by Rose Pearson
“Which is why you sought out Lady Smithton.”
“Precisely,” Emma agreed, smiling. “And so, ‘The Spinsters Guild’ has been formed!” She chuckled at the name that Lady Smithton had thrust upon the group earlier that afternoon. “Although the name in itself is fairly ironic, given that we are all attempting to avoid such a title!”
Lord Havisham chuckled along with her. “I am quite certain that Lady Smithton will guide you all towards success,” he assured her, making Emma’s smile grow. “Now, should you care to dance, Miss Bavidge?” He reached for her dance card and smiled at the name written there already. “Although I see Lord Morton has reached you before I. Nevertheless, I shall take two dances and, thereafter, should any gentleman wish to dance with you also, I shall be nearby to either encourage or dissuade you.”
Smiling happily, Emma accepted his proffered arm, thinking to herself that this evening was, as far as she was concerned, going to be one of the best evenings she had enjoyed thus far since coming to London for the season. “Thank you, Lord Havisham,” she answered as he began to lead her to the floor. “I am truly grateful for all of your help.”
Once the dance was over, Lord Havisham led Emma towards a small cluster of guests who were standing together. He obviously knew some of them, for they turned to greet him the moment he stepped near to them, whilst some of the ladies eyed him with obvious and apparent interest. This did not surprise Emma, who knew that Lord Havisham was a handsome gentleman with both a title and a fortune. The gaze of the ladies then turned towards her, and Emma was surprised to see that one lady narrowed her eyes at her a little, making her somewhat uncomfortable.
“Might I present Miss Emma Bavidge,” Lord Havisham said to the assembled guests. “She is a dear friend of Lady Smithton, and therefore, has become a friend of mine also.”
This did not seem to please the ladies in question, who, although they all greeted her and dipped into curtsies, did not smile nor look at all happy to see her in the company of Lord Havisham.
“Miss Bavidge,” one of the gentlemen said, flicking a look of curiosity towards Lord Havisham, making Emma aware that this gentleman clearly knew of who she was and what her father had done. “How good to meet you. Lord Denver, at your service.” He smiled and bowed, his brown hair flopping over his forehead as he did so.
Emma bobbed a curtsy, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth as she tried to murmur a greeting. Heat was climbing into her face as she silently prayed that Lord Havisham had not made a mistake by introducing her to such a fellow.
“Should you care for a dance, Miss Bavidge?” Lord Denver continued as Lord Havisham stepped away to speak to another acquaintance. “I would be glad to take you to the floor.”
Emma hesitated, not stretching out her hand to give him her dance card as he obviously expected. “I… I am not certain that I—”
“You can trust Lord Denver,” said a voice in her ear, making Emma jump in surprise. “He is a good sort.” The voice came from a tall, broad-shouldered man who had dark green eyes and thick brown hair that seemed almost black in the candlelight. Emma did not think that they had ever been introduced, and yet to speak to her in such a knowing, and apparently friendly, fashion made her question whether or not she had simply forgotten their first meeting.
“Lord Rochester,” the gentleman said with a small inclination of his head. “We were introduced last season.”
Emma wanted to close her eyes and sink to the floor with the shame of not recalling this particular gentleman, but instead simply pasted a smile on her face and tried to make light of the situation. “Yes, of course,” she replied quickly. “You must forgive me, Lord Rochester. It is just that I have been introduced to so many new acquaintances only a few minutes ago that I have quite lost my senses!”
Much to her relief, he chuckled and inclined his head again. “Then you need have no doubt that I shall not hold it against you,” he replied, warmly. “I must say, I am sorry for the trouble you have found yourself in this season, Miss Bavidge. Those gentlemen who treat you so cruelly and the ladies whose tongues work faster than the flowing river should all be thoroughly ashamed of themselves.”
This was said with such fervency that, for a moment, Emma found herself quite caught up with his determination, only to recall that she did not know anything about this gentleman aside from the fact that she had apparently been introduced to him last season. Wary as ever, she gave Lord Rochester a brief smile and then turned her attention back to Lord Denver. “I should be glad to dance with you, Lord Denver,” she said, suddenly decisive. After all, if she were not to risk anything, then she would not make any progress! “Here.” She held out her dance card, and Lord Denver took it at once, shooting Lord Rochester a quick grin. This made Emma somewhat uncomfortable, not certain as to whether this was a grin of triumph or one of amusement at Lord Rochester having been given so quick a brush off by Emma. Lord Rochester, however, appeared quite determined to capture her attention also, and so took another small step forward just as Lord Denver let the dance card drop.
“Might I also persuade you to accept my invitation to dance?” he asked her, enquiringly. “I would be greatly honored if you would allow me to do so.”
Emma did not know whether to accept him or not, glancing over Lord Rochester’s left shoulder and noticing that Lord Havisham had his back to her, deep in conversation with someone other than she. Apparently, he had considered her quite safe with Lord Denver and therefore had presumed that she was continuing to converse with him. He had not seen Lord Rochester approach and, therefore, could give her no guidance as to whether or not she should accept him.
“I mean you no ill, Miss Bavidge,” Lord Rochester continued, evidently seeing her hesitation. “Although I can understand your wariness.”
