Page 54 of The Viscount's Promise
Her mother’s frown deepened. “Are you certain? You look peaked. I know this house party has been hard on you, though you seemed to have improved in the last few days. Perhaps you should take dinner in your room tonight. I would hate for you to grow ill from the strain of all this.”
It was a bit of irony—and a testament to how much Lady Morley had affected her—that her mother chose this moment to grant permission to escape. Emily knew she worried for her. And at any other time she would have taken the suggestion without hesitation.
Her gaze drifted to Malcolm, still deep in conversation with Lady Morley. Now, though, the idea of leaving, of hiding away, made her positively panicked.
“I’m well, truly, Mama.” She smiled, hoping to put her mother at ease, to distract her from the scent of her very real but completely unfounded fear.
Blessedly, her mother nodded. “Very well, dear heart.” Her attention was captured then by something across the room. “I’d best see to our guests. I shall see you later.” Cupping Emily’s cheek, she moved off.
Emily took a moment to compose herself. If her mother had noticed how upset she was, others would as well. She had her pride, after all. She did not want people looking on her with pity any longer. Not now that things looked so promising with Malcolm and she might even become his wife.
The joy from before was tempered now. Dismayed, she searched him out. To her shock, he was nowhere to be found. And Lady Morley was headed her way.
She started. The woman had no reason to seek her out. Perplexed, her insides pulling as taut as a pianoforte string, she watched with apprehension as the woman approached.
“Lady Emily,” the woman said with a smile, “how perfectly lovely to see you again.”
Emily dipped into a shallow curtsy. “Lady Morley.”
The viscountess positioned herself in front of Emily, effectively trapping her in the corner. Emily fought down the feeling of being buried alive.
“I was so happy to receive the generous invitation to join you all here this evening,” Lady Morley said. “I have so longed to see Willowhaven since your dear brother spoke of it to me.”
“You know Caleb?” Emily could not help the question.
“Long ago. My goodness, it seems an age since I saw him last. I regret not seeing him for this visit, though I am happy that he has found such joy in his marriage. The new Lady Willbridge, I hear, is a gem among women. Everyone gives her only the highest praise.”
She should warm to the woman after such a speech. So why did she feel the need to escape with all haste? Eyeing her warily as one might a growling dog, she said, “Yes, Imogen is all that is lovely.”
Lady Morley’s smile widened, showing a flash of white teeth. “Wonderful. I hope that his two closest friends are equally blessed in their own marriages. Though,” she said with a wicked little smile, “I will admit that the very idea of Malcolm settling so happily turns me positively green with jealousy.”
Emily frowned. “You wish your brother an unhappy future?”
“Why, my dear, you refer to him as my brother as if we are blood relations.”
“You are his late brother’s wife. It is close enough, I would think.”
The woman’s tinkling laugh stabbed at Emily like poisoned barbs. “Oh, darling, not even close. And thank God for that.”
Emily felt sick. “You mean you and Malc—er, Lord Morley? But...that is not even legal.”
“You think I mean to marry him? You sweet, innocent thing.”
Lady Morley reached out, her slender fingers taking hold of one of the tendrils of hair that Emily had let trail loose in an attempt to capture Malcolm’s eye. Emily shivered, disgust wrapping like tentacles about her as the woman tugged on it.
“Though no one can be that naïve,” the viscountess continued bemusedly. “Your face is pretty despite your scar. Some man must have overlooked it enough to get you alone for a thorough kissing. You cannot be unaware that there are certain...things...that can be done without the trappings of a wedding ring.” She grinned. “Surely there is someone here that has captured your fancy. Shall I help you secure his interest?”
Emily shook her head sharply, dislodging the hand from her hair. She ignored the woman’s suggestion—and the amusement that colored it, as if helping Emily gain a man’s attentions was a great joke—and frowned. “I repeat myself. Lord Morley is your husband’s brother. You cannot wish for such a thing.” A sick feeling settled in her stomach at the mere thought of Malcolm in this woman’s arms.
“Do I wish for it? Darling, I’ve known dear Malcolm for ever so long, well before I married my Bertram. He was a delicious thing even then. Do you think I could have denied him, as young and untutored as I was? And he was ever so persuasive. It surprises me not one bit that he turned out to be the rake he is.” She laughed, the sound low and throaty and knowing.
The implication hit Emily with all the force of a slap. She very nearly blanched. But she must be mistaken. The woman could not mean what Emily thought she meant.
In the next moment, however, Lady Morley cast those desperate doubts to the ground. “He loved me quite desperately at one time. But I could not help my feelings for my dear Bertram. It quite broke my heart to refuse Malcolm, especially as he was so impassioned in his pleas that I accept him instead of his brother.”
The room spun. Emily laid her hands flat on the wall behind her to steady herself. “Where is Malcolm?” she rasped. In her distress, she was beyond caring that she might give something away to this woman.
“Gone to drink with the other men. But, darling,” Lady Morley said, tilting her head as she studied Emily, “you aren’t looking at all well. Poor dear, this must all be so much for you. Perhaps you’d best rest before we go into dinner.” She smiled, laid a hand on Emily’s arm. “I’m ever so glad we had a chance to talk.”
