3

A horrified gasp from the doorway had them both turning their heads. It was the mousey companion from yesterday, Jeremy realized. What was her name? Munsen? Pinkerton? Whatever it was she had lousy timing.

“Pinky!” Emmeline blurted, starting up out of her chair. “It’s not… That is, Viscount Faris arrived early for our walk and—” She turned an agonized look upon him.

Jeremy came to his feet, wondering why she felt the need to bleat excuses to her paid companion. It was not as though she had walked in on them in flagrante delicto . “Good morning, Miss Pinkerton,” he started politely, sketching her a bow.

“It’s Pinson,” Emmeline corrected him swiftly.

“My apologies, Miss Pinson . I came by a little early, encouraged by the blue skies. I hoped to persuade Miss Ballentine to partake of the morning sunshine before the showers.”

“I see,” murmured Miss Pinson, two spots of bright pink in her cheeks. That is not the only thing you thought to persuade her of , that outraged maiden’s gaze seemed to convey. She was not as old as he had originally thought, closer in years to forty than fifty. “And your little boy?” she asked, lifting her chin. Her expression showed she no longer remotely believed in the child’s existence.

“Alas, not feeling up to the exertion this morning,” he lied smoothly.

“I see,” she repeated tightly. Her gaze darted to Emmeline, and she took a deep breath. “I think we must—”

“Miss Ballentine has agreed to accompany me to Royal Victoria Park, but I will return her to you in time for luncheon, never fear.” Miss Pinson looked alarmed but could not seem to summon a response to this. He turned to Emmeline and proffered his arm. “Shall we?”

Swallowing, she took his arm and they made for the door together. Miss Pinson fled into the hallway before them. “Your hat and coat, Emmie,” she squeaked. “You cannot possibly—”

Seeing the curious maidservant’s approach, Jeremy turned to her. “Ah, this most obliging young woman will fetch them for us, I am sure.” He certainly was not about to let Miss Pinson snatch Emmeline out of his clutches.

“Yes, milord.” Clearly remembering his generous tip from yesterday, the maid instantly hastened to climb the stairs in search of them.

“Oh dear, she will not know which gloves to bring,” Miss Pinson fretted. “Please excuse me,” she said, hurrying up after her.

“Poor Pinky,” Emmeline muttered. “We have given her the most horrendous shock.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to mention the time a companion of hers had walked in on something far more shocking between them, but it was too soon. Besides, this was not the same companion. That one had borne a more worldly air.

“She will recover presently, I have no doubt,” he assured her. Emmeline was looking pale and the hand which still rested on his arm had a decided tremor running through it.

“It’s not too cold out,” he assured her, despite knowing that was not the reason she was shivering. He should take her for some refreshment. Sweet tea was meant to be good for shock as well as fortifying the spirits, though she would derive more benefit from a splash of brandy. No doubt she would cavil at hard liquor at this time in the morning.

Jeremy doubted very much that she carried smelling salts upon her person. Emmeline was a healthy, well-built woman and not at all the type for swooning. If she had been, she would not have lasted her season. Not with the way he had been after her.

He would take her to Hutton’s, he decided, in spite of her shabby dress. He didn’t care if people did stare, he would enjoy squiring her about, even if she wasn’t presented to her best advantage. He eyed the faded velvet of her gown. It did not detract from her charms one bit. How could it, with that magnificent figure?

He was profoundly glad her reduced means had not wasted away her pleasing person. Emmeline had been plump and pretty at eighteen and she was still delightfully full-figured at twenty-eight, maybe even a little more so. The turn of her cheek remained rounded and dimpled. He still wanted to corner her and kiss those cherry ripe lips, though they looked a little bloodless at present.

As though becoming aware of his scrutiny, Emmeline stirred and self-consciously withdrew her hand from his arm. He could not hold back his own murmur of discontent, which seemed to startle her, for her gaze fell away from his and she took a step back. Thankfully the maid was coming back down the stairs bearing a cape and a wide-brimmed poke bonnet about five years out of style.

“Thank you, Florrie,” Emmeline said, making haste to don them with the maid’s assiduous help. From the surprised look on Emmeline’s face, Jeremy deduced Florrie was not usually so attentive.

