“No!” both men shouted in unison. Lord Wesleigh recovered himself first. “My dear girl,” he said, affecting the foppish drawl that so annoyed Emily, “I am already feeling quite fatigued from the number of visitors I have entertained this morning. I could not possibly see anyone else in my weakened state.”
“Of course not,” Emily agreed. “We would not want you to suffer a relapse.” Wesleigh looked at her with suspicion, but she returned the look with one of bland innocence. “Well, I suppose I should go downstairs and inform our guests you are not able to see them. I hope they are not too disappointed. Would you care to join me in the drawing room, Mr. Williams?”
“Um, no. No, thank you. I have a few more items to discuss with Wesleigh here.”
Emily nodded and turned to leave. At the door she turned back. “You know, I just remarked upon the fact that you two have the same first name. Aren’t you both named Alexander?”
Mr. Williams and Lord Wesleigh both looked blank for a moment, before Williams replied. “Yes, you are right. In fact it is a source of great amusement to our close friends. It can cause quite a bit of confusion in conversation.” Williams managed a lame grin, and Wesleigh roused himself to smile as well.
“Quite a coincidence, what?” he asked. “Although I prefer Marcus, one of my second names, to Alexander. There’s something quite supercilious-sounding about the name Alexander, don’t you think?”
“Well, it is rather a mouthful, and it does put one in mind of a Greek conqueror,” Emily replied, looking over the duo closely before again turning to leave. She wondered what it was about her innocent question that had produced such an odd reaction. Shaking her head, she followed Bess down the stairs to the drawing room.
Chapter Eight
Emily checked her appearance in the hallway mirror before proceeding into the drawing room. She was irritated with herself at the gesture, but she could not help herself. She found Lady Cynthia’s cold perfection quite intimidating. Whatever confidence her reflection gave her was dispelled the moment she entered the drawing room. Lady Cynthia was quite the lady of fashion, in a sky-blue morning dress that matched her eyes perfectly. Well, perhaps not perfectly. Her eyes resembled ice more than they did sky.
“Good morning, Lady Abernathy, Lady Cynthia. How kind of you to call. Unfortunately, Lord Wesleigh does not feel well enough to receive visitors.”
“Really. He told you so himself, I presume.” Lady Cynthia replied.
“Yes, of course. He asked me to convey his regrets, but he feared a relapse of his illness were he to entertain visitors.”
“And he told you this while you were
“It was a brief visit, I assure you. There was not enough time for me to compromise him, or for him to propose marriage, if that is what you fear.” Emily realized her remark was rather shocking, but she was beyond caring. What could Lady Cynthia do to her? She had forgotten Lady Abernathy’s presence.
“Well!” that august lady proclaimed in loud accents, looking down her long nose at Emily.
“I apologize, Lady Abernathy. I must have misunderstood Lady Cynthia’s concern. I am sure her interest in Lord Wesleigh’s well-being is the same as it would be for any unfortunate victim of the grippe, and is not reserved for wealthy heirs to a dukedom.”
As the apology was as offensive to Lady Cynthia as Emily’s initial remark, it was not to be expected that Lady Cynthia’s anger was assuaged by this reply. However, as she felt Emily was entirely beneath her notice and not attractive enough to be a serious rival, she merely smiled a superior smile, and replied, “Just so.”
There was a definite chill in the air as Lady Smithfield and Lydia entered the room. They greeted their guests graciously and apologized for their delay in joining them. “But I am sure Emily and Lady Cynthia took advantage of this opportunity to get to know one another better,” Lady Smithfield remarked, oblivious to the tension in the room.
Emily reflected that her mother was right; she had gotten to know Lady Cynthia better. She was a materialistic, scheming snob, determined to entrap Lord Wesleigh into marriage. Emily conveniently forgot that she herself had had such an ambition only a few days previously. Now she had no interest in the marquess beyond that of a guest in her home. However, as much as his dandified ways annoyed her, he did not deserve such a wife as Lady Cynthia.
Lady Smithfield and Lady Abernathy assumed the burden of the conversation, but it was soon clear that they were to get on no better than Emily and Lady Cynthia.
“My dear Lady Abernathy, you have heard, of course, that we have two distinguished guests at the moment.”
Lady Abernathy regally inclined her head. Lady Smithfield was not dissuaded by her visitor’s lack of enthusiasm.
“The duke of Alford, and his son, Lord Wesleigh. The duchess and I were at school together, you know.” Lady Abernathy gave a second nod, an almost imperceptible move of her head. “Lady Abernathy, as we are such good friends, perhaps I can share something with you. In strictest confidence, of course.” Lady Abernathy’s nod was a little more vigorous, and she allowed a slight gleam of interest to appear on her craggy countenance.
Lydia and Emily exchanged horrified glances. “Mama,” Emily ventured, in a voice of warning.
“It is all right, Emily. I was just going to tell Lady Abernathy of the duchess’s wish, and mine, that Lydia and Lord Wesleigh marry. That is no secret, in any case.”
“Hmmph.” In a less refined lady, what Lady Abernathy did might be termed a snort. “I feel I should warn you that you are destined for disappointment.”
Lady Smithfield’s pleasant expression slipped just a little. “I am sure I do not know what you mean, Lady Abernathy. Why do you feel I will experience disappointment?”
“Because Lord Wesleigh has been paying very marked attentions to my niece, Lady Cynthia.” Lady Abernathy turned to Cynthia for confirmation, and it was Lady Cynthia’s turn to give an imperceptible nod of her head.
“Of course, one does not brag of one’s conquests,” Lady Cynthia began with a little trill of laughter.
“Then why is she doing so?” Emily whispered to Lydia.
“But, I must admit,” Lady Cynthia resumed, with a glare at Emily, “that before Lord Wesleigh left London, all of London society was in daily anticipation of a notice in the
“Really? Had they lost something?” Emily asked, in feigned innocence.
“Of course not. They were in anticipation of a notice of Lord Wesleigh’s betrothal to myself.” Lady Cynthia lowered her eyes in a well-simulated display of maidenly modesty. “I am sure it was immodest of me to admit to such a thing. Pray do not discuss it with anyone.”
“Well, if all of London is speaking of it, I do not see what good it would do for us to hold our tongues.” Emily spoke ostensibly to Lydia, but in a voice loud enough to be overheard by all the inhabitants of the small drawing room.
Before Lady Cynthia could devise some cutting remark, Lady Smithfield had arisen from her seat, and to Lady Cynthia’s dismay, had crossed to her side to sit beside her. “My poor, dear child,” she said, taking one of Lady Cynthia’s hands in her own, “I hope your feelings are not deeply engaged.”
Before Lady Cynthia could respond, Lady Abernathy entered the conversation. “Really, Elizabeth, what a vulgar remark.”
Lady Smithfield turned in surprise to Lady Abernathy. “But, Mildred, surely it is obvious what is happening here. Lord Wesleigh has been trifling with the affections of your poor niece.” She turned back to Lady Cynthia. “I am sorry, my dear, to mention it so abruptly, but that is why I inquired first as to whether your feelings were seriously engaged.”
“Madam,” Lady Cynthia replied, wrestling her hand from Lady Smithfield’s grasp, “I fear you are mistaken.”
“Oh, no,” Lady Smithfield said, still looking at Lady Cynthia with sympathy, “you see, the duke and his son are visiting us with the purpose of making an alliance with
Emily, who had realized that her mother had reached the limit of her endurance, was not surprised by the announcement. Lydia did not appear surprised, either. As she was wont to walk about in a state of continual
