Hyde Park, joining the flow of vehicles and horses parading for the fashionable hour. “Don’t worry, Em, the Season is not done yet. We have time to find someone better than the Sir Williams of the world,” Jane said. She reached into her reticule and drew out a small square of vellum. “Maybe here?”
“What is that, Jane? Some sort of love letter?”
Jane giggled. “No, silly! Tickets to a masked ball at Vauxhall. My sister, Mrs Barnes, procured them for me, and she has agreed to chaperon us there. She’s terribly easy to distract, though—she won’t get in the way of our fun.”
“Vauxhall?” Despite herself, Emily was terribly intrigued. She had heard of the infamous masked balls held in the pleasure gardens, of romantic assignations in dark walkways and glorious illuminations that transformed the night. She had laughed at some of the wilder tales, sure they could not be true.
But—what if they were true? What if she went and saw them for herself?
She glanced down at the tickets. A concert by Signora Rastrelli, they read in scrolling script. Fireworks and illuminations grander than anything yet seen in London!
Music, fireworks. It did sound wondrous. But … “Jane, I’m not sure we should.”
“We’ll be wearing masks ! No one will even know we’re there.”
“My parents would never allow it.”
“Then just tell them you’re staying with me at my sister’s house that night. Tell them—oh, I don’t know! That her relation, a curate, has come to visit and has promised to read us some fine sermons.”
Emily laughed, torn between her duty and the promise of a little fun. Surely an evening of music could not be harmful? She didn’t plan to go off along the Dark Walk, after all.
Something deep inside of her, some tiny, terrible imp of mischief that seldom dared show itself, pushed at her. Go on, it whispered, soft and alluring. Be a little daring. What harm could it do? You have been working so hard.
But it could do a great deal of harm, she feared. Yet still the temptation was there.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I think—”
“Good afternoon, ladies!” someone called, interrupting her words. “Very pleasant weather we’re having, are we not?”
Emily looked up to see Mr George Rayburn approaching on his horse. He had been the only suitor to really appear this Season, dancing with her at her first ball and being attentive since then. He sent flowers, fetched her lemonade at parties, things of that nature—if that could really be called a suitor. He had not made an offer, and her parents would have refused him anyway. His fortune was respectable enough, from all reports, but he had no title.
Now, though, at the end of the Season, if he were to come forward, they might be more amenable. If Emily liked him, she could probably persuade them Mr Ray-burn was a reasonable match.
He drew in his horse next to their carriage and tipped his hat, smiling down at them. She should like him, Emily thought as she smiled back at him. He was terribly handsome, with waving, glossy dark hair and hazel eyes, a strong jaw and straight nose. He was tall and lean, athletic, much admired. He read poetry, had travelled widely, had correct opinions and impeccable manners.
And he did seem to like her. He wasn’t put off by her shyness or her lack of dancing skills. Why could she not really like him? Perhaps it was that way he had of looking at her.
But maybe she was wrong. Everyone else seemed charmed by him, even Jane. Her friend held out her hand to Mr Rayburn with a happy trill of laughter.
“Mr Rayburn! We have not seen you out and about this week,” Jane said.
“I fear I had to attend some business on my estate that could not wait,” he answered. He seemed to speak to Jane, but his gaze lingered on Emily. “I am sure I could not have been much missed in all the flurry of the end of the Season.”
“Oh, but I vow you were!” Jane said. “There were not enough gentlemen to dance with at Lady Orman’s, were there, Emily?”
Emily smiled, remembering how she herself had not danced at all, no matter how many men there were. “No, I suppose there weren’t. No gentlemen who were good dancers, anyway.”
Mr Rayburn arched his brow. “You think me a good dancer, Lady Emily?”
“You managed to avoid getting your foot stomped on when we danced, Mr Rayburn, and you prevented me from tripping more than once. To me, that makes you an expert.”
“I am glad I impressed you with something, Lady Emily,” he answered.
Jane glanced between the two of them, her head tilted as if she puzzled something out. “Shall we all walk for a bit? I feel in need of some exercise.”
Emily nodded eagerly. Perhaps if they were walking, in the midst of the crowd, she could more easily avoid Mr Rayburn’s steady hazel stare. He did always seem to watch her, expect something from her when she could not fathom what it was. She only knew it made her feel fidgety, uncomfortable—and not in the same way the Duke of Manning did.
They left the carriage and set out along one of the pedestrian pathways. Emily loved coming to the park in the mornings, when the walkways were sparsely filled with nannies out with their charges and footmen walking the employers’ dogs. She loved watching the children with their hoops and dolls, enjoying the light and fresh air, the freedom. It made her yearn for the day when she would have a child of her own to walk with in the park, to love and nurture. But the park was such a very different place late in the afternoon, when it was taken over by stylishly dressed society figures, intent on seeing and being seen.
A couple, laughing raucously together, brushed past, jostling Emily. She stumbled, and Mr Rayburn caught her arm in a hard grasp.
“Are you quite all right, Lady Emily?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, thank you,” Emily said. She tried to ease her arm away, but he held on, leading her along the pathway to a more open spot.
“It is shockingly crowded today,” Jane declared, quite as if it wasn’t exactly this crowded every day. “How fortunate we have you to protect us, Mr Rayburn.”
“And how fortunate I am to escort two such lovely ladies. I’m the envy of every man here,” Mr Rayburn answered with a charming smile. “Now, Miss Thornton, Lady Emily, perhaps you could tell me all I missed while I was sadly away from town. Was Lady Orman’s as great a crush as everyone predicted?”
“Oh, even more so!” Jane said. “One could scarcely even move without being trod upon.”
As her friend chattered on about the ball, Emily half-listened, her mind drifting away from the gossip, the crowded park, even from Mr Rayburn’s clasp still on her arm. She thought of next week’s planned lesson at Mrs Goddard’s, her favourite pupil Sally who showed such promise and how well they were all progressing. They needed more challenging material in their lessons to keep up with them. Perhaps she could teach them a bit of Italian? Some of them might even be able to go for governesses soon.
She was so distracted by her plans she didn’t notice the tree root in her path until she tripped right over it.
“Oh!” she cried, as pain shot through her thin halfboot and up her foot. Mr Rayburn’s hand tightened on her arm, holding her upright yet again. “Thank you, Mr Rayburn. You are very kind.”
“It is entirely my pleasure, Lady Emily,” he said hoarsely, staring into her eyes. “You do seem to need someone to look after you.”
A sudden jolt of anger sizzled through her, and she finally shook her arm free of his touch. That was exactly what she did not want any longer, people always telling her where to go and what to do! “Looking after” always seemed to mean “telling what to do”. She never got to do what she wanted, or to make up her own mind about anything.