“Miss Pinson said you’d want your tan gloves on a day like this,” Florrie pronounced loudly, handing them over. Jeremy handsomely tipped her as Emmeline drew on her gloves and he whisked her out of the front door without more ado, ushering her in the direction of his carriage.

Colfax sat up with a surprised look and hurriedly discarded the cigarette he was smoking.

“St. John Street,” Jeremy called, opening the door for Emmeline himself and helping her in.

“I thought we were going for a walk in the park,” she remarked as soon as she settled onto the seat.

“Change of plan.”

“Oh.”

“Your companion does not trust me at all,” he remarked, shutting the door fast behind them.

“No,” she agreed absently, “I’m afraid that’s my fault.”

The coach wheels turned, and Jeremy regarded her with some surprise. “And why is that?” When she did not speak, he asked slyly, “Have you been reminiscing, Emmeline?”

Emmeline’s cheeks turned pink, and she would not meet his eye. “C-certainly not!” she said breathlessly. “It is merely because, well, because we are both avid novel readers, I’m afraid.”

He waited but she did not elaborate, instead turning her head to stare fixedly out of the window, her expression stony.

“Your latest novel features a wicked viscount?” he hazarded, taking the chance to appreciate her profile. She had a perfect retroussé nose, he reflected. He would like to own a cameo depicting it.

She turned even pinker. “Something like that,” she admitted uneasily, making him laugh.

“Count Stefano,” he guessed softly, and Emmeline’s hands flew to cover her cheeks.

Her astonished face whipped around. “How on earth did you—?”

“Lucky guess.” She looked so dismayed he had a terrible impulse to tease her and really that was the last thing he ought to be indulging in right now. He needed to ruthlessly press his advantage, not sit here dallying with her like some infatuated swain. “What is the title? I will make sure to pick up a copy.” Shut up, Jeremy. He couldn’t seem to help himself.

Emmeline shook her head, then met his eyes full on. He held his breath. “If we really do this thing…get married I mean, you will let me keep Pinky, I mean, Hannah Pinson, won’t you?” she asked hoarsely.

He was startled. “Your companion?”

“Yes.”

He paused. “You wish to retain her services after we are married?”

She nodded. “Yes, you see, she is not just—” She made a vague hand gesture, then started again. “She is my very best friend in all the world,” she said gravely. “I cannot imagine being without her.”

Jeremy felt an unpleasant sensation that he had to examine a moment to even identify. Jealousy. How strange . It was not an affliction he had ever suffered from before, and Amanda had taken several lovers in the collapsing days of their marriage. He was jealous of a dowdy spinster companion. “She must have been in your employ for some years.”

“Yes, for she was my governess before she was my companion. She has been in my life since I was five years old. By this point she is more like family.”

He frowned. “She was not your companion during your season though.”

“No,” she agreed uncomfortably. Any mention of her season seemed to discompose her. “My father did not think her sufficiently smart for a London season. He dismissed poor Hannah, and I came out under the aegis of Mrs. Barbara Laverdale. She was the widow of a captain of the dragoon guards. I expect she is the one you remember.” She swallowed, still avoiding his gaze.

Why? he wondered. In truth, he could hardly remember the Laverdale woman. She had obviously been remiss in her duties, for Emmeline had been far from well-guarded. If she had, he would not have been able to impose on her as he had.

“Poor Hannah suffered a twelvemonth in the employ of a family in Yorkshire who had four rambunctious children and three boisterous dogs,” she continued after an uncomfortable pause.

Jeremy considered his options. He did not want Miss Pinson guarding Emmeline against him at every turn, an inconvenience in his own home. She seemed a tiresome, fussy little woman who would fling herself in front of her charge whenever she felt it her duty to shield her from life.

However, by denying Emmeline’s first request, he felt it would set an unfortunate tone to their new arrangement. He knew only too well how such a decision could sour things. “Perhaps Miss Pinson could use her governess skills to help out with Teddy,” he conceded graciously at last.

“Teddy?”

“My son.”

“Oh!” She winced. “She is rather terrified of boys, in truth.”

By great restraint, he managed not to roll his eyes. “It probably won’t be for long. He will have to go to school at some point,” he said vaguely.

