Page 72 of The Viscount's Promise
“No,” Emily burst out. Gad, no. If she had all night to think it over, another night to contemplate what an utter fool she was for putting everything on the line like this with no guarantee that she would have Malcolm’s heart at the end of it, she might turn coward and run all the way back to Willowhaven. “That is, can we drive by his home, to at least see if he’s in?”
“Of course we can,” Caleb said gently. He rapped on the ceiling, giving the driver the new directions when the man opened the trapdoor. “We should be there within the quarter hour,” he told Emily when he was through.
She nodded, turning her attention to the passing scenery—not the best idea, given the circumstances.
Goodness, she had never seen so many carriages and people in her life. Even as they moved into the more genteel area of the city—Mayfair, Imogen told her—there was still an incredible amount of movement. It was as if the city never rested, never slept. A constant moving, living entity, bustling with humanity.
She felt ill.
Much too soon, the carriage slowed, then rocked to a stop. Emily sat frozen for a moment, staring out the window, up at the towering ochre town house, glowing golden in the lamplight. This was where Malcolm lived a good portion of the time, she realized. He could even now be within. She only had to exit the carriage, walk up the front steps, knock on that altogether imposing and elegant door.
“Shall we?” Caleb murmured.
“Yes,” she replied with far more bravado than she felt.
Her brother descended from the carriage, turning to help her and Imogen down. In a blink they were standing on the top steps. Caleb rapped the knocker sharply.
At once the door swung open to reveal a rotund, jovial butler.
“Why, Lord Willbridge,” he said affably. “This is a pleasant surprise. We had heard you had married and would be in the country for some time.”
“Alas, there is something in town that needed my immediate attention,” Caleb replied. “Though, as you can see, I have had the good sense to bring along my bride, as well as my sister to keep me company. Imogen, Emily, this is Burnell, Morley’s esteemed butler. Burnell, may I introduce you to my wife, Lady Willbridge, and my sister, Lady Emily. Burnell,” he continued as the man greeted them with a wide smile and deep bow, “I don’t suppose Morley is at home this evening? We have some pressing business with him.”
The butler’s face fell. “Ah, I am heartily sorry, my lord, but Lord Morley has gone out for the evening, and we do not anticipate him back before dawn.”
Emily had not expected to be turned away. But obviously he would be out, she berated herself. The man no doubt kept himself busy while in town with all manner of social obligations. He certainly would not have been waiting at home on the off chance that she would travel from the comfort of Northamptonshire to lay her heart at his feet.
“That’s too bad,” Caleb said. “Well, we shall have to wait until tomorrow, then. Good evening, Burnell.” He touched his hat and made to usher Emily and Imogen away.
“Wait,” Emily said.
The other three paused and stared at her in surprise. Emily was beyond caring. She could not wait another night to see Malcolm. She could not wait another hour; she would go mad if she did.
She turned to the jolly butler. “Do you by chance know where Lord Morley was off to for the evening?”
“That I do, my lady,” he replied. “He is attending Lady Beezleton’s annual ball.”
“Thank you.” With that, she turned and marched back for the carriage.
“Emily,” Imogen called, fast on her heels, with Caleb not far behind her, “what are you planning on doing?”
“I am going to locate an appropriate gown, and then I am going to Lady Beezleton’s ball.”
She felt more than heard them pause behind her as she vaulted up into the carriage. A moment later, her brother and Imogen followed her inside.
“Emily,” Caleb said as the door closed behind them, “you cannot mean to go to a London ball. Why, Lady Beezleton throws some of the most lavish affairs of the year.”
“I can and I do,” she replied. The carriage started off, and she looked her brother full in the eye, praying he would not fight her on this. Knowing it would break whatever fragile hold she had on her determination if he did. “Caleb, if I do not do this now, I will never have the nerve.”
Silence reigned for a moment. Then Imogen spoke up, her voice strong and certain. “We really must have the appropriate clothing for such a momentous event. Let’s make a detour to my family home. Mariah and I left plenty of ball gowns behind to choose from. Then we may go to Lady Beezleton’s ball in style.”
As Caleb directed the driver, Emily sat silent in her corner of the carriage, trying not to think of the possible repercussions of her rash decision. No matter what, she could not go another night without knowing her future with the man she loved.
• • •
A mere hour later, they rolled up before a towering mansion, the much-lauded Lady Beezleton’s London residence. Emily’s jaw nearly dropped at the magnificence of it. Whereas Willowhaven was elegant and sprawling, full of history, there was still something wonderfully welcoming about it. It had been made for comfort, to be lived in.
This place, however, screamed wealth and prestige. It rose above the gathered nobility a full three stories, its columns and cornices giving it all the splendor of ancient Rome. What must be thousands of candles—pure beeswax, no doubt, and not a tallow one in sight—made the pale stone edifice seem to glow from within, a beacon of pleasure and elegance in the dark, dank London night.
