“She was at Lady Cunningham’s garden party. Miss Cartwright and Miss Howard, two new acquaintances of mine, pointed her out to me. Her name is Charlotte Browne.”
A chill settled over Emily as bile began to rise in her throat. “Where does she live? Do you know?”
They turned about, heading back toward Piccadilly. “Not precisely, no. I’ve been told that she has an apartment here in London—paid for by Francis, of course.”
“Of course,” Emily heard herself say.
“But apparently he never meets her there.”
Emily had no desire to ask the question that she knew must follow, but her mouth and voice seemed to have taken up a united front against her better judgment. “Then where do they meet?” she asked.
“At Dunhurst Park,” Kate said quietly, sensing her friend’s distress.
“And when did she last visit there?” Emily found herself asking, pressing the issue, though she feared to know the answer. In fact, to be perfectly honest, the whole conversation was more nauseating than the smell of rotten fish.
“Rumor has it that she was there just last week. I’m not sure of the exact days, however.”
“Oh God,” Emily murmured as she clutched hold of Kate’s arm. She felt a dull pain growing in her throat and her breath caught as if something was constricting her lungs. “Francis was there last week as well . . .” Her voice was barely audible, but it didn’t matter—she was no longer talking to Kate. Had he really gone straight from kissing her in his study to spending three days with his mistress, only to return and . . . she groaned as the images of what they had shared in her bedroom flashed before her. It was too humiliating to think of.
“I’m so sorry,” Kate told her as she hugged her friend. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you or not, but I felt that it was the right thing to do.”
“It was,” Emily murmured. “Thank you, Kate, you’ve been a true friend.”
“I’m just trying to make amends . . . in whatever way that I can. I hope that one day everything will be as it was, before all of this happened.”
“I know you do,” Emily said, her voice growing distant. “But nothing will ever be as it used to be; too much damage has been done. I’m sorry, Kate, but you and I will never be as close as we once were—it’s simply not possible.”
“What will you do now?” Kate asked her, her voice heavy with regret.
They had reached the entrance to the park once more, where Emily now stood as if transfixed. She felt numb and defeated. What would she do? What could she do? She had no desire to return to Francis’s home—the mere thought of possibly seeing him again nauseated her. How could she have been so blind? She’d known he was incapable of love—nobody as depressed as he was could possibly fall in love—yet she’d allowed herself to be captured by his desire for her. She’d treasured his touch and his kisses. . . . She’d relished his courtship.
Francis Riley needed a wife in order to produce an heir—all men of his stature needed that—and who better than someone who fell in love as easily as she apparently did. Given enough time and the right explanation, he probably would have coaxed her into accepting his mistress as part of the package.
As she allowed this final thought to manifest, she suddenly reeled away from Kate to cast up her accounts all over the pavement.
“You’re not well, Emily,” Kate told her, stating the obvious as she put her hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Let me escort you back to your house.”
“I’m not going back there,” Emily said, her eyes wide with despair. “I’m never going back there.” Backing away, she stumbled slightly as her foot caught the hem of her dress—yet she quickly managed to recover her balance as she reached for the back of a bench on which to steady herself. Without another word, she turned on her heel and ran out into the street to hail the first hackney she could find.
Kate watched in horrified silence as Emily scampered on board, just managing to make out the word “Redding,” as Emily called out her destination to the driver. The carriage then took off with a jolt, leaving behind a distraught Kate at the edge of Green Gardens.
The butler responded rapidly to Kate’s incessant hammering on the door. “Yes?” he asked, arching a disapproving eyebrow.
“Are either of the Rutherford sisters at home?” she stammered. She had run as fast as she could to get there, only to find herself panting and wheezing quite shamefully on the doorstep of Francis’s home.
“I’m afraid not,” Parker replied in a haughty tone that gave Kate the urge to hit him. She restrained herself, partly due to decorum but mostly because he was the gatekeeper—he had the power to admit her or to turn her away.
“How about Lord Dunhurst, then?” she asked, gritting her teeth. “It’s a matter of some urgency.”
“His lordship is not in either.” Kate’s shoulders slumped in visible exasperation. She wasn’t handling the situation well at all, she realized, to her annoyance. “They may return shortly, however. May I suggest that you wait for them in the parlor?”
With a sigh of relief, Kate thanked Parker as she hurried inside before he had a chance to change his mind.
It was well over an hour before Kate heard the front door open and close to the sound of prattling voices. A brief silence ensued as hats and gloves were undoubtedly being removed, and then there were footsteps approaching. A moment later, the door to the parlor swung open, and Kate jumped to her feet as Beatrice and Claire entered, followed by Jonathan and Francis.