She bit her lip, likely not reassured with this, but it was as much as he was willing to give. “And where is that you principally reside these days?” She clutched her hands together. “London?” she asked almost fearfully.

“Cornwall,” he corrected her. “Have you ever visited? My family estate is there.”

“Oh!” She brightened a little. “No, I have never been. I have heard that coastline is very beautiful.”

“I am prejudiced but yes, I believe so.” The carriage was slowing down now, and Jeremy waited only for it to stop before climbing out and turning to help her down. It was not his custom to hover over ladies but he felt strangely proprietary and wanted to do all the handing in and out when it came to Emmeline.

“Hutton’s?” she said, seeing he was towing her in the direction of that fashionable tea shop. “It looks very busy this morning,” she said with some misgiving. “Why do we not go instead to that little place opposite?”

“Why, Emmeline,” he said, “are you afeared you might see someone you know?”

“Hardly! My purse does not extend to such an establishment,” she hissed. “But you may likely bump into some acquaintance, and they will wonder that you are accompanied by—by an unaccompanied female!”

“Affianced couples can usually dispense with a chaperone on such an innocent occasion,” he answered lightly.

“But we are not formally—” She bit off her words when the bell jingled as he opened the door for her. She pressed her lips together and entered before him.

“Table for two,” Jeremy instructed the hovering waiter. “In the window, I think.”

“Alas, sir, there are none currently available,” the waiter replied, his eyes passing over Emmeline’s faded bonnet.

“That couple over there in the window seem as though they are about to leave,” Jeremy replied without looking once in that direction.

The waiter gave him a swift appraisal and seemed to revise his opinion. “Of course, milord. Right away.”

“I can’t see anyone on the point of leaving,” Emmeline murmured as the waiter hurried away. “There is a little table over in that far corner that looks to be free,” she said, pointing it out.

“We do not hide away in corners, Emmeline,” he said grandly. “We are the Vances of Vance Park.”

“Vance Park?” She looked blank.

“My country seat in Cornwall.”

She gave a quick glance about them. “We should not really speak of this as though it is all settled, you know,” she said, suddenly earnest. “For it is not. Not by a long chalk.” He liked the way she lowered her voice and leaned toward him, he realized, disregarding her obstinate words. It reminded him of the old days when she had been eager for his attention.

Whatever tiresome society function he had turned up to, a bored latecomer, he knew she would be there, scanning the room for him, her aspect brightening at the mere sight of him. She had not been able to hide it. Toward the end, he had scarcely bothered to even greet his hosts or get a drink before seeking her out.

How reckless he had been. Reckless with her reputation and reckless with his heart. It had not been until Italy, on his honeymoon, that he had realized the depth of his own feeling. What a fool he had been. Blind as well as reckless.

“Ah, here we are,” he said out loud, seeing the waiter was making for them. This time he was wreathed in obliging smiles. They followed in his wake and were directed to a prime spot in front of the window. Jeremy attended to the removal of her cloak himself. He passed it to the waiter, and saw she was comfortably seated before taking the chair opposite her. “Will you take tea or coffee?” he asked.

“Tea, please.”

“Tea for the lady, coffee for me, and a selection of your finest cakes.” He turned back to Emmeline. “Have you breakfasted?” he asked quietly. “Shall I order sandwiches?”

“I have eaten,” she said quickly, and the waiter disappeared with their order. Emmeline fidgeted with the buttons on her gloves before leaning forward over the table. “In truth, my lord,” she said in hushed tones, “you cannot offer for me until you know the full amount of debt the company has incurred—”

“I have already offered for you,” he corrected her. “And moreover, you have as good as said yes.”

“Still,” she persisted grimly, “the sensible course of action would be to wait until we have a clear picture of the sum involved.”

He shook his head. “I am rarely sensible. Besides, it won’t matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“Whatever the sum involved, I will pay it.” Seeing her astonished expression, he added, “I warn you, if you try to pull out now, I will sue you for breach of promise.”

“I wish you would be serious.”

“In any case, I doubt very much the banks have allowed your previous fiancé to run up anything too steep. If it had been your father negotiating the loans, then yes, considerable funds might have been involved, but this fellow…” He gave a contemptuous shrug.

Emmeline seemed surprised he knew of her father’s reputation as a formidable man of business. “But if they have?” she persisted doggedly.

