“Aye. I’d not want to embarrass or bring scandal upon Bronwyn.” The plush squabs of the Hadfield coach beneath her thighs were reminders of her best friend’s new life as Countess Hadfield.
“Let’s wait to discuss with Theo. She has a mind for considering all the consequences.”
“Will you be accompanyin’ her to her fitting?”
“I hadn’t planned on doing so, but perhaps I should. Would you like me to be there?”
Emma tensed every muscle. She was to do the bidding of PORFs, not the other way around. “Only if it is yer wish.”
Clack. Aunt Henri struck the heel of her foot hard against the coach floor. “Child, you’d best become comfortable speaking your mind with me, or I’ll not have you for a daughter-in-law.”
Emma whipped her head to face Aunt Henri. “Why would ye say something so half-cocked?”
“I saw the way Christopher looked at you tonight. He’s already half in love with you.”
“Nay. He’s not. Christopher’s in love with Lady Arabelle, and sometimes he gets us mixed up, is all.”
“Are you certain?” Aunt Henri’s eyebrows arched upwards. “I’ve seen him dance with Lady Arabelle on a number of occasions, and I can attest it was not at all the same.”
“Yer son is a gentleman, and as soon as he weds, he’ll become an official PORF. I’ll be honor-bound to serve.”
The coach swayed to the right as they made a turn. Emma righted herself as Aunt Henri mumbled, “Oh, you’ll be bound to honor him if he has anything to do with it.”
Egad. Emma adored the woman, but Aunt Henri was delusional—Christopher wasn’t in love or plotting to wed her. Her heart raced a little faster. Aunt Henri was no fool and seldom wrong.
“Do you not find my son desirable?”
Oh, she found Christopher to be alluring…captivating, and extremely attractive. Clear images of Christopher dressed only in his lawn shirt and trousers increased her body temperature and brought a pink tinge to her cheeks. She could only hope her bodily reactions were masked in the dimly lit coach.
“My lady, ye birthed two incredibly handsome men, one with a dimple that hazes the mind and the other with a smile that blinds a woman. But I’m not one to dally about with a man, and I’m quite certain Christopher would not want to marry a woman like me, sired out of wedlock and all.”
“You don’t think much of Christopher then.” Disappointment settled into the fine lines around Aunt Henri’s eyes, making her appear older than she usually did.
How was she to explain? While her sire had unexplainably fathered an honorable heir, who sired one also, she was conceived from a horrific experience. Bad blood flowed through her veins. She never wanted to taint her family or any other. Emma tried her best to live without reproach at all times. Had even distanced herself from her loving family, for she had sinful thoughts all the time. Especially when she danced in the arms of the charming Christopher Neale—barrister, gentleman, and future PORF. She experienced a wicked longing to have Christopher’s lips upon hers when he melted her heart with his intense gazes. Even knowing he was picturing another lady, she didn’t care. She wanted to pretend she was the one he undressed with his eyes.
The coach came to a halt. Emma admitted, “I didn’t think much of him before I met him.” Crisply folding the blanket and placing it on the rear-facing seat, Emma continued, “But after spending a few hours with him, it’s clear he needs a smart, talented woman to wed.” A woman who could read books and debate with him in the evenings. Not someone like her who fancied evenings filled with kisses and the pleasure of his glorious taut body next to hers. No. Christopher Neale should marry a woman of equal breeding and intelligence.
The coach door swung open. Aunt Henri said, “We are not done conversing.” The footman nodded and closed the door. Capturing Emma’s hand, Aunt Henri continued, “What my son deserves is a woman who will love him for his rather confounding and complex personality. As his mother, I assure you it will take an extraordinary woman to tempt my dear son into matrimony.”
“He’s young. He has time yet.”
Aunt Henri let out an unladylike snort. “Not according to Landon. He’s advised his brother to find a wife by the end of the season, or he will choose one for him.”
Tugging her hand free, Emma asked, “How is it that the Network doesn’t know of this edict?”
