Page 24 of The Earl's Hired Bride
“Well, I’m glad to see your gown has taken no damage,” the countess said thoughtfully as she came in.
“The modistes in America must be very busy, if this is how the young ladies conduct their social calls.” Miss Paxton did not even wait for an introduction to begin her cutting remarks. Emily shot her a haughty glance even as she waited, breathless on the inside, to see if the girl would recognize her.
But like everyone else, Miss Paxton saw what she expected. And what she saw was a rival, if her look of disdain was any indication.
But the marchioness was still staring outside at her son as he faced off against Hart and laughed at something the earl said. She made a strange sound and turned to face them, her hands clasped in front of her and her face oddly red.
“Oh, youdarlinggirl,” she said on a whisper, and she clasped Emily and pulled her to her bosom. She pushed her away, staring into her face and pulled her close again. “You cannot know how worried I’ve been. Since the accident James has been so distant and dejected. He won’t talk, he barely eats, he won’t try anything for fear of failure. I vow he hasn’t smiled since it happened—and look at him now!” She held Emily by the shoulders. “How did youdoit?”
“I’m afraid I spoke very disparagingly to him,” Emily admitted. “It did the trick, as it often does with boys.”
“Bless you, a thousand times!”
The marchioness kissed her—and her fate was sealed.
Lady Feltham spread the tale far and wide, lauding Emily as a worker of miracles and everyone who had been curious before was on fire to meet her now. They all wished to know the American who had captured Hartford and brought Feltham’s young heir back to life.
She met scores of people. She and the countess were invited everywhere. She went on calls and to dinners, on walks in the parks and on outings to see the sites. Miss Mary Carmichael became a friend and companion and Emily won over all the smaller Carmichaels by sewing them tiny costumes for the figures in their toy theatre. Her social engagements were reported in the papers, as was her wardrobe. Madame Lalbert’s business doubled.
Not everything was sunny, though. There were whispered resentments that Hart had chosen his bride from outside of theton. The girls who started that one were jealous, she felt sure—and she felt sure that Miss Paxton had had a hand in it too. They were convinced that she was not good enough for Hart. They were right, of course, but she’d be damned before she gave them the satisfaction of knowing it.
She still saw very little of him—and that gave rise to rumors that she was his mother’s pick and that Hart was reluctant to seal the deal.
Once or twice she did spot the Duke of Danby at a social event, but he didn’t seem to notice her. Only at Lady Atherton’s musicale did she feel that he looked at her for longer than was strictly necessary, but he faded into the crowd and she didn’t see him again, although she suffered through some very questionable musical offerings while she watched for him.
The very worst news came when Hart arrived to take her for a drive. It started out well. She wore white poplin skirts trimmed in blue, with her blue pelisse—a happy coincidence, since Hart arrived decked in buff and blue. They looked like they belonged together—and the thought sent a flush rising into her cheeks.
Had she ever noticed how wide his shoulders were? Or how large and competent his hands? He took hers to help her up into his phaeton, and she basked in the lovely heat that rose up her arm and stole into the rest of her. She shivered at the feel of it, at once strange and warmly familiar.
“How have you been faring?” she asked, anxious to know that she’d done the job he’d hired her for. “How is your work going? Are you accomplishing all that you wished?”
“Much of it,” he answered as they set off for Hyde Park and the fashionable strut.
“Have you caught up on the new agricultural developments that will make your estates more profitable?”
“Some. A couple of committees are hammering out tariff changes that might be advantageous. And there’s a gentleman in Sussex trying to develop a mechanized grain harvester, but it looks to be a ways from being really helpful,” he sighed. “But I will not bore you with such talk.”
“I’m not bored at all. Never turn down a chance to learn, that’s what my Papa told me. You never know when it might become useful.”
“I doubt grain harvesters will ever be of use to you,” he said with a smile.
“Not so,” she insisted. “Papa was a linen draper—and keeping up with the agricultural news was just one of the things that helped him grow his business into a sizable import firm.”
“Really?” She’d caught his attention.
“It’s true. If the sheep in Norwich suffered from dysentery or foot rot, he’d buy worsted before the price could go up. Major storms along the coast of Africa? He’d buy silk.” She shrugged. “He’d turn a tidy profit when others could not afford to renew their stock.”
“Interesting.”
“All the world is interesting, Hart.” She flung a hand out to indicate the busy street and the people upon it. “‘It’s a grand, big world,’ he used to tell me. ‘But small too, once you open your eyes to see the connections between us.’”
“Your father sounds like a smart man.”
“He was,” she said softly.
“Something tells me you take after him.”
The approval in his tone sent a different sort of yearning through her. She tried to tamp it down. Her heart ached a little more each time she saw him, she had to start guarding it before she did something foolish.
