Chapter Twenty-Nine
James ran a finger around the inside of his starched collar and hoped the August heat would leach away as night approached. Sydney Gardens Vauxhall was packed with the last of the worthies still in Bath at the end of the Season, making the place feel stifling. The urge to rip off his jacket and throw himself into one of the illuminated fountains was almost irresistible, but he had a reputation to maintain. Besides, Emma would not approve if he made a spectacle of himself.
A wide range of entertainment was on offer tonight. There were to be French acrobats, a water organ, performing animals, a nighttime inflation of a tethered hot air balloon, and a ball. These attractions were in addition to the usual swings, bowling green, and grotto boasted by the gardens.
His cousin Jemima was bubbling with excitement, and he could only hope Mama wouldn’t consider any of these delights unfitting for her two young protégés.
He waited politely as everyone settled into their seats in the supper box he’d reserved, then seated himself directly opposite Emma, from which position he was able to take in every detail of her appearance.
It was impossible to recognize the water nymph he’d encountered near Tresham in the divine sophisticate at his mother’s right hand. Emma’s waist-length tresses had been artfully curled and piled on top of her head, leaving two locks of her chestnut hair falling in corkscrew curls to caress one side of her neck. She wore a low-cut evening gown of Italian sarsenet over white satin, with a border of gold net, and little sleeves caught up just below each shoulder with a delicate brooch. She looked exquisite, and he congratulated himself on having had a hand in this transformation.
Even though—and he was ashamed to admit it—he preferred her as a nymph.
Whatever was wrong with him? These weren’t the thoughts of a gentleman, and a gentleman he must be if he was ever going to impress Miss Emma d’Ibert.
Could he persuade her to promenade with him in search of fresh air? It was interminably hot and stuffy with the hanging lanterns above and the candles and chafing dish that were smoking away on the table. Perhaps he could show her where the new canal had cut through the bottom of the gardens—they might see some barges gliding past bearing coal, or raw wool destined for the cloth mills.
But if he marked her out for his particular attention, Mama would have a field day—one way or another. Should he perhaps invite Jemima and Mr. George d’Ibert to join them? That student of medicine who had so influenced Emma seemed a very pleasant fellow, and it would certainly please her were he to befriend her brother. After all, if a future earl could be bosom friends with a former governess, then why not a trainee physician, as well?
It suddenly struck him that he’d been staring. No wonder Emma’s cheeks looked hot. Yes, it was definitely time to leave the table and rescue her from Mama’s cloying presence. He, too, would be grateful for half an hour of freedom.
He was partway out of his seat when he caught sight of a face he recognized in the crowd. Something twisted in his gut, and he sank back down, his world spinning.
Surely not, after all this time? Belinda Carslake should not have the power to steal his breath and send his body hot and cold by turns. No, these afflictions were not born out of love. There was no room in his heart for her now. None.
His uncomfortable reaction must stem from pride. He’d no wish to be seen publicly in the same place as the woman who’d jilted him a few short months ago. People might point the finger and laugh. He might be unable to resist planting Cornwallis a facer.
Someone was whispering in his ear, but he was too distracted to make out the words.
“My lord? James?” It was Emma, standing beside him, consternation written on her face.
“Hmm?”
“Walk a little way with me.”
Still in a state of confusion, he stood up as she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. She led him out of their supper box, coming to a halt at the foot of the empty bandstand, but still within view of their family group.
“Which one is Miss Carslake? Can you describe her without pointing?”
He laid his other hand over Emma’s, meaning to give it a friendly squeeze, but then couldn’t bring himself to let it go. How had she worked out so quickly what was wrong with him?
Clearing his throat, he pushed his shoulders back and lifted his chin. “Miss Carslake, the woman I’d hoped to wed, is walking about in a white dress with a fringed blue stole, and a blue ribbon and ostrich feather in her hair. Her hair is golden, and she’s close in height to Jemima.”
“Ah yes. I see her.”
He sucked in a breath and clutched Emma’s hand more tightly. “I hadn’t expected her in Bath, although there’s no reason why she shouldn’t be here. But how did you know I’d seen her?”
