Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

“T hat apology seemed rather painful to her, don’t you agree?” George chuckled as he poured some brandy into a tumbler for Alexander.

The memory of his encounter with Miss Lovell lingered in his mind, intensified by her vivid green eyes. “I never saw a woman with such fire,” he added, his amusement touched with a genuine intrigue. There was an indefinable quality about Miss Lovell, magnetic yet elusive, that piqued his curiosity further.

“She does seem most interesting,” Alex agreed, accepting the drink with a nod.

“Oh, she bestowed upon me quite the vehement reprimand when she found me speaking to Olivia earlier. Her assumptions were rather bold.”

“Do you blame her? She was unaware of your relation.” Alex shrugged, a mild defense in his tone.

“Nevertheless, her intentions were most thoughtful, I must admit,” George observed, leaning against the counter in the salon and crossing his legs at the ankles. “How long have you known Miss Lovell?” he inquired.

“Oh, we met an hour or so ago, a little over perhaps. She arrived earlier today.”

“One would presume she was an old family friend by her manner,” George chuckled softly.

“Some people possess a natural ease about them, I suppose,” Alexander commented.

“Although I’ve only just made her acquaintance, she strikes me as quite the decent lady, unlike her father,” Alex muttered, seeming to be in thought.

“The Baron?” George raised an eyebrow.

“Indeed, he was most insistent on securing an invitation for his family, much to Aunt Jane’s chagrin. I assure you, the man’s persistence was nothing short of aggravating.”

“It almost sounds as if he forced the invitation from you, Alexander,” George teased, a whimsical smirk playing on his lips.

“The gentleman seemed not merely to want but to need the invitation. Thus, I obliged.” Alexander shrugged.

“You are too magnanimous.” George clucked his tongue, not surprised by his friend’s kindness, a trait he had known in him since childhood.

“Ah, but our world is sorely lacking in goodness and consideration. Those of us capable must uphold those virtues, don’t you agree?” Alex said, his tone turning reflective.

“Indeed, but we must also remain vigilant so as not to be exploited,” George counseled. “As you said, in a world where goodness is scarce, it is all too easy for kindness to be taken advantage of.”

“You are such a cynic,” Alex laughed.

“One of us needs to be.” George shrugged. Alex still saw the world as a place that could become better. He could not disagree more with him.

A short while later, as he was passing through the hallway, he came across Olivia, who appeared to be in somewhat of a hurry.

“Ah, finally! Just the person I was looking for,” she sighed, stopping before him with a look of relief.

“Is everything all right?” he inquired, noting her slightly flustered demeanor.

“Oh, all is well. Just Aunt Jane throwing another of her tantrums,” she replied, her tone a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

“Dear Lady Amberton decided to change the colors of the napkins at the last moment. After the table has already been set,” Olivia added, her expression one of someone beleaguered by the whims of an unpredictable mother. “She doesn’t want the ivory napkins anymore. She thinks they’re overdone and that they ‘ drain ’ the dining room of color,” she continued, waving an impatient hand in the air as she mimicked her aunt’s words.

George noticed the two tawny napkins she held, one lighter and one darker shade of the color. “And I presume those are the replacements?” His gaze followed them.

“She thinks these are more cheerful and unique. But she cannot seem to decide between the lighter and darker shade. And she doesn’t particularly trust my judgment either. She says my sense of color is as tame as my personality,” Olivia replied, a hint of sheepishness in her voice.

“Will Aunt Jane ever change?” George chuckled, recalling the wonderful moments they all had with her. She was the closest thing to a mother all three of them had, and she was dearer to them than anyone else.

“Hopefully not,” Olivia gave a fond laugh, echoing his sentiment.

“Well, I told her that I’d seek a more mature opinion. Thus, I came to find you,” she added, holding up the napkins to him expectantly.

“I would suggest the darker shade,” George responded after a moment’s consideration. “The candlelight is sure to complement it perfectly and make it stand out as she wants,” he added, envisioning the setting.

Olivia pursed her lips in thought. “But if she wants more cheer, don’t you think the lighter shade would be better?” she suggested.

“Ah, but the lighter shade would only clash with the candlelight. The room would look too garish. And knowing Aunt Jane, she likes to be ostentatious without appearing to make an effort,” he replied, his knowledge of her tastes apparent.

