Page 32 of A Foolish Flirtation

“Well, you certainly did not discourage them as far I was concerned,” Jeremy answered, making her bridle. “I scarcely remember your presence. Except perhaps for that one time,” he said, frowning with the effort of remembrance. “Now let me think, when was it. Ah! I have it. The occasion of the Hawfords’ ball. I was coming out of the conservatory, and I recall opening the door and you practically fell in a heap at my feet. You must have been searching for Emmeline, I suppose.”

Mrs. Smith turned quite crimson. Unfortunately, so did Emmeline.

“I expect you were peeping in at the keyhole, eh, Mariah?” Major Smith joked, jostling his wife in the ribs.

“George!” Mrs. Smith expostulated crossly.

“It was all such a long time ago,” Emmeline said, coming into the fray. “I am sure I do not know how we can be expected to remember such things. So much water has passed under the bridge since then.”

Mrs. Smith said with an awkward laugh, “Oh, I quite agree, Lady Faris!”

“Well, well, all turned out as it should have,” Jeremy reflected philosophically. He picked up Emmeline’s hand and carried it to his lips. “Fortunately for me.”

“You are enjoying this a bit too much,” Emmeline murmured as the Smiths moved away. She reclaimed her hand. “Kindly stop torturing our guests.”

“I? You wound me. Have I not laid on every comfort and indulgence for their entertainment?”

Emmeline smiled and nodded at the next in line. “Thank you so much,” she murmured in response to their congratulations. “So kind.” As they drifted away, she whispered in an undertone, “Just because you ply them with champagne and lobster salad does not mean you can be unpardonably rude!”

“My dear Emmeline, there is also mayonnaise of salmon and veal and ham pie! Pray do not minimize my efforts to provide for our guests.”

“I am sure there is also jelly and blancmange!” she retorted with spirit, “but that does not mean you are at liberty to—!”

Atherton leaned forward at this point and interrupted them. “Lord, is that the last of them?” he asked with a shudder. “Far be it from me to comment on your choice of wedding guest, but really, Faris.”

“Just consider yourself fortunate that you are seated at the high table with the likes of Miss Pinson,” Jeremy replied.

“Believe me, I do!” Atherton responded with feeling. He turned to Emmeline’s friend. “Shall we go and find our seats, Miss Pinson?” he asked, presenting his arm. “I am convinced we are stood in a draught here and shall catch our deaths if we linger any longer.”

“I am escorting Miss Pinson, not you!” piped up Teddy, sounding aggrieved. “After all, I am the one carrying her umbrella!” As he dropped it twice whilst arguing, Jeremy could not help but feel his son failed to prove his point.

“We can both escort Miss Pinson,” Atherton replied firmly, and they moved away, one on each side of her, with poor Miss Pinson doing her best to avert a full-blown row.

“I think I have the beginnings of a headache,” Emmeline said faintly.

“You are likely just thirsty,” Jeremy said. “Come, let us be seated.” He towed her in the direction of the high table and saw her comfortably seated. Miss Pinson and Teddy were sat to his left and Atherton was sat to Emmeline’s right. Seeing the wan smile Emmeline bestowed upon his friend, he wondered if he should have balked tradition and insisted the bridal couple were seated separately to the rest of the wedding party.

“Fetch us some lemonade for this table,” he instructed a server who had just finished handing around several glasses of champagne.

“Some water also,” Emmeline requested quickly. “I’m afraid I am not fond of lemonade.”

“It’s not for you, it’s for me,” he said, passing her a glass of champagne.

“I don’t really like champagne either,” she admitted. “Water will do very well for me.”

“All the more champagne for myself and Miss Pinson,” Atherton commented, toasting them both with his glass.

“Miss Pinson and I believe ginger beer is the superior drink,” Teddy announced. “Do you like ginger beer, Miss Ballentine?”

“She is not Miss Ballentine any longer, you loathsome brat,” Atherton pointed out affably. “You must henceforth address her as Mama.”

“I would by no means insist on such a form of address so soon,” Emmeline put in hastily. “If your father is agreeable, then I would be glad if you would call me Emmie.”

Teddy looked at him inquiringly and Jeremy nodded in assent. “You do not call her Emmie though,” his son pointed out. “You call her Emmeline.”

“A force of habit. She will always be Emmeline to me.”

Emmeline frowned but did not argue the point. The waiter reappeared with carafes of water and lemonade and Emmeline drank her water while Jeremy stood up to formally welcome their guests and bid them eat.