Page 7 of A Foolish Flirtation

He met her gaze. “We are divorced.” Pinky gasped, sparing Emmeline the necessity. “Yes,” he agreed, without looking away from Emmie’s face, “shocking, is it not?”

Emmie blinked. “How fortunate you have a title now, and your reputation can survive such an infamous thing.”

He laughed again. “Fortunate indeed, for me.”

Finding herself a little unnerved, Emmie decided the best thing to do was not allow any uncomfortable silences. “You mentioned a son, I think?” she said, clearing her throat. “In your note.”

“Yes, I have a son. Edward. He recently turned nine.”

“And desirous of an introduction to me apparently?”

His smile grew. “You think this strange?”

“A little,” she confessed.

Again, he seemed to consider his words before speaking. “My son was most unwell three months ago with scarlet fever.”

In spite of herself, Pinky could not help from uttering, “Oh dear, the poor child!”

Viscount Faris flashed her a grateful smile. “We were fortunate that Teddy was spared. At one point the doctor feared he might contract pneumonia, but he has a strong constitution, and slowly recovered his strength. His spirits, though, have been somewhat depressed by the experience. I find he lacks his customary vivacity. I hoped that bringing him to Bath might restore the color in his cheeks.”

Emmie nodded politely, though she still could not see what this had to do with her. “You have been reminiscing with your son, perhaps of your own youth?” she hazarded, though it seemed a strange thing for him to do.

He blanched slightly. “Good God no! I do not take him for my confessor!”

“I admit that did seem rather odd to me,” Emmie said without thinking as Pinky bridled slightly at the casual blasphemy. Jeremy—or rather, Lord Faris, as she should think of him now—smirked instead of taking offence.

“I have been indulging Teddy’s every whim since we hit Bath,” he admitted. “Whatever tickles his fancy. Sadly, his latest caprice is a fondness for the company of one Arthur Arbuthnot, who was briefly a school friend. We bumped into him at the botanical gardens, and they have been joined at the hip ever since.” His tone was dry.

Emmie kept a vague smile on her lips, though the name frankly conveyed nothing to her. “It seems you do not care for young Arthur?” she ventured.

“Arthur, a slightly dull and adenoidal child, is not the problem. His mother, however, is quite a different matter. She was a Skellern.”

A ripple of unease ran up Emmie’s spine. “A Skellern,” she repeated, immediately remembering someone of that name from her debut. A pretty yet spiteful face sprang to mind, giving her pause. “As in…Lily Skellern?”

“I forget her Christian name,” he answered with a shrug. “A wholly unremarkable woman, save for her marked lack of tact and discretion.”

“I came out in the same season as Lily Skellern,” Emmie confided, keeping her tone carefully expressionless. “She resides now in Bath, I believe, and is married to a banker.” She shot a look at Pinky to whom she pointed out Lily Skellern on more than one occasion, when their paths had crossed. Every time, she had been pointedly and exaggeratedly ignored by that lady. Pinky’s lips formed an O of understanding.

“Ah. That sounds the very one,” Lord Faris replied. “You were debutantes together? You have my profound sympathy. I have avoided her wherever possible these past five days. Her conversation is execrable. Sadly, in my absence, she has seen fit to regale my son with questionable tales from my past.” He sent Emmie a significant look, and she tensed slightly.

“I see,” she muttered, feeling her color rise. She dared not look at Pinky, who had not been a fixture in her life during her disastrous season. Her father had dismissed poor Pinky as far too dowdy and unfashionable to act as Emmie’s chaperone. Instead, she had been accompanied by the well-connected Mrs. Laverdale, who had been a good deal laxer in her duties.

Perhaps if Pinky had been there, Emmie would never have acted like such a fool and… She gave a little gasp and shook her head to dispel such unpleasant memories. She opened her mouth to ask what sort of thing Lily Skellern had been saying but found she did not really want to know.

Silly to feel humiliated about such an inconsequential thing, especially when she had far more pressing problems these days. “I dread to think what nonsense she has been telling your son,” she heard herself say with an empty laugh. It did not come out as convincing as she had hoped it would.

“Just a lot of spite and nonsense,” he said after a heavy pause. “I realize this is a severe imposition, Miss Ballentine, and I have no right to ask this of you, but I was wondering—”

“If I would meet with young Edward and assure him we were always the best of good friends?” she supplied brightly.

He did not speak for a moment, then said, “Precisely.”

Emmie felt a burning surge of indignation rise up in her chest. Rise above it, Emmie, she told herself. It was all water under the bridge. This pretty, spiteful person had no power to hurt her anymore. Be the better person. Besides, it was a chance for her to rewrite an embarrassing episode of her past that did not reflect well on her.

She rose from her seat, holding her hand out to him. “But of course I will!” she said, plastering a smile to her face.

For a moment, he looked a little taken aback. Then, he, too, stood up and accepted her proffered hand in a tentative shake.