The Earl of Westerham asked Emily to visit him privately on the morning scheduled for their departure.
“Sit down, my dear; I am going to miss your company whilst you are in Town. Do not stop away too long.”
“We intend to return for the Yuletide festivities so it will be but five weeks we are absent.”
“Excellent; I have something special planned for you all. I am intending to hold a New Year's masquerade; Serena and Amelia will love it.”
“Will it not be too dark and dangerous for people to travel to Westerham, grandfather?”
He chuckled at her ignorance. “Good heavens, my dear, my guests will already be here. I have invited fifty people to stay. The ball will be to celebrate your forthcoming nuptials.” Emily shivered. “I have noticed Emily, that you do not wear your betrothal ring. Is it a poor fit?”
She blushed. “No, grandfather. It is remiss of me but I do not, as a rule, where any jewellery. I am always afraid I will lose it. But I promise I shall put it on immediately.”
“Good girl; people will think it odd of you if you do not display it proudly. I believe Yardley will be returning soon; it is high time you spent some time together.”
“I am looking forward to it,” she lied. She stood up and came across to kiss her benefactor farewell. “I am going to miss you, Grandfather. You must take care of yourself whilst we are gone.”
He patted her cheek affectionately. “I will, minx. And you enjoy yourself; attend as many parties and gatherings as you can, make some new friends. I have given Althea some extra cards so if there are any you wish to add to the house party, you will be free to do so.”
“Thank you; I must go, the carriage is waiting. I must not keep the horses standing, it is cold this morning.”
The Gibson family made good time and arrived at Lessing House by mid-afternoon. There was still sufficient daylight for the girls to exclaim in delight at the place in which they were to reside for the next five weeks. Millie stood on the freshly washed pavement and stared up.
“There are four floors. It takes up quite half the block.” She gazed around the select square on which the house was situated. “It is almost twice the size of all the other dwellings.”
“It is, my love. And it is as luxuriously appointed as Westerham. We will want for nothing, I promise you.”
“May I play in a little garden in the centre, Mama? It has a lawn and flowerbeds and there are statues of ladies in it,” Serena asked.
“I am sure Mary will take you when the weather is fine, if Miss Quenby gives you leave.”
The governess, a sprightly, middle-aged lady of superior knowledge and impeccable references, nodded and smiled. “Your mornings will still be spent on your books, Miss Serena, but I think the afternoons can be given over to visits and excursions. After all this is your first time in our capital city. I am sure Lady Althea wishes you to see as much of it is possible.”
“Indeed I do, Miss Quenby. Miss Gibson and I will be out a deal of the time so I am trusting you to plan a suitable itinerary for my youngest daughters.”
“Miss Quenby has promised she will take us to the Tower and the Vauxhall Gardens. I am so pleased to be here, Mama, I think I might burst.”
“I do hope not, Miss Serena, it would make such a mess on this clean pavement.” Miss Quenby replied smiling.
The London butler, Digby, from his vantage point at the head of the steps, viewed the laughing group with disfavour.
Emily noticed the front door was open and bright candlelight spilling out. “Come along, everyone, I think we should go in.” She noticed the look on the butler's face and realized they had been making a spectacle of themselves, gawping like villagers at a fair.
Digby showed them in and introduced the rest of the staff to Lady Althea. Then they were conducted to their apartments at the far side of the spacious building. In every room welcoming fires burnt merrily and candelabrum glowed with expensive beeswax candles. The youngest girls had been put, with Miss Quenby and Mary, on the attic floor in the nursery wing. They were not impressed.
“Why do we have to be up here? It's cold and dark. Grandfather does not make us sleep in the nurseries.” Serena said crossly.
“Indeed he does not, my loves. Nor shall you this visit.” Lady Althea turned to the housekeeper. “Miss Amelia and Miss Serena will have rooms next to Miss Gibson. And you will find a more comfortable chamber for Miss Quenby.”
“Yes, my lady. I'm sorry, my lady, but Mr Digby believes that children belong in the nursery, not on the second floor.”
Lady Althea smiled. “I quite understand. Mary you can remain up here, Jenny and Edwards can join you. When you have fires burning it will be quite cosy.”
The girls’ belongings were packed and transported back downstairs. It was full dark by the time the party was settled to everyone's satisfaction. After a light supper, served in a pretty withdrawing-room on the first floor, the girls were so tired they went to bed without demure, leaving Emily and her mother alone.
“I think I am going to retire also, my dear, I am fatigued after the journey.” Emily rang the bell and a parlour maid appeared to escort her mother to her rooms.
“I am going to explore for a while. I want to discover the whereabouts of the library and the study. Miss Quenby wishes to use one of them for her lessons.” Emily waited for the young maid to return to guide her downstairs. “Are the rooms on the ground floor not open, Beth?” She asked the girl on the way down the richly carpeted stairs.
