Page 23 of The Viscount's Promise
But over the past several years, it had begun to seem a bit too hard, a touch too jaded. The colors were too bright and gaudy, the laughter too forced, the gossip more pointed and cruel. As he thought long and hard about it, he realized that he didn’t enjoy it any longer. It was a habit now, plain and simple.
He looked down at the woman at his side. She was gazing up at him in curiosity, without artifice. He thought of the members of thetonand their unending appetite to destroy anything pure and sweet. They would eat her up and spit her out.
But that was not his decision to make, was it? No, his job was to help prepare her as well as he could for her time in London.
His mind worked frantically. There must be something positive about London that he could give her. What would a woman like her enjoy? Finally he thought of one thing that could draw her like nothing else. “Tell me, Lady Emily, have you ever been to an opera?”
The change over her was instantaneous. Her eyes widened, her lips parted in wonder. “You have been to the opera?”
Inwardly he smiled. Outwardly he presented her a properly sober, awed look. “Many, many times. And each time better than the last. Nowhere else in England will you be able to feed your love of music better than in London.”
“Is that right?” She was hanging on his every word, an interested light sparking in her eyes.
He nodded. “Think of it—everywhere you go there are musicians playing for your pleasure. Balls, musicales, the theatre, the opera. You will be surrounded by talent, immersed in lyrical beauty.”
Excitement washed over her face. Truly, why hadn’t anyone thought to come at it from this angle before? But in the next instant her eyes dulled, her shoulders drooping. “But that is neither here nor there. I will still be surrounded by all those strange people. Nothing will change that.”
“No,” he murmured, “you’re right in that.” He watched her for a time as she looked back along the path. A small muscle ticked in her jaw as she fought whatever demons she had residing in her. When she spoke again, he had to lean in to hear her, it was so faint.
“You must think me silly, I suppose, to want to remain behind when they go to London. Any other woman would be happy to go.”
He shrugged. “You are not most women, my lady.”
She gave a small, humorless laugh. “I don’t know if that is a compliment or an insult.”
He smiled slightly at her small, dark attempt at humor. “Take it as you like,” he murmured.
She didn’t smile back. Her mind, he knew, was too strained by what the future held. It really was unfair that she was forced to do something that was so repugnant to her. Without meaning to, he blurted, “Why couldn’t you stay behind?”
He shouldn’t have asked it. He knew that immediately. Yet he pushed aside the twinge of guilt. She was suffering; why was she being forced to go?
When her eyes met his, the quiet despair in them tugged at his heart. “My sister has expressed a particular wish for me to join her. I could not possibly say no.”
“Why not?”
Emily stopped on the path. Malcolm stopped as well.
“I cannot disappoint my sister,” she replied with simplicity. “Despite our very great differences, I love her dearly. She has told me she wants me with her; I will go with her.”
Much as Imogen had done for her own sister Miss Mariah—no, she was Miss Duncan now that her elder sisters were married off—earlier in the year. Though he was without such a close familial relationship, he could understand it. For he had once had that closeness with his own brother. His heart seized at the memory. And, though that was long gone, he had Tristan and Willbridge. He would suffer through much to ensure their happiness. Look at his presence here, after all.
“That is a great sacrifice you make for your sister,” he said solemnly.
She shrugged and started for the house again. He thought they would continue on in silence once more. But suddenly, from under her breath, he heard her mumble, “Perhaps I will not have to make the sacrifice, after all.”
He glanced sharply at her, about to question her on it. Just then the house loomed into view. Lady Daphne hurried out toward them. She paused when she caught sight of them together, her eyebrows raised in question.
“I was worried you might have twisted your ankle,” she explained as she came closer. “But I see you are well, after all. Imogen needs us.”
Emily hurried after her sister. But before she had taken a dozen steps, she turned back to him. A small smile lifted her lips. “Thank you, my lord, for your escort. I truly enjoyed it.”
Before he could so much as blink, she turned and hurried away to her sister’s side, leaving Malcolm staring after her. Something had changed between them during that short walk, but he didn’t have it in him to regret it even one bit.
Chapter 9
“Where in the world did you go off to with Lady Emily?”
Malcolm tore his gaze from where the lady in question stood in the far corner of the room, chatting quietly with Imogen. Tristan stood at his elbow, a drink of what looked suspiciously like brandy clasped in his hand. “Where in the world did you getthat?” he demanded. “I was under the impression that there was to be exclusively champagne and insipid punch at this affair.”
