Page 61 of A Foolish Flirtation

Emmie’s favorite thing, though, was a series of charming miniatures in display cases, which depicted various daughters of the house dating from Tudor times right through to the second viscount’s daughters.

“Oh!” exclaimed Emmie, leaning forward to examine them closer. “Please tell me you have a miniature of at least one of your resident ghosts!”

Jeremy laughed. “But of course! We have both,” he said, taking her by the arm and leading her toward a second case of miniatures. “Allow me to draw your attention to Mistress Mary Vance, and next to her, Mistress Frances.”

“They look the same to me,” Teddy said disparagingly. He drifted over to the pianoforte and started plunking on the keys.

“Which was the spinster sister?” Emmie asked, looking from one to the other. Both had white oval faces, light brown hair, and rather hooded eyes.

“By all accounts that would be Frances.”

Both sisters wore matching French hoods, though Frances’s dress was green, and Mary’s a rather murky red. There was not much else to differentiate between the two, other than their jewelry. Lady Frances wore a gold chain around her neck and Lady Mary a pearl brooch upon her bodice.

“I suppose I will only ever have the option of seeing Lady Frances, for I am already married, am I not?” she concluded at last. “And she betokens ill fortune, I think you said? Or was that the other?”

Jeremy looked thoughtful. “I’m afraid my experience was highly unusual, for I saw them both, walking side by side. Popular opinion has it that Mary heralds marriage, and Frances misfortune, but like I said, it can be hard to realize which of the two you saw unless you have a keen eye.”

“I see,” Emmie said thoughtfully.

Jeremy excused himself and, turning abruptly, told Teddy to stop creating such an infernal racket. “Is it too much to hope that Miss Pinson could resume his music lessons anytime soon?” he sighed in a swift change of subject.

“Oh yes, she is quite competent on the pianoforte.”

“Well, thank heaven for small mercies. Did you hear that, Teddy?”

Emmie thought Teddy looked far from pleased by this news. Carefully shutting the fall board, he made his way over to them and leaned against his father’s legs.

“Library next, Papa,” he prompted.

“Yes, library,” Jeremy agreed, resting a hand fleetingly on his son’s curly head.

13

Jeremy thought Emmeline liked the library best, and he could not blame her, for it was certainly the most relaxing of the rooms they had shown her, with its muted golds and greens and mellowed oak bookcases. He watched her surreptitiously as she moved through the room, admiring its contents.

Not for the first time her words from this morning drifted through his head. Is that why you did not sleep in the same bed as me last night? They caused him a pang now, as they had then, along with a strong impulse to kick himself.

For the first time in his life, he was striving to be a considerate husband. The devil of it was that the more he tried, the less he seemed to succeed. He had considered leaving her alone last night, a supreme sacrifice on his behalf. He had congratulated himself on his thoughtfulness, even as he puzzled over the strange prompting to put her feelings first.

Far from being grateful, he had a lurking suspicion that Emmeline had viewed his self-restraint as indifference or even worse, neglect. What he should have done, he realized now, was sleep beside her without attempting further congress.

Likely, she had been ill at ease and nervous to sleep by herself in strange surroundings. It had not occurred to him, in truth, because he was used to being selfish in his dealings with women. The realization was not a comfortable one.

He looked up to find Teddy was showing her the false bookcase which hid the door to a concealed stone stairway. “The servants use it mostly,” his son was explaining. “And this is Papa’s desk, where he keeps the ledgers for his stables and the estate.”

Emmie duly admired the huge oak desk, then the painting hanging above it caught her eye.

“My father commissioned that portrait,” he said, crossing the room to join them. “On the occasion of my twenty-first birthday.”

“The likeness is very good,” she murmured. “Did your father also request you were painted on horseback?”

“Yes. My equestrianism was one thing about me that my father truly admired.”

“Papa still has that horse. His name is Cadmus,” Teddy said. “Did you go and see him when we got home last night, Papa? That is Papa’s custom.”

“Yes,” he admitted, his eyes still on Emmeline. “Briefly.” He wondered what she was thinking as she gazed up at the portrait.

“Twenty-one…” Emmeline said quietly, and suddenly he knew what she was thinking. She was thinking that she knew him at that age. He hissed out a breath as he remembered her words that morning. They had been strangely painful. I would consider it a great favor if you no longer alluded to the Hawfords’ ball.