Page 83 of His Duchess in Disguise
“You have always said that I had good taste,” the Earl said, “I am amazed that you have allowed yourself to be eclipsed.”
Mrs. Pearthorne sighed. “Alas, my time is done, my ship has sailed and taken my one true love on it. No other could rival him. Now, if you will please excuse us, Your Lordship,” she somehow managed to put a bitter twist on the title, “the hour is growing late. I have come only to collect my companions that we might travel home.”
The Earl gave them a shallow bow, “Then I will wish you Godspeed and safe journey. Miss Hoskins, I hope to be calling upon you soon.”
Mrs. Pearthorne folded in her lips and said nothing at all. For a lady who could keep up a non-stop flow of chatter in nearly any situation, this was ominous indeed.
When they were safely in the coach, the widow burst out, “Alicia, you cannot be contemplating that slime for Emma.”
“I am not. However, I could scarcely refuse him, so I directed him to my brother.”
“Father won’t care,” Emma said. “He would be happy to be rid of me. I am only an embarrassment and an unfortunate reminder to him.”
“Can this truly be so?” Mrs. Pearthorne turned to Mrs. Brown. “How could any father be upset at having such a lovely daughter?”
“Unfortunately,” Mrs. Brown looked down at her gloved hands in her lap, “Emma closely resembles her dear mother, who was lost to us in childbirth. My brother blames Emma for her mother’s death and can scarcely bear the sight of her.”
“Oh, dear. That is, indeed, unfortunate. I see why you might fear that he would marry her off to the first eligible bachelor to ask for her hand. In most cases, that would be a way for Emma to escape an intolerable situation, but I fear that Lord Percy would hardly fill the bill.”
“Why so?” Mrs. Brown looked worried.
“He has a certain,” Mrs. Pearthorne made a slight moue, “reputation. The ink was scarcely dry upon my marriage lines before he came around, insinuating that he could keep me entertained while Jemmie was abroad. Nor am I the first soldier’s wife to suffer such attentions. Fortunately, Jemmie had already made arrangements for us to live in Calais. I was never so glad for a ship to sail as the one that took us to the Continent. We were just in time, for it was not long after that the ports closed, with Percy Harlow firmly on British soil.”
“I don’t think I like him, Aunt Alicia. Can you intercede for me with Father? He is highly unlikely to listen to anything I say.”
“I will see what I can do, dear Emma. But I will tell you that my brother is more likely to do what I ask him not to do than to do as I request.”
“Then I’m doomed,” Emma said sorrowfully. “I meet Prince Ugly at my first ball and my Season is over before it is even begun.”
“Perhaps it shall not be so bad as all that,” Mrs. Pearthorne comforted her. “Perhaps your father will not like the cut of his jib any better than I.”
But Emma could tell that the words were empty. With heavy heart, aching feet, and a head that was beginning to throb, she got out of the carriage at her father’s townhouse and went up the stairs to bed.Why is it that just as I think something good might happen, it seems likely that Father will take it all away?
Chapter 3
By the end of dinner, Leo had satisfied himself that Mrs. Pearthorne was not in dire straits financially or emotionally. Captain Pearthorne had been a man with a solid head for business, and he had left his widow well provided for. She was saddened by his absence, to be sure and even more regretful that there had been no children. But she was, indeed, writing a memoir.
“With which I shall not bore you,” she announced with a wicked little laugh. “But you, of all the people who fear they might appear in its pages, actually do play a role as our stalwart sea captain.”
“Do I, indeed?” he drawled. “I hope you have not pierced me through with that wicked wit for which you are so famous.”
“Oh, la, no! Your Grace, you are portrayed in the most propitious light. We had such a lovely time on your boat . . .”
“Ship,” he corrected gently.
“Whatever. We had a lovely time, and I shall treasure those moments forever.” The little widow dabbed at her eyes with a white handkerchief edged in black lace. “I had high hopes of sailing home with Jemmie on the same boat. Alas, it was not to be.”
Seeing that her grief truly was genuine, Leo forbore twitting her about calling his lovely ship, the Menhiransten, a “boat” as if it were a wallowing tub of a freighter or a fishing vessel.
Leo nearly choked on his wine, when the Earl of Cleweme perched on a chair a little way down the table. “What is it?” the perspicacious Mrs. Pearthorne asked.
“Nothing. It is nothing,” Leo growled. “Just someone I had hoped not to see tonight. But there he is, the scoundrel.”
“Oooo, La! So fierce!” she commented. “Perhaps I should add him to my book.”
“Don’t. He would spoil the whole thing for he has neither grace nor charm,” Leo growled.
Mrs. Pearthorne glanced down the table, then gave a delicate little shudder. “No, I don’t want him in my book. I was quite glad to be on your sailing vessel rather than in our little cottage. Even France was better than spending month after month repulsing his advances.”
