Chapter Fourteen

"But you have to come!"

As Tabitha wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, she poorly hid her frustration with a pained smile. "It is simply out of the question, Emma. If it were only me, I would endure the evening for your sake, but the girls are just as ill as I am. Worse. How could I leave them?" She gestured into the nursery, where the poor girls were curled up in their beds, all three of them miserable with coughs and fevers as their nursemaid attended to them.

Emma tucked her arms around herself as guilt ate at her stomach. "No, of course you cannot leave the house in your condition. You should be in bed just like the girls."

Shaking her head, Tabitha looked over her children with worry in her teary eyes. "I will never be easy when they are like this."

"The physician said they simply need rest." Emma knew that would not stop Tabitha from staying up all night to watch over her children, even though she shared the same illness. "That means you as well."

"Mi cielito, you should be in bed!" Alvaro, who had walked the physician to the door, hurried down the corridor and wrapped Tabitha up in his arms. For once, he wasn't smiling as he pressed a kiss to his wife's forehead. "You need to sleep. I will watch over the girls."

Though Emma always loved seeing how attentive Alvaro was as a father and husband—heaven knew her own father hadn't been—her heart sank. She had actually been looking forward to the evening at Almack's tonight, but then the girls had succumbed to their fevers this afternoon. She had held out hope that Alvaro would not fall prey to the same illness, but she had forgotten his devotion to his family.

Though she had no interest in Sir Thomas, Emma did feel some measure of pity for the disappointment he would feel when she did not arrive at the assembly for their dance. Plus, she wanted to prove Forester wrong about her. He had issued the challenge at the park, likely thinking she would fail to meet it, but she would keep her head high and show London that she belonged here as much as anyone.

If he wanted her at every social function, she would be at every social function, always right there to ensure no woman took him seriously.

"Emma, your hair is not ready!" Alvaro swept his eyes over her with moderate alarm. "Do you plan to arrive fashionably late? Miss Barton is waiting for you."

Emma frowned. "Late for what? Miss Barton and I cannot go to Almack's alone." Even if she wished they could. A man could attend without an escort, but a woman required supervision. It was as preposterous as it was insulting.

Though concern for his family still pulled at the corners of his mouth, Alvaro smiled. "But you will not be alone. Forester should be here any moment."

As she let out a laugh, Emma imagined what would happen were the two of them left alone for any length of time. They would cut each other to ribbons, and not just with their words. Every time she laid eyes on the man, she had the sudden urge to take up fencing.

"They cannot go with him on their own!" Tabitha said, speaking Emma's own silent argument.

"They will not be on their own," Alvaro replied with a scoff. "Mrs. Chatwell has agreed to accompany them."

"Mrs. Chatwell, our neighbor?" Tabitha asked. "She is ancient."

"And excited to get out of the house for a change."

"But—"

"Whether or not your ancient neighbor is to join us," Emma said, folding her arms, "it does not change the fact that I would rather prance around Hyde Park in nothing but my underthings than go anywhere with that horrid man."

Tabitha gasped. "Emma!"

And then the last voice Emma wanted to hear spoke just a few feet behind her. "That would be quite the spectacle, Miss Mackenzie."

Emma spun around to find Forester leaning one shoulder against the wall, a quizzing glass to his eye as he examined her with a smirk on his lips.

"Imagine the stories the ton would tell."

"Circulated by you, no doubt," Emma snapped, though her voice came out airy. She did not usually embarrass so easily, and she blamed the intent way Forester was looking at her. She knew she should not have spoken so brashly, but when it came to Mr. Forester, she could rarely hold her tongue.

"You wore the blue," he said with a broad smile that made him look far too handsome for his own good. "Your maid should be commended. Though, perhaps she could use some practice with hair."

"My concern for my nieces pulled me away before she could finish. Jenny is a wonder with hair."

"How are the girls?" Forester asked, genuine concern wrinkling his brow.

It was only then that Emma realized his examination had not once made her feel like he was imagining her statement about running around the park without proper clothing. She had encountered plenty of men whose hungry eyes left little to the imagination, but Forester had focused entirely on her gown. Conceited liar or not, he had never been a cad. Besides, Alvaro would never stand for a friend who treated women poorly.

Emma took her leave then, hurrying back to her chamber before she thought too hard about the genuinely worried look in his blue eyes when she'd mentioned the girls. It had been more attractive than the practiced smile he usually wore.

By far.