“Your mama told me and commanded me to rescue you. I assume you haven’t told her why I’m the last person whose help you’d want, since it was through my folly that—”
“Say no more. That’s all over and settled between us. I’m ashamed I reacted so obviously—it’s most unbecoming in a future earl to show emotion, you know.” He added in a lighter tone, “It’s enough to have you with me, for that will turn the tide of wagging tongues. Everyone will wonder who the new beauty is upon the arm of Viscount Tidworth, and they’ll say—quite rightly—that Belinda Carslake isn’t a patch on her, and that the viscount and the mysterious beauty look very well together.”
She made an almost imperceptible choking noise.
Looking down, he surprised a blush on her cheek and smiled softly. “I thought to please, not embarrass you,” he murmured close to her ear.
“You do please me, my lord. I’m very amenable to being thought a mysterious beauty, but let’s hope I’m not too quickly unmasked as a mere governess born into a faded ancient family.”
“Why should anyone worry about that? To me, you are a complete delight.”
Her lips parted in surprise at his compliment, and he was about to press home his advantage, when suddenly the throng parted and revealed Belinda again, arm in arm with Cornwallis.
An icy fury gripped James’s heart. Damn it all to Hell! He shouldn’t allow himself to feel anything. Had his illness stolen his inner strength?
Emma tugged at his sleeve, her brown eyes large and serious. “You must go to her,” she said. “Once you’ve spoken to her and shown her your indifference, you’ll feel yourself again. If you avoid her, the gossips will hand the victory to Miss Carslake.”
He gazed down at Emma with increased respect. She was right. It was exactly what he needed to do.
“Mama was wise to send you to me,” he murmured, turning toward her. “No one else has your good sense. I’ll go after them straightaway, offer my congratulations, and engage them in conversation. And I won’t punch Cornwallis, I promise. Thank you,” he added, and forgetting they were in public, he took Emma by the shoulders and placed a deft kiss on the top of her head. Then he strode off in search of his erstwhile sweetheart.
He’d barely gone two paces when a familiar voice arrested his progress. Spinning around, he was amazed and delighted to see Charles Keane approaching. Emma, who’d just turned to go back to their group, nearly walked full tilt into him.
“Whoa!” exclaimed Charles, catching her by the elbows. “Great heavens! Do my eyes deceive me? Emma?”
James turned back to him, irked to hear his friend address her with so little formality.
“Charles,” he said, holding out his hand. “How splendid to see you. What are you doing here? I thought your family was in Brighton.”
Charles shook his hand genially, but his eyes kept flicking to Emma, who was busying herself with her fan.
“I’m here with Aunt Letitia—she’s taking the cure. But it’s such a bore. If you’re free in the next few days, I beg you to rescue me from the company of the elderly and infirm. A man needs to talk about robust things like politics, cards, and women.”
James quirked an eyebrow at his friend, then waved at their surroundings. “This doesn’t strike me as an Aunt Letitia sort of affair. I suspect you persuaded her to come, in which case, you ought to be with her right now, keeping her company.”
Charles was an entertaining companion, but selfish and prone to fits of temper. James felt a wash of relief that he’d removed Emma from Charles’s sphere of influence.
She must never go back to Figheldene Hall.
Charles pressed a hand to his heart. “You wound me, sir! I was just on an errand for Aunt Letitia, actually, but something distracted me. It looks to me as if you’ve abandoned Emma, so you’re a fine one to talk.”
“Miss d’Ibert is returning to our party. I have someone I wish to speak with. Belinda, in fact. So you understand that I must leave you.”
“You may entrust Emma to my capable hands,” Charles assured him. “We’ll catch up on the gossip while I return her to your party. Good luck with Miss Carslake. You never know, engagements can always be broken.”
Damn. Even though the Rossbury party was just twenty yards away, he felt uneasy leaving Emma with Charles. What her opinion was on the matter, he couldn’t tell, for she was fanning herself too vigorously for him to see her expression. But if he didn’t go now, Belinda and Cornwallis would be lost from view.
“I’ve no intention of breaking anyone’s engagement,” he said coolly. “Look after Miss d’Ibert, please, and give my regards to your aunt.”
Then he strode off in search of his quarry, determined to sort out his feelings for Belinda Carslake.
And for the dazzling young woman with glorious hazel eyes, who, somehow, had cracked the ice that imprisoned his heart.