Undone By His Kiss

“Age should not deter true love. Your father was fifteen years older than me and that difference never interfered with our affection,” Bianca said with finality.

Emily swallowed past the lump in her throat and strove to resurrect a cheerful tone. “My friend is perhaps seven or eight years old, our age difference too vast.”

“Oh, you had me convinced you’d met a suitor.” Her voice dropped as though she’d arrived at a disappointing conclusion.

Her mother’s forlorn reply tugged at Emily’s resolve. She didn’t wish to be a disappointment, but her heart remained conflicted when it came to matters of relationships and marriage; the joy of one seemingly causing the crisis of the other. Despite her mother’s misconception, Emily wished to be loved and cherished, but at what cost? And on what terms?

While she deliberated every emotion with extreme care, her mother’s despondency evolved into a daily struggle. Still one condition shouldn’t eradicate the other. Even the ladies of the league held a secret desire to be courted and Emily had dutifully ignored discussing relationships deferring to every aspect of independence imaginable. Perhaps, she’d wronged her friends. She’d need to be more open-minded when it came to her opinion of their future. Her intractable resolution, to remain happily unattached, could not impinge on the choices of others. The league should serve to suggest options, choices for a future not commanded by the social doctrine.

Emily assessed her mother’s dejected expression. Her solemn contemplation confirmed their discussion would go no further. The two sat in companionable silence until Mary entered with Portia Edmonstone by her side.

“Portia?” Emily rose to approach her friend, surprise and puzzlement causing her quick reaction. “The league doesn’t meet on Wednesdays. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve a little matter to discuss and hoped you’d spare a few minutes for tea and conversation.” Portia’s usual sagacious demeanor seemed absent, her eyes expressing a different message than her words.

“I’ll leave the two of you. I have matters to attend.”

Emily’s eyes followed her mother’s brisk retreat, uncertainty causing new worry to blossom.

“Has she gotten any better?” Portia whispered, though they stood alone in the room.

“I’m afraid not.” Emily motioned her friend closer as they moved to sit near the fire.

“What a silly expression. You are fearless, afraid of no one or no thing.” Portia offered a smile of reassurance. “I’m sure your mother will improve in time. My aunt suffered a similar depression after my uncle passed. It was nearly a year before she showed any emotion other than sadness.”

“Maybe.” Doubt forced the word out in a mutter. “I wish she would accept Father is gone. That way she could plan for a happier future. It’s been over two years and she seems to get worse by the week. And it’s not just sadness or despondency.”

“I daresay her heartache is palpable.” Portia patted Emily’s hand in comfort. “She looks so lost at times, but then on the occasion she appears almost hopeful, as if she believes your father will return.”

“I know. Some days she’s right as rain, her demeanor cheerful. The most troubling aspect of her condition is found in its unpredictability. It causes me grave concern.”

Portia was her closest friend, yet Emily had never confided the particulars involving her parents. It didn’t seem appropriate, nor would she want the circumstances repeated to any person, ever. Not that she didn’t trust Portia. She was the closest Emily had to a sister. Yet secrets sometimes had a way of finding a path to daylight when they were best left hidden in a dark drawer. In that, Emily reserved her deepest regret and emotion for evening, when she snuffed the candles in her bedchamber and wept herself to sleep.

“Enough of my tale of woe.” Emily laughed away the truth in her statement. “What brings you to visit? It must be a matter of great importance. I can see it in your eyes no matter you are trying your best to conceal the truth of it.”

“This evening, the Bandlewits are hosting a gathering.”

“Yes?” Emily nodded to Mary who appeared at the door with a tea tray. The room fell silent as refreshments were served. In fluid habit, Emily accepted the letter Mary offered, slipping it into her gown pocket without a comment or remark for Portia’s behalf. Once the housekeeper left, their conversation resumed.

“My mother insists I attend. Apparently she’s become fast friends with Lady Bandlewit and the two have contrived to match me with the eldest son, Norris. I’ve known about this conspiracy for two days and I’m sure I’ve lost weight from my lack of appetite…or will to live. I couldn’t fathom becoming a Bandlewit.”

“It does present an unexpected conundrum. Have you expressed your feelings to your mother?” Emily knew how deeply Portia wished to achieve her aspiration. The situation was difficult enough without another layer of complication.

“My mother and father believe my vision to travel the world is a ridiculous and rebellious dream. Their answer is to see me married and under my husband’s thumb so he can be the one who will squash ambition out of me before I raise our brood of Bandlewits.”

The subject was serious but Emily couldn’t help it, she laughed out loud. “Oh when you say it that way, it does sound dire.”

The two shared a bout of the giggles despite a troubled expression marred Portia’s delicate features soon after.

“So, as a sort of compromise, I pleaded to at least bring a friend to this evening’s débâcle and my mother relented. Now if you’ll also agree, perhaps we can concoct some subterfuge to keep Norris at bay, or dissuade him altogether. I don’t mind being rejected. I’d actually prefer it. If society perceived me as a pariah, once I become of a suitable age, I may travel the globe without a care for rumors, reputation or societal status.”

Portia had risen during her little speech and stood near the mantle, her boots firmly planted, hands on her hips. Her stance represented defiance and confidence. Emily’s heart swelled with pride.

