Page 10 of The Viscount's Promise
“You can’t?”
“Certainly not.” It was Daphne’s turn to place her hand comfortingly over Emily’s. “Oh, I know it isn’t to your liking. But you’ll see, we’ll have a gay time. Walks in the park, trips to museums. Perhaps we may even visit the menagerie at the Tower. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
Emily could only nod. And as Daphne went on in her typical enthusiastic fashion, waxing poetic about the joys of London life now that her anxiety had been relieved, Emily felt as if the shackles that bound her had increased tenfold.
But no, all could not be lost. There must be a way out. Her mind whirled dizzily, looking for an answer to her problems and finding none. She blew out a frustrated breath. There must be a solution, some brilliant realization that would hit her like the proverbial thunderbolt. She would have to keep her eyes and ears open for it.
Chapter 4
She could do this. Emily straightened her shoulders and attempted to ignore her roiling stomach as she looked out over the group that had gathered in the large drawing room. She could get through this. The great majority of these people were related to her, or to Imogen, which meant they would soon be indirectly related to her as well. It would be for little more than a fortnight. This was her home, where she felt comfortable and loved and protected. Her family would not let anything unpleasant happen to her.
And, miracle of miracles, Lord Morley was presently absent.
Not that she had been looking for him. Absolutely not. It was mere self-preservation that even had her considering him at all. She certainly didn’t need his scowling face directed her way right now. She would make the most of this reprieve from his company. Gathering her courage, she prepared to, if not stride, at least walk with a fair amount of confidence into the room.
“Ah, Lady Emily, how are you?”
The silky voice at her elbow had her back tensing, her feet faltering. She knew that voice well. While always pleasant and even, it carried subtle thorns—like reaching out to pick blackberries and grabbing the barbed runners instead. With dread Emily turned to regard the source.
“Lord Randall.” She had known him since she was a child. A local baron, he was renowned for his insistence on perfection in every aspect of his life. From his house, to his wife, to his sons, everything had to be just so, showcasing his status. Never mind his own person, which was always trim and fit and dressed in the latest fashions, his graying hair brushed and tamed, his face unlined though he must be fifty if he was a day. Most would think him handsome, she supposed. All Emily could see was the pity in his eyes when he looked on her. More often than not it was accompanied by a healthy hint of disgust. Apparently having to look upon a scarred face went against every one of his delicate sensibilities.
“I imagine,” he said, his gaze scouring the ruined side of her face with a morbid fascination, “that this must be very difficult for you. I know it cannot be easy, having so many strange eyes upon you.”
Coldness seeped under Emily’s skin. It was not the first time Lord Randall had called attention to her scar in so blunt a manner, nor would it be the last. He must honestly believe he was doing her a service by not skirting about it as everyone else did. At least, that was what she told herself when forced into his presence, which happened much more often than she would like. That did not lessen the cruel shock of it, however.
“It was kind of your mother to invite me to the festivities for your brother’s wedding,” he went on. “It really is too bad my older boys could not be here. They would have loved this. Such a mix of elegant persons. Many are related to your family?”
She barely managed a nod. How could she extricate herself? Surely he could not have anything of import to discuss with her. But it seemed he was not done with her.
“Your sister, I hear, is soon to make her debut in London.”
Emily’s heart went right up into her throat at the reminder. She nodded again, her voice apparently having decided to go into temporary hiding.
Lord Randall cast an interested look at Daphne, who stood in the corner of the room surrounded by a gay contingent of young people. As Emily watched, her sister gave a trilling laugh. Truly, she had never looked better. She was positively glowing, in her element. It seemed their talk truly had done wonders for her. Emily returned her gaze to Lord Randall. The man pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he looked on Daphne. A shiver of disgust worked its way up Emily’s spine.
“It must be difficult for you, constantly being compared to such a gem,” he mused.
Stunned at such direct cruelty, all she could think to say was, “I love my sister.” A moment later she wanted to curse her coward’s tongue. Why did she never have the courage to put the man in his place? The right words would come to her later, she knew, their delay making them impotent and useless.
He tilted his head, regarding her scar again. “I’m sure you do,” he said, his voice sweet as honey, and as sticky and cloying. Emily fought the urge to shudder as the sound of it washed over her. “It is perfectly natural, though, to compare yourself. No one would blame you for being envious of her.”
Emily’s mouth fell open before she closed it with an audible snap. “I am not envious,” she managed.
The pity in his eyes as he looked down on her was undercut by the malice there. “You cannot be that sheltered, my lady.” He gave a small chuckle and shook his head. “No one is that good. There is always a bit of envy and competition in all of us. But have no fear,” he said, giving her a conspiratorial wink, “your secret is safe with me. Now,” he said, straightening and returning his gaze to the room, “you truly shouldn’t strain yourself to mingle when the atmosphere is undoubtedly unfavorable to you, my dear. I see a quiet corner over there that should suit you well.”
At the superior condescension in his eyes, spurred on by his conceited cheek, Emily felt her paralyzed mind break free of its moorings. She was so tired of being pitied and seen as less than a woman. Without acknowledging the man’s words, she made to turn away, to escape his stifling presence. A voice behind her, however, cut in before she had a chance.
“I believe the lady is more than capable of handling a gathering in her family’s own home.”
Just stifling a gasp, Emily spun toward Lord Morley. Truly, of all the people to approach in that moment, he was the last she wanted.
But Lord Randall would not be pleased that he had been put in his place. She chanced a glance at the man. He was looking at Lord Morley as if he were a piece of offal that had dared to soil his good boots.
Lord Morley, for his part, merely smiled back. It was anything but pleasant. Emily shivered at the positively feral look to it. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking over the man with barely concealed animosity, “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”
Emily knew that was her cue to make the proper introductions. But she was tired of being intimidated by these men. Clamping her mouth closed mutinously, she stepped back.
Lord Randall’s lip curled as he cut her a disgusted look. He inclined his head to Lord Morley as if bestowing a great honor. “I am Douglas Vanguard, Lord Randall,” he drawled.
