Chapter Twenty-One

Apparently, most young ladies of London Society were perfectly content to sit in utter boredom. Or perhaps Emma was the one at fault, seeing as the other ladies who embroidered around her were having a grand time, giggling and grinning as they discussed who knew what while they sewed. Emma hadn't remembered spending an afternoon stuck inside quite like this during her Season, and she would much rather have spent the day in the library, pretending she hadn't gotten herself tangled in the middle of a gossip chain. She could understand why the other ladies enjoyed the activity, but embroidering had never been one of her talents.

This wasn't helping her feelings of inferiority among the women of London. They were all so prepared to take on households when they married, and Emma knew more about rotating crops than changing linens. For the first time, she felt as if she couldn't be her true self, and she hated it.

But Miss Barton had begged her to join her, and Emma hadn't been able to say no when the young woman had pouted and somehow managed to will tears into existence.

"Aren't you so glad you came?" Miss Barton asked quietly, grasping her hand as they sat side by side. "I haven't done anything like this before!"

"I am glad I could be your companion for the day," Emma replied, which was true. She would have preferred spending the day with Miss Barton away from the eyes of strangers, but that was out of her control. After Miss Barton had missed last night's dinner party, she had been desperate to get out and meet more people.

Miss Andrews, who had invited the pair, smiled at them from the sofa across from theirs. Though the small gathering of ladies had been embroidering for nearly twenty minutes now, this was the first attention anyone had given Emma since their arrival, which was a new sensation. "I am so glad you could come, Miss Mackenzie," Miss Andrews said, and her words immediately pulled everyone's attention away from their sewing, as if everyone had been waiting for this moment. "I have been wanting to speak with you for a long time."

Heat spotted in Emma's cheeks, but she was glad for the excuse to set her pitiful embroidery in her lap rather than continue. "I was not aware I was so interesting," she said with some hesitation. After how quickly the people seemed to have turned on Mr. Forester, she had chosen to be more cautious when in company. "Here I was thinking I was simply a country girl of little importance."

The room bubbled with giggles.

"Nonsense!" Miss Andrews said. Her smile seemed far too wide to be believable, but Emma didn't sense any malice in it. "You've made quite the stir since your arrival. This is your first time in London, is it not?"

How would they take to the news of her failed Season? Emma considered lying and agreeing with the woman, but her gut twisted at the thought. She had no desire to become as unsteady as Mr. Forester. "No," she said, sitting a little taller. "I had a Season a few years ago, but I decided I preferred life in the country to being here in Town."

Miss Andrews's delicate blonde eyebrows rose in surprise. "What brings you into the city, then?"

"What brings any of us?" Emma asked in reply.

That sent the dozen or so ladies in the room into even stronger fits of giggles, many of them turning to their friends and whispering behind their hands.

Miss Andrews translated: "There aren't as many options of the male sex this time of year, but there are still some admirable choices. Enough to keep us entertained, anyway. Have any caught your eye yet?"

Emma was tempted to see how they would react if she told them she had no intention of marrying anyone, but she wasn't quite brave enough for that one. She was lucky her direct insult to Mr. Forester last night hadn't turned her into an outcast alongside him, and she hardly wished to put herself in danger. The only way she would be able to keep herself in a good position to inherit was to appease the ton to ensure she remained in higher standing than Mr. Forester.

At this point, that was easily done. All throughout dinner last night, Emma had been catching snippets of conversations, most of them involving Mr. Forester in some way. It seemed her frustrated remark at Almack's had impacted Society far more than she could have expected, and no one seemed to know what to think about the man of lies anymore.

"Oh," Emma said, realizing everyone was still waiting for her response. "No, I haven't found myself interested in anyone in particular."

Why did that feel like a lie?

Face growing warm again, Emma ducked her head and pretended to fix a stitch.

"Not even Sir Thomas?" Miss Andrews sounded skeptical. "You danced with him the other night, did you not? Haven't you heard what he's rumored to be worth?"

