Chapter Three
Emma stared at her plate with unseeing eyes. What did her rapidly cooling food matter when all she could do was relive her dance with the Duke of Abernathe again and again? Like a fool, she kept thinking of his strong arms around her, the warmth of his body as they spun around the floor, the focus of his dark stare as he spoke to her.
Of course, she’d ruined it all by being so damned direct with him.
“Emma!”
She jerked her head up to find her mother leaning across the table, eyes locked on her. Emma sighed. She knew that look. It was the marry, marry, marry look that made her mother so crazed sometimes.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Emma said. “I was woolgathering.”
Violet Liston smiled. “Daydreaming about the Duke of Abernathe? Oh, Emma, I cannot tell you how thrilled I am that you caught his attention.”
Emma pursed her lips before she muttered, “Really? I wasn’t aware when you mentioned it ten times last night and at least four this morning.”
“No need to be cheeky,” Mrs. Liston scolded. “The night was a smashing success. You haven’t had so much attention in years.”
Emma frowned, for she couldn’t deny her mother’s charge. After Abernathe had left her, she had been approached by several other gentlemen. Not of Abernathe’s stature, of course, but what her mother would call “viable options.” It had been a long time since her dance card had more than two names on it. Last night, she had ended up with five.
“It was just a few dances, Mama,” she said, pushing her plate away since she had no appetite.
“A few dances is the path to a marriage,” her mother insisted, fisting her napkin in her hand on the tabletop. Emma saw how white her knuckles were, and her frown deepened.
“Don’t buy my trousseau too soon, Mama,” she said gently. “I am still a spinster.”
Her mother turned her face as if that word were a curse. In this house, it sometimes felt like it was. “How can you be so cavalier, Emma,” she snapped. “You know our circumstances. Your father—”
“Is not here,” Emma interrupted. “And has not been here for six months.”
“But he always returns,” Mrs. Liston said, rising to her feet and pacing the dining room restlessly. “And when he does, he regularly brings a scandal with him. We’ve done well covering them up, keeping their glare off you, but there will come a point when I cannot protect you anymore. But if you are already safely married before his next…outburst, then it won’t matter. You must see how important that is, Emma.”
Emma closed her eyes and let out a long breath before she looked at her mother again. “I see how important you feel it is,” she whispered. “But Mama, what would happen if I simply remained an old maid?”
Mrs. Liston’s mouth twisted in horror and she stepped toward Emma. Her tone grew loud and wild as she cried, “Are you so naïve? The money we have cannot stretch forever.”
“Not in the lifestyle we maintain now, no,” Emma conceded. “But if we stopped focusing on my Seasons and took a smaller home in the countryside—”
Her mother folded her arms. “You do not care about me,” she interrupted, her lip trembling and her eyes welling with tears. “You don’t want to take care of me. You don’t care if I am humiliated.”
With that her mother rushed from the room, wailing all the way up the stairs. The sound faded away until there was a great slamming of Mrs. Liston’s chamber door. Emma placed her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands.
She was accustomed to these outbursts from her mother. Mrs. Liston had married the third son of an important family and they had a complicated relationship. When Harold Liston was around, Emma’s mother cooed and purred over him. He could do no wrong.
But when he left, Mrs. Liston suddenly recalled all his many faults. It had never been a secret that she had hoped to elevate herself with the match. But Emma’s father had long ago been cut off from his influential relatives. She and her mother were only on the fringes of good Society.
Emma had always accepted that fact. Her mother could not, and more and more over the years, she had pinned her hopes on Emma’s own future match. The longer Emma stayed unwed, the more frustrated her mother became.
It wasn’t that Emma never wanted to marry from the beginning. She’d had dreams of finding someone nice, someone who cared for her and who she could care for. But the truth of Society had crushed that out of her within her first Season.
Most men cared about what they could obtain from a match. Most women knew how to play the game better than she did. And so her spinsterhood had begun.
If it were just her, she could live with it. She would do exactly as she’d just suggested to her mother and move to a smaller home, stop investing in gowns and other frivolity and live out her life with books and a cat and a good friend or two to call on from time to time.
But the idea of a life lived with her mother haranguing her over her failure to make a good match was not a pleasant idea.
