4

Emmie shut the door behind her and leaned back against it. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, summoning the courage to face Pinky with her shocking news. Her engagement to Humphrey was broken. She was instead now engaged to Lord Faris. They were going to be married in a matter of days. They would all be moving to Cornwall.

What in God’s name was she doing?

Too late for that. Instead, Emmie fortified herself with the thought of Thomas Hardiman and the other clerks receiving generous compensation for their job losses. There was also the comfort that her late father’s name would not be dragged through the mud as his company fell apart. Moreover, she and Pinky were no longer facing the possibility of being put out on the street.

Pushing away from the door, she made for the parlor, where she found her friend stood before the unlit fireplace wringing her hands. “Oh, Emmie!” Pinky blurted on catching sight of her. She took three steps toward her, scanning her face. Whatever she saw there caused her to promptly freeze on the spot.

“I have wonderful news, dear,” Emmie began brightly, ignoring her friend’s reaction. She walked into the room with a firm tread. “Our money worries are over,” she declared. Pinky’s mouth dropped open. “Also, we have cakes for lunch and likely for supper too,” she said, carefully setting down the box she had been clutching on the occasional table. “Lord Faris insisted on buying us ever so many.”

“Oh, er, most generous,” Pinky twittered distractedly. “How kind.”

“Yes,” Emmie agreed. “He has been all that is considerate.” She reached up to carefully extract her hatpin and remove her bonnet. Upon setting this down, she pulled off her gloves, revealing the large gold ring set with five matched sapphires which she now wore on her left hand. It felt somewhat cumbersome, and she flexed her hand self-consciously, darting a look at Pinky as she did so. Pinky’s gaze, however, remained riveted to her face. “Do sit down, dear, there is something I need to tell you.”

“Shall I fetch the tea tray first?” Pinky enquired in failing accents.

Emmie shook her head. “Let me tell you my news first. Then tea.”

Pinky nodded and, after a moment’s dithering, sat in her usual chair. Emmie lowered herself into her own seat opposite. “As you know, Humphrey visited first thing this morning,” she began. “I’m afraid he bore rather ill tidings.” She took a deep breath. “Ballentine’s Trading Company is no more. The whole concern is now quite sunk without hope of revival.”

Pinky raised a shaking hand to cover her mouth. “Oh no !” she gasped, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh, Emmie !”

Emmie nodded. “Collapsed and buried under, well, under a pile of debts I’m afraid. Also…” Emmie swallowed, rushing on before she lost her nerve. “Humphrey told me he can no longer marry me,” she continued with a slight wobble in her voice.

“You mean because of the debt?” Pinky whispered in horror. “But surely—”

“No, not because of the debt,” Emmie interrupted her. For an instant, she considered not telling her friend the full extent of Edward’s perfidy. It was so lowering to admit all. Ten whole years wasted. Then she thought better of it. Pinky deserved to know the whole truth.

“You see, it turns out Humphrey was never in a position to offer me marriage,” she said quietly. “In short, he already has a wife. He’s had one for these past twelve years.”

Pinky blinked at her uncomprehendingly. “I beg your pardon, Emmie? I think I must have misheard you.”

“A Mrs. Clara Stockton, apparently,” Emmie persisted doggedly. “I think he even made mention of a child toward the end of our interview, but I confess I was struggling to take in any more by that point…”

Pinky’s pale face flushed hectically with color. “Are you in earnest?” she asked, sitting up straighter in her seat. “You tell me that Mr. Stockton was already married when he entered into an engagement with you ten years ago?” Pinky’s hand fluttered at her throat. “Why, I can hardly comprehend such…such wickedness !”

A martial gleam entered Pinky’s watery eyes and she sprang out of her chair. “You poor, poor dear!” she exclaimed with feeling, her slight bosom heaving as she hurried over to clasp one of Emmie’s hands between her own. In her agitation, she did not seem to notice the sapphire ring at all.

“He is fortunate indeed that you do not possess a brother to defend your honor,” she rambled on distractedly. “Why, if I was a man, I am not sure I would not challenge him to duel myself!”

Emmie gave a startled gurgle of laughter; she could not help it. The idea of her dainty Pinky sallying forth with a dueling pistol clasped in her lace-mittened hands was an absurd one. “I am sure I could have no nobler defender of my honor,” she said placatingly.

“I have never been so deceived in a man’s character in my life!” Pinky exclaimed. “Mr. Stockton seemed like such an estimable young man. Yet for him to have acted thus…” She broke off to shake her head and tut vigorously. “If your papa had only known, he would surely have had him horsewhipped!”

