Page 8 of A Foolish Flirtation

“You are generous, Miss Ballentine,” he murmured, and she whipped her hand away before he could do something like lift it to his well-formed lips.

“Not at all, Lord Faris,” she replied briskly, only too aware that she had offered him scant hospitality and nothing at all by way of refreshment. “It would not inconvenience me in the slightest to reassure your son on that score. Now, if you do not mind, Miss Pinson and I have plans this evening…”

“Of course,” he answered swiftly.

“I hate to rush you out of our door,” she said insincerely.

“You have been more than generous with your time,” he assured her. “As to time and place, I have a suggestion. How would tomorrow morning suit you?”

Emmie suffered an unpleasant jolt that she could only hope did not show on her face. She would not get a wink of sleep tonight with such a prospect in front of her. Then again, she reflected, perhaps it would be better to get the ordeal over with at once, rather than delaying it. “Tomorrow morning would suit admirably.”

“We could meet you here at…ten o’clock?” he suggested.

“Ten o’clock?” she repeated blankly.

“I thought we could go for a walk in the park.”

Emmie quickly considered this. Yes, it was a good idea. Neutral territory. She need never have him intrude on her ever again. Then, too, it would spare her the necessity of having to provide some elegant repast for their visit. “A walk in the park would be very pleasant.” She turned to Pinky. “Do you agree, Hannah?” Pinky hesitated, then nodded, looking from Emmie to Lord Faris and then quickly back again.

With a sinking heart, Emmie realized Pinky was picking up on the underlying tension. She smiled reassuringly at her and then turned back to accompany Lord Faris to the door. He took his leave of her with punctilious politeness and instead of watching him descend the flight of stairs with his elegant tread, she turned and closed the door firmly behind her.

“Well,” she said lightly, “that was certainly unexpected.”

“Shall I fetch the tea things?” Pinky asked, clearly feeling in need of a fortifying cup.

“Yes, please,” Emmie concurred, though she had never felt less like tucking into an iced bun.

*

Emmie turned in early, after fending off Pinky’s gentle quizzing over supper. Her friend was clearly agog with curiosity but far too delicate in her sensibilities to prod more than lightly. Emmie found herself profoundly grateful for Pinky’s tact, for what could she even say by way of explanation? It was all such foolish stuff and hardly worth the fuss and pother her nerves were making of it. She was quite cross with herself.

She knew full well that she had made an utter cake of herself all those years ago. She had always known, even at the time. She had just not cared in the dizzy moment. The Honorable Jeremy Vance had been the most glamorous and dazzling figure in what was, for her, a very dismal London season indeed.

No one else had wanted to pass the time with the dumpy, ill-connected daughter of a cit. Even her paid sponsor, Mrs. Laverdale, had scarcely hidden her embarrassment at the distasteful task of foisting Emmie on polite society. If it had not been for the honorable Jeremy, she would barely have stood up for a dance.

She had been under no illusions, despite what her fellow debutantes had whispered to one another behind their fans. Emmie had known the whole time that he was only playing with her, but she had not cared. Not one bit.

Jeremy Vance had been quite the most charming and certainly the most beautiful creature she had ever beheld, and when he was whirling her about the dance floor, it had been so easy to forget how excruciating the whole miserable charade of her London season was.

When she had been escorted about a hot ballroom on his arm, she had simply not cared how horribly out place she was, among all those daughters of the peerage. Indeed, she had not even felt out of place in those moments, for nothing had touched her.

She had felt surrounded by a warm glow in his presence. Her step had felt light and dainty, and her heart had felt fluttery in her chest. She had beamed at his every remark, and she was sure she had craned her neck for a glimpse of him at every miserable assembly room she had been herded into.

Her patron, Mrs. Laverdale, had felt compelled to warn Emmie that she was being made a fool of, and that his intentions were not serious. Her warning had been wholly unnecessary. Emmie had not the smallest expectation Jeremy Vance ever offering for her. Such a notion was laughable. She could not even begrudge the barely suppressed titters. Not really.

Thinking of it now, Emmie did wince. She must have looked like such a little idiot, hanging off his every word but the fact was that if it had not been for those snatched moments, her societal debut would have been pure, unalleviated misery. He had enlivened her horrible London season, and she had never begrudged him his fun, even though it had been at her expense.

Of course, she had felt terribly low when she heard of his subsequent marriage to Lady Amanda Liversedge, and their honeymoon in Florence at the end of the season. The least said about her, the better. Lady Amanda had matched the honorable Jeremy in both beauty and rank, and that was all these dreadful society people cared about.

Emmie had wrapped up the dance cards he had written his name on, so boldly and so often, in tissue paper along with a pair of gloves that had touched his arm and an ivory fan that he had once taken out of her hand to wave in her reddened face. Placing them in a rosewood box, she had consigned them, and him, firmly to the past.

Until he showed up at her front door.

Oh God, she hoped she had managed to preserve some semblance at least of a calm, placid front, though inside she had been a churning mess. It was perhaps not surprising that Pinky should suspect something was amiss. After all, Pinky had known her since she was a sticky five-year-old.

Then, too, there had been that indiscreet comment she had made about Count Stefano. So stupid to blurt that out like that! No wonder Pinky was eyeing her askance after she had named Lord Faris after the villain in Pinky’s latest novel. She could kick herself, really!

She washed and undressed for bed, her stomach still fluttering, and her face flushed. As she tied the ribbons on her nightgown, she hoped and prayed that her cool smiles were fooling Jeremy Vance. The thought of him being aware of her inner turmoil was just too humiliating to be borne!