“If they have, I’m sure I can still bear the expense. By the way, did you determine which hotel your erstwhile suitor was staying at in Bath?”

She blinked at the rapid change in subject. “Oh. No.” Her face fell. “I should have, shouldn’t I? I was not thinking straight.”

“It is of no matter. You will have to give me his direction in London though. And that of the offices of your late father’s business.” He retrieved his calling card case from his pocket, extracted a card, and passed it to her along with his pencil in its engraved silver holder. “Will you write it on the back of this card, along with Humphrey’s full name?”

Emmeline paled at this more businesslike approach. “Yes,” she agreed in stifled tones and bent over the card. “There are at least seven employees I’m afraid. They will all need some sort of recompense for the loss of their living.”

He nodded. “I can see to that.” Once she had written a few lines, she handed it back to him along with his pencil. He glanced it over. Stockton . So that was the bastard’s name.

“Mr. Thomas Hardiman is the oldest and most trusted of my father’s clerks. He wrote to me last month and tried to warn me…” She trailed off guiltily. “Poor Mr. Hardiman.”

“Poor Hannah, poor Mr. Hardiman,” he mocked softly as he tucked the card away for safekeeping. “What about my poor Emmeline?”

She drew in a sharp breath. “I’ll be fine!” she said bravely. “At least, I will now you have stepped into the fray.” She struggled a little over the last sentence.

“Will you though?” he asked softly. “Is it not a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire?” He did not really want the role of savior. Count Stefano was much more in his line.

“You would be a better judge of that than I,” she responded hotly, and Jeremy could not hold back his laughter. She looked so much better with a little color in her cheeks.

“We will do very well together, Ballentine, I have no doubt.”

Their drinks and cakes arrived at this point, so the conversation ceased while their fare was laid out before them.

“What a treat,” Emmeline said in dazed accents as her eyes traveled over the array of cakes. “Hannah would love this. Cream horns are her favorite.”

“Teddy likes the Genoese fancies. Maybe we should take some back for them?”

Her eyes lit up at his suggestion. “Oh yes, we could take back what we do not eat,” she suggested frugally.

He frowned. “I can easily buy more. What are your favorites?”

“Whatever’s cheapest,” she responded, then flushed. “I have a great eye for a bargain.”

She would have no need of this skill once they were wed, he thought, but did not voice. “What about when you lived in London?” he asked, thinking this must have been before she had monetary woes. “What sort of cake did your father used to buy you for a treat?”

“My father? He always thought I needed to reduce my waistline and as such discouraged my eating cake at all.” Jeremy swiftly revised his impression of Ballentine’s father, from doting papa to that of monstrous tyrant. “Do you often buy such treats for your little boy?” she asked with a flicker of interest.

“All the time,” he admitted. “Why not?”

“You are a fond parent?” She looked encouraged by this notion.

He inclined his head. “I am. I hope you will be too, Emmeline.”

A small pucker appeared between her brows as she lifted the teapot. “Do you think Edward will be well-disposed toward a stepmother?” she asked hopefully, though he had not only been thinking of Teddy when he said it.

“Certainly, he has intimated as much. He thinks a year is too long for me to languish without a wife.”

This made her pause, but all she asked was “Will you not choose a cake?”

“You choose first.”

After some deliberation she took a madeira tartlet. “Thank you.” She took a dainty bite.

“I will head to London this afternoon to set the wheels in motion,” he decided, helping himself to an almond slice.

“You will? And by that, you mean…?”

“The usual things.” He shrugged. “Put an announcement in the Times , procure a special license…”

“Visit Ballentine’s Trading Company?” she suggested, setting her cake down on its plate.

He nodded, lifting his cup to his lips and taking a sip. That was the most pressing matter after all. “We could pick out a ring after this,” he suggested. “There’s a decent jeweler close by in Abbey Lane.”

Emmeline glanced down at her still-gloved hand. “I quite forgot to give Humphrey back his ring,” she said in a stricken voice.

“I can return it for you.”

Setting down her teacup, she drew off her glove at once and slid an inconspicuous ring from her third finger. It pleased him that she did not look at it, just handed it over to him wordlessly before picking up her drink again.