“Ah, spoken like a true artist.” Olivia seemed genuinely impressed. “And you couldn’t have been more correct about Aunt Jane. For someone so glamorous , she certainly is obsessed with subtlety,” she added with a chortle. “I am glad I have you, George. Alex is hopeless with colors.”

“I told him he lacks a clear sight and perception of colors, but he is still living in his delusions that his vision is perfect. At least where colors are concerned.”

“What party is going on here without me?” The man in question suddenly appeared, his voice carrying a playful note of accusation.

“Oh, we were just discussing your impeccable sight and ability to distinguish colors.” Olivia sent a conspiratorial wink in George’s direction. George grinned impishly, enjoying the moment.

Alexander’s gaze narrowed dubiously as he regarded them, and as though to prove her point, Olivia held up the napkins once again and asked her brother to choose a shade.

“What choice is there to be made between two identical colors?” Alexander gave her a look, his tone flat, betraying his complete bafflement at the situation.

“They’re not the same shade, Brother. Even a blind man can see it,” Olivia laughed.

“They look the same to me.” Alex shrugged, clearly unbothered by his inability to discern the difference.

George burst out laughing as well.

* * *

Much to Emma’s disappointment, she found herself seated next to none other than the Duke of Seymore at dinner. The flickering candles that cast a soft glow over the table, accentuating the opulence of the room, did little to lift her spirits.

“Fancy meeting you again, Miss Lovell,” he said pleasantly as she sat, his voice carrying a smooth, mirthful undertone that irked her for reasons she couldn’t quite place.

“I doubt if our meeting again qualifies as much of a surprise. Living under the same roof, we were bound to come across each other again, Your Grace,” Emma responded, her tone clipped as she focused on arranging her napkin meticulously on her lap.

“Sheathe the dagger, Miss Lovell. I come in peace,” he chuckled.

Emma, however, heard every annoying nuance of his laughter distinctly, as if it were so just for her ears. “Why, you make me out to be quite the aggressive woman,” she observed, not quite able to keep a note of accusation from creeping into her voice.

“Well, your words just now weren’t the most welcoming, Miss Lovell. And considering our first impressions of each other…” He let his words trail off, a teasing glint in his eye that suggested he enjoyed this little exchange.

Emma felt her jaw clench as mortification warmed—and no doubt stained—her cheeks. As if she needed a reminder of her earlier actions. She forced herself to meet the Duke’s gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort. “I must have left quite the impression, it seems, Your Grace,” Emma managed to say, her words edged with a feigned nonchalance as she gave him a tight smile.

“An unforgettable one,” he agreed.

“I tend to do that,” she stated, lifting her chin slightly, employing an air of pride that she hoped masked her inner turmoil.

“Why am I not surprised?” His laugh was richer this time, as if he truly found genuine delight in their conversation.

“You make it sound as though you know me,” Emma pointed out. She found his presumption increasingly irksome.

“I am a good judge of character,” he claimed.

At that, a loud snort escaped her before she could stop it. The sound cut through the surrounding chatter, which suddenly died down, leaving a brief, echoing silence in its wake.

Emma felt a flush of embarrassment as she realized quite a number of eyes were now on her. Her gaze inadvertently found her mother’s across the room, and the woman’s expression was anything but pleased.

She had fleetingly forgotten her manners, a lapse she remembered all too well as she was supposed to engage the Earl in conversation. Seymore was as distracting as he was aggravating, pulling her thoughts away from her social duties.

“Excellent mutton, Lord Firman. I must commend your cook,” Emma addressed the Earl now, her words a weak attempt to draw his attention and to settle the curiosity directed at her along with the awkwardness that lingered in the air.

“Oh, give Francois an empty pot and a ladle, Miss Lovell, and he would manage to conjure up a meal for you from nothingness,” Firman replied proudly, his statement met with hearty agreements across the table. Baron Dewsbury’s voice rang the loudest, his tone ingratiating as he sought the Earl’s favor.

Emma spooned more mutton into her mouth and chewed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes or send a disparaging glance in her father’s direction. Could his manners be any more lacking?

Her gaze drifted back to the Duke. He wore a sly smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched her, almost as if he enjoyed the slight chaos of the moment. What is the matter with this man?

“There you are!” Caroline almost jumped when Emma suddenly appeared before her. “Where were you?” she demanded, her nose turning up dubiously at her daughter.

“I sought the retiring room,” Emma lied smoothly. “I must have had too much sherry at dinner,” she added for good measure, hoping to divert her mother’s suspicion.