She stood up and paced to the fire. As she did so, her maid, Sally, entered the room. Emma faced her with a sigh. “Let me guess, my mother sent you to me with a message that I’ve broken her heart.”
Sally nodded with a tight smile. “Yes, miss.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Great God, it’s so predictable.”
“She only wants to see you settled, miss. Happy.”
Emma wasn’t certain that was exactly true, but she didn’t argue. “I suppose.”
“Is it true you danced with the Duke of Abernathe?” Sally asked.
Emma shook her head. Abernathe was so powerful, so charismatic, even the servants got a flutter to their voices when he was discussed. “I did. And a few others.”
She paused as she considered those words. Her mother had said something about the attention Emma had gotten thanks to Abernathe. And while Emma had dismissed it aloud, she couldn’t pretend that Mrs. Liston wasn’t right. What Abernathe wanted, paid attention to, became fashion. Clothes, drinks…women.
Was it possible she could leverage his temporary regard into a match of some kind?
Before she could ponder the idea much further, their butler, Kendall, entered the breakfast room. “Miss Liston, a missive for you.”
Emma crossed the room to take it. She turned it over and caught her breath. It was the seal of the House of Abernathe. Her hands shook a little as she broke it and unfolded the pages.
It was an invitation to a garden party in two days’ time and scrawled across the more formal page was a note from Meg. Please do come!
Emma drew in a long breath as the butler left the room. “How long will it take Kendall to report this to my mother?”
Sally laughed. “Three minutes,” she guessed. “And that’s only because he’s slow climbing the stairs.”
Emma stared at the looping, friendly message from Meg. Meg, who claimed to like her. And she shook her head.
“Well, then I suppose I’m going to a garden party,” she said.
“Excellent,” Sally said. “I’ll be sure you have a few gowns to pick from. And your mother will be pleased.”
Her maid slipped from the room and left Emma alone. She rubbed her eyes and sighed. “Oh yes, Mama will be over the moon.”
But as for herself, she was left with a restless feeling. One that had nothing to do with gardens or parties or Meg. One that had everything to do with Abernathe.
As Meg entered his office, James looked up from his pile of paperwork and smiled at her. When he saw her face, pale and pinched, his expression fell and he rose to his feet.
“What is it?” he asked.
Meg reached behind her, sliding his door shut before she leaned on it with a sigh. “My garden party starts in half an hour,” she said.
He nodded. “Yes?”
“And Mother is drunk. Again.”
He shut his eyes and shook his head. Anger rose up in his chest, but he tamped it down and instead looked at his sister. “I’m sorry, Meg.”
She let her head rest against the door a moment and he could see she was fighting frustrated tears. “She does well for months at a time and then she spirals into this. I know her life has not been happy, I know Father was…Father. He made it plain to all of us how much he despised us and wished we were those he truly loved. I want to have understanding for how broken that made her, but I am so incredibly frustrated by her behavior.”
James moved around the desk and came to fold his arms around her. He felt her go limp for a moment before she regained her strength. She looked up at him with a sad smile.
“What can I do?” he asked as she pulled from his embrace.
She met his stare. “Will you…will you come out and say hello?”
“Margaret,” he said, turning his back to go sit at his desk again.
“Don’t Margaret me!” she said, but laughter had returned to her tone. “Please, it will put the ladies all in a twitter and take some of the focus off Mother’s absence.”
He pressed his lips together and then glared at her. “You use my absolute adoration of my baby sister against me.”
She grinned. “Every single time, yes.”
He threw up his hands in surrender. “Very well. I shall poke my head out. But I warn you, I will make an excuse to go. I have things on my agenda today that cannot be ignored.”
She clapped her hands together and there was no denying the relief on Meg’s face. “Oh, thank you, Jamie.”
He smiled at the shortening of his name, a throwback to their childhood days. Margaret so rarely called him that anymore and it warmed him. “You’re welcome.”
“You may change your mind about not staying,” she said as she moved toward the door.
He sighed. “And why would I do that? I have no interest in listening to your friend’s gossip.”
Meg rolled her eyes at him. “We do more than gossip. And the reason you may wish to stay is that someone you like will be there.”
He shook his head in confusion. “Someone I like? You?”