“Ha. Such a bold question. You would have to become a PORF in order for me to answer. I trust I’ve not misjudged in confiding in you. You won’t share this information, will you?”
“Aunt Henri, yer a sly fox.”
The woman winked at her. Continuing her bold actions, Aunt Henri did the unthinkable—she pushed open the door and then Emma out of the carriage.
Emma whirled around before the coach door closed. “Will I see ye later?”
“I don’t think so, child. I believe I’ve given you enough to ponder. I’ll leave you in Theo’s capable hands.”
Chapter Eight
Bleary-eyed, Emma ran a finger over the row of stitches that she somehow managed to sew. After another night of restless sleep, she rose and, by candlelight, began to sew, whittling down the mound of work that had amassed due to her lack of concentration over the past two days.
The first streaks of light began to filter through her clean shop windows, followed by the tinkle of the overhead bell. Theo had finally arrived.
Theo was one of the stealthiest of the PORFs. Only her husband rivaled her skill in entering a room undetected. “Good gracious, I’ve never seen so many gowns in their various states.” Theo’s sweet authoritative voice just beyond the curtain gave away the woman’s position in the room.
Bronwyn’s soft footsteps meant she too was close by. “No doubt Emma will say it’s my fault.”
Emma pushed back the curtain, separating the receiving room from the back. “It is yer bloomin’ fault. Ye invited too many guests, and I’ve even had to turn away some clients, for the first time, and I’m not at all happy about it.”
“Denying a client or two will only make your dresses more desirable.” Theo twirled to face Emma and rushed to her side. “Whatever is the matter? You look dreadful.”
“Nothing is the matter. I’ve not slept much, is all.”
Bronwyn came over and felt her forehead. “No fever. Do you want me to summon more help for you?”
Emma huffed. “I don’t need ye meddling in my business. It’s the silly dance lessons that are taking up too much of me time.”
Bronwyn, wide-eyed, replied, “But Christopher said last night’s lesson went splendid.”
“According to my sources, you have concerns regarding the ball that you wish to discuss with me.” Theo stepped up onto the platform and rubbed her rounded belly. “What do you wish to ask?”
“Christopher prompted me to consider the possibility of others noticing and making mention of my lineage. Perhaps my attendance will harm the success of Bronwyn’s first ball.”
“He has a point. It might be rather awkward for you.”
“I don’t care about me. I’m worried about Bronwyn.”
“I’m sorry; you never seemed to care who knew of your bloodline.” Bronwyn clutched her hands. “Forgive me for asking this of you.”
“Ye know I don’t give a farthin’ wot the ton or others fink of me, so ye don’t need to be apologizin’.”
Theo spoke up. “Your lack of care hasn’t resulted in harm to date due to the fact you’ve been able to remain in the shadows…and Hereford has respected your decision. But Lady Arabelle has not been as covert as her brother, claiming she will only wear gowns designed by her reclusive aunt and sewn exclusively by your shop.”
“Eek. Aunt makes me sound ancient.”
Bronwyn said, “You’re only four years her senior.”
“That’s not the point,” Theo said. “Lord Hereford and Lady Arabelle have been without parental guidance for many years. Neither adheres to the strict parameters the ton expects. The fact is, your
niece is proud of you, and if you appear, Lady Arabelle will no doubt claim you as family, and you will no longer be able to remain in the shadows. It is your choice, but once you come out of hiding, there is no going back. You will obviously have the support of your most loyal clientele, and of course, you will have our full support. But it is a life-changing decision. You should consider it very carefully.”
Emma turned to Bronwyn; best friend or not, she was sworn to abide by the woman’s wishes. “What do you wish for me to do?”
“I want what is best for you and your future. When I selfishly asked, I secretly wished you would meet and fall in love with one of the gentlemen at the ball, and you could join me in the endless rounds of tea and terrible biscuits.”