“So much so that it apparently made you forget your manners, too, at the table,” her mother observed sharply. “What were you thinking? Snorting about like a piglet in front of half of society. And goodness gracious, you were seated right next to the Earl and the Duke of Seymore too!”

Emma had to admit that it was not a formal seating arrangement. If it were, she would not have been able to see the Earl or the Duke, much less converse with them. She felt a jolt of defiance; she had never tried to impress her parents, much less live up to their unrealistic expectations. “Are you not happy I was seated near them?”

Her mother glared at her. “Do pinch some color into your cheeks and make yourself more presentable before rejoining civilization,” Caroline instructed sharply. “And meet me in the conservatory in a moment,” she added as an afterthought.

“Conservatory?” Emma echoed in surprise, her brow furrowing. “Whatever for?”

“Meet me there and you will find out,” her mother responded impatiently.

“But Mother?—”

“No questions! The conservatory, now ! Wait for me there.” Her mother’s voice brooked no argument, effectively silencing any further protest.

Emma did as she was told, her steps echoing softly as she made her way to the place. The space was quiet and dark, the only light coming from the gentle glow of the moon that filtered through the glass. The tranquil sound of water trickling from a fountain nearby filled the air, adding to the serene yet eerie atmosphere.

As she wandered deeper into the lush surroundings, her foot accidentally kicked something small and hard. It clattered noisily across the stone floor. Curious, she squinted through the dim light and bent down to retrieve the object. It was a lovely brooch, ornate and sparkling even in the limited light. She wondered to whom it might belong; surely some lady at the party was missing this beautiful piece of jewelry.

Opening her reticule, which was securely strapped to her wrist, Emma placed the brooch inside. She resolved to find its owner and return it once the evening’s more pressing matters were attended to.

Her thoughts wandered to her mother’s unusual insistence as she took in her lush, verdant surroundings. The foliage seemed almost to crowd around her, making the glass-encased room feel smaller, more intimate.

Just then, a shadow moved behind her. Emma turned swiftly, expecting to see her mother, but instead, she found herself staring at the silhouette of a gentleman. It was too dark to discern his features clearly, but his build was imposing—a presence too significant to be anyone of lesser stature.

Her mother’s words echoed in her mind, chilling in their newfound context: Pinch some color into your cheeks and make yourself presentable… Meet me in the conservatory in a moment . The realization that this might be orchestrated by her parents hit her with a wave of revulsion. The unpleasant taste of betrayal filled her mouth as she considered that they might indeed be using this moment to push her toward someone, likely for their own gain.

Could it be the Earl? The figure bore a striking resemblance to him. If so, this was a deliberate plan, and she was meant to seize this opportunity to further her parents’ ambitions. A knot of discomfort tightened in her stomach.

The gentleman was leaning over a cluster of some small potted plants and appeared oblivious to her presence. Emma didn’t want to do this. She thought of sneaking away, but an apprehensive voice in her head reminded her of the Marquess of Neads. What if this was the only opportunity she would have during this party? What if she forfeited it and doomed herself to a life with Neads?

At this instant, she didn’t know what was worse. She only knew that what she was about to do, what her parents wanted her to do, was utterly wrong.

Emma approached the gentleman. The Earl. When she was less than an arm’s length away from him, she raised her hand. Something crunched underneath her shoes, and given her already nervous state, she started. This alerted him to the presence in the room, and he swiveled from the potted plants.

Emma was further perturbed by how close he was and the sheer intimidating size of him before her. She tried to take a step back, only to trip over a potted plant. Arms came firmly around her, catching her fall and holding her against a strong chest. She still couldn’t make out his features in the darkness. But something about him was very familiar. No doubt it was the Earl.

Emma’s thoughts were in upheaval as she scrambled to collect them. Still, an untamed voice in her head pointed out: This is your opportunity, girl. Remember, it’s either this, or Neads…

Fear and desperation gripped her, and she felt her hands suddenly do the thinking for her now. They traveled up to the man’s jaw, cupping it tentatively. He pulled her even closer to him. Then his face lowered to hers. Emma’s breath caught. Was he going to kiss her?

“I didn’t realize you harbored such feelings for me, Miss Lovell.” His voice was familiar. Excessively so. “Is that why you made such a scene about Olivia keeping my company earlier?”

Seymore!