“They are, Miss Gibson; but they're for Viscount Yardley's use.” The girl grinned. “You're coming has fair put old Digby out of sorts, I can tell you, miss. He cannot abide either women or children. I am up from Westerham, same as you; all female staff are, including Mrs Lawford. She is under housekeeper back there.” The girl halted in front of a stout door. “This is the library, Miss Gibson. Shall I show you the study too?”
“Yes, please do. Why are there are no flowers anywhere?”
Beth giggled. “Old sour face can't abide flowers neither. Shall I send out for some tomorrow, Miss Gibson?”
“Yes, Lady Althea likes the house to be filled with blooms. Will someone go to Covent Garden for them?”
“That they will, Miss Gibson. If Mrs Lawford allows, I'll go myself, and take a couple of boot boys along with me to carry them.”
Emily decided that the study, although presently unlit and chilly, would be more than adequate for her sister's to take their lessons.
“I can find my way back to my rooms, thank you, Beth, so you can go. I intend to sit in the library for a while and read. I noticed it has a decent fire burning.”
“Very well, Miss Gibson. If you're sure. Goodnight, miss.”
Beth vanished through a door in the panelling, leaving Emily alone outside the library. Feeling a little like an intruder she pushed open the door and went in. The rows of leather bound books were mostly dull and of no interest but she found a volume on the history of London and took that back to a comfortable, deep-seated, leather chair, positioned close to the fire.
She tucked her feet under her, smoothing out the delicate folds of the skirt of her green spotted muslin. She was glad this gown had long sleeves and that she had thought to place a cashmere shawl around her shoulders. The candles she had positioned on the mantelshelf and small side tables bathed her in a golden glow. The combination of warmth and exhaustion caused her head to droop and she fell asleep.
She did not hear the sound of the carriage outside or the bustle as another visitor arrived. She slept through. The candles burned down lower and the fire went out. The cold finally woke her. The feeble glow of the two remaining candle stubs revealed little. Then she felt the heavy weight in her lap and remembered where she was.
She uncurled her legs with difficulty and stumbled to her feet. Her dress was creased and her hair, as usual, was falling down around her face. Crossly she pulled out the remaining pins and shook her head, sending the waist length curls cascading down her back in a russet waterfall.
The large clock, ticking loudly in it's wooden case, told her it was past midnight. Everyone would be asleep. She frowned; why had Jenny not sought her out? Had the girls not missed their usual goodnight embrace?
One of the candles guttered and went out. Quickly Emily snatched up the remaining one; she had to find a room with fresh candles before she was left in the pitch black to grope her way back to her rooms.
The feeble glimmer showed her the door and she opened it quietly, not wishing to wake the household. She stood, holding her candle aloft, staring down the long dark passageway. Then to her delight she saw a crack of yellow escaping from a door further down. It was in the opposite direction to the one she knew she must take but, if there was someone in the room, they could provide her with directions and the necessary illumination.
She did not stop to consider exactly who that someone might be. It was only as she tentatively pushed the door open that it occurred to her the room could be occupied by an intruder. In her terror she dropped the candle and plunged herself into total darkness. She had to flee, but disorientated by the lack of light, she had no idea in which direction to go. Too late she heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps and the door crashed open.
Emily tried to press herself against the wall and she prayed for deliverance, what she got was a lethal blow to her right temple and she collapsed, without a sound, at her attacker's feet.
“God's teeth!” Sebastian swore and dropped to his knees in horror. He had known the minute his clenched fist landed that he had made a terrible mistake. It was only now that he appreciated just how bad. He had thought he had felled a house-maid on an illicit night time jaunt, but this was so much worse.
In the light from his sitting-room he gently scooped his unconscious fiancé up and her unbound hair spilled over his arms in warm thick ripples. Its soft touch made his stomach clench and his pulse accelerate.
Carefully he laid Emily on the nearest sofa. He dropped again to his knees and pushed back the hair from her face. He swore again, more viciously. The vivid purple bruise already appearing on her temple was ample evidence of his brute force. He looked around for something to press on the swelling. There were only the dregs of his claret decanter. It would have to do. He tipped the thick ruby liquid onto the neck-cloth he had removed earlier.
The red stains left by the damp cloth matched the spreading bruise. Should he call for assistance? How was he to explain the presence of his fiancé, with hair unbound, unconscious in his private quarters? Whatever explanation was offered it would be disbelieved. The evidence spoke for itself. It had been an assignation in which they had violently disagreed and, in his fury, he had struck her down.
A faint sound alerted him. She was coming to her senses. He saw her eyelids flicker and open. He stared into her extraordinary hazel eyes and his chest constricted. How could he ever have thought her plain? She was the most beautiful and desirable woman he had ever seen.
Slowly, Emily returned to full consciousness. Her head hurt and her vision was blurred. Then she remembered the door opening and the violent blow to her head. She stiffened and fear flooded back. She was trapped, helpless, with the monster who had tried to kill her. She felt herself falling back into a black pit. From a distance she heard a familiar voice.
