.
Victor didn’t even need to make excuses two days later, when Lady Caverly and Emily came over to decide on their next course of action. All it took was mentioning that Sir Eugene was in the library looking over a few volumes that he wanted to borrow to send Lady Caverly tripping along the hall, calling back to them jauntily that she and ‘Genie’ would catch up.
“Before he lost his leg, and even after, he was feared by the French for his absolute ruthlessness in battle. I do wonder if he would have attained the same reputation if they knew he was so happy to be called ‘Genie.’” Victor smiled after him.
“I think it’s lovely,” Emily mused. “He served his country in one of the most difficult ways possible, and yet he can still come home and meet someone like my aunt. They seem so happy.”
“Well, he’s well-born, and he can get into the right places to meet a woman of at least the gentry.”
Emily shot him a glance that was both tolerant and surprisingly sweet.
“Oh, that’s not what I meant at all. Being open with someone like that, letting them make you a little ridiculous because you love them so, and that they mean that ridiculousness with love? That’s hard. I can’t imagine the army makes it any easier, really. I suppose I just think it’s a wonderful thing. Sir Eugene was a military man who doubtless saw many things. Aunt Winnie... well, I ought not tell her secrets, but she lost her husband, my Uncle Ferdinand, just ten years after they married, and before that, they lost their little girl. That they still think love is worthwhile, even in the face of all that, feels wonderful to me.”
Victor felt a lump in his throat, and then he realized that he must have been staring at Emily too hard because she laughed self-consciously, looking down with a faint hint of pink on her cheeks.
“I must sound like an utter cake to you, don’t I? Never mind. Where shall we talk?”
“You don’t sound like an utter cake at all. I like the way you talk,” Victor said.
Emily laughed, a bright sunny sound.
“‘I like the way you talk’ is far better than ‘I don’t think you’re a harpy.’ You’re improving very nicely, and you shall land a Society miss yet.”
The idea of finding a Society girl made Victor scowl, and when he spoke, there was rather more irritation than he intended.
“Let’s get your little piece of blackmail out of the way first, shall we? The drawing room should be fine for us.”
She stiffened a little at his tone but nodded briskly.
“As you say, your grace.”
The housekeeper, in some last desperate attempt to pretend that the house on Grosvenor Street was still something like a normal household, had sent up a tray of delicate sandwiches.
Emily picked at one desultorily before she began.
“So, I think we can we can both agree that Lord Greville was a wash.”
“Lord Greville is a twisted little gnome with the morals of a stoat. He’s more than just a wash. Can we also agree that he is not right for you?”
Emily nodded reluctantly.
“Despite fitting the bill rather perfectly, I think in retrospect that he would be a terrible husband for me. I shouldn’t like to be married to a man like that.”
“Good!”
“You needn’t shout at me as if I were a ninny, Victor. Plenty of men go into marriages with less thought than I have put in already.”
“I shouldn’t think that avoiding gentlemen who make it a hobby to ruin young and innocent girls would require so very much thought.”
“Well, it is on the list now, so we can let it drop, can’t we? We are moving on to a new try.”
Victor groaned, passing a hand over his eyes.
“Emily, after the complete and unmitigated disaster of the last ball, do you think that possibly, just possibly, it is time to rethink this whole mad enterprise? Perhaps it is possible to just... look for a husband in some more natural way that doesn’t involve figuring out the grayest heads in the room and approaching them?”
Emily gave him a steely look.
“Victor, if I thought I would have any success at all from simply parading at Vauxhall and standing in the corner at Almack’s until someone notices me and my very small income, I would do so. That is not possible.”
“But—”
“No! I have reasons for doing the things I do, and for... for blackmailing you as well, no matter what you might think. Things are far more complicated than you can imagine, Victor, and you cannot possibly understand why I am doing this.”
“So, explain it to me! I may be terrible at so many things the ton cares about, but I at least have two ears and a working brain. Tell me why the hell you are on this mad mission!”
For a moment, he thought she would. When they had first met and formulated this mad scheme, Victor had thought it was just greed that motivated her, as well as a rather mercenary sensibility. Now, he could see how very wrong he was, and that left an even deeper mystery.
Then Emily shook her head.
“It is not something I am willing to talk about. Leave it at that. If you do what I need you to do, I will be out of your life all the sooner, and we will both be content.”
Never, came the swift reply from some part of Victor’s mind, but he was so angry with Emily at that moment that he pushed it aside.
“Fine. We are now commencing the third prong of the campaign to secure for you a rich, feeble, and elderly husband. The first two prongs turned out to be failures, and if I were a still a military man, Emily, I would say that a retreat might be in order.”
“But you are not still a military man, and this is not a battlefield. This is London. Though you’re almost right. I have another approach to try this time.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. Your selection methods for finding me a decent candidate seem flawed. Aunt Winnie and I have made a list of men we think might be suitable, and you can tell us if you can arrange introductions.”
Emily gave him a stern look.
