Page 19 of A Foolish Flirtation

“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.”