet and a bow. She’d worn it until it faded to a washed out pale pink and had to be thrown away. She hadn’t had a ribbon of that colour since.

Cissy had admired the ribbon. “How pretty. Almost makes me want to have a beau who gives me ribbons, too,” she added teasingly.

“Thank you,” Emily whispered to the Duke, who nodded.

He seemed to be in an excellent mood.

“It’s a beautiful day today,” he said as he held out his hand to help her into the carriage, followed by Cissy, who accompanied them as a chaperone. “Perfect for a visit to the Royal Menagerie.”

Emily’s face brightened. “I’ve always wanted to see the Menagerie.”

“I know,” the Duke replied, absent-mindedly.

Emily blinked at him with a puzzled frown as Cissy interrupted, chattering happily. “So have I! Can we visit Astley’s Amphitheatre one day?”

“Certainly. The equestrian displays there are particularly fine,” Wolferton agreed. “The horsemanship of the performers is excellent. There are even re-enactments of famous battles from the French wars.”

“I don’t know about the horses,” Emily interjected, “because I’m not too fond of them. But I would like to see the pantomimes and the acrobatics. And the fireworks at Vauxhall.”

“Unfortunately, Vauxhall Gardens is closed until May,” the Duke said. “You’ll have to wait until spring for me to take you there.”

“Then let’s go to the Opera House and hear some Rossini,” Cissy suggested eagerly.

“Kean as Richard III at Drury Lane,” said Emily.

“The mummies at the Egyptian Exhibition,” Cissy countered quickly.

“A lecture by Coleridge at the Royal Institution,” Emily shot back.

“Madame Tussaud’s waxworks!”

“Sir Thomas Lawrence’s portraits!”

“The Elgin Marbles!”

“Ascot!”

“Gentleman Jackson!” Emily retorted, as if watching Jackson in the boxing ring were a genteel pastime for ladies.

The girls looked at each other in silence for a second and then, as if on command, burst out laughing.

Wolferton leaned back, watching them, a gentle smile playing about his lips.

The carriage pulled up to the tower at the west entrance, and they dismounted.

The Duke paid the keeper a shilling for each of them to enter, and the man proceeded to explain in great detail what kind of animals were kept there and where they came from.

“I must say,” Emily muttered to him after the keeper had finished his long lecture. “I thought it would be exciting to see these exotic beasts, but I am feeling my spirits somewhat dampened upon seeing them caged up like this. It’s rather sad.”

There were lions, tigers, bears and leopards, panthers and a lone, scraggy wolf.

“I can’t help it,” Emily said to Wolferton, “but the wolf reminds me of you. I wonder why that is?”

“Surely my hair is better combed than his?” Wolferton touched the back of his head.

“No, it’s not the hair. It’s in his eyes.”

“You’re right!” Cissy said, squinting through the bars of the cage. “He even has the same expression.”

“What expression?” Wolferton narrowed his eyes at the animal.

“Yes, of disgruntled weariness,” Emily pointed a finger at his face. “Just like now. Like the entire world, all and sundry, is boring beyond words.”

“That’s what my expression says?” The Duke looked put out.

“No.” Cissy shook her head. “It’s more like, ‘Leave me alone, lest I bite you’.”

Emily spluttered.

A lion paced restlessly in the den beside the wolf’s.

“Poor thing,” Emily whispered. “Do you think he remembers the days when he was free, roaming the jungle?”

“Unlikely,” Wolferton said matter-of-factly. “The keeper just explained that most of the animals here were born in captivity.”

“Still. They must feel they were born to a very different kind of life.”

“Much like yourself,” he murmured.

Emily shot him a quick look. Before she could ask him what he meant, Cissy pinched Emily’s arm.

Emily stifled a cry of pain.

Cissy inhaled sharply. “Emily. We have to go. Now!”

Emily looked up, trying to find the source of Cissy’s sudden reaction. Too late, she saw a group of people standing nearby, and one particular gentleman, standing slightly apart, frozen as he stared at them openly. After a moment, he dissociated himself from the group and stepped up to them.

“Good heavens,” he exclaimed. “Lady Cecily Hepplewhite. Lady Honey?” His attention shifted to Emily. “And who is this you’re with?”

Unaccustomed to being addressed so brazenly by strangers, the Duke arched a haughty eyebrow, ready to cut him.

Emily gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

Cissy, however, paled.

It was Mr Edward Matthews.

The only gentleman Cissy had ever been in love with.