Page 49 of To Marry and to Meddle
“I don’t doubt that,” he said, a faint quirk at the corner of his mouth hinting at amusement. “It would be like kicking a baby bunny.”
“Oh, thank you ever so much,” Emily said, letting out a surprised laugh. “What a charming picture you paint of me. Do I have whiskers, then? Does my nose twitch?”
“It’s the eyes,” he said, that hint of a smile deepening a bit, lingering rather than vanishing. “You have the widest, most innocent eyes.”
“I know,” she said, sighing, her laughter fading. “It’s why everyone thinks nothing of treating me like a child.”
“I don’t treat you like a child,” he said, leaning toward her for a moment before seeming to remember Laverre’s presence, which halted his progress.
“No,” she admitted, her cheeks heating. “You certainly don’t. But you also mustn’t worry about me—I’m not being thrown to the wolves, I’m merely keeping up my end of the bargain.” Realizing belatedly, however, that she might be about to toss away a rather fortuitous opportunity, she paused. She and Julian had promised each other honesty—but she had never promised not to take advantage of a bit of misplaced guilt on his part, to get what she truly wanted.
“But perhaps we could see our way to some sort of arrangement,” she said slowly, and he arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “Perhaps, for every afternoon of social calls, or every dinner party, or every walk in Hyde Park with a lady I dislike, I might spend an afternoon here at the Belfry.”
Julian sighed. “Emily—”
“No, listen,” she said. “I’m not trying to interfere—I won’t make a nuisance of myself, or get in the way, or do anything that might damagemy reputation. But if your aim is to attract ladies to the theater, would it not be helpful to have an actual lady spending time behind the scenes, offering her opinion?” She reached out to rest a hand on his arm. “You are a man, Julian—”
“I’m so glad you’ve noticed,” he said dryly.
“—and so you cannot possibly see things from a lady’s perspective. But if I were to spend some time here—watch rehearsals, familiarize myself with the theater and how it worked—perhaps I might be able to offer you some suggestions that mightn’t occur to you otherwise.”
He regarded her for a long moment, a faint furrow between his brows.
“Please,” she said, taking a step closer to him. “I want to be useful. And I want to try to be useful in a way other than the way I’ve always been before.” She paused for a moment, allowing him to fully process her words. “I’ll still go to tea—I’ll be certain to let drop in conversation that I’ve been spending more time at the Belfry, in fact. But let me spend time here, too.”
“All right,” he said. “In fact, I’ve been pondering a few more cosmetic changes to the theater, just to give it a bit of a fresh appearance, and perhaps you could mention to these ladies that you helped guide this undertaking. Selected new cushions for the chairs in the boxes. That sort of thing. Then perhaps they’ll be curious to come see the theater for themselves.”
“Well—” Emily began, then hesitated. Did she dare? She took a breath. “You couldactuallylet me guide this undertaking, in truth. Then it wouldn’t be a lie. And it’s certainly something I think I’m well capable of assisting you with.”
He opened his mouth—then closed it. “You’re right,” he said, sounding faintly surprised. “I suppose that would make more sense.”
“I am capable of making sense on occasion, I believe,” she said, a bit more tartly than she intended.
He grinned.
“All right, Lady Julian,” he said with good humor. “Your presence at my theater is officially welcomed. Within reason,” he added hastily, but she didn’t mind—anything was better than sitting in stuffy drawing rooms all day, not doing or seeing anything different.
She smiled then, a real smile, and before she quite realized what she was doing, she had flung her arms around his shoulders and was standing on her toes to press herself tightly to him. A moment later, she would have pulled away, but his arm snaked around her waist, keeping her close, the warmth and strength of it against her back surprisingly comforting.
“How touching,” came Laverre’s voice, not sounding terribly touched at all. “Please do remember my presence, though, before matters proceed any further.”
“You’re French,” Julian shot over his shoulder, loosening his grip on Emily but still keeping his arm around her. “I thought your people went all in for such displays.”
“If you want to win the approval of a Frenchman, you’ll need to do more than give your wife a quick embrace,” Laverre replied, a note of wicked amusement in his voice, and Emily, despite the warmth she could feel creeping into her cheeks, could not help herself:
She laughed.
Fifteen
Two days later, Emily returnedhome from a brisk trot in the park with Violet and Sophie to find her husband at home, much to her surprise. She glanced at the clock in the entrance hall as she handed her bonnet and gloves to Bramble, and noted that it was only half past three; she and her friends had gone out deliberately early that afternoon, hoping to avoid any of the fashionable set, as they strategized about Emily’s Path to Propriety, as Violet had named their plan to see Emily restore her husband’s good name.
As it turned out, they needn’t have worried, even if they’d ventured out at the fashionable five o’clock hour—it was a brisk, blustery sort of day, the kind of afternoon that reminded one that autumn was tightening its grip as the October days grew shorter, with a weak sun only occasionally peeking out from behind the clouds. As a result, the park was fairly deserted, much of London having apparently decided to stay home with a pot of tea before a fire.
Emily herself had just such a reward in mind upon returning home, only to stop short in surprise when Bramble informed her that Lord Julian was at home, hours before Emily would normally have expected him. And, furthermore, that he was not alone.
“The Earl of Blackford,” she repeated, feeling a further burst ofsurprise when the butler gave Julian’s brother’s courtesy title. “Where are they, then?”
“In his lordship’s study, I believe,” Bramble said, sounding very pleased with himself. Emily had, over the past few weeks, gotten the distinct impression that Bramble had been suffering in silence for these many years, serving as butler to an aristocrat who refused to behave as an aristocrat should. But now! O, joyous day! Not only had Julian married—a proper lady of theton, no less—but he was receiving visits from his brother, first in line to a marquessate. Emily could practically see Bramble vibrating with unspoken pleasure.
