"Several card games, I fear," Emily confided. "And the final one was a disaster. Oh, Simon, it is all so perfectly awful and I do not know what to do. I know I cannot ask you for help in this matter."
Simon's brow quirked. "Are you by any chance under the hatches, elf? I am aware that the ladies occasionally play a bit deep among themselves, but I never imagined you as the sort to get into dun territory."
"It is not me who is under the hatches," Emily burst out, "it is my father. Oh, Simon, he sent me a note today saying he has lost everything and more."
Simon did not move but in the glass his eyes were suddenly blazing. His big hands clamped around Emily's bare shoulders. "Has he, indeed? Yes, of course. I should have guessed. It was only a matter of time, naturally, but I had rather expected him to last a bit longer than this."
Emily saw the savage satisfaction in his face and something in the pit of her stomach shriveled and died. She knew then that a part of her had hoped against hope that when the inevitable occurred, Simon would soften toward her father, just as he had softened toward the twins, Northcote, Canonbury, and Peppington.
"Simon?" she whispered helplessly.
"You are quite right, my dear," he murmured. "You cannot ask me to help this time. I have waited too long for this moment." His hands fell from her shoulders. He looked down and frowned at the red marks he had left on her soft, white skin. He touched one imprint gently and then turned toward the door. "I will see you later at the Bridgetons'." He paused briefly, hand on the knob. "Emily?"
"Yes, my lord?"
"Remember that you are no longer a Faringdon."
The door closed softly behind him.
Emily sat with her hands clenched in her lap, telling herself she must not give in to the tears again.
But the truth was she had not felt this helpless and trapped since the day her mother had died, leaving her to assume the full financial responsibility of her father and brothers.
Covent Garden was filled with boisterous theater-goers from several levels of Society. The ton glittered in the boxes and promenaded in the lobbies. Lesser mortals filled the galleries and the pits. All were exuberant and fully prepared to let the actors know exactly what they thought of the performance. Many had brought vegetable peelings, bells, and assorted noisemakers to aid in conveying their opinions.
"Did you bring your new pair of opera glasses?" Celeste asked as the small party made its way through the crowded lobby. Lady Northcote had paused briefly to speak to a friend.
"Yes, I have them with me." Emily glanced blindly around, having stashed her spectacles in her reticule. All she could see was a blur of color and movement.
She and Celeste were being jostled about and Emily was about to put on the spectacles to better defend herself when she felt a man's hand on her arm.
"What on earth?" Emily whirled around and saw a vague halo of graying blond hair. Her heart sank. She was aware of Celeste's curiosity. "Papa! What are you doing here?"
"Happened to be attending the performance and spotted you entering the lobby," Broderick Faringdon said with a false joviality. "How are you, my dear?"
"I am fine, Papa. Allow me to present my friend." Emily quickly ran through the introductions, praying Lady Northcote would return and whisk them off to their boxes.
Broderick acknowledged the introduction with the usual Faringdon charm. Then he tugged firmly on Emily's arm.
"If you don't mind, I would like a few words in private, m'dear. Haven't seen you in an age."
"I cannot leave Celeste alone," Emily said desperately.
"Do not worry about me, Emily," Celeste said blithely. "I shall join Mother. Your father can escort you to our box."
"Yes, of course," Emily said, knowing there was no escape. She rallied herself as Celeste disappeared into the crowd. "Well, Papa?"
"You got my note?" Broderick asked bluntly, dropping any pretense of civility at once. It was obvious he was under enormous strain.
"Yes. I am sorry, Papa. You know there is nothing I can do. Oh, Papa, how could you be so foolish?"
"T'weren't foolishness. Just a run o' bad luck. It happens." Her father leaned closer to mutter in her ear. "Listen, Em, I know I can come about with a little financial assistance from you."
"Perhaps, given time, Blade will soften on this matter. But it is much too soon to expect anything from him. You must know that, Papa."
"Damn and blast, Em, I ain't got time. Got to settle my debts."
"Have you truly sold everything?"
"Everything," Broderick confirmed gravely. "The thing is, Em, it don't quite cover my vowels."
Emily was shocked in spite of herself and her knowledge of her father's reckless ways. "Papa, how could you lose the entire amount? I worked years to build up that security for you and the twins. This is terrible. Utterly terrible. What are we to do?"
"No need to panic, m'dear. First, you have got to get Blade to cover my debts, Em."
Emily looked up, trying to make out his expression. "But, Papa, you know he will never do that."
"You have to, Em. Don't you understand? This is an emergency. Emily, m'dear, I must tell you I have made a horrendous mistake. Had a few too many bottles the other night. You know how it is when a man's in his cups. Talked a bit freely, I'm afraid."
"About what? To whom?" Emily was frantic now, trying to understand the note of strain in her father's voice. This sounded worse than just a horrific loss at the tables.
A dark shadow loomed at Broderick Faringdon's elbow. "Your papa made the mistake of talking to me, Lady Blade," said a familiar, sardonic voice.
"Mr. Crofton?" Emily turned vague eyes toward the dark shadow. A sense of dread now gripped her as she made a violent effort to collect herself. "I am afraid I do not understand. What is going on here?"
Crofton moved closer, his voice lowering to a slimy, confidential tone. "Your father and I have become close friends of late. He was most distressed after his defeat at the tables, Lady Blade. I am certain you comprehend and sympathize with how he must have felt as he contemplated how he would pay his debts of honor. He went through several bottles, I fear, and in the end he let slip the news about the rather appalling scandal in your past."
Emily's mouth went dry. She stared at her father. "Papa?"
"It's true, girl," Faringdon said morosely. "God help me, but I told him about the Unfortunate Incident. I was drunk as a lord, you know. And a trifle overset by my losses. I know you'll understand. But the thing is, he's threatened to spread it around town if I don't pay up."
"I fear the unsavory gossip about his wife's past will have the rather unpleasant effect of ruining Blade socially," Crofton murmured. "He will be cut by virtually everyone and will no doubt be obliged to quit town and retire to the country. And I do not think he will thank you for that, my dear."
"He will more likely destroy you for that, Mr. Crofton," Emily said fiercely.
"But the damage will be done. People will talk. Think of the scandal that will ensue, the slur on Blade's title, the humiliation he will be forced to endure. Your husband has fought hard for the power and position he presently holds, madam. But he has made enemies along the way. There are those who hate him and will not hesitate to use the scandal in your past to bring him down. And it will be all your fault, Lady Blade."
Emily felt nauseous but she kept her features as expressionless as possible as she peered up at the dark, hovering blur that was Crofton's face. "You do not value your life very highly, Mr. Crofton?" she inquired coldly.
"Do not threaten me with your husband's temper, madam. It is a bluff. I do not think you will allow things to come to such a pass. That would be letting them go too far and the damage would be done, would it not?"