Authors: Amanda Quick
Scandal (31 page)
Araminta frowned. "I do not think you quite understand, Emily. This is your debut as a hostess. It is your soiree."
"And everything I do will reflect on Simon," Emily concluded firmly. "The soiree must be perfect in every detail. I have spent hours on the plans already. Very exhausting, if you must know the truth."
Araminta gave up and nodded to a lady being driven toward them in a brown landau. "Smile," she commanded Emily in a low voice. "That is Lady Peppington. I shall introduce you."
Emily smiled cheerfully at the elegantly dressed middle-aged woman as Araminta made the introductions. Lady Peppington inclined her head in a frozen nod and then looked away. The landau went briskly on down the path.
Emily was seized with panic. "Bloody hell."
Araminta raised her brows. "What on earth is the matter now, Emily?"
"You said that was Lady Peppington," Emily hissed.
"What of it?"
"She's on my guest list and 'tis obvious she does not particularly like me. What if she will not attend my soiree? Simon will be furious. He distinctly told me he wanted the Canonburys and the Peppingtons to come. Araminta, what shall I do?"
"Absolutely nothing. You may be certain the Canonburys and the Peppingtons will come to your affair, along with everyone else who gets an invitation."
Emily shot her companion a speculative glance. "How can you and Simon be so positive of that?"
"Simon has not told you about Canonbury and Peppington, has he?"
Emily remembered the grimness in her husband's expression when he had informed her that Canonbury and Peppington would attend the soiree. "Araminta, is there something I should know about these people?"
"It is not my place to tell you," Araminta said, looking thoughtful, "but I believe I shall. It is in your own best interests to know what you are getting into here and I do not think Simon will rush to inform you. He is strongly inclined to keep his secrets to himself."
"Araminta, do not beat about the bush. What is it, for heaven's sake?"
"Northcote's father, Canonbury, and Peppington were all close friends and business partners of Simon's father."
"Yes?"
"Simon was only twelve at the time his father shot himself, but he knew, because he had heard his parent discuss it, that Northcote, Canonbury, and Peppington had all invested together with Simon's father in a South Seas trading company venture. The night he shot himself, the earl left Simon a note telling him, among other things, that after paying his gambling debts, the only financial resources left for his son and wife would be whatever was realized from the trade venture."
"Oh, dear," Emily said, beginning to grasp what was coming.
"Simon sat down and, at the tender age of twelve, wrote to all three men asking them to advance his mother some money on the basis of the profit expected on his father's shares."
"And they refused?"
"They did not even bother to respond. Instead, they took advantage of a clause in the trading company contract to sell Blade's shares to another investor. Simon and his mother were cut out of the partnership completely. They did not get a penny."
"Bloody hell."
"There was nothing illegal about what Northcote, Canonbury, and Peppington did, you understand. Simply a matter of business."
"But Simon and his mother were effectively cut off from their last source of income."
"Yes. Simon will never forgive or forget."
Emily frowned. "I am surprised he did not seek vengeance on all of them along with my father."
"Oh, he did, Emily." Araminta nodded at another acquaintance. "He most certainly did. A very subtle vengeance. He has ensured that each man is somehow at his mercy. As of six months ago he already held Canonbury and Peppington under his paw. You, my dear, apparently did something that handed him Northcote on a silver platter."
Emily's lips parted in shock as she recalled the rescue of Celeste and the cool wariness between Simon and the marquess that had been evident later. "Bloody hell. But the present marquess is the son of the man who wronged Simon and his mother, not the one who sold Blade's shares." Her voice trailed off as she recalled her husband's rigid code.
"Precisely," Araminta murmured. "Simon has lived in the East for a long time. In his eyes the sins of the fathers fall upon the children and indeed the entire family."
"No wonder Simon acted so strangely when I informed him that I had told Lady Northcote all obligations between our two families were settled."
"Yes. I imagine it came as something of a shock to Blade." Araminta's mouth quirked in amusement. "Word has it, however, that he did, indeed, honor your commitment to forgive the old debt."
"My father once said something about Simon having Canonbury and Peppington under his control. At the time I did not understand. I merely thought he meant Simon was a powerful man."
"Which he is. He got that way by ensuring that he always knows the deepest, darkest secrets of those with whom he deals. The information gives him power. And he does not hesitate to wield it."
"Just as he knew that I was my father's weak point," Emily said half under her breath. "My husband is an extremely clever man, is he not?"
"He is also a very dangerous one. You appear to be the only person in the whole of London who does not go in fear of him. That is no doubt one of the reasons the ton finds you so fascinating, my dear. You blithely dance where angels fear to tread. Are you quite certain you could not ride that horse without the aid of your spectacles, Emily?"
"I should run straight off the path and into the trees," Emily assured her. She pushed the offending spectacles more firmly onto her nose. "Come along, Araminta. I see Celeste up ahead and I cannot wait to show her my new mare."
"A moment, if you please, Emily. It is not like you to change the subject so quickly. What are you planning? I can tell you are up to something."
"Nothing significant, Araminta. I believe I shall invite Lady Canonbury and Mrs. Peppington to tea as soon as possible, however. Will you join us?"
"Good lord." Araminta stared after Emily. "I most certainly shall. The experience should prove interesting."
The salon held in Lady Turnbull's drawing room the following afternoon was not at all what Emily had expected. She had been exceedingly anxious ever since receiving the invitation because she knew she would be meeting and mingling with some of London's most sophisticated literary intellectuals.
