The Thoroughly Compromised Bride by Catherine Reynolds Page A

Emily too soon. The dear, silly feather-brain would more than likely let the cat out of the bag by telling Elizabeth, so she said, “No, don’t ask me, for I shan’t tell you yet. I must still work out a few minor details, but when I have done, I shall not hesitate to tell you the whole. Trust me, my dear.”
    And with that Emily was obliged to be satisfied.
    It was but three days later, while Elizabeth was out walking with Charles, that Wiggons again led Lady Langley to the morning room in Upper Camden Place. She waited only until the butler had left them before saying, “Emily, we have not a moment to lose! We must put my scheme to the test today. I’ll not deny that I had hoped for more time to think it through. However, a remark Charles made last night makes me fear that he means to leave Bath any day now.”
    “Oh, I knew it! I knew it!” cried Emily, falling back into her chair dramatically, hands pressed to her heart.
    “Do spare me your starts, Emily! Good heavens! We haven’t time for your vapours and spasms now! Come down to the drawing room and I’ll explain my plan to you.”
    Lady Langley assisted the bewildered, wilting Emily from her chair and led her down to the drawing room, adjusting her trailing shawl for her as they went, and soon had her installed on the sofa, vinaigrette in hand.
    Speaking carefully, as though to a child, she said, “Now then, my dear, I must just have a word with Wiggons and then I’ll explain everything. In the meantime, simply continue as you are and you shall play your part to perfection.” Then she hurried from the room.
    A half hour later, at eleven o’clock, Elizabeth and Charles were standing at the door, saying goodbye, when it was opened to reveal Wiggons who, with his usual aplomb, intoned, “Miss Elizabeth, if you please. Lady Langley is waiting in the drawing room and requests that both you and the gentleman attend her there as soon as may be.”
    He held the door wide for them, and the pair, exchanging questioning looks, crossed the entry hall and threw open the door to the drawing room.
    The spectacle which awaited them was wholly astonishing. Emily lay prostrate upon the sofa, one arm flung across her eyes, vinaigrette clutched in the other hand, moaning softly. Lady Langley was lying back in a deep wing-chair, one foot elevated upon a small stool, a mixture of pain and distress contorting her features.
    Lady Langley opened her eyes and said faintly, “Oh, Charles! Thank God you are come!”
    “Good God!” he exclaimed. “What has happened?”
    Elizabeth had rushed to her aunt’s side in apprehensive solicitude, but Emily only moaned more piteously in answer to her alarmed questions.
    Lady Langley uttered a small, anguished cry as she shifted the position of her foot, but gazed bravely up at her brother, saying in the same dying voice, “No, no, my dear, do not fear for me. It’s nothing. Merely a severe sprain which I incurred upon the doorstep in my haste to get here. And though the pain is quite excruciating, I daresay I shall bear up.”
    “But what is this? How came you to be in such haste to get here?”
    “Oh, Charles! What shall I do? My poor Melanie! How could she be so lost to all sense of propriety? Oh, what am I to do?”
    She was wringing her hands anxiously, and Emily’s moans increased in volume as Charles, running his hand through his hair, demanded, “What the devil are you talking about? And how am I to tell you what should be done until I can make sense of what you are saying? Come now! Tell me the story with no more roundaboutation.”
    “Oh, Charles,” his sister cried tragically, “Melanie has eloped with Adrian Kirby! I was never so deceived or so ill-used!”
    “Damnation! Are you sure?”
    “Well, of course I am sure! Why should I tell you such a tale if it were not true?”
    Emily moaned loudly.
    “How the devil do you know?” asked Charles reasonably, though with some impatience.
    From her reticule she pulled a