Page 44 of Vanquishing the Viscount

She must have fallen asleep at last, because the next thing she knew, the cockerel was crowing, and her mama was shaking her awake.

The next few hours passed in a blur of carrying boxes, chasing around the house to make sure nothing important had been left behind, and saying an emotional farewell to their tenants and neighbors.

Then followed a journey Emma had hoped never to make—the journey away from Tresham Hall.

With no expectation of ever returning.

Each mile traveled was harder than the last, and she felt as if she were being torn in two. How was she ever to survive the coming experience in Bath? And how was she to cope with the fact that once these short weeks were over, she’d no idea what was to become of her?

Her mama believed she might make a good match, but Emma knew better. Her previous Season had proven she did not possess the kind of pleasing personality that prompted gentlemen to propose. Only the kind that made gentlemen take advantage of her, apparently. Even with the countess’s sponsorship, what were the chances? Especially in so short a time? She was too much of a realist to expect miracles.

No doubt, she’d end up somewhere as a governess again. So what was the point?

However, she made every effort to hide these gloomy thoughts from her parents, who seemed quite excited about going to live in the city. She must try to appreciate that. Although she saw James’s manipulations as thoughtless arrogance, to Mama and Papa his intervention was a godsend, the end to a tough period of trial.

So she pasted on a smile and resolved to make the best of the situation.

Her fear that being the Countess of Rossbury’s protégé would rob her of any control over her own life was confirmed upon their arrival at Daniel Street. Barely had they set foot in the door than a footman arrived with a note from her new protector requesting her presence. As soon as Emma had separated out her things—which the countess was adamant should take no longer than an hour—the viscount would collect her in the carriage and convey her and her boxes to Great Pulteney Street.

Their coachman had driven them past the Rossbury’s house on arriving in Bath and paused a while so they could admire the edifice. It wasn’t as grand as Birney House, the Rossburys’ country estate, but for a townhouse it was magnificent. Emma could hardly imagine herself being allowed to go through the servants’ entrance, let alone the front door.

As she bustled about in the unfamiliar surroundings of the house on Daniel Street, she wondered why on earth James was coming for her in a carriage. Great Pulteney Street was only just around the corner, the very briefest of walks. Their new manservant could probably have wheeled her few possessions over there on a handcart.

Separating out her hat boxes from Mama’s, she grimaced. The reason was obvious. The countess wanted the Rossbury carriage to be seen out and about the town so Bath Society would be reminded what august personages were living in their midst.

There was the distinct sound of an equipage drawing up in front. Here so soon?

Her stomach felt like lead. She hated leaving her parents before they were settled. And how should she greet the man who’d engineered such a massive upheaval in all their lives? She hadn’t set eyes on Tidworth since he left Tresham the day his parents came to fetch him. She wasn’t looking forward to the encounter…for so many reasons.

Curiosity won over caution, and she peeped around the shutters to watch the coach disgorge its occupant.

There was the familiar form of the viscount, the sight of whom turned the lead weight in her stomach into a flock of fluttering doves. He turned back to the carriage and—to Emma’s great surprise—assisted a small female figure down the steps.

Not the Countess of Rossbury, for she was taller. Why had James brought a woman with him? To make sure Emma didn’t rail at him in the carriage?

She smiled wryly to herself. If he thought the presence of someone else was going to protect him from her disapproval, the man was fooling himself!

Smoothing down her new gown, she tilted her chin and walked boldly into the drawing room.

James stood by the fireplace, one booted foot resting on the empty fender, his hands clasped behind his back, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders. Despite the heat of the day, his white neck linen was crisply pristine, his face fresh and smooth, framed by hair recently cut into the fashionable windswept style. With his long legs encased in tight-fitting buckskins and his light-blue tailcoat, he looked extremely dashing.

But…remote.

His gaze fastened on her as soon as she entered the room, and he stepped forward to give her a smart bow before brushing a kiss across the back of her hand.

All her bravado melted away. She felt as awkward and shy as a girl at her first public ball. Mumbling out a greeting, she kept her eyes cast downward and turned quickly to the young woman standing by his side, attempting to give her a welcoming smile.

The girl curtsied. She looked to be about eighteen, the same age as Philippa Keane. Her hair was rusty in color, and her face was smattered with freckles, quite the opposite of the current fashion in beauty. But the girl’s eyes—which she eventually turned up shyly to meet Emma’s—were an entrancing shade of green, and there was a charming air of innocence about her.

“My cousin, Miss Jemima Pitt,” James announced. “Or should I say, second cousin. Jemima, this is Miss Emma d’Ibert.”

“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance,” Emma said, curtsying in return.

She was rewarded with a gap-toothed grin.

Intriguing. If James had an amorous interest in the girl—despite his denials—it was certainly not on account of her looks. Such a pity he hadn’t yet rid himself of his obsession with Belinda.

“I’m so happy to meet you and your family,” Miss Pitt said, smiling at Mama and Papa, then casting a quick look at George. “I’ve heard so much about you from my cousin. You did him the greatest favor, while putting your own health at risk.”