“Of course I will accompany you. I won’t allow anyone to run ripshod over your dreams.”

“I knew you would agree.” Portia leaned down to embrace Emily. “You really are the truest friend.”

If only I could be the truest daughter. There was no need to voice the words, but they echoed in her mind nonetheless.

Chapter 7 (#ulink_0c475a72-0960-5bfe-98ee-308058e1e1a0)

Jasper, in his evening’s finest, and Randolph, wearing his interpretation of fashion, collected Penwick at nine sharp and proceeded to Kellaway’s town house on George Street in Hanover Square. They arrived at the same time Kell’s elegant barouche pulled to the curb.

“There’s no reason for all of us to climb out.” Jasper took control. “I’ll speak to Kell concerning the anticipated entertainment. It appears he’s only arriving when we’d arranged to be already on our way.” Not waiting for either friend to reply, he hopped from the carriage and shadowed the footman who’d opened Kellaway’s coach and extended the steps. Taken aback, Jasper watched as two females with scandalously low necklines exited. He almost swallowed his tongue when a feminine giggle echoed from the confines of the carriage and Kell stepped out. Apparently, the coach wasn’t emptied yet.

“Have plans changed?” Keen to his perspicuity, Jasper waited on his friend’s reply.

“Aah, yes. I won’t be joining you this evening. Sorry about the alterations, but other distractions have taken precedence.” Kellaway glanced into the carriage and smiled. The coo of a besotted female followed although she had yet to materialize.

Jasper slue his eyes from one beautiful companion to the other and then warranted a glance at the carriage, now silent. “Expecting a few more gentlemen this evening?” His voice cracked on the question.

“Not at all.” Kell’s reply was thrown over his shoulder, his arms full of female on either side as he climbed the front steps. “I’ll be in touch.”

The ladies purred with this pronouncement.

Refusing to feel the fool, Jasper reclaimed his carriage and instructed the driver to an address in Mayfair. He’d ensure Penwick had an enjoyable evening, despite the only ready invitation he’d received was to the Bandlewits’ house party and that began hours ago.

“Where’s Kell? Isn’t he coming?” Randolph leaned forward in an attempt to peer out the window before the carriage gained speed.

“Not with us he isn’t.” Jasper refrained from saying more.

Emily touched a finger to each charm on the silver bracelet gifted to her by the newly arrived orphan at the Foundling Hospital. Mary had cleaned it in a hot wash of vinegar and salt and now the once tarnished and corroded chain shone with brilliance. It was a curious piece, each charm different, but equally beautiful. The owner who’d dropped it must regret its loss indeed.

She gathered the bracelet and looped it around her wrist, the perfect addition to the periwinkle silk gown she’d donned for this evening’s gathering. Not one to squander money on frivolous purchases, she possessed a few extravagant fashions for the rare occasion when she ventured out; this selection one of them. Some intuitive notion urged she wear her best this evening. Perhaps the dull ache of her mother’s distress motivated she’d disguise heartache with ribbons and silk. If society served any meaningful purpose, distraction proved prime.

Her maid, Agnes, had arranged her hair in a wonderful style with soft tendrils falling around her ears and neck, the result becoming. Not one to fuss over her ordinary brown hair, Emily seldom took time to examine her features and attempt improvement. Tonight, with her new bracelet and elegant dress, she portrayed exactly what her mother wished. The realization brought melancholy and much-needed comfort. She’d force herself to try harder to be the kind of biddable daughter her mother needed.

With sadness, she glanced to the basket beside her bed, filled with unsent letters Bianca had composed, at times with painstaking care and constituting further evidence of love’s trap. Emily had covered the basket with a blanket to prevent discovery. What a blessing Mary aided in her discretion and assisted in carrying out the charade. Commonsense prodded Emily attempt anything to protect her mother from further disappointment, but to what end? Shaking free from her maudlin thoughts and unwilling to mar the evening, she collected her wrap from the foot of the bed and hurried downstairs.

Inside Portia’s carriage, the mood was light and cheery. Lady Edmonstone chattered endlessly about the attributes of the Bandlewits and Portia and Emily communicated their opinions through a variety of eye widening and subdued smirks. At times, Emily found herself biting the inside of her cheek to keep laughter in check. It proved pleasant despite both girls knew Portia’s mother would be determined in her attempt to see her daughter wed as soon as possible.

“You both look lovely this evening.” Lady Edmonstone’s trilling pronouncement had Emily suppressing another trickle of laughter. “I’d wager you’ll garner a high degree of attention this evening. It’s to your detriment that you don’t venture out more often, girls. It would take hardly any work at all to marry you off.”

These last few words erased the congenial mood.

“Mother, I doubt Emily wishes to take part in such a devastating endeavor regardless how lovely she looks.” Portia shifted her attention. “Your blue eyes are absolutely stunning with the hue of your gown, by the way.”

Any further discussion was curtailed as the carriage rolled to a stop before a grand white stone house with ornate railings and finely detailed shutters. Despite any shortcomings noted in the prospect of marriage to a Bandlewit, surely their impeccable taste and imposing wealth forged a remarkable first impression. Lady Edmonstone’s grand gleaming smile seemed to surmise the same conclusion.