“What would ye know of days of tea and biscuits? Ye spend yer days at Neale & Sons with Christopher.”
Bronwyn and Theo’s eyes widened at her use of Christopher’s first name. Bronwyn said, “You sound jealous.”
“Ye two are PORFs. Ye are supposed to tell me wot you wish, and I shall obey, not tell me to do whatever I wish. It’s not the way of things.”
“It will be going forward. Landon wishes for a more collaborative relationship between PORFs and the Network, and Theo fully supports her cousin.”
Emma busied herself, pinning another panel to Theo’s expanding waistline. The two PORFs discussed Landon’s plans—plans to change the way things had been done for generations. But Emma liked the way things were. They were definitely not perfect, but she knew her place. For decades, the distinction between PORFs and Network members had worked, even if it was dysfunctional. Emma detested change.
As Bronwyn and Theo prepared to leave, Bronwyn said, “If you decide not to come, I fully support your decision. If you decide to come, it will be an honor to have you stand next to me. Either way, you’ll not be rid of me as your best friend.” She wrapped Emma in a hug, and when she pulled back, she tugged on a loose tendril of hair like they used to as girls. It was a reminder of how close they had been, and even after Bronwyn’s station changed, her best friend still treated her the same.
Theo embraced her next. “I, too, fully support your decision whatever you choose.”
They left. Emma turned the sign in the window to closed and sank to the settee. How was she to decide what was best?
Chapter Nine
Christopher’s heart sank as he closed and locked the door behind the last employee to leave. Returning to his office, usually a refuge from his confounding personal life, Christopher slumped into his chair, hands cradling the back of his head. The stack of files awaiting his attention remained piled high. With no word from Emma, he lacked the concentration to study the necessary case law to ensure his clients victory in the courtroom. He missed reviewing the complex trade agreements that had, in recent years, extended to transatlantic dealings. Drafting and negotiating multifaceted terms for British importers provided him an outlet for his legal skills but also harnessed his talent to foresee the other party’s intent and next move. Theo shared his abilities and was lucky enough to have found an outlet to fully utilize her skills as wife to the Home Secretary.
Leaning forward, he snatched up his quill and reached for a clean piece of parchment. He should have pressed Bronwyn for answers. But he wanted to hear from Emma.
He dipped the tip of the quill into the ink well, and an unnerving sensation of doom settled into his chest. The nib scratched against the parchment. For years, his ability to recreate a person’s likeness had been stifled, but the lines on the page were flowing through him with ease. An outline Emma’s now familiar profile and supple body was coming to life. Damnation. Of all the people of his acquaintance, his sister-in-law’s brash friend had to be the one to become his muse.
Lady Arabelle had pricked his interest in music, but Emma had ignited his desire to draw and compose. From an early age, his appreciation for the human form meant his gaze was drawn to beautiful women. He was no saint, and he freely admitted to having shared a bed with a charming lady or two who had managed to catch his attention over the years. But not only did Emma capture his attention, she had seized his every thought and was slowly seeping into his heart. He caught himself humming as he finished the drawing.
Emma’s beguiling image stared back at him. This was no mere infatuation with a pretty face and lush body. No, Emma evoked a primal need within him to explore and possess her. Damnation, it was more. He didn’t want to simply possess her. He wanted her to want him in return. Hoped that she too experienced this magnetism that grew each day. But with each passing moment without a word from Emma, his hope dwindled. He rubbed his weary eyes. The candle had burned down to barely a nub. He pulled out his pocket watch, and the blasted timepiece confirmed it was nearly one in the morn. He should seek out his bed instead of waiting for Emma to magically appear. A shiver of fear tickled the back of his neck. Emma was a woman of her word. He should have heard from her by now. Something was amiss. He bolted for the door, grabbing his hat and coat on his way out.
Christopher nearly ran right into his brother, who was mounting the stairs. “Where are you headed?”
“To see Emma.”
“Let’s go inside, shall we?”
