Page 63 of To Marry and to Meddle
“Julian,” Emily said, looking up at him, startled, upon his entrance. Lady Cunninge also looked startled, and Julian didn’t think he was imagining the expression of worry that flashed across her face. She was just the type to insult a lady to her face in private but then immediately fret the moment it seemed likely that anyone else had heard her do so.
“There you are,” he said, would-be casual, pasting an expression of lazy good humor upon his face. He wasn’t certain it had fooled Emily, but that didn’t bother him overmuch—she, after all, was not the one he was trying to fool at the moment.
“What are you doing home?” she asked, still looking surprised to see him.
“I was having a chat with Bridgeworth at my club, and then realized I’d really rather be at home. With you,” he added, as if anyone could have failed to take his meaning. He’d reached Emily’s chair by this point, and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head. Miraculously, Lady Cunninge did not reach for her smelling salts.
“Lady Cunninge has come to call,” Emily said, gesturing to wherethe lady in question still sat, teacup in hand, watching this display with avid curiosity.
“So I heard,” Julian said, turning to give the lady a sweeping look that he usually reserved for business acquaintances who were trying to fleece him out of his money. “I happened to catch a bit of your conversation as I was on my way into the room.”
Lady Cunninge paled.
Julian offered her a thin smile.
“Did you?” Emily asked serenely. “Then perhaps you’ll excuse me for a moment, my love, as I say what I was about to say to Lady Cunninge before you interrupted us.”
“But of course, my darling,” he said gallantly, not budging from her side.
“I think I really must be going,” Lady Cunninge began, setting her teacup down hastily—clearly, bullying a newlywed was one thing, but confronting said newlywed and her wildly indignant husband was another thing entirely, and not a task that she quite felt up to.
“Yes, I’m sure you must,” Emily said, and this time there was a note of steel in her voice. “But before you leave, Lady Cunninge, please allow me to assure you that I shall never inconvenience you with my presence ever again. And pleasealsorest assured that if you ever take pains to try to smear my good name among theton, I shall be more than happy to see to it that your husband’s various mistresses all come calling. At once.”
“I don’t have the faintest idea—”
“Oh, I believe you do,” Emily said placidly. “And if you think that I am bluffing, I assure you that this isvastlykinder than whatever my husband would dream up as retribution in such a scenario, so really you might consider me quite merciful.” She rose to her feet. “Not, of course, that I ever expect any of this to ever be a problem, since I donot anticipate that you would ever deliberately attempt to ruin my reputation for sport.” She flashed a sickening smile over her shoulder at Julian. “And you don’t either, do you, my dearest?”
Julian shook his head solemnly, suddenly gripped by the mad desire to laugh. “I do not, my hedgehog.”
Emily pressed her lips firmly together—Julian was nearly certain that she too was now trying not to laugh—before turning back to Lady Cunninge. “I hope you have a lovely afternoon,” she said cheerfully, bobbing an extremely shallow curtsey. Lady Cunninge managed her own attempt at a curtsey before she was ushered from the room.
No sooner had the door closed behind her than Emily rounded on Julian.
“?‘My hedgehog’?” she asked him incredulously.
Julian held up his hands in defense. “Not my best work.”
“Couldn’t you have taken a leaf out of Lord Willingham’s book and called me your magnificent ruby, or something along those lines?”
“I’m not good at improvising!” he said defensively.
“You are an actor.”
“Actors have scripts!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She crossed her arms over her chest and flopped rather dramatically back down onto the settee she had been occupying—Julian thought it might have been one of the least graceful things he had ever seen her do. Rather more slowly, he sat down next to her.
“Emily,” he said, “was that scene indicative of how the other ladies you’ve paid calls on have been treating you?”
She turned her head to look directly at him. “Not all,” she said.
“But some?”
“But some,” she confirmed.
“Christ,” he said, rubbing his hands over his face, feeling angry—at the miserable women who had treated her this way, and also, perhaps even more so, at himself. “Please don’t accept a call from anyone who was rude to you the first time.”
Emily threw her hands up in the air.
