impressed by flash and dash.’
‘Which is why I’d rather eschew marriage and devote my life to good works.’
‘What sort of good works? You’re not going to become one of those dreary Calvinists, warning sinners of fire, brimstone and destruction?’
‘No, I prefer building to destroying. I should like to do something useful. Unlike some I could mention, who seem to think all that’s necessary for a satisfying life is to seduce silly women, drink other men under the table and win at cards.’
‘I can’t imagine to whom you refer,’ he said with a grin. ‘I do ride horses rather well, though.’
‘Perhaps your only noteworthy skill.’
‘Oh, no! I drive quite well, too. You’ve seen me handle a high-perch phaeton.’
‘Excellent. You can look forward to life as a Royal Mail coachman when you run through all your money.’
Laughing, he said, ‘I’d still have my charm. Isn’t charm useful?’
‘For cozening the unwary, perhaps. I’m too downy to fall for that.’
Their teasing gazes collided—and once again held, something undeniable, and undeniably sensual, sparking between them.
‘Ah, that you were not,’ he murmured, regretting her innocent, unmarried state more keenly than ever.
Her pale face colouring, she looked away. ‘Well, enough banter. Thank you for helping me restore my equilibrium so I may return and face down Mama. I’ve half a mind to tell her I am done, absolutely done, with society. No more Season. I’ve had enough!’
He shook his head doubtfully. ‘A noble resolve! We’ll see how long it takes for your mama to squash it.’
‘Thank you so much for the encouragement,’ she said drily. ‘Good day to you, Lord Theo.’
‘And to you, Miss Henley,’ he said, watching her ride off to meet her belatedly approaching groom. Remembering the unwelcome proposal that had prompted the gallop that had left her servant eating dust, he had to smile again. Thank heavens Miss Henley was so resistant to being forced into the usual female role.
Thank heavens, too, that most men were too dull-witted and dazzled by bright and shiny society beauties to recognise the quiet gem among them. Meaning Miss Henley was unlikely to be pursued by a man she might actually want to accept.
Although…if she were married, especially to someone she couldn’t possibly admire, like Mr Null, he might actually be able to indulge this annoyingly strong urge to pursue her.
Damn, but she was unusual! The woman drew him far too strongly, on too many levels. More and more frequently, he found himself struggling between two polar opposite desires: to throw caution to the wind and see if she truly possessed the passion of which he caught tantalising glimpses. Or the much more prudent course of avoiding her completely.
As it happened, after returning from the park, Emma did not gird her loins and confront her mama.
Instead, she found herself having to soothe Marie, who sobbed as she helped Emma change from her habit into an afternoon gown and then fell before her, apologising for having kept Mr Nullford’s presence a secret and begging Emma’s forgiveness for the deception. In between hiccups, she explained that she only wanted her dear, sweet mistress to find a kind man who would take care of her and give her a happy life, like Lady Henley was always saying Emma needed.
Not until Emma had reassured the maid over and over that she was not angry and would never turn Marie off without a character, that she understood Marie just wanted the best for her, was the girl finally able to dry her tears.
By the time the maid bobbed a final curtsy and headed back to the servants’ quarters, Emma had had enough of sobbing and confrontation. Although it was likely her mama would be sobbing, too, when she confronted Emma, rather than apologise for her part in the deception, she was more likely to heap recrimination on Emma’s head for having turned down a perfectly unexceptional suitor.
And then lament, with another bout of tears, what was to become of her poor, plain, maiden daughter if she kept throwing away every chance to become respectably settled when, at her age, Emma could not hope to receive many more offers—perhaps not any!
It would not be the first time Emma had endured such a scene, though she devoutly hoped it would be the last. But after suffering Marie’s outburst, it made her head hurt just to think about meeting her mother, who seemed as oblivious as the maid to what Emma really wanted.
Which sealed it. She would grab a footman to escort her and slip away to Hatchards before her mama found out she’d returned home. There, she could dash off quick notes asking her two best friends from school to meet her at Gunter’s for some ices, after which, although it wasn’t the day for their normal weekly meeting, they might call on Lady Lyndlington.
Being able to write a few strongly worded appeals to various Members of Parliament decrying the continuing miseries of child labour should be just the thing to put today’s events in perspective and calm her for the coming showdown with her mother.
A little more than an hour later, Emma arrived at Berkeley Square and took a table inside Gunter’s, where she awaited the arrival of the two people dearest to her in the world: Olivia Overton and Sara Standish.
Olivia was first to arrive. Smiling as she waved over to her table the tall, angular girl who had a long, plain face and dull brown hair just as she did, Emma felt again the surge of gladness that Olivia had taken the lead and turned three shy outsiders at Mrs Axminster’s Academy for Young Ladies into the dearest of friends.
Inviting them to share her table for dinner one night, Olivia had observed that Emma and Sara also seemed to enjoy books and seemed as uninterested as she was in the conversations about Seasons and husband-hunting that occupied most of their classmates. She then suggested that the three of them would have a better chance of surviving the miseries of school if they banded together.
They soon become inseparable. After discovering the feminist writings of Mary Wollstonecraft and the calls for democracy and social reform of Thomas Paine, they’d decided that, for them, the future would involve working for noble causes, rather than competing for suitors or devoting themselves to securing—and measuring their worth by—the brilliance of the marriage proposals they received.
She and Olivia had just exchanged hugs and greetings when Sara Standish walked in, her plump face wreathed in a smile that magnified the sweetness of her expression. Petite, blonde and curvaceous, she provided a sharp contrast to her friends’ tall angularity.
As Emma settled in beside them at the table, the doubt and turmoil in her heart eased. With her friends to stand by her, she knew she could face anything.
‘I’m so glad you could come on such short notice,’ Emma told them after they’d given the waiter their order. ‘I was afraid you might both be occupied with calls this afternoon.’
‘Your note did take me away from perusal of a quite fascinating book,’ Olivia said.
‘I bargained with my aunt that, if I agreed to attend without protest whatever society events she chooses, I would only have to make calls with her twice a week,’ Sara said. ‘Luckily, today was not one of the designated calling afternoons. But what has transpired that you needed to summon us so precipitously?’
In a few terse sentences, Emma told them about Nullford’s proposal, her refusal and the scene with her maid that had sent her scurrying from the house before it could be repeated, in more ominous tones, with her mama. Though she mentioned in passing her ride in the park, she omitted describing