She had spent hours choosing the right gown and the right hairstyle. In the end she had opted for the serene, classical look, on the assumption that a crowd of people interested in romantic poetry and other intellectual matters would favor the style.
She had arrived at Lady Turnbull's in a severe, high-waisted, modestly cut gown of fine, gold muslin, trimmed with black dragons. She'd had Lizzie do her hair a l'antique.
Emily had discovered immediately upon being shown into Lady Turnbull's drawing room, however, that all the other ladies were wearing gowns cut with fashionably low decolletage and had frivolous little hats perched rakishly on their heads.
Two or three of the women tittered as Lady Turnbull came forward to greet Emily. As she took her seat, Emily was painfully aware of the curiosity and amusement of those around her. It was as if she had been hired to entertain them with her eccentric ways, she thought in annoyance.
She began to wonder if she had made a serious mistake in accepting the invitation to join the group. At that moment Ashbrook flicked shut an elegant enameled snuffbox and straightened away from the mantel against which he had been leaning with negligent grace. He came forward to kiss Emily's hand, thereby bestowing instant cachet upon her. Emily smiled back gratefully.
Emily was further disappointed, however, when the conversation turned straight to the latest gossip, rather than the latest romantic literature. She listened impatiently to the latest on dit and wondered how soon she could leave. It was obvious she was not mingling with a group of clever intellectuals, after all. It was true everyone in the room had a marvelously fashionable air of ennui and every word spoken was laden with world-weary cynicism, but there was no interest here in literary matters. Across the room Ashbrook caught her eye and winked conspiratorially.
"By the bye," a gentleman who was introduced as Crofton drawled, "I have recently had the pleasure of playing cards with your father, Lady Blade."
That caught Emily's full attention. She glanced at him in surprise. She was wearing her spectacles, so she could see Crofton's cruel and dissipated face quite clearly. She guessed he had once been a handsome man, with his bold, saturnine features. But now he appeared jaded and thoroughly debauched. Emily had not liked Crofton from the moment she had been introduced to him.
"Have you, indeed?" She took a noncommittal sip of her tea.
"Yes, as a matter of fact. Quite a neck-or-nothing gamester, your father."
"Yes." Emily prayed for a change of topic.
"His spirits seem a bit depressed of late," Crofton observed. "One would think he would be bursting with enthusiasm over your excellent marriage."
"You know how fathers are," Emily said, feeling desperate. "I was his only daughter."
"You were, I gather, extremely important to him," Crofton murmured. "One might even say vital to his well-being."
Emily looked at Ashbrook, smiling hopefully. "Have you read Mrs. Fordyce's latest effort, my lord?"
"Mrs. Fordyce is a silly frump of a woman, sadly lacking in intelligence and talent." Ashbrook volunteered the sweeping pronouncement with an air of complete boredom.
Emily bit her lip. "I rather enjoyed her new novel. Very strange and interesting."
The small group laughed indulgently at this display of rustic taste and went back to a discussion of Byron's latest antics. Emily risked a glance at the clock and wished it were time to leave. She listened to the prattle going on around her and decided that the literary society of Little Dippington accomplished far more in its Thursday afternoon meetings than this elegant salon ever would. As she always did when she was bored or unhappy, she mentally went to work on new stanzas for The Mysterious Lady.
A ghost was indeed called for, she decided. The poem needed more melodrama. Perhaps she could have the heroine encounter a phantasm in an abandoned castle. She must remember to tell Ashbrook she intended to add a ghost. She had brought the manuscript with her in her reticule this afternoon but she wondered if she should turn it over to him so soon. It might be better to wait until she had added the ghost.
Conversation in the drawing room drifted into a new channel.
"If we are speaking of likely investments," one foppish gentleman said portentously, "I don't mind telling you about a new venture I am looking into at the moment. Canal shares for a project to be built in Hampshire."
Emily reluctantly let her attention snap back to the present. She raised quizzical eyes toward the gentleman who had just spoken. "Would that be the
The gentleman's glance swung immediately toward her. "Why, yes, it would. My man of affairs brought it to my attention recently."
"I should have nothing to do with that venture, if I were you, sir," Emily said. "I know something about the previous financial ventures arranged by the gentlemen behind the
The man gave Emily his full attention. "Is that a fact, Lady Blade? I am most interested in hearing more about the project, as I am on the brink of putting quite a large sum into it."
"If you want to invest in canals," Emily said, "I would suggest that you first investigate coal mining areas. Or look into the potteries. I have found that wherever one finds a product that needs an economical path to market, one finds a need for canals. But one must consider the people behind the venture as carefully as the venture itself."
At that casual pronouncement, all male eyes in the room were on Emily, the women soon taking their cues from the men. Emily blinked owlishly under the unexpected scrutiny. She had continued her investment work here in town. After all, the ladies of the Little Dippington literary society still depended on her. But Emily had not expected to find herself discussing such topics today. She had come here to talk of higher matters.
"I say," one of the men began, instantly casting aside his carefully cultivated attitude of ennui, "Do you favor any particular projects?"
"Well," Emily said slowly, "I have several correspondents in the midland counties and two of them have recently written to me concerning a new canal project. I confess I have not been paying a great deal of attention to financial matters lately but I am rather intrigued by this arrangement. I have had successful situations with this group of investors in the past."
All pretense of a literary discussion was dropped as Emily became the focus of everyone's attention. She found herself inundated with questions and demands for more information on investment projects. It was all familiar territory, if unexciting, and, anxious to make a pleasant impression, she concentrated on her answers.