“Papa always thought himself a sound judge of character,” Emmie reflected. “He believed Humphrey safe, solid, and rather dull if truth be told. He simply thought I could not do any better, matrimonially speaking.”

Pinky hardly seemed to hear her. “How dreadful for you to have learned these awful truths all alone, Emmie,” she fretted. “How I wish I had been there to support you in your hour of need.” Pinky’s eyes filled with tears and her narrow shoulders drooped.

“It is perhaps just as well you were not,” Emmie answered gravely. “As his words might have inspired you to violence.”

“I am sure none could have blamed you if you had slapped his face,” Pinky announced with such a hopeful look on her face that Emmie could not help but give another weak laugh.

“No, I did not slap him,” she admitted. “I would make a very bad heroine of the novels we read, Pinky dear. I was just…terribly shocked and rather hurt. I wanted to shrink into myself.” To her surprise, she felt her own eyes fill with tears at the humiliating memory.

“It must have been dreadful for you, dear, just dreadful,” Pinky repeated with vehemence. “I am most vexed at Mr. Stockton. Most vexed indeed. What in the world could he have been thinking —” She broke off her words noticing the expression on Emmie’s face. “But there, what is the point in fruitless speculation? Hot tea, that is what you need. Hot tea with plenty of sugar. Oh dear, I hope we have some sugar left,” she murmured, dropping Emmie’s hand and heading for the door.

“It does not matter if we do not, for we have sugary cakes,” Emmie reminded her, but Pinky was already halfway across the hall by this point.

As a rule, Pinky avoided using the shared kitchen wherever possible, for she dreaded running into the other tenants and felt having to use communal resources was rather vulgar. However, her blood was up at this point, and even if she should encounter their least favorite neighbor, the contentious Mrs. Bridgholme, Emmie felt certain her friend was equal to the occasion.

Emmie took the opportunity of her absence to bolster her nerve before delivering her last revelation. She put away her hat and gloves and tidied her hair, which looked rather windblown. In truth, it did not take much for her hair to look blowsy for it had a strong wave and inclination to untidiness, which frequently dismayed her. She was sitting back in her seat, composed and tidy, by the time Pinky returned with the tea tray five minutes later.

“We did not have any sugar,” Pinky admitted guiltily. “But as I am convinced the Startrites regularly help themselves to ours, I took two spoonfuls from their tin.”

Emmie directed a look of astonishment at her friend, who was usually scrupulously honest in her dealings. Pinky’s expression was unrepentant. “Our need is far greater, and you are to have both spoonfuls mind. I insist !”

“I think it is you who needs to prepare yourself for a shock,” Emmie warned her apologetically. “I have a second piece of news which is no less disquieting than the first.”

“Let me pour before you give it,” Pinky implored. “I am sure we are both in need of fortification. There now,” she said as she passed over a brimming cup. “Take two sips before you so much as speak a word.”

Emmie complied, then lowered the cup into its saucer. “Pinky dear, I am still to be married, and very soon. As soon as a special license can be procured.”

Pinky nodded briskly. “Yes, to Lord Faris,” she said bracingly. At Emmie’s startled look, she added with a little cough, “I did hear his offer of marriage to you this morning, dear, if you recall? When I came downstairs to check on you.” She averted her eyes tactfully and took another sip of tea.

Emmie felt the hot color flood back into her face. How about it? That was what he had said. Hardly the most formal and flowery of proposals. She dreaded to think what Pinky, always so upright and proper, would have made of such an offer. “Yes,” she said lamely. “He also offered to pay off any debts Papa’s company has incurred and to award compensation to the employees who will now find themselves out of a job.”

Pinky inclined her head. “Now that was nicely done of him,” she conceded. “And must have held a great deal of sway in your decision to accept his suit.”

“Well…yes,” Emmie admitted.

Pinky took a deep breath. “You acted as you saw fit, my dear, and I am sure no one could blame you. You must not worry about what will happen to me. I have my profession to sustain me, and I am sure—”

“No, no, Pinky, you must not think of leaving me,” Emmie said quickly. “I have already spoken to Lord Faris, and you are to accompany us to Cornwall.”

Pinky blinked owlishly. “Cornwall?” She faltered.

“Yes, for that is where his seat lies.”

Pinky set down her cup and saucer with a rattle. “Am I to understand my services will be retained?” There was a wobble in her voice, and she made haste to retrieve a handkerchief from her sleeve as emotion overcame her.

