Widdicombe was a close confidant of the patronesses of Almack’s. They owned an elegant town house in London, a sprawling estate in Kent, and likely several other establishments with which Emma was not familiar.
By contrast, Emma’s father was a former tutor and her late mother was the daughter of a well-to-do merchant. They had acquired Dove’s Hollow upon the demise of Mr Darling’s older brother, Cyril, who had apparently won the house and all its contents at the faro table. After Cyril’s unfortunate death in a drunken brawl, the house had passed to Emma’s father, who had been only too delighted to move his young family in and take up the life of a gentleman. They were not well travelled, did not go regularly to the theatre or museums, and though Emma had been to London once, she had not been formally presented at Court, having had no one to sponsor her or cover the costs of a Season.
Still, at least they made a presentable party as they climbed the steps to the front door of the house her sister would soon be calling home. Aunt Dorothy was wearing a stylish new gown of terre d’Eygpt sarsenet, Linette was radiant in white muslin trimmed with double bands of gold embroidery and Emma’s own gown was a shade of pale green she knew to be flattering to her dark hair and fair complexion.
Nevertheless, she was thankful she was not the one who would have to bear the brunt of the scrutiny tonight. This evening, she was simply a bystander. She would support her sister in every way she could, but if the earl and countess took it into their heads to be disdainful, she suspected there would be little any of them could do but smile as bravely as they could and count the minutes until it was all over.
They were greeted at the door by a tall and rather impressive-looking butler and shown into the elaborate Chinese drawing room. Linette had already informed them that Mr Taylor intended on having all of the reception rooms redone and that he had decided to start with this, the largest of the saloons. Emma, whose eye was always drawn to line and colour, paused on the threshold, impressed by the elegant proportions and by the deep crimson and gold colour scheme. Fire-breathing dragons and sword-wielding warriors were prominent throughout the room and the furnishings were Oriental in design. Two magnificent black-lacquer cabinets with ornate battle scenes hand painted in gold and crimson stood on either side of the long window.
The Countess of Widdicombe was seated on a red-velvet chair by the fireplace, hands folded calmly in her lap. She was a regal-looking woman, still relatively young, with a smooth, unlined complexion and glossy black hair artfully arranged in an elegant coiffure. Wearing a gown of rich crimson silk, she seemed almost an accessory to the room, her elegance and grace very much in keeping with her surroundings.
Emma thought she would have looked a great deal friendlier had she troubled herself to smile, but apparently smiles were not required of a countess when meeting a prospective daughter-in-law and her family for the first time.
Two other men occupied the room and stood on either side of the fireplace like mismatched bookends. Emma recognised Peter Taylor at once and, though he was not the kind of man that appealed to her, she could well understand Linette’s attraction to him. He was not overly tall, but his slenderness conveyed the impression of height and the combined skills of his tailor and valet did the rest. His thick, nut-brown hair tapered neatly to his collar, and with quite the most charming smile Emma had ever seen and a demeanour that was totally without arrogance, he reminded her of an anxious puppy, desperate to be loved by one and all.
The other man, who was clearly too young to be the earl, was obviously the eldest son, Viscount Stewart. Lord Stewart towered over his younger brother by a good four inches and possessed the kind of looks that would invariably send young girls swooning. Thick black hair, luxurious as sable, was swept back from a broad forehead already tanned by the warm spring sun. His jaw was square, his mouth full lipped and sensual, his lashes dark under even darker brows.
Only his eyes were light, the clear, cornflower blue seemingly at odds with the rest of his appearance.
But where was Lord Widdicombe? Surely he should be here to greet his son’s intended bride and her family?
‘Mr Darling, I am so pleased you were able to come,’ Peter Taylor said, quickly stepping forwards. ‘Mother, may I present Mr Darling and his family.’
As Lady Widdicombe inclined her head, Emma studied her face for some indication as to what she was feeling. But apart from a slight stiffness of manner, there was nothing to indicate either pleasure or resentment. ‘Good evening, Mr Darling. I do not believe you have met my eldest son, Lord Stewart?’
‘I have not, Lady Widdicombe, but I am very pleased to do so.’ Mr Darling bowed to both the countess and the heir, and then turned to introduce the members of his own family. ‘May I present my sister, Mrs Grand, my eldest daughter, Emma, and, of course, my youngest daughter, Linette.’
‘Mrs Grand, Miss Darling,’ the countess said, her gaze resting on each of them for a moment. ‘And Miss Linette Darling. Step forwards, child.’
Linette did, her cheeks taking on a deeper-pink hue as she moved closer to the countess’s chair. Stopping a few feet in front of her, she executed a graceful curtsy.
The countess nodded her approval. ‘How old are you, child?’
‘Seventeen, your ladyship.’
‘Seventeen. And you think you can make my son happy.’
‘Of course she will make me happy, Mother,’ Mr Taylor said, springing to Linette’s defence. ‘That is why—’
His mother’s upraised hand silenced him. ‘My question was addressed to Miss Linette, Peter. Kindly allow her to answer.’
All eyes swung back to Linette, who suddenly looked like the sacrificial lamb being led to the slaughter. ‘I … I—’
‘Speak up, child. I’m not going to eat you.’
‘Of course not, Mother, but judging from the look of terror in Miss Linette’s eyes, I’m not sure she believes you.’
It was Lord Stewart who spoke, the rich timbre of his voice drawing every eye in the room. He stepped away from the fireplace and offered Linette a surprisingly friendly smile. ‘Good evening, Miss Linette. We are very pleased to welcome you and your family to Ellingsworth Hall.’ His voice was low and deep, the tone undeniably reassuring.
Linette visibly relaxed. ‘Th-thank you, Lord Stewart.’
‘I regret that my father is not able to be with us this evening, but his health is not the best and it was necessary that he remain in London for a few days.’
‘We are very sorry to hear that, my lord,’ Mr Darling said in a tone of mingled relief and regret. Obviously, he too had been wondering at the reason behind the earl’s absence. ‘I hope he will be recovered in time for the coming festivities.’
‘We certainly hope that will be the case,’ Lord Stewart said. ‘The doctor has advised a period of rest before resuming his social obligations. Especially one of this consequence.’
‘Will there be … a lot of people in attendance?’ Linette asked nervously.
‘Indeed, most everyone has written to say they will be here,’ Lady Widdicombe replied. ‘I had my doubts about Lord and Lady Martindale, but their acceptance arrived yesterday, and even Lord and Lady Huffton said they would be willing to leave town for a weekend. Then there will be Sir George and Lady Monk, and of course, the Earl and Countess of Leyland and their daughter, Lady Glynnis Pettle, whom Alexander is soon to marry.’