“No. Emma Liston,” Meg said, laughing as she exited the room and left James alone with her parting words. He leaned back in his chair, staring after her.
Emma Liston. It had been two days since he last saw her at Lord and Lady Rockford’s Season opening ball. He’d been trying hard to get her out of his mind ever since. It was a funny thing that she kept popping into his head. She wasn’t at all his type and he hardly ever thought much of one woman over another.
“It is likely because she saw Mother at her worst and offered kindness,” he muttered, looking back down at the ledger before him. Now the numbers swam and he could hardly recall what he was doing before Meg came in and distracted him.
Certainly it wasn’t thoughts of Emma Liston that did that. Certainly not. Nor was she the reason that this chore to go say hello to Meg’s guests suddenly seemed less irritating.
No. Not at all.
As the carriage rounded the last bend onto the drive at the Duke of Abernathe’s London estate, Emma swallowed hard and tried to maintain some small semblance of calm. It wasn’t easy when across from her, Mrs. Liston was talking on and on, just as she had been since they left their home nearly half an hour before.
“You should try to sit next to Lady Margaret,” her mother said.
Emma shook her head. “Mama, I’m certain there will be seating arrangements made and more important guests will be seated next to Meg—Lady Margaret.”
Her mother’s eyes lit up in triumph. “Well, make sure you talk to her for as long as you can, regardless. She could be your champion.”
Emma gripped her hand on the carriage seat. “Mama, I don’t want to use—”
“Posh!” her mother interrupted, waving one hand wildly. “Of course you should use this connection. It could be your saving grace.”
“Please, Mama,” Emma whispered, exhaustion washing over her in one long wave. “Just, please.”
The carriage stopped before they could continue the argument and her mother shot her one more pointed glare before she was helped from the carriage by a footman. Emma smoothed her skirts, tried to calm her suddenly racing heart, and followed Mrs. Liston out of the vehicle.
As she looked up at the fine home, she was surprised as Meg, herself, stepped from the front door and waved at them from the top step.
Mrs. Liston grabbed Emma’s arm and all but dragged her up to the top, chattering all the time.
“Lady Margaret!” she called out. “How lovely of you to invite us. You know how Emma cherishes your friendship, we are so pleased.”
Emma’s cheeks flared with heat at her mother’s over-solicitous words. She cast Meg a quick look but found the other woman didn’t look irritated by the silliness of her guest.
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” Meg said, reaching out to catch Emma’s hand for a brief squeeze. “Hello, Emma.”
“My lady,” Emma said softly, reverting back to correct formality for this public setting as she met Meg’s stare.
For a flash she saw understanding in her eyes. A bond made by mothers who humiliated their daughters, though in very different ways. And for the first time that day, she drew a full breath and calmed a little.
“You two are our last arrivals,” Meg said, sliding an arm through Emma’s. “So I shall escort you back to the veranda myself.”
Emma gasped in horror at that statement. Her mother had forced her to change three times, then ultimately had her put on the first dress she’d started with, a yellow gown with blue flowers stitched through the bodice. Of course, that was why they had run late.
“I’m so sorry to delay the party,” Emma gasped.
Meg shook her head. “Gracious, it’s fine. Truly, the previous guest only arrived five minutes ago, so you are not so very tardy. And I’m pleased that our group is now complete.”
As she spoke, she took them through a beautiful parlor and out a set of open French doors onto a veranda. Emma couldn’t help it. She came to a sudden stop as she looked across the beautiful space.
It was wide and broad with lattices strewn with flowering vines. From this vantage point one could see the sprawling garden behind the estate manor, complete with a rose maze and a huge gazebo off in the distance. There was a fountain in the middle of it all, where a stone lady dressed in flowing Grecian robes poured a never-ending pitcher of water while white angels lifted their hands to catch the liquid.
“Isn’t it lovely?” Meg said with a wide smile. “It is one of my favorite places in all the world.”
Emma nodded, all but speechless. Then she found herself moving forward as Meg pulled her into the center of the veranda. A dozen tables had been set there, with white table clothes and beautiful floral arrangements in the center of each. They were full now with finely dressed ladies chatting and smiling. Emma saw a few look toward her with surprise. Of course they would be surprised—she was never invited to such events.
