“I am not.” She waved one hand in the air. “However, you may tell Lord Blakely I might possibly go along with such a stratagem, but you must do something in turn for me.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Rho! I’ll speak with him next time I get a chance.” Of course, Rhoda expected Emily would try to ignore the stipulation.
“You need a husband as badly as I do, Emily. You, too, shall woo a gentleman to the altar over the next two weeks.”
Emily frowned, temporarily losing all semblance of her brief bout of enthusiasm. “I know. I know.” She squeezed her eyes together tightly and threw the broken spectacles onto the bed. “I just, I… I don’t know how!” She appeared as though she might cry. She’d better not, for if she did, Rhoda would, too.
“Sit down.” Rhoda steered Emily to the chair by the window. “And listen.” She rummaged around until she located some paper and a pencil and then plunked it down on her lap. “Take notes.”
“Number one,” Rhoda began, “Sophia will select all of your gowns for the next fourteen days. You are not to wear any of these…” Rhoda searched for an appropriate word to describe the dresses that made up Emily’s wardrobe. Oh, yes. “…abominations. Ever again.”
Emily, who’d been peering at her list from less than three inches away, glanced up from the foolscap with a scowl, but Rhoda continued without so much as an apology. “Number two.” She must remain firm on this count. “You will not wear your spectacles. Men wish to see a lady’s eyes, not a piece of hardware perched on your nose.”
Rhoda knew this would be difficult, nearly impossible for Emily, but forced herself to remain firm at the thought of her dearest ally being sent so far away from them all.
“Number three, although you won’t be able to see each gentleman clearly, I shall point you in his direction and you shall gaze longingly toward the blur, or whatever it is you see. And listen to him. Ask him questions about his childhood, about his hobbies.”
Rhoda paused. Although Emily was shrewd and book smart, social affairs tended to confuse her more than anything else. Best to keep things simple.
“That’s all?” Emily peered up from the paper.
A surge of warmth wrapped around Rhoda’s heart. She loved Emily as though she were her very own sister. She’d do whatever she could to prevent her from being shipped off to Wales.
Not that Wales would be so bad by itself, but that aunt of hers sounded beastly!
“That’s all.” Rhoda would handle the other details. “Leave the rest up to Sophia and me. We’ll land you a husband first. And then.” She stifled the disbelieving laughter that threatened to erupt. “Then I’ll run away with Blakely… if he’s willing.”
Skepticism clouded Emily’s eyes. “Shake on it?”
Rhoda wouldn’t have to break her word. Blakely would go to his grave a bachelor. “Shake on it.”
Ever the Vicar
After assuring herself Emily’s appearance would be striking enough to capture even the most discerning of males, Rhoda returned to the chamber she was to share with Coleus and donned one of her own gowns. Since Lucy was busy assisting their mother, the two girls attended one another.
At ten and six, Coleus yearned heartily to make her entry into society. She’d learned all the fashionable hairstyles and had been begging their mother to take her into Madam Chantal’s shop for a fitting.
“You really must marry, Rho,” Coley prodded as she twisted and curled Rhoda’s dark swath of hair into something supposedly stylish. “It won’t be fair, you know, if I’m required to sit out another year after this one. Isn’t there anybody you’d like to, well, you know?”
Rhoda met her sister’s gaze in the mirror with a scowl. She most certainly didn’t need to be beleaguered by an adolescent child right now. If Coleus had the slightest idea as to how Rhoda’s reputation hung in peril, this very moment… She couldn’t even think about it.
God help them all.
If Rhoda didn’t bring matters under control, neither of her sisters would be given the benefit of the doubt either. A fine layer of perspiration broke out on her forehead.
What could she do to subdue such rumors about herself? St. John deserved to be cursed. At that moment, she imagined him baking in the depths of hell… but then her breath caught.
Likely, she’d eventually join him there.
For the first time, she had to wonder if Blakely might perhaps be amenable to Emily’s outlandish idea, after all? She hadn’t much choice, really. The only measure she could take to save her reputation was, indeed, to marry.
But Blakely?
She determined she’d make every effort to examine this Lieutenant Langdon fellow.
Last year, before St. John’s accident, Rhoda had foolishly believed she’d all but settled her very own happily ever after. She’d believed she’d found the perfect gentleman, one whose soul melded with hers.
Now she could barely look herself in the mirror.
