Page 28 of Marry in Scandal
“Oh, I hope she’s a boy,” Emm said. “Aunt Agatha wouldn’t forgive her if she wasn’t, poor little thing.”
“She’s mad at us too,” George added. “We’re disrespectful of our elders and recalcitrant and—what were the other words she used, Rose?”
“Intractable, undisciplined and unmanageable,” Rose said with relish. “And we are, as far as she’s concerned. I don’t think that part was an act.”
“In my day gels had more respect for the wisdom of their elders...” George said in a surprisingly good imitation of the old lady.
Inspired by the old lady’s vehemence, they were determined to spread the news of Lily’s illness far and wide, and it took all Emm’s powers of persuasion to convince them not to mention Lily at all, unless anyone asked. They rode off, a little disappointed to have learned that discretion really was the better part of valor—at least this time around.
They looked stunning on horseback, one so fair and the other so dark and both such elegant horsewomen. How she wished they were a threesome, though.
Oh, Lily... It was impossible not to worry, even though Emm knew it did no good.
The barouche passed at a sedate trot. A drift of conversation reached Emm. “Ashendon? Oh,he’sin no danger of infection. He’s off seeing to some estate business in the country. Men areneverthere when you need them.”
The old lady was very convincing. Each time the barouche passed, Aunt Agatha’s passengers would turn their heads and direct reproachful looks at Emm. She sat on a bench, trying to look guilty but defiant, crushed, and at the same time foolhardy, stubborn and recalcitrant.
And keep a straight face.
She shouldn’t have found anything to laugh about with Lily still missing and the situation looking grimmer every hour she was gone, but the truth was it was a relief to haveanything to smile about, even if her amusement had to be hidden.
“Lady Ashendon, Lady Ashendon!”
Emm turned to see who was speaking, just as Sylvia rushed up to her. “I just heard that Lily has been stricken with the influenza! So she’s back, then? You found her? Oh, what a relief! I was so certain she’d eloped with my horrid cousin—what? What have I said?”
“Keep your voice down, Sylvia,” Emm snapped.
Sylvia looked bewildered. “But why? Lily didn’t elope after all, did she? Everyone is saying she’s been taken ill and that’s why nobody’s seen her in the last few days.”
“Yes, she’s ill, with the influenza,” Emm said in a firm, clear voice, hoping any ears pricked in their direction could hear. “I don’t know where you heard anything to the contrary, but—”
“People were saying that one of the Rutherford girls had eloped,” Sylvia explained. “Well, I knew it must be Lily because Lord Ashendon came to my home in the middle of the night searching for her—oops! Is that meant to be a secret?”
“No, but we don’t want to spread untruths, do we?” Emm, well aware of several members of the ton standing nearby, forced herself to sound calm and unworried. “Lily left the Mainwaring party without telling us because she was feeling ill. Of course Cal, being very protective of his sisters, became worried—he has a tendency to overreact. But as it turned out the poor girl was coming down with the influenza and was a little feverish and confused.”
“Oh, isthatwhat happened? I’m so sorry I got the wrong end of the stick! But don’t worry, I’ll let everyone know the truth. Give poor Lily my love and tell her I’ll visit as soon as the infection has passed.”
Sylvia hurried away, leaving Emm staring after her. She casually glanced around to see if anyone had been close enough to hear. Several elegant ladies glanced quickly away and moved closer together, murmuring quietly. One word drifted to Emm’s ears: Eloped?
Emm borrowed a word from Cal’s vocabulary. Damn!
• • •
Dusk was falling when the carriage entered a sleepy little village a few miles off the main road. Ned looked out the window. Walton had chosen well. It was neither so small a village that they would stand out and be memorable nor a large enough town to attract members of the ton who might recognize them.
They stopped outside an ancient inn, crooked with age, but otherwise as neat as a pin, with mullioned windows polished to gleaming, a well-swept courtyard and several half-casks filled with flowers on either side of the entrance. There were no fashionable traveling coaches in the street outside, no phaetons or curricles—only a rustic wagon or two and an ancient-looking dogcart. Perfect.
“Wake up, Lady Lily,” he said, raising her gently. He had no intention of letting her realize she’d slept sprawled across him, her head snuggled against his chest, her breasts pressed against him. Testing his self-control to the maximum.
She stirred and abruptly came awake with a jerk, flailing out with her fists. One of them caught him in the eye. “Ouch!” He caught the other fist in his hand. “Gently now. You’re safe.”
Her eyes flew open and for a moment she stared blankly at him. Then the tension drained abruptly from her. “Oh. It’s you. Sorry, I thought you were—”
“I know. But you’re safe now.” He released her hand and picked up the rug from the floor. He tucked it back around her, trying not to notice—unsuccessfully, even with a watering eye—exactly how thin and inadequate his shirt was on her.
Her gaze flew to his eye. “Oh, dear. Did I do that?”
“It’s nothing.”