Emma held back a scoff. "I suppose that is a fine recommendation," she admitted. "But—"

"If she's after wealth," another lady said sharply, "she could do better than Sir Thomas." Scooting forward on her seat, she practically bounced with excitement as she asked Emma, "Have you met the Duke of Tipton yet?"

"A duke?" Emma spluttered. "I hardly—"

"His Grace's brothers are far more handsome," someone else threw in. "Lord Charles may not be a duke, but—"

"If you're going for the duke's brothers, it's Lord Alexander you want. Not the youngest."

"But Lord Alexander is so quiet! Except, I suppose he wasn't the other day, when he and His Grace—"

"Oh, you weren't even there, Sophie. You have no idea what you're talking about."

Emma was going to get dizzy from looking from one person to the next as several women broke into an unintelligible argument, as if the personal affairs of a duke and his brothers were any of their business. And Mr. Forester enjoyed this life? He had been at the center of this for years, not just physically but as a topic of discussion. Perhaps that was why he was so jaded; Society had given him little reason to be otherwise.

"Oh dear," Miss Barton whispered, apparently realizing, like Emma had, that this argument was not likely to die down anytime soon. It seemed the eligible bachelors of London were more interesting than Emma's lack of a marriage prospect. "Suppose they would notice if we snuck out?"

Emma grinned to match Miss Barton's mischievous smile, and then she turned her attention to the clock on the mantel. "Oh, would you look at the time!" she said, loud enough for only those nearest her to hear. "My sister will be wondering where we are, Miss Barton."

"Yes, I hadn't realized it was so, er, late."

Biting back laughter, Emma left her abysmal sewing project on the sofa and stood with Miss Barton in tow. "We are so grateful you invited us, Miss Andrews"—Miss Andrews was too busy telling someone about why Sir Thomas was better than either of the duke's brothers to notice—"but unfortunately we are late to meet Lady Harstone. You understand, don't you?"

They had nearly made it to the door when a pretty young woman with red hair hopped up and grabbed Emma's arm.

"Forgive me," she said, ducking into a quick curtsy. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Harriet Fairfax. I've heard a lot about you over the last few days, Miss Mackenzie."

Frowning, Emma checked to see if Miss Barton knew the woman—Miss Barton's smile seemed to indicate that she did—and then she said, "Is that so? I haven't paid much attention to what people are saying these days." That was a lie. She'd been paying too much attention, which was why she'd hoped to remain at home today.

Miss Fairfax pinked as she glanced behind her to make sure no one else had decided to join in their quiet conversation. "I also noticed you have spent a good deal of time with Nicholas Forester. It's all anyone has been talking about lately, and I wondered if you might provide some clarity."

Emma didn't like where this was going, but she had already been plenty rude to Miss Andrews in the way they'd snuck to the door. Perhaps she should be gracious in this instance. "Clarity in what way?"

"From what I've gathered, you are the one who opened our eyes to Mr. Forester's, ah, less-than-honest ways."

Emma had hoped everyone had forgotten her involvement, even if that wouldn't have lessened her guilt for what she had done. It would probably be a good idea to know what she was up against, however. Mr. Forester had been beloved by so many for so long that the chances were high she had created some enemies for herself by saying what she had. And perhaps she could find a way to fix things. Not enough for him to find a wife, but...

Goodness, this whole sabotage business was not for the faint of heart. Already she was beginning to wish things were different, though she had no idea how both she and Forester could win.

Dropping her voice even lower, Emma tried not to sound too accusatory. "All I said was we would be better off questioning some of the things people say about him. I never said—"

"Ah, I see!" Miss Fairfax's eyes brightened. "I thought perhaps you were hoping to manipulate the rest of us so you could have him for yourself."

Emma barely held back her laughter. "I have never wanted Mr. Forester, I assure you. And it would take nothing short of a miracle for me to change my poor opinion of the man."

"I thought you liked him," Miss Barton said, her voice thin. Small.

