As fate would have it, the first two men he saw were Canonbury and Peppington.
An image of Canonbury's silly granddaughter fainting in a ballroom and Peppington's serious young grandson studying land management came into his mind. With a deep sigh, he crossed the room toward his two old enemies.
Simon made the offer to sell the canal to Canonbury and Peppington before he could give himself any further chance to think about it. The stunned shock on the faces of both elderly men was extremely satisfying.
Canonbury got to his feet with painful slowness. "I am very grateful to you, sir. I am well aware you had other intentions a short while ago. Intentions that would have ruined both Peppington and myself. May I ask what changed your mind?"
"This is not some sort of new trick, is it, Blade?" Peppington asked suspiciously. "You have kept us hovering on the brink of disaster for the past six months. Why should you set us free now?"
"My wife tells me I have a noble and generous nature," Simon said with a cold smile.
Canonbury sat down abruptly and reached for his port. "I see."
Peppington recovered sufficiently from his astonishment to give Simon an assessing look. "Wives are extremely odd creatures, are they not, sir?"
"They certainly do tend to complicate a man's life," Simon agreed.
Peppington nodded, looking thoughtful. "Thank you for your generosity, sir. Canonbury and I are well aware that we do not deserve it. What happened twenty-three years ago was… not well done of either of us."
"We are in your debt, Blade," Canonbury murmured.
"No," said Simon. "You are in my wife's debt. See that you do not forget it." He turned on his heel and walked away from the two old men he had hated for twenty-three years.
As he went out into the night he realized vaguely that something inside him felt freer, looser, less confined. It was as though he had just unfastened an old, rusty chain and released a part of himself that had been locked up for a very long time.
The frantic message from Broderick Faringdon arrived a day later. Emily was in the midst of consulting with Simon's cook. The consultation had turned into a rather loud discussion.
"I do not mind having some of your wonderful, exotic specialties from the East Indies on the buffet table," Emily said firmly to the strange little man who wore a gold earring in one ear. "But we must remember that most of the guests will be unfamiliar with such foreign delicacies. The English are not terribly adventurous in their eating habits."
Smoke drew himself up proudly. "His lordship has never complained about my cooking."
"Well, of course he has never complained," Emily said soothingly. "Your cooking is marvelous, Smoke. But I fear his lordship's palate is considerably more cultivated and refined than those of many of the people you will be serving at the soiree. We are talking about the sort of people who do not consider a meal complete unless they have plenty of boiled potatoes and a large joint of beef."
"Madam is quite right, Smoke," the housekeeper chimed in. "We must serve some turbot in aspic, perhaps. And sausages and maybe a bit of tongue."
"Sausages! Tongue!" Smoke was outraged. "I will not allow any greasy sausages or tongue to be served in this house."
"Well, then, some cold ham would do nicely," Emily said hopefully.
A loud, urgent knocking on the kitchen door interrupted the argument. Harry, the footman, went to the door and after a short consultation with whoever stood outside, he approached his mistress.
"Beggin' yer pardon, madam. I am told there is a message for you."
Emily turned away from the squabble with a sense of relief. "For me? Where?"
"A young lad at the door, ma'am. Says he can only deliver the message to you." Harry raised his hooked arm. "Shall I tell him to be off?"
"No, no, I shall speak to him."
Emily went through the kitchens to the door and saw the grubby little boy waiting for her. "Well, lad, what is it?"
The boy stared at Emily's bright red hair and spectacles and then nodded to himself, as if satisfied he had the right person. "I'm to tell yer that yer pa's got to see yer right away, ma'am. He give me this note to give to yer." A small slip of paper, rather badly stained from a dirty little fist, was dutifully handed over.
"Very well." Emily dropped a coin into the boy's palm, a strong sense of foreboding washing over her as she looked at the paper. "Thank you."
The boy examined the coin closely, tested it with his teeth, and then grinned widely. "Yer welcome, ma'am."
Harry stepped forward to close the kitchen door. The boy gazed in admiration and wonder at the hook and then took off running.
"We shall have to finish planning the buffet menu later," Emily said to Smoke and the housekeeper as she hurried out of the kitchen.
She dashed upstairs, the note burning her hand. She feared the worst. When she reached the privacy of her bedchamber she closed and locked the door.
Trembling with dread she sat down to read the note from her father.
My dearest, dutiful daughter:
Disaster has struck. Fortune has been against me for the past several weeks. I have lost a rather large sum of money at cards and now must sell my few remaining shares and stocks to raise the blunt to settle my latest debts. Unfortunately, it will not cover the entire amount. You must help me, my dearest daughter. I pray that in this, my hour of need, you will remember the ties of blood and love that bind us forever. You know your dear mama would want you to come to my aid. I shall be in touch very soon.
Yrs,
Yr. Loving Father
P.S. Under the circumstances, you must not mention this little family problem to your husband. You know well enough he bears a deep, unnatural hatred for me.
Emily felt sick as she slowly refolded the note. She had realized something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. She had tried to pretend her father would show some sense in his gaming but she had known, deep down, that his passion for cards and hazard was too strong. Her mother had often told her he would never change.
And now he was calling on his daughter for help, knowing that in doing so he was forcing her to choose between her loyalty to her husband and her obligations as a daughter.
It was too much. Reality had intruded once more into her world, ripping aside the romantic curtain she tried to maintain around herself.
Emily put her head down on her arms and wept.
Chapter 18
Emily was dressing for the theater that evening when Simon walked into her bedchamber through the connecting door. She gave a small start at the sight of him and then managed a wan smile.
"Thank you, Lizzie. That will be all for now."
"Yes, ma'am." Lizzie bobbed a curtsey and left.
Emily met Simon's eyes in the looking glass. Then her gaze slid away. He was so very powerful and compelling in his austere evening clothes. "You are going out, my lord?"
"I shall dine at my club this evening while you attend the theater with Lady Northcote and her daughter." Simon's gaze was watchful. "But I shall find you later at the Bridgetons'."
Emily nodded quickly and the plumes in her hair danced. She was nervous and she knew she had to be careful or Simon would notice something was wrong. "I shall see you there, then. Did I show you the new pair of opera glasses I bought yesterday?" She reached for her reticule and started digging in it industriously. Anything not to have to meet that too-observant gaze.
"Very nice." Simon nodded approvingly at the delicately designed glasses.