Jeremy gave it a quick glance before pocketing it. It was an unprepossessing affair, an opal surrounded by a ring of garnets. Under such circumstances it was unlikely that Humphrey Stockton would expect its return, not after she had fruitlessly worn it for a decade. Still, he did not want her to keep it for a keepsake, so let the fool have it back and be done with it.

They partook of their refreshment a moment in silence. “I have heard opals are unlucky,” he mused aloud. “Are you, Emmeline, a proponent of the language of gemstones?”

She shook her head. “I know nothing about it, unless you mean those acrostic rings that spell out secret messages.”

“Secret messages?”

“You know, like ‘regard’ or ‘dearest.’ Each stone spells out a letter. So ‘dear’ would be a band set with a diamond, an emerald, an amethyst, and a ruby.”

Privately Jeremy thought such a clash of colored stones would look extremely ugly, but he nodded politely. “You would like something like that?”

“Oh no, I did not mean—”

“What secret message could we share?” he pondered.

“I rather dread to think,” Emmeline answered, making him laugh.

“How about Stefano?” he suggested, making her blush. “Sapphire, topaz, emerald—” he began, ticking off his fingers.

“I wish you would not joke so,” Emmeline said in a choked voice. “It—it makes me nervous and quite on edge.”

This gave him pause. “How so?”

She bit her lip. “It makes me fear that once again, this is all just a grand jest to you,” she said in a low, trembling voice, “and that I am once more the butt of the joke. That you, my lord, are not remotely in earnest.”

“Once again?” he queried, and Emmeline’s color drained as she set her cup and saucer carefully down.

“I’m terribly sorry, my lord, but I think I made a mistake coming here with you,” she started, pushing back her chair.

He reached across to grip her hand in his. “Emmeline. Don’t,” he said. “Don’t bolt. What can I say to convince you that I am completely in earnest?” Her hand trembled in his and she was breathing fast. Suddenly he wished he had not brought her to a respectable place like Hutton’s. He wished he could drag her into his lap and persuade her with a kiss or two.

“Have I not spoken of practicalities? Of the settlement of debts?” he coaxed reasonably. “Would it be more convincing if I spoke to you of personal attraction? I could, you know. I could easily speak of such things if it would carry more weight with you.”

“No,” she said quickly, tugging at her hand. Grudgingly, he allowed her to extricate herself. “I do not wish to hear anything of that kind, thank you,” she said firmly. “That kind of thing does not hold any water with me anymore. It is not real.”

Jeremy frowned. There were depths of feeling here that he had not fathomed. He wanted to argue the point with her but did not quite dare. She was poised for flight even now, he realized. “Very well, we will not speak of it, then,” he said lightly. “Instead, we will stick to plain statement of fact.” He leaned forward in his seat. “I mean to marry you, Ballentine,” he said slowly and decisively, “to settle your debts and make you my viscountess. Make no mistake about that. I do not speak remotely in jest.”

She stared at him a moment, then swallowed, inclining her head. “Because you want a quiet, convenient match,after your contentious divorce. I understand that part,” she reasoned, “but you see, marrying me will not make your reentry into society any easier. I have no social standing, no dowry, and by the time my season was over—”

“I had practically ruined you,” he cut in smoothly.

Emmeline gasped and shrank back into her seat. Clearly, this plain speaking was too much for her. “My lord!” she protested feebly, glancing about her in embarrassment.

“Well, which way do you want it, Emmeline? Sugar-coated or not?” he asked softly.

She hesitated, then took a deep breath. “Well…let us have plain-speaking for just this moment and then have nothing but politeness between the two of us forever after,” she blurted.

Jeremy felt the laughter bubbling up inside him but knew it would be a mistake to let it out. God, he had forgotten how much he liked talking with her. It was so strange how she still had the ability to make him feel like the world was a better place simply by being in her presence.

“Very well, let me make myself plain,” he said slowly, while his brain scrambled for whatever the hell it would take to convince her. He remembered her nervous question about London. “You will be precisely the kind of wife I require because you have no great love of London,” he started, “and possess little desire to make a splash in high society.

