Page 7 of Lady Like
“July will be too hot,” Robert Tweed says.
He is seated on the opposite end of the sofa from Emily with three pillows between them, as many as Emily could place before her father gave her a look.
Tweed coughs, then reaches into his pocket for a handkerchief.
The loose skin around his neck wobbles. “My gout is always worst in summer. It must be May.”
“May is far too soon,” her father says. “There will hardly be time to have the banns read. And her mother will want to embroider the dress.”
Emily has been sitting quietly since Tweed arrived, as he and her father discuss the particular details of her engagement—if they will have a party, what sort of cake will be served, when they should see the lawyer about the contract that will render her father’s land and only daughter Tweed’s legal property—but hardly listening.
Soon, none of it will matter. She is thinking of London.
The noise, the heat, the smoke. And the men—the men!
Scads of eligible men who are not currently hacking up phlegm on the other side of the couch from her.
Eligible men who have no idea who she is.
“Emily,” her father says, and Emily looks up. “What say you to a June wedding?”
“Why should it matter to her?” Tweed wedges a fingernail between his front teeth, digging something free. “She is simply happy to be wed. She’d marry me tomorrow, wouldn’t you, lamb?”
Emily blinks. Attempts a smile. Thinks of mud dripping down his watercolor face and all the men in London who will be tripping over one another to ask her to dance.
“I’m afraid,” Emily says, “that I have a commitment this summer.” She turns to Tweed.
“My dearest cousin Violet has just had a baby, and I have agreed to travel to London with her and lend my assistance.”
“Emily,” her father says. “You’re not a maid.”
“Of course not,” Emily says. “I’ll be Violet’s companion.
It’s been arranged for months—didn’t Mother tell you?
Oh, but you know how forgetful she can be.
She may even have forgotten herself.” She affects an anxious tone.
“I gave Cousin Violet my word. It would be terribly inconvenient for her and Martin if I had to withdraw my offer now. They leave at the end of this week.”
Her father frowns. Emily prepares to fabricate further, but Tweed speaks first. “Do not trouble yourself.” He reaches across the settee and takes one of Emily’s hands.
His palm is damp, like a spot of earth beneath a stone that never sees the sun.
Her skin breaks out in gooseflesh. “There is no need to rush, now the engagement is set. We will be married in September, when you return from your sojourn in London.”
“That is very generous of you—” her father says, but Tweed interrupts.
“Mr. Sergeant, would you give me a moment alone with your daughter?” His eyes linger on Emily’s neckline as he says, “There are some things I would like to discuss with her.”
“Oh.” Her father’s eyes dart between them. Emily isn’t sure which of them her father trusts less—her or Mr. Tweed. “Is that…wise?”
“It will only take a moment,” Tweed says.
“I would prefer—” Emily says, but Tweed squeezes her hand so hard and so suddenly she almost yelps.
“Leave us,” Tweed commands, and Emily’s father skitters for the door.
As soon as they are alone, Tweed pushes the pillows between them onto the floor. “Come sit beside me.”
“I’m here,” Emily replies.
“Closer,” he says. “My eyes are not what they used to be. And I should like to see your face.”
Emily cannot think of a reason not to, other than the rising of the hair on the back of her neck.
She scoots closer, and he smiles. His teeth are flecked with spinach like the black keys on a pianoforte.
They must be false. No man of Tweed’s age still has all the teeth in his head, and each so white and straight.
“I have always found you beautiful,” Tweed says. “You are so slim and pale, like a child.”
Emily thinks of the soldiers on the fields of Waterloo, whose teeth were pulled from their heads after they died to make dentures for the ton. Each time she kisses him, she will be kissing a dead man’s mouth. Not just one, but many. A smile made of ghosts.
“I know how much you have to gain from this marriage,” he says.
“Financial security—for you and your parents, and proper management of their assets. A fine house and fine clothes and a staff of servants. And most importantly, since you do not have one of your own, you will have my reputation. But I am not a man who lends his name wantonly.”
He pauses, and Emily realizes she is meant to respond. “Of course.”
“So hear me when I say that should you do anything that brings shame upon me,” he says, his voice lowering, “I will do whatever necessary to see your actions have repercussions.”
“I would never,” Emily says, “endeavor to bring shame on myself or anyone.”
Tweed smiles icily. “Well, we both know that isn’t true.
” He runs his hand along her thigh, and she finds herself frozen, unable to push him off.
She has never before considered how large Robert Tweed is.
Advanced in age, yes, but still with broad shoulders that suggest an athletic youth hefting hunting rifles.
“A city like London can provide a myriad of temptations for a young woman alone,” Tweed continues. “So be mindful of your behavior there, young madam.”
“I will not be alone,” Emily says.
“Ah yes, this cousin. Though if she has kept company with you all these years, I assume she is no paragon of virtue herself.”
“I do not think—” Emily starts, but Tweed interrupts her.
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever been on a rabbit hunt, Miss Sergeant.”
“No, sir.”
He slides down the sofa, their legs pressed together.
His hand, still resting on her thigh, slides upward, closer to her hip.
Her muscles are so tense they throb—surely he feels it.
“Did you know,” Tweed says, “that a rabbit will scream when it is cornered? It’s a sound that can be heard for miles.
We used to have competitions among the boys—who could extend the noise the longest. Though I never won.
” He smiles. “I was never one to clip the leg and let it wail. Better to have it done in one clean shot.” He pantomimes holding up a pistol and raising it to take aim, but then, rather than fire at an imagined target at the distance, he turns and points the phantom barrel at Emily.
“Do not forget, my dear,” he says, and squeezes her thigh. “Rabbits always scream when they are cornered.”