“You don’t need to make any snide remarks right now, Victor. I shall read off the list, you shall tell me if an introduction is possible, and what you know about them.”
Victor settled back in his chair to glare at her. His glare had sent hardened infantry soldiers into retreat in the barracks and on the parade ground, but it had not a single effect Emily. Instead, she simply pulled a slip of paper from her reticule and consulted it closely.
“All right. Getting started, what do you know of Sir Algernon Wensleydale, baronet?”
“I know that he whores up and down the Strand and that none of the whores like him because he haggles them down to the stockings and skin.”
Emily stared at him in shock.
Victor shrugged.
“I can arrange the introductions to Sir Algernon if you want, but you should know the whole story.”
“Er, yes, thank you, Victor. He’s probably a no. What about Lord Campion Bushwick?”
“His third son was on campaign with me in Spain. Apparently, Lord Bushwick has a bit of a drinking problem. Smashes up his house something fierce, terrorizes everyone around him.”
“Hmm. If you know his son, then you can certainly introduce us. I’ll write him down as a maybe.”
“Are you serious? Emily, no...”
“I just said a maybe. The next one on this list is Lord Orville Buskin, Marquess of Camberly.”
“He’s had three wives, two of whom died under mysterious circumstances. He’s a no, Emily, unless you want to find yourself dead.”
Emily shot him a narrow look.
“Victor, far be it from me to impugn your intelligence or your connections, but I cannot help but notice that three out of three of the names I have presented thus far have been deemed unacceptable. Could it be that you are painting them with a rather muddy brush?”
“I think that you are rather underestimating how terrible people can be,” Victor snapped. “You are looking at older men who have survived far too many young wives, or who, despite title, money, and other advantages, have never wed at all. You are hunting in a rather muddy pool.”
Emily snorted.
“Like the pool the young bloods swim in is any cleaner? Moving along. Lord Hartness, Earl of Doncaster.”
“Ugly, short, and his son nearly drowned me when we were boys. I can introduce you, but I will not like it.”
“Hm. Maybe. Lord Westerden...”
The list had looked short enough in her hand, but her recitation, note-taking, and questions seemed to take a small eternity. There was a time when Victor would have been pleased with anything that got him out of this situation sooner rather than later, but now every name conjured terrible images of Emily with the man in question.
By the end, Victor was pacing back and forth in the room like a caged lion, and he was managing shortened descriptions that hopefully told Emily that these were all poor candidates for her hand.
Emily gave him a few narrow, speculative looks as she made her notes, but she avoided comment until the end, sighing and looking over her notes.
“All right. That’s at least two good options and four maybes. Not terrible. Now, all we have to do is arrange meetings. I’ll have my aunt see what might be available in the coming two weeks.”
She hesitated.
“I wish I could let you off duty. I am sorry for all this. If I could release you from this obligation, I would.”
Victor’s first instinct was to say something cutting, but he realized that he didn’t even really want to.
“The sad part, Emily, is that I think you would. Please consider telling me what is happening to force you into doing this. Sometimes, I am certain you want to do this even less than I want to help you.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but she was interrupted by a brisk knock at the door. Victor spun around to glare, ready to shout whoever it was off.
“Sir, Lord Hartley, Earl of Wendington, is calling.”
“Well, tell him—”
“No fuss at all, Berkes, I’ll show myself in. No need to stand on ceremony, eh? He knows it’s me.”
Charles Hartley entered the room like an inappropriate gust of spring air and started talking before the door closed behind him.
“Wellford, I spend a week out in the country seeing to my poor dear mother, and I come back and find you actually out and enjoying yourself without me? Unfair! Anyway, I have some grand news and... Oh, I beg your pardon, I did not realize you had company.”
Victor sighed, because stopping Charles was like trying to contain a litter of hound pups in a net. You could do it with some difficulty, but the results would be too sad for words.
“Charles, this is Lady Emily Allensby. Lady Emily, this is Lord Charles Hartley, Earl of Wendington.”
“Charmed, Lady Emily,” Charles said, bowing over her hand. “I don’t suppose it is you who has convinced Wellford that Society is actually not going to kill him?”
“I may bear some of the responsibility for that, but my aunt, who is also visiting here today, is truly the social butterfly among the three of us.”
“Ah, wonderful, the more the merrier. And, as a matter of fact, you may be interested in my news. Wellford, my aunt is throwing a ball this Saturday, and it promises to be a real crush. Now don’t make that face at me; you must promise to attend. And Lady Emily, of course, you will come as well? I can always use more people around who make Wellford more at his ease.”
Emily laughed at Charles’ rush of words, and Victor stifled the urge to take his friend by the elbow and show him out.
“I shall have to speak to my aunt, but it sounds lovely, Lord Hartley. Thank you so much for thinking of us.”
“And you, Wellford. Is there anyone else you want to invite?”
Victor’s first impulse was to say that Charles could put together his own damn guest list, but he caught Emily’s frantic expression.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said, and he listed off the names that he and Emily had reluctantly agreed upon.