Emma realized her mistake when she saw the hurt in Miss Barton's eyes. She had encouraged the young woman to continue to pursue Mr. Forester back in Tutbury, and now it seemed as if Emma did not think her worth anyone better. Taking Miss Barton's hand, Emma forced a smile. "My opinion of Nick Forester has more to do with me than with him. He and I would never suit, but that does not mean he isn't perfect for someone else." She just hoped that that someone else did not make herself known before the month's end.

"We should go," Miss Barton said, still downcast and muted. "We are late, after all."

Silently cursing herself for hurting the poor woman, Emma nodded once to Miss Fairfax and turned to leave.

"It's probably for the better if you have no interest," Miss Fairfax said with a haughty sigh. "The more I think about it, the more I realize the man is an utter scoundrel for pretending to be something he isn't. I hope he crawls into whatever hole he came from and never returns. And I know the rest of London likely agrees with me. It was only a matter of time before we all discovered his lies, and I am glad he has been cut down and forced to quit his life here."

Emma's heart stumbled in her chest. "What? What do you mean quit?"

Miss Fairfax's eyes turned cold, as if that question had marked Emma as an accomplice to Mr. Forester's scheme. "I mean he has been forced to give up his rooms at Albany, and I would imagine he will be going back to his hovel in the country. Good day to you, Miss Mackenzie. Consider yourself lucky for not falling under his spell like the rest of us."

Thank goodness for Miss Barton, who led them out into the chill air without a word. The brisk breeze helped Emma focus her thoughts as she tried to understand what Miss Fairfax could have meant, but she still felt slightly dizzy from this revelation.

"Poor Mr. Forester," Miss Barton said as they began walking back to Harstone House. "I can't imagine how he must be feeling right now with so many awful rumors flying about."

Emma nearly groaned. "I am sure he is perfectly well. His whole life has been nothing but rumors, so he is accustomed to—"

"To being liked," Miss Barton interrupted. "I'll admit he has a habit of playing into the gossip, but he has been treated unjustly for something beyond his control. It isn't as if he could have stopped everyone from talking nonsense about him, so it only makes sense for him to have played into it and made the most of things."

Stopping dead in the middle of the pathway, Emma stared at Miss Barton as if seeing her for the first time. "You sound as if you've never believed all the rumors about him."

Miss Barton giggled. "Of course not! I am clever enough to know he never could have bred a champion racehorse or spent a year with the natives in the West Indies. And he never claimed to do any of the things people say he's done. Not genuinely. It's easy to spot his jesting when you know what to look for, but it's far more fun to play along than to call him a liar. Besides, I think it's easier for him to pretend he isn't hurting after everything that happened."

Emma hadn't known any of that, and she had gravely underestimated Miss Barton. And apparently Mr. Forester as well. "What do you mean?" she asked, allowing Miss Barton to guide her forward again. "After what happened?"

Miss Barton pursed her lips, keeping her gaze ahead. "You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"It was all anyone could talk about three years ago."

"That must have been after I returned to Staffordshire. What happened?"

But Miss Barton shook her head, smiling a little as they walked. "No, if you are ignorant, so much the better. Nicholas should have some allies in his life if he is going to weather this storm. If he wishes to tell you, that is his prerogative. I would rather not make his life harder than it already is."

Emma never would have expected such compassion from Miss Barton, and she found herself feeling more guilty than ever for what she had said about Mr. Forester at Almack's. Though she still didn't understand how she could have had such power over the whole of Society, she knew she had inflicted some real wounds.

Had she completely misunderstood her adversary?

"You really admire him, don't you?" she asked quietly.

Miss Barton nodded, brushing tears from her eyes. "I don't think he remembers, but we met several years ago, before... well, he was a different man then. Lighter. He used to use his charm to benefit those around him, and he brought so much joy into the world before he was forced to hide behind all the lies. The only time I have seen him act the way he used to has been..." She glanced at Emma. "Well, when he's been around you. I have resigned myself to knowing I am not destined to be anything but his friend, as much as I love the man he used to be. I only wish him well. It will take a special woman to bring back his light, and I hope she finds him soon." Another glance. "Whoever she is."

And Emma, as hard as she tried, couldn't help but wonder what else she had been wrong about when it came to Nicholas Forester.