* * *

Though she hated to make Miss Barton wait longer than she already had, Emma told Jenny to take her time doing her hair. It would put out Mr. Forester as well as force him to remain with Miss Barton for company. Emma could only hope the young woman was still as in love with him as she'd been in Tutbury, as she would serve as an excellent deterrent to other women throughout the evening.

When she finally arrived downstairs to where her companions were waiting, she held back laughter at the sight of Mrs. Chatwell—as ancient as Tabitha had declared her—snoozing in a chair while Forester paced around the entryway with Miss Barton at his heels, jabbering away as she always did.

"And I couldn't wear the cream chiffon, of course," Miss Barton was saying.

If Emma had to guess, she was describing her entire wardrobe in detail, even though she had already done the same with Emma earlier in the day as she'd attempted to choose which dress to wear to Almack's.

"Of course not." Forester looked to be at his wit's end, his eyes shut tight as he circled the space. Just how long had he been pacing not to have to look where he was going?

Emma would have been content to watch the man's increasing frustration, but as the two of them turned to face the staircase, Miss Barton caught sight of Emma and let out a gasp loud enough to startle Mrs. Chatwell awake.

"Miss Mackenzie, you look a dream!"

Emma smiled, but the warmth from Miss Barton's praise fizzled when she locked eyes with Mr. Forester, who had pulled his eyebrows together as he looked at her. What fault did he find now?

"Is she not the most beautiful woman in London?" Miss Barton said with a doe-eyed smile. Oddly, she barely seemed to acknowledge Forester now that Emma had arrived, despite how intently she had pursued him back in Staffordshire. Had something changed?

Forester kept his gaze on Emma, as if searching for something. "I am not certain I could choose between the two of you," he said eventually, and then he offered his arm to Mrs. Chatwell. "But everyone knows Mrs. Chatwell will always hold the honor of most beautiful."

The old woman spluttered as she allowed Forester to help her to her feet. "Oh, well, I don't..."

"Shall we be off?" Forester said brightly, as if unaware of the way he had so easily charmed the gray-haired woman who had likely not been complimented so thoroughly in years.

Emma hated how much she appreciated his thoughtfulness. He had nothing to gain from charming a woman old enough to have grown grandchildren, and he had done so without hesitation, just as he had done when speaking to Jenny at the park despite her being of a far lower social standing. Jenny had mentioned her interaction with him more than once since, expressing her utter delight at someone like him speaking to a "nobody" like her.

Forester cleared his throat, glancing between Emma and Miss Barton. "You'll forgive me for not having a third arm," he said with a smile, "but I think it will be safer for me not to choose between the two of you and leave one without."

Emma hardly cared about having an arm to hold, but Miss Barton beamed as she latched on to Emma's arm. "You think of everything, Mr. Forester. As long as I get to dance with you tonight."

As he led the way outside to the waiting carriage, Forester dipped his head. "I would be delighted to stand up with you both. And Mrs. Chatwell, if she will let me."

Mrs. Chatwell swatted his arm but turned a healthy shade of red. "You tease, Mr. Forester."

"Yes, but only the beautiful."

Forester assisted all three women into the waiting coach, but he paused when it was his turn to climb inside, his eyes resting on the empty seat next to Emma. She would have preferred to be seated next to Mrs. Chatwell and left Miss Barton to talk the man's ear off, but the other ladies, apparently, had had other ideas and chosen to occupy the same bench.

"Just take your seat, Mr. Forester." Emma sighed, scooting as far to the other end of the bench as she could. Still, Mr. Forester was not a small man, and he filled the space quite thoroughly as he settled beside her. Despite him tucking his arms into his lap, his broad shoulders still pressed against hers. She had always paid more attention to the fine cut of his clothing than his build, but sitting next to him gave her a good idea of just how solid he was. One would never have guessed the man had as much strength as he had pride.

"Oh, are you as excited as I am, Miss Mackenzie?" Miss Barton said, bouncing in her seat and bouncing Mrs. Chatwell along with her. "I have never been to Almack's!"

As the young woman launched into a stream of exuberant proclamations and peered out the window at the passing streets, Emma tried to relax before she ended up sore from sitting so stiffly. Not especially easy to do when Forester leaned in closer, the clean smell of his soap filling her nose.

"Temporary truce?" he whispered.

Emma's eyes shot to him, even though Miss Barton was still talking. "For how long?"

He smirked. "How long do you think you can manage?"

" My fortitude has never been in question. I hardly expect you to hold your tongue long enough for us to arrive in peace."

"It is only a few blocks."

"Exactly."

Miss Barton chose that moment to turn away from the window and cease talking to herself. "Do you not think so, Mr. Forester?"

