Robert had a poor way of showing it. Dallying with a married woman? Agreeing to marry Emily less than a day after Miss Haversham had had her accident? For he could not have taken longer and still reached Barnsley in time for graduation.
And what of the marriage settlements? His Grace had said they’d been working on the things for months. So had Lord Robert dallied with Lavinia Haversham knowing he was going to marry Emily instead? Any way she looked at it, Lord Robert was an unconscionable scoundrel.
Acantha apparently thought otherwise, as her gaze darkened. “I did not make it up! I have exquisite details from the gentleman himself.” She glanced at her mother, then rose, lowering her voice. “Take a turn about the room with me, and I shall tell you all.”
14
Crisp Cotton and Chamomile
Emily was quite glad Priscilla, Daphne, and Ariadne had scheduled fittings for their ball gowns the next day, for it gave the four of them an excuse to meet and discuss Acantha’s strange tale. Not to mention, it allowed Emily to escape the house again. She merely told Warburton that Priscilla had requested her company. She didn’t tell him Priscilla had requested her advice on the ball gown. Sadly, he would never have believed her.
Of course, Emily was not being fitted. Everyone thought she was still to be married. Even her father. She’d tried broaching the matter to His Grace the previous evening. He’d been home and in his study for all of a quarter of an hour before changing for dinner with the Home Secretary.
“I am hearing distressing rumors about Lord Robert,” she had tried when her father noticed her standing in the doorway and asked her what was wrong.
His smile was kind. “I imagine any young man of Lord Robert’s expectations engenders some amount of envious gossip.”
Emily moved closer to where he stood behind the massive, claw-foot desk. Parchment was neatly stacked here and there across the polished top, and he seemed to be taking a moment to study each piece before laying it back down again.
“I explained to him my desire to join the Royal Society this Season,” she told His Grace, “to exhibit my paintings. He did not seem encouraging.”
He frowned, but she could not tell whether it was from concern over what she’d said or concern over what was on the paper in his hand. He did not look up. “Lord Robert is under a great deal of pressure from his family. I imagine that’s what’s driving his desire to marry so quickly.”
Emily bent her head to try to peer up under his gaze. “Could you not persuade them to wait?”
He sighed and let the paper fall. “I would prefer not to, Emily Rose. These are trying times. We thought the threat to England vanquished, yet he manages to raise an army and rally France into a furor once more.”
He, Napoleon. She should have known it was not her marriage that had brought her father back so soon from Vienna. He had important duties, for the Crown, for England.
His Grace looked up and met her gaze, brown eyes solemn. “I want you safely settled, Emily. Your mother and I both wanted this match. I know she’d be very proud of you.”
Emily had nodded and left. Truly, what else could she do? It wasn’t as if she could appeal to her mother for help. The very idea just made her feel hot, angry, ready to throw something.
But that wouldn’t have helped matters either.
Now she stood at the back of Madam Levasard’s, watching as Priscilla and Daphne took turns on the raised platform so that the seamstresses could tuck and pin and stitch them into their gowns. The shop was light and airy, with bolts of fine fabric clustered along the walls, lace dripping from wooden wheels, and fine feathers waving from drying racks. Half-finished gowns hung here and there, tantalizing the imagination. The air smelled of crisp cotton and the chamomile tea that Madam was so fond of serving. Indeed, Priscilla’s mother and Daphne and Ariadne’s mother, Lady Rollings, were
And what of the marriage settlements? His Grace had said they’d been working on the things for months. So had Lord Robert dallied with Lavinia Haversham knowing he was going to marry Emily instead? Any way she looked at it, Lord Robert was an unconscionable scoundrel.
Acantha apparently thought otherwise, as her gaze darkened. “I did not make it up! I have exquisite details from the gentleman himself.” She glanced at her mother, then rose, lowering her voice. “Take a turn about the room with me, and I shall tell you all.”
14
Crisp Cotton and Chamomile
Emily was quite glad Priscilla, Daphne, and Ariadne had scheduled fittings for their ball gowns the next day, for it gave the four of them an excuse to meet and discuss Acantha’s strange tale. Not to mention, it allowed Emily to escape the house again. She merely told Warburton that Priscilla had requested her company. She didn’t tell him Priscilla had requested her advice on the ball gown. Sadly, he would never have believed her.
Of course, Emily was not being fitted. Everyone thought she was still to be married. Even her father. She’d tried broaching the matter to His Grace the previous evening. He’d been home and in his study for all of a quarter of an hour before changing for dinner with the Home Secretary.
“I am hearing distressing rumors about Lord Robert,” she had tried when her father noticed her standing in the doorway and asked her what was wrong.
His smile was kind. “I imagine any young man of Lord Robert’s expectations engenders some amount of envious gossip.”
Emily moved closer to where he stood behind the massive, claw-foot desk. Parchment was neatly stacked here and there across the polished top, and he seemed to be taking a moment to study each piece before laying it back down again.
“I explained to him my desire to join the Royal Society this Season,” she told His Grace, “to exhibit my paintings. He did not seem encouraging.”
He frowned, but she could not tell whether it was from concern over what she’d said or concern over what was on the paper in his hand. He did not look up. “Lord Robert is under a great deal of pressure from his family. I imagine that’s what’s driving his desire to marry so quickly.”
Emily bent her head to try to peer up under his gaze. “Could you not persuade them to wait?”
He sighed and let the paper fall. “I would prefer not to, Emily Rose. These are trying times. We thought the threat to England vanquished, yet he manages to raise an army and rally France into a furor once more.”
He, Napoleon. She should have known it was not her marriage that had brought her father back so soon from Vienna. He had important duties, for the Crown, for England.
His Grace looked up and met her gaze, brown eyes solemn. “I want you safely settled, Emily. Your mother and I both wanted this match. I know she’d be very proud of you.”
Emily had nodded and left. Truly, what else could she do? It wasn’t as if she could appeal to her mother for help. The very idea just made her feel hot, angry, ready to throw something.
But that wouldn’t have helped matters either.
Now she stood at the back of Madam Levasard’s, watching as Priscilla and Daphne took turns on the raised platform so that the seamstresses could tuck and pin and stitch them into their gowns. The shop was light and airy, with bolts of fine fabric clustered along the walls, lace dripping from wooden wheels, and fine feathers waving from drying racks. Half-finished gowns hung here and there, tantalizing the imagination. The air smelled of crisp cotton and the chamomile tea that Madam was so fond of serving. Indeed, Priscilla’s mother and Daphne and Ariadne’s mother, Lady Rollings, were
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