“Hello, Kate,” Beatrice said in a polite tone. “Parker told us you were here. Where’s Emily? She said that she was going to meet you—did you not find one another?”
Kate just stood there, staring back at them all, wringing her hands, unable to find the right words with which to begin. “Are you all right?” Claire asked. “Here, why don’t you sit down? You look thoroughly put out.”
“I’d much rather stand,” Kate said, her voice quivering. “If you don’t mind.”
“Very well,” Beatrice said. “Why don’t you have a drink, then, to calm your nerves, and then tell us what all of this is about.”
Kate nodded anxiously, eager to have something with which to still her fidgety hands. She watched in silence as Francis poured her a small brandy, then thanked him as he handed it to her. She took a large sip, her fingers trembling as they held the glass to her lips. Then, steadying herself on a table next to her, she sank down onto the chair behind her and heaved a big, strenuous sigh. “I told Emily . . .” she began, but her voice faltered. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, I should have come to you first, Francis.”
Francis’s brows were suddenly drawn tight, his eyes grown dark—Kate shuddered. “Where is Emily, Kate?” he asked her sternly.
“She’s gone to Redding,” Kate whispered with downcast eyes.
“Dear me,” Beatrice moaned with a pained look in her eyes.
“What the devil does that mean?” Francis asked, his annoyance growing by the second.
“It means she’s gone to see Edward, our cousin.”
“Why would she do that?” Claire asked. “I thought she hated Edward.”
“She does, Claire, but you see, Edward has been supporting us since Mama and Papa passed away, and . . .”
Francis scoffed. “You call that supporting you? The blackguard has barely given you enough to survive upon!”
“Nevertheless,” Beatrice said calmly. “We’ve had no choice but to depend on him. All of these years, he asked for nothing in return, but then . . . about two months ago a letter arrived. He plans to cut us off once Claire reaches her majority.”
“That’s next month,” Claire gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“Neither of us wanted you to worry about it—after all, we were so sure that Emily would marry Adrian and that it wouldn’t be an issue . . . but now . . .” Beatrice glanced across at Kate who was looking more and more forlorn. “In his letter, Edward made an offer for Emily, promising that if she married him, then he would continue to support us—even raise our allowance. She dismissed the offer at the time, but I believe she may have reconsidered, as distasteful as she finds it.”
“Bloody hell!” Francis exclaimed.
“But he’s our cousin, Bea . . . she can’t possibly . . .”
“He’s not our cousin, Claire, even if we’ve referred to him as such—you know that. We’re not related to him by blood, so it is in fact quite acceptable for Emily to marry him.”
“We can’t allow her to do it, Bea—we have to stop her somehow. Emily mustn’t offer herself up like this on the marriage altar for our sakes—I could never forgive myself if she did.”
“What I’d like to know is what the devil possessed her to take off in such a hurry without a single explanation.” Francis glared at Kate as he now stood waiting for an explanation.
“I believe she may have been significantly upset not to care about who she might marry.”
“And why is that, Kate? Let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we? You met her, and you told her something. Now tell me what the hell it was before you become the first woman I beat.”
“I told her about your mistress, Francis. She has a right to know, even if you’re not willing to tell her,” Kate yelled as she met his stormy eyes.
Silence flooded the room while her words hung suspended in the air. A look of shock was evident on everyone’s faces as they all stared at Kate with open mouths.
“You what?” Francis roared. “Of all the stupid things you’ve ever done in your life, Kate. It wasn’t enough for you to ruin Emily’s happiness once. Oh no, you had to go and do it again. What kind of a friend are you? And why the hell didn’t you talk to me about this first?”
“I . . . I . . .” Kate stammered as her eyes darted about the room in bewilderment.
“I don’t have a bloody mistress, Kate. How dare you fill Emily’s head with lies and insinuations? How dare you ruin her chances of happiness?”
“But I was told . . . I mean, Charlotte Browne . . .”
“Was my father’s mistress,” Francis sighed as he shook his head from side to side in incredulity. “You stupid woman. Trust you to listen to all the gossip mongers and to make a big old Banbury tale out of it.”
Kate slumped back in her seat, utterly defeated. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered, as if barely capable of believing the extent of her blunder herself. “You have to go after her, Francis.”
“I daresay the woman’s got a point, Francis,” Jonathan added as he patted his friend on the back. “After all, it wouldn’t do to watch the woman you love marry someone else, would it now?”
Francis shot Jonathan a disgruntled look, then turned back to find the three women staring at him in astonishment.