“My first marriage was not a success,” he continued grimly. “Neither of us were happy and certainly neither of us behaved well. In truth, my old and venerated family name has been dragged through the proverbial mud and I now mean to clean it up. I want a wife who will be happy to spend most of her time in Cornwall, mending relations with my neighbors and tenants, and strengthening our ties with the local community.

“I want the sort of wife who joins committees and espouses charities,” he lied. In reality, Jeremy could not care less about such things, but he knew lots of respectable ladies liked to dabble in worthy causes. Likely, after being powerless and without influence for so long, Emmeline would enjoy throwing her weight around in such a fashion .

I want another child , trembled on his lips but bearing his seed might not appeal to her currently, so he quashed that thought. “I want someone who will embark on several projects around the estate,” he improvised. “I want domesticity ,” he concluded at last. “In short, I’ve had a wife who was the toast of London, and I loathed her. My second wife will need to be quite a different kettle of fish.”

What a complete and utter load of old horseshit , he thought wryly. Still, his words had done their job, and the fear was fading fast from Emmeline’s eyes. Thank God .

Wordlessly, she pointed a finger to her chest. “Me,” she mouthed soundlessly. He nodded. “You think I could be all those things?”

“All those things and more.” Emmeline gulped, then picked up her teacup and took a fortifying swig. “Do you think you could uphold your end of such a bargain?” he asked lightly. If not, he would have to think up some other bunch of conditions that she would find acceptable. Anything, he suddenly realized, to convince her, he could swallow. Except for lovers. He would never permit that. Not for Emmeline.

“Very well,” she said bravely, lifting her chin. “I will do it.”

He breathed out, finally allowing a smile to curl his lips. “Good,” he said.

“Lord Faris!” a surprised voice interrupted them. “I heard you were in town but could hardly credit it, as I know your scathing opinion of Bath.” The speaker gave a jovial laugh and shot a curious glance at Emmeline before dismissing her as beneath his notice. “As a matter of fact, I’m glad I ran into you, old chap, I wanted to ask your opinion on the favorite for the next race meet.”

Jeremy stood up. “How are you, Henry?” he asked, not really caring about the answer. “Miss Ballentine, allow me to introduce you to an old acquaintance of mine, Lord Fulsham.” Henry looked surprised by the introduction and turned and bowed. Emmeline came to her feet and bobbed a curtsey, her face a polite blank.

“Actually…” Jeremy tipped his head to one side. “Now that I come to think on it, you two have probably already met.”

Emmeline gave a brittle smile and Henry’s eyebrows shot up into his top hat. “Good lord, really? When would this have been?” he asked, shooting a puzzled look at Emmeline.

“Oh, it was a long time ago now,” she replied readily. “You will not remember, Lord Fulsham, and I am sure I do not blame you.”

“It would have been during the London season, ten years ago,” Jeremy volunteered.

“Is that so?”

“As a matter of fact, you can offer us your felicitations, Henry. Miss Ballentine has just agreed to marry me.”

“Good grief! The devil you say!” Henry forgot all about horse racing tips. Congratulations were proffered and accepted. “Good lord, m’sisters will be excited to hear this news,” Fulsham proffered, moving hurriedly off with a decided gleam in his eye.

“Why on earth did you have to tell him?” Emmeline hissed across the table once he was out of earshot. The door jangled as he left the shop.

“Oh, is it a secret engagement?” Jeremy asked innocently. “I did not realize.”

Emmeline glanced out of the window and paled. “He has just met up with a large group of fashionable-looking people,” she muttered, “and they are all staring in at us!”

“Dear me, how ill-bred,” Jeremy tutted, taking a sip of coffee. “Yes, now I come to think of it, old Fulsham is a bit of a gossip,” he lamented. “I suppose it was indiscreet of me but at least this way, when the Times announcement hits the streets, there will be some tidbit in circulation regarding how and when we met.” At her disbelieving stare, he added, “It shows our association is one of long-standing, and not the result of wild impulse alone.”

“From what I remember, you are decidedly prone to wild impulses!” she retorted, then looked stricken.

Jeremy could not hold back his laughter. “That’s all in the past now, Ballentine,” he assured her, nudging the plate of cakes toward her.

“The events of this morning would seem to refute that claim!”

“Let us return to more pressing matters,” he suggested placatingly. “Your engagement ring for one. I rather like sapphires…”