“Emily, it is I, Sebastian. You are safe; I will not hurt you again. It was an accident. I thought you were an intruder.”
She lay still, assimilating his words, trying to make sense from them. It was Sebastian who had treated her so cruelly? But he was in Belgium, how could he be here in London? She felt a soothing coolness on her throbbing temple and, although she did not fully understand what she heard, she knew they were words of comfort. She sighed, relaxed and slipped into a deep restorative slumber.
Sebastian bent down and rested his fingers under her jaw, seeking for her pulse. It was strong and regular. He thanked God she was asleep and not unconscious again. Sebastian watched her, glad his blow had apparently not caused her serious harm.
He uncoiled, rubbing his unshaven jaw, his expression troubled. He was, for the first time in his adult life, at a loss to know how to proceed. He could not carry her, undetected, upstairs to her rooms, because he did not know exactly where she had been placed. But neither could he leave her here, in his chambers, she would be hopelessly compromised. Even engaged couples could not indulge in such wanton behaviour.
What he needed were servants who were discreet and totally loyal. His man, Smith, was one; and he was certain Emily's abigail would be another. He pulled the bell and waited impatiently.
“Smith, I have a problem. If Miss Gibson and I are to come out of this unscathed I am going to need your help.”
Smith, an intelligent man, took in the situation at a glance. He had the sense not to ask questions. If he had seen the bruise marring Emily's face he might not have been so helpful but it was conveniently covered by her hair.
“I need to know which chamber Miss Gibson has been given. I also need her maid down here immediately.”
“Yes, sir.” Smith vanished leaving Sebastian to pace anxiously. Ten minutes later his servant reappeared, Jenny at his side.
“I have been beside myself with worry, my lord, when Miss Emily did not return. I didn't know what do for the best.” Jenny hurried over to her mistress puzzled that she lay so still. She was more observant than Smith. “What has happened here, my lord? Has there been an accident?” She knelt beside Emily who stirred a little but did not wake.
Viscount Yardley coughed and cleared his throat unwilling to admit that it was he who had caused the injury. “I startled Miss Gibson and she fell, hitting her head; but you will find that she is asleep, not unconscious.”
Jenny sniffed, which did not endear her to his lordship. “She should be in her own bed, sir, not down here on your settle.”
He ground his teeth. “If you would take me to her rooms, she will be in her bed soon enough.” Sebastian, Emily cradled in his arms, followed Jenny, with her candle high, along the black, silent corridors. Smith padded along in front quietly opening and closing the doors.
The warm weight of his sleeping fiancé felt right in Sebastian's arms. Her head nestled trustingly on his shoulder and she had slid her arm around his neck when he lifted her.
On reaching her bedchamber he released her reluctantly, putting her carefully on her bed. He stepped back, barely resisting the temptation to drop a kiss on her brow. Smith lit his passage back, allowing him to follow, immersed in his thoughts.
He realized he was more than reconciled to his forthcoming marriage. Life with Emily would never be dull. He smiled widely. From this point forward he was determined to turn his considerable charm and diplomatic skill to winning his young fiancé's heart.
Emily opened her eyes and attempted to lift her head but an agonizing pain shot from her temple to her jaw and forcing her to lie still. The shutters were still drawn and she could see sunlight through the cracks. It was morning; it was time to summon her abigail. She tried a second time to rise and her world spun and the intensity of the pain sickened her. She closed her eyes until the unpleasant swirling sensations had ceased.
Jenny had heard her struggles and came bursting in. “Now, you stay put, Miss Emily. You took a nasty tumble last night and banged your head. I have informed Lady Althea and she's on her way to see you.”
Emily felt too unwell to argue. She raised a feeble hand to indicate her agreement but made no attempt to speak. Her brain would not engage itself and it was too much effort to marshal her tangled thoughts.
Lady Althea arrived and was horrified to find her older daughter prostrate. “My darling girl, this is too bad. I am sending for the doctor right away. It is a great pity as I planned to introduce you to society today. We have cards for an elegant musical soiree at Lady Armitage's house; it would have been the perfect venue for you to make your curtsy.”
Emily forced her tongue, which felt, and acted, like a piece of wet lamb's wool, to form an answer. “You go to the soiree without me, Mama. It would be a shame for both of us to miss it.”
“Very well, my dear; if the doctor pronounces you well enough for me to leave you.” She glanced around the room searching for clues. “Jenny, what exactly did Miss Gibson trip over?”
Jenny coloured. “I've no idea, my lady. I was elsewhere when it happened. I helped Miss Emily into her bed, that's all.”
“It is all very odd.” Lady Althea smiled. “But no doubt when Miss Gibson has recovered she will be able to tell us exactly what transpired.”
Jenny curtsied and retired to the safety of the dressing room. She rather doubted that the full truth of the matter would ever be revealed, and especially not to Lady Althea.