The Regency Season: Gentleman Rogues: The Gentleman Rogue / The Lost Gentleman. Margaret McPhee

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ see it as a challenge. The Lewis sisters have a sweepstake running as to who will be the first to tempt him upon a floor. It is considered to be an indicator of when he has made his choice of bride.’

      Emma smiled again to hide the anger she felt at that thought. ‘Well, last night certainly disproved that theory.’

      ‘Indeed, it did. And will have made the Lewis sisters a deal richer.’ The dowager paused and looked at the letter in her hand. ‘They are all positively agog to know of what he spoke.’

      If they only knew. ‘Nothing of drama or excitement. I already told you the details.’ Last night in the ballroom when there had been a subtle questioning which Lady Lamerton had parried with the air of a hawk, with its wings shielding its food for its own later consumption. And in the carriage on the way home the hawk had eaten...although not of the truth.

      ‘The weather and other trivialities are hardly going to satisfy them, Emma. Especially as the pair of you appeared to be having quite the conversation.’

      Emma took another sip of coffee and said nothing.

      Lady Lamerton held her spectacles to her eyes and peered at the letter again. ‘Apparently they are taking bets on whether he will dance again. And if it will be with you.’

      Emma suppressed a sigh at the ton’s preoccupations. An hour’s walk away and the preoccupations and world were very different.

      ‘Fetch my diary, Emma, and check when the next dance is to be held.’

      ‘It is next week, on Thursday evening—the charity dance at the Foundling Hospital.’ Emma knew the line of thought the dowager’s mind was taking. ‘And even if Mr Stratham is there, I made it quite clear to him that my duty is as your companion and not to dance.’

      ‘Much as I admire your loyalty, my dear, you are quite at liberty to dance with him. Indeed—’ she glanced with unmistakable satisfaction at the unusually large pile of letters the morning post had brought ‘—it would be quite churlish not to.’

      ‘He will not ask me.’ Stay away from me, Ned.

       You need not worry, Emma Northcote. I will stay far away from you. The echo of their words rang in her head. And she remembered again, as she had remembered in the night, the look in his eyes—cool anger and other things...

      Emma smiled as if it were nothing and led the conversation away from Ned Stratham. ‘What are you wearing tonight for dinner at Mrs Lewis’s?’

      Her tactic worked. ‘My purple silk and matching turban. I thought you could wear your dove-grey silk to complement me.’

      ‘It would match well,’ Emma agreed and listened as Lady Lamerton discussed a visit to the haberdashery to buy a feather for the turban.

      Ned would stay away from her. And she would be glad of it.

      More glad than you realise.

      And a tingle ran over the skin at the nape of her neck at what those strange words might mean.

      * * *

      ‘I see Mr Stratham is here,’ Lady Lamerton said sotto voce not five minutes after they had entered the drawing room of Mrs Lewis’s Hill Street house that night.

      ‘Is he? I had not noticed,’ Emma lied. He and his steward, Rob Finchley, were over by the windows talking with Lord Linwood and another gentleman, one whom Emma vaguely recognised but could not quite place. Ned was smartly dressed in the best of tailoring, his fair hair glinting gold in the candlelight. He looked as at ease here as he had in Whitechapel. Beneath that polished surface emanated that same awareness, that same feeling of strength and danger held in control. His eyes met hers, hard, watchful and bluer than she remembered, making her heart stumble and her body shiver. She returned the look, cool and hard as his own, and curved her lips in a smile as if he bothered her not in the slightest, before returning her attention to Lady Lamerton.

      Their hostess appeared, welcoming them, telling Lady Lamerton how wonderful she looked and asking which mantua maker was she using these days.

      Emma saw some of the women who had been friends of hers in what now seemed a different life. Women who had attended the same ladies’ educational seminary, who had made their come-outs at the same time, and against whom her competition in the marriage mart had necessitated spending a fortune on new wardrobes. They were dressed in the latest fashions, immaculately coiffured, safe in their little group. Emma knew how penniless ladies’ companions were viewed in their circle, the whispered pity; she, after all, had once been one of the whisperers. Not out of malice, but naïvety and ignorance. But who her father had been, and who she had been amongst them, still held influence for, despite her reduced status, most smiled and gave small acknowledgements. Only a few turned their heads away.

      ‘Lady Lamerton, how very delightful to find you here.’ Mrs Faversham arrived, all smiles and politeness, but with the barely concealed expression of a gossip hound on the scent of a story. ‘And Miss Northcote, too.’ Her eyes sharpened and lit as she looked at Emma.

      ‘Mrs Faversham,’ cooed Lady Lamerton and smiled that smile that, contrary to its softness, indicated when it came to gossip she was top dog and would be guarding her object of interest with ferocity. Emma’s father had been right.

      ‘Such a shame I missed Hawick’s ball. It seems it was quite the place to be. I heard that Mr Stratham finally took to the dance floor. But one can never be sure with such rumours.’

      ‘I can confirm the truth of it, my dear Agatha.’

      ‘Indeed?’ Curiosity was almost bursting out of her. ‘You must come to tea, dear Lady Lamerton. It has been an age since we visited together. Would tomorrow suit?’

      ‘I am taking tea with Mrs Hilton tomorrow. My tea diary is quite booked these days. But I might be able to squeeze you in at the end of the week...if that would be agreeable to you.’

      ‘Most agreeable.’ Mrs Faversham smiled and could not help her eyes straying to Emma once more. ‘And will Miss Northcote be there?’

      But Emma was saved by the sound of the dinner gong.

      * * *

      The table was beautifully arranged with a central line of squat candelabras interspersed by pineapples. In the middle was a vast arrangement that involved the head and tail feathers of a peacock. Emma tensed, worrying that she would find herself seated beside Ned, but, for all his wealth, in the hierarchy of seating at a ton dinner table trade was still looked down upon and Ned and his steward were seated further down the table. A lady’s companion, effectively a servant, was deemed higher because her family had once been one of them.

      Lord Soames, one of her father’s oldest and dearest friends, took his place by her side.

      ‘And how is your papa fairing out in rural Hounslow, young Miss Northcote?’ he bellowed on account of his deafness.

      ‘He is well, thank you, Lord Soames.’ She nodded and smiled, aware that the volume of Lord Soames’s voice was loud enough to be heard all around. Loud enough for Ned to hear those few seats away.

      ‘Glad to hear it, m’dear. You must tell him when you see him next that his presence is sorely missed.’

      ‘I will.’ She smiled СКАЧАТЬ