“I cannot part with you after all this time,” Emmie said gently as Pinky dabbed at her watery eyes. “You are not just my closest friend but must count as family by this point.”

“Oh, Emmie!” Pinky quavered.

“I am afraid you will have to take up some governess duties to Lord Faris’s son, for a while at least,” Emmie admitted in a rush. “But with me around, I hope it will not prove too onerous a task. In any case, it seems he will be going away to school at some point in the not-too-distant future.”

“Oh! So, there is a son,” Pinky murmured, looking momentarily surprised. “I had supposed…” Her words trailed off and something else seemed to occur to her. “There is only the one boy, I take it?” she asked in faltering tones.

“Yes. Master Edward Vance, aged nine years.”

Pinky gulped. “I am sure I can manage,” she said bravely. “And Cornwall is meant to be so very beautiful. Perhaps I could take up my watercolors again,” she said, perking up.

Emmie smiled perfunctorily. “Perhaps you could tutor young Edward in the art?” she suggested. “And you could take little field trips together to find the best scenery?”

Pinky blanched a little at the thought of venturing out of doors with her young charge. “Er, yes,” she agreed nervously. “Perhaps you could even accompany us on occasion, Emmie dear? I am sure the fresh air would be greatly beneficial.”

“Perhaps,” Emmie agreed cautiously, for she had never been any good at painting. She was just glad to see her friend, who always suffered greatly at any change in circumstances, making plans. It heartened her and made her feel a good deal better about the choices she had made.

It was not that she had expected outright condemnation, but she had anticipated a shocked and quiet sort of disapproval from her. It would have been only natural. Pinky was such a cautious and proper person, and this wedding was going to proceed with almost indecent haste.

Emmie felt the greatest relief that her friend was being so philosophical about it all. “Shall we open the cakes?” she suggested, despite having no appetite.

“Oh yes,” Pinky agreed, though Emmie was not sure she would manage a whole cake due to her nervous energy. “Oh my!” she blurted on lifting the lid and seeing just how many cakes the box contained.

“I did warn you,” Emmie replied. “I told Lord Faris of our Friday tradition of treating ourselves, and he seemed determined to indulge us.”

“These would last us a whole week!”

“Look at this,” Emmie said, extending her left hand. The sapphires flashed. “I think going overboard might be a personality trait where he is concerned.”

Pinky gaped at the ring. “Good lord!” she uttered faintly. “It must be worth a fortune!”

Emmie looked down at it. “Yes,” she agreed quietly. It still did not seem real to her. Not one bit. Then a horrible thought flashed into her mind. What if it was all some horrible sort of hoax? Like Jeremy Vance seeking her out at all those debutante balls and dancing with her, giving her his attention and then… She gasped, and balled her hands into fists so hard her nails bit into her palms.

She had known all along that he was making a May game of her, but she had gone along with it anyway, because the giddy pleasure of dancing with him had almost made the misery of her social debut worth it. Goodness gracious, what a little fool she had been! Was she still a complete fool where he was concerned? A nasty feeling lurked in the pit of her stomach, telling her it was so.

“Emmie?” Pinky was leaning forward and pressing her hand. “You look a little green around the gills, dear. Are you feeling well?”

“It’s nothing. Just, well, this morning I woke up engaged to one man, and tonight I go to bed affianced to another,” she said unevenly.

Of course it was not an elaborate hoax, she told herself sternly, feeling the weight of his ring on her finger. He had ulterior motives in marrying her, just as she had for accepting him. He wanted her to help clean up his tarnished image. She needed him to discharge her debts. They would have a perfectly sensible marriage of convenience. That was all.

She was no longer a stupid, na?ve girl of eighteen whose heart raced whenever the Honorable Jeremy Vance entered the room. A decade had passed since that unfortunate incident in Lady Hawford’s conservatory. Her cheeks still burned to think of it. Resolutely, she thrust the memory away.

He probably did not even remember it. Doubtless he had kissed dozens of girls before and after his marriage to the beauteous Lady Amanda. She had no illusions as to his dissolute character. Only fancy, kissing her on the night his own engagement had been announced! Nay, worse than that, mere moments before the official announcement was made! She felt her face turn pink with indignation.

“Ah, you have a little color returned,” Pinky said with satisfaction. “For a moment, I thought I would have to fetch my smelling salts.”

Emmie forced a smile. “Nothing so drastic, I assure you. There is another cup left in the pot. Will you have it?”

“No, you help yourself, dear. I will have one of these excellent cakes instead,” Pinky said, peering once again into the box.