“Mrs. Liston, I have put you here,” Meg said, stopping at a table with one empty seat at it. “I’m certain you already know the ladies.”
Emma watched as her mother’s eyes all but bugged. The table was filled with some of the most important older women of Society. From the Countess of Hastingcross, who almost singlehandedly dictated the fashions of the day, to the Viscountess Breckinridge, whose annual masquerade ball was the most sought after invitation of any in Society.
“Welcome, Mrs. Liston,” Lady Hastingcross said, patting the empty chair beside her. “Your hat is divine.”
Mrs. Liston said nothing else to Emma and Meg, but floated into her chair and immediately launched into a discussion with the others. Emma’s heart swelled at the opportunity Meg had somehow created for her mother.
But she could see there was no place for her at the table and Meg was already drawing her to another seat closer to the edge of the veranda.
“And you shall sit beside me,” Meg said, releasing Emma as she smiled at the ladies who would join them. “Do you know everyone?”
She proceeded to introduce the circle of six others. Emma knew a few but not all, for just as at her mother’s table, they were women who ranked far above her in Society. And like with her mother, each woman was friendly and accepting, and Meg helped along the conversations with lively tales. By the way she included Emma in each discussion, it was obvious she had claimed her as a friend and that seemed to be enough for the others in attendance to welcome her into their circle.
The time flew by as tea and treats were served and good conversation was had. Emma was just beginning to feel comfortable when one of the ladies said, “Margaret, darling, where is your mother?”
“Oh yes,” said another. “I know she left the Rockford ball early—is she well?”
Emma swallowed and sent Meg a quick look. Her friend had paled a shade and her smile now seemed forced rather than natural. “I’m afraid Mother took a bit ill that night and she is not fully recovered.”
“Oh, what a shame,” another woman sighed. “You know, I could recommend my physician. He works wonders, you know.”
Meg’s cheek twitched a fraction and Emma knew the truth in an instant. She so wanted to reach out and squeeze Meg’s hand, comfort her, but she resisted.
“Thank you, I shall get his name from you later,” Meg said.
If there were to be more questions about the absent duchess, they were cut off as the veranda door opened. Emma turned toward it and caught her breath as the Duke of Abernathe stepped from the house and onto the balcony.
His appearance sent a ripple through the crowd and all chatter increased briefly and then stopped as they stared at him. He grinned, like he was soaking up all the female attention, and came forward.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he all but purred.
Greetings were called out by the large group, but Emma stayed mute. She even found herself sliding down in her chair a bit, praying he wouldn’t look at her. Though what she thought would happen if he did was entirely unclear. Would she suddenly glow? Would there be a beacon that lit up above her head and spelled out that she was a fool?
The man probably didn’t even recall meeting her or dancing with her at this point. It wasn’t as if she was important in any way.
He swung his gaze around the veranda just as those thoughts passed through her mind, and suddenly his dark gaze pierced her. He held on her a long moment, the corner of his lip quirking up as he did so. And then his gaze moved on.
And yet in that moment her heart skipped a beat. Her stupid, foolish, idiot heart leapt at just one look from him. Why in the world did she allow that? He was just a man. A handsome man, yes, but so entirely out of her league that she was silly to even look at him, let alone let her body react with attraction.
“I wanted to say hello,” he said. “For how could I resist such a gathering of beauty?”
The group laughed and there were blushes and giggles into fans. Emma watched him smile at the group at large and ducked her head. Of course none of his regard was truly focused on her. It was a trick of the mind, nothing more, seeing something where there was nothing. The man had only danced with her out of some sense of obligation.
She settled back as he spoke a few more words, then exited the veranda back into the house. As soon as he was gone, the party all but exploded as the women talked about him. Even their own table didn’t seem to be deterred by the presence of the duke’s sister as they buzzed about how handsome Abernathe was and mused on the possibilities of his matching that Season.
Emma ignored it all, staring out across the veranda toward the brief glimpses of green grass and flowers out in the garden. In this moment, she knew she had to stay calm. Stay reasonable. She had to keep herself from being swept up in the general obsession with the Duke of Abernathe. For some lucky lady, he would one day be her husband.
But not Emma.