He didn't hesitate in the slightest, even though he couldn't possibly have been listening to what she'd been saying. "I rather disagree."

That seemed to catch Miss Barton off guard, bringing the coach into silence for the first time since they set off. "You disagree?" she repeated, her mouth hanging open slightly.

Now Emma badly wished she knew what Miss Barton had said. Whatever Forester's false opinion, it was apparently quite shocking. "Do tell us why you think so," Emma said, fighting a smile when his blank expression slipped into slight worry as he glanced between Emma and Miss Barton. "I am most fascinated by your opinion."

"Oh, leave the boy alone," Mrs. Chatwell said with a wave of her hand. "I too question the authority of Prinny now and then."

Emma pressed a hand to her mouth to hide her smile. Had Forester just managed to insult the Prince Regent somehow? She could hardly imagine how he would talk himself out of this one.

But Forester faltered for only a moment before his eyes lit up with amusement. "Why, Mrs. Chatwell, I never would have taken you for an anti-royalist."

The old woman harrumphed. "I take no issue with the monarchy, Mr. Forester. Merely with a man who has more hair than wit. I am too old to pretend otherwise."

Emma cleared her throat before a laugh escaped out of her, though she wished she hadn't made a sound when it pulled Forester's attention back to her as if to share in her amusement. Goodness, when he was holding back laughter as he was now, he looked like a man she could befriend.

"Oh, thank heavens we have arrived," Miss Barton breathed, apparently appalled by the disloyal sentiments of her companions. "And look at how many people are here!"

The coach came to a halt, and Forester pushed open the door before the footman could get to it, stretching his shoulders as soon as he was on the ground. He had evidently spent the ride trying to take up as little space as possible, just as Emma had. Once he had assisted Mrs. Chatwell and Miss Barton to the street filled with people on their way to the assembly, he held out his hand once more for Emma.

The look in his eyes made her pause. She had seen a good number of expressions on this man's face, but never a nervousness such as this.

"Well?" he said, stretching his gloved fingers closer.

Emma slipped her hand into his and allowed him to help her down. "If I did not know better," she muttered with a frown, "I would think you are anxious about the evening."

Someone called his name, and Forester flinched before nodding to the passing man. He hadn't yet released Emma's hand, even though she had a solid footing on the ground. "I do not get anxious, Miss Mackenzie."

"If I believed that, I would be even more of a fool than you."

He let out a sharp laugh before offering his arm; Miss Barton and Mrs. Chatwell had already started for the door. "Well, at least we made it through the drive. That must be a record for us."

Emma narrowed her eyes. "You did not answer my question, sir."

"You did not ask one."

"If Almack's makes you so nervous, why did you come?"

Forester's arm tightened under hers, but by then they had reached the entrance to the hall and joined their companions in greeting the patronesses. The noise of the assembly became deafening, reminding Emma of one of the many reasons she disliked London. She could hardly hear herself think, and there was no telling what might happen throughout the course of the evening.

Once inside, Forester directed their little party to a less occupied corner of the ballroom, assisting Mrs. Chatwell into a chair before looking around the room with wary eyes. For a man who always seemed to enjoy being at the center of attention, Emma couldn't understand why tonight he looked like he would rather hide.

"You didn't have to come tonight," she told him, hoping that would be enough to convince him to leave.

He chuckled. "I doubt your brother-in-law would have allowed you to come if I did not."

Emma huffed a frustrated sigh. "I didn't want to come."

"Neither did I."

"So why are we here?" Folding her arms, Emma scowled at the man until he met her eyes. "I know you told Sir Thomas to ask if I would be attending tonight. You are aware that I am trying to stop you from finding a wife, yes?"

"How could I forget?"

"Would it not have served your purpose better to prevent me from being here with you rather than guarantee my interference?"

Forester clenched his jaw but was saved from having to answer by a gentleman who approached Miss Barton and asked her to stand up with him in the next set. She gleefully accepted and took the man's arm with the look of someone who had just been told all her dreams would come true.

Emma wished she could live that way. To find joy in every moment and have so much hope for a happy future. But what did it mean that Miss Barton seemed to have given up on Forester? That was a valuable ally lost in her war.

"We are here," Forester said eventually, "so Miss Barton can finally dance with the man she has loved since childhood. He only just now came into his inheritance and can support a wife."

Emma's jaw dropped, and she watched Miss Barton and the man converse while they waited for the current set to end. But how had Forester known? How could he have concocted such a plan to... She narrowed her eyes, turning to face Forester. "That was an utter lie."