Landon walked past, leaving Christopher to follow.
“Is all well?” Christopher asked as they entered his office and relit the candle on his desk. “Why are you out and about at this hour?”
Landon moved to pull back the curtain to allow the moonlight into the dim room. Rummaging through his desk drawer, Christopher retrieved two candles and lit those as well, revealing Landon’s concerned face.
Landon said, “I invited Emma to dine with us this eve.”
“You mean you ordered her.”
“Bronwyn was concerned Emma would not eat tonight. My wife also informed me it was you who brought to light the challenges Emma might face.”
“Didn’t Emma seek out Theo for advice?”
“She did. Emma asked I pass this along to you.”
Christopher took the parchment from his brother.
Mr. Neale
Me thanks ye fer yer help, but I no longer need a dance teacher.
Emma
She didn’t need him. Bitter, Christopher said, “Well, she’s not one for flowery words.”
Landon frowned. “She took extra care to pen the note herself. Bronwyn offered to write it for her, but she refused, stating she needed to tell you herself. It was a huge undertaking for her, and it appears you are not deserving or appreciative of her efforts.”
“She runs one of the most sought-after dress shops, and you are telling me she can’t write.”
“Emma was never taught to read nor write.”
“But she has a bookshelf full of books in her store.”
“For her patrons’ enjoyment.” Landon paused, and his eyes fell upon the discarded drafts of Christopher’s sketches. Landon raised an eyebrow and asked, “What are those?”
Christopher answered, “Instructions for Emma.”
Remarkable. The woman couldn’t read, yet she’d interpreted his rather rudimentary drawings, excelling in executing the various positions with ease. The reminder of her in his arms last night reinforced his desire to see her again. But first, he had to be rid of Landon.
His brother continued to stare at sketches with acute interest.
Organizing the papers into a stack, Christopher asked, “Do you agree with her decision?”
“It was Emma’s choice. No one involved wants to see her hurt. Least of all Bronwyn.” Landon eased into the chair and crossed his legs. Drumming his fingers upon his knee, he continued, “But I admit I was surprised. Emma has the will of an ox, and I’d not thought she cared a whit about what the ton thought of her.”
Christopher flipped the top drawing over and clasped his hands on top of them. “So, you suspect she is doing it to protect Bronwyn.”
“Or someone she cares about.” Landon’s fingers stilled. “Why do I get the feeling you are not sharing i
nformation?”
“I’m not withholding anything from you.”
“The muscle in your right cheek twitched. You are not being entirely honest with me. Mama made some obscure insinuation that you attempted to kiss my wife’s dearest friend, but Emma believes it was only due to her resemblance to Lady Arabelle. What say you?”
Christopher took a moment to subdue the urge to lunge across the desk and punch his older brother. “I’m not a rogue going about town debauching innocent women.” Releasing a sigh, he added, “I’ll admit for a brief moment during our first meeting, I may have been confused by Emma’s resemblance to Lady Arabelle. However, I see Emma with such clarity now that there is absolutely no confusing her with another.”
“Is that so?” Landon nodded to the illustrations he had been working on. “And those?”
“A medium to expel the images from my mind is all.”
“It is your wish to banish Emma from your thoughts?”
“The damn woman is a conundrum. Confounding. Bewitching.”
“Sounds to me you have much to consider, little brother.” The annoying dent in Landon’s cheek appeared as an all-knowing smile formed on his brother’s smug face. “Both Bronwyn and I appreciate your attempts to teach Emma how to dance.” Narrowing his gaze, Landon added, “Emma did share with me your agreement.”
His scheme to spend more time with Emma had failed. “I shall hire an assistant by week’s end.” If he had a capable secretary in place, it would free his time. Time he could spend getting to know Emma better.
“My thanks, brother.” Landon patted one of the large stacks of files upon his desk. “It does appear you are in need of help. Should I return tomorrow?”
“No need.” He had everything under control.
Tempting a Gentleman Page 6