He chuckled, a smile creeping up his face. "Of course it was. Do you really think anyone could spend a lifetime with Catherine Barton and still think of her fondly?"

"I happen to like Miss Barton."

"That is because you are not a single man of moderate means."

Emma couldn't stop her own smile from mirroring his. "No, I suppose she has no reason to try so hard with me. Though, I have no idea what she sees in you, Forester."

"Neither do I."

"Does she know that gentleman, at least?" Or did Miss Barton look at every eligible man with such interest?

Forester studied the pair. "They met last Season before she turned her sights so fully on me."

"Again, I have to wonder if she is of a sound mind. That gentleman looks far more agreeable than the likes of you."

Forester flashed a smile, though he didn't let it last long. "Ah, Miss Mackenzie. If only you could so skillfully cut down every man of London. Perhaps a humbler Society would be more bearable."

As heat crept into her face, Emma realized with some alarm that she was enjoying herself. Even conversing with Forester. After so many encounters that had left her frustrated, hurt, or angry, she wasn't sure what to make of this new civility. Civil for them, anyway.

"How do you propose I do such a thing?" she said, stumbling over her words a bit as she struggled to find her balance in this new situation. "In order to insult every man in England, I would have to speak to them all, and that is hardly possible when I am stuck talking to you." She took a deep breath when he didn't respond. "I suppose I should be embarrassed, as no one has asked me to dance," she said with a shrug. "But I am simply relieved that I have nothing to offer these men and therefore am not a target. I am not Miss Barton, who can draw a man in with a smile."

"You underestimate your appeal, Miss Mackenzie," Forester said without a hint of teasing. In fact, a scowl had taken over his expression as he looked out over the crush. "The only reason you have not been approached by every man here is because you are standing next to me."

What was she to make of that? First his compliment and then a seriousness she had yet to see from the man? She almost missed the insults; at least those she knew what to do with. Hoping to bring a sense of normalcy back to the evening, she spoke with measured sharpness in her words. "Are you truly that repulsive?"

The chuckle that rumbled out of him sent shivers through her. "As cutting as always, Miss Mackenzie. But, as always, you are also wrong. They fear me more than anything."

"And why is that?"

"Because, whether or not they all believe what they hear, no one has proven any of my claims to be false. And no one wishes to risk tarnishing their own reputation by compromising mine."

She couldn't determine whether he was proud of the fact or angry. His expression had shifted once again, this time into something much more difficult to read. "I find it hard to believe anyone could fall for your lies," she replied. "I don't believe a word I've heard about you."

Though a wry smile played at the corner of his mouth, he didn't look at her. "That is because you are more intelligent than most, Miss Mackenzie."

It was no wonder that the whole of England worshipped this man when he had such an ability to speak compliments in a way that made them impossible to disregard. Emma felt his praise from her head to her toes, even if she knew he likely didn't mean a word of it.

Still, she accepted the compliment and stood a little taller. "That is true."

Forester let out a laugh that sounded genuine enough for Emma to wonder if she had truly amused him. She shouldn't have cared, but she did. After feeling so out of place since arriving in London, she liked knowing she could make the country's most popular gentleman laugh. Perhaps she could navigate the rest of the ton with more ease than she'd feared if she worried less about being liked and more about being herself.

If she could gain some friends without losing herself in the process, perhaps she could find a solid enough footing to win this battle once and for all.

"You should be warned, Miss Mackenzie," Forester muttered, leaning ever so slightly closer. "While I have kept the men at bay with my presence, I have also piqued their interest by speaking to you for this long. In their eyes, if you have held my attention, it must mean there is more to you than beauty and an angelic voice."

Emma scoffed, though her face warmed at the praise. "I would hardly say there were enough in attendance at that musicale for any of these men to know—"

"Surely you cannot think all of London does not know of our performance together. If your goal was to avoid attention, you made a mistake in singing with me. Although, why else would you come to London if not to find yourself a husband? You need to secure your future, after all."

All good feelings vanished in a heartbeat, leaving Emma's hands cold with frustration. He had been charming her, lulling her into a false sense of security before striking. "Why would I need a husband when I will soon have the Mackenzie lands to care for?" she snapped back. "I believe there are a good number of ladies hoping to dance with you this evening, though heaven knows why. You should be on your way."

His smile didn't falter. "And I see Sir Thomas making his way over to claim his set. Good luck with the sharks, Miss Mackenzie. Should you need a reprieve, you know where to find me."

Did nothing affect the man? He wandered away, stopping to ask for a lady's hand as the current set finished. And Emma reluctantly turned to greet Sir Thomas, who looked just as dull as he had at the park.