Desperate, Emma looked at Lord Denver, who appeared to be frowning slightly as he regarded Lord Rochester. This could be no indication of Lord Rochester’s character, however, for Lord Denver might merely dislike the fact that Lord Rochester had stepped in after him instead of allowing him a few minutes to talk with Emma alone.
“Very well,” she said, eventually, feeling the air grow thick about her as tension began to rise between both herself and Lord Rochester. “But just one dance, if you please.” A trifle reluctantly, she handed him her card and saw just how eagerly he grasped it. Scanning it quickly, he chuckled over something or other, something Emma had very little idea about, before writing his name down for the cotillion.
“I think this will do very well,” he said, letting the card drop and inclining his head as he did so. “A cotillion, Miss Bavidge. What say you to that?”
It is better than a waltz, Emma thought silently, aware that in a dance such as the cotillion, it was easier to speak to other dancers throughout instead of being able to speak only to one’s partner. “Thank you, Lord Rochester,” she murmured, aware that he was waiting for her answer. “You are very kind.”
He did not answer but inclined his head, smiled, and then turned about on his heel to walk away. Emma let her eyes trail after him, fearing that he would turn around and find her staring at him but still feeling the need to watch his every moment in case he should display some sort of ill will towards her. To her surprise, he simply went to speak to another young lady, who appeared glad to see him. Her eyes lingered on him as he took her dance card and wrote his name there also. As far as she could see, he was behaving just as a gentleman ought.
“Miss Bavidge.”
She turned around, a little embarrassed to have been seen watching Lord Rochester. “Oh, Lord Morton.” Her smile became fixed, her cheeks burning. “I… I did not mean…” Wincing inwardly, she took a breath and tried to stop stammering. “It is our dance, then?”
He nodded, although she noticed that he did not smile and appeared to be struggling with some displeasing emotion. His brows were furrowed with one thick line forming between them, his gaze fixed on something just behind her. Not daring to glance behin
d her for fear of appearing rude, Emma placed a smile on her face and gestured towards the dance floor, hearing the orchestra beginning to play a small introduction that would encourage couples to come forward.
“If you are quite ready, then,” she said, making to walk towards the dance floor, only for Lord Morton to reach out and, to her shock, grasp her arm.
“Lord Morton!” she exclaimed, as his hand ran down her arm towards her hand, sending her heart fluttering with both excitement and astonishment. “Whatever are you doing?”
Lord Morton said nothing but let his fingers trail down her hand only to catch her dance card and lift it higher, making Emma lift her hand a little. Blinking rapidly and praying that no one was watching this strange and awkward encounter, Emma could only wait for Lord Morton to finish whatever he was doing, feeling as though she ought to demand an explanation but finding that the words would not come to her.
“Ah.” Lord Morton grunted, dropped her dance card and offered his arm. “Shall we go?”
Standing stock still, Emma stared at him, not about to accept his arm without an explanation of what it was he had been doing. “Lord Morton, I—”
“Forgive me.” He appeared now a little flustered, his gaze resting anywhere but her face. “I feared that I had approached you for the wrong dance, but it appears I was mistaken.” His lips curved, but his smile did not reach his eyes, which, briefly, caught her gaze. “I apologize.”
Emma swallowed hard, her skin still prickling from where his fingers had brushed down her arm. It was a reasonable explanation, she supposed, but there had been no reason to touch her in such a manner, especially when they might have been noticed by anyone. The last thing she needed was to have any further rumors spreading through London about her!
Lord Morton cleared his throat as if he were growing impatient. “Might we take to the floor, Miss Bavidge?” he asked, with a tight smile. “The music is about to begin, and we are yet to step out together.”
Having found nothing to say and with confusion still whirling about her, Emma accepted his arm and found herself led to the floor by Lord Morton, who walked with quick steps and without a single word coming from his mouth. She took her place, curtsying quickly, as was expected, but found the way that Lord Morton looked at her to be even more unsettling. His expression was still dark, his brows still lowered and his lips taut, as though she had done some sort of wrong to him. Unable to think of what such a thing was, Emma decided to concentrate on the dance, not wanting to make a mistake when she was quite certain that a good many of the ton were watching her.
However, as the dance progressed, Emma found herself more and more perplexed by Lord Morton’s behavior towards her. There appeared to be no enjoyment in his face as he danced, no happiness in his gaze as he looked at her. It was most unusual, for they had enjoyed an amiable acquaintance thus far, albeit brief. Why then did he appear to be so down in the mouth about their dance? What was the foreboding look in his eyes? And why did he seem so displeased with her?
“Might you tell me, Miss Bavidge, whether or not you have become acquainted with Lord Rochester of late?”
Emma, who was curtsying towards Lord Morton now that the dance had come to a close, looked up at him sharply, seeing a steely glint in his eyes. “Might I ask why you wish to know, Lord Morton?” she asked him, growing a little frustrated with his attitude towards her. “What difference does it make to you who I am acquainted with?”
Lord Morton blinked, as though he had only just realized how strange a question it was. “I…” He trailed off, dropping his head and running one hand over his eyes. “Forgive me, Miss Bavidge. It is only that I seek to protect you.”
Rather astonished at this, Emma said nothing but allowed the silence between them to build in the hope that it would encourage him to say more. Watching him closely, she saw how his dark expression began to fade and how his gaze dipped low to the floor. Perhaps he was only now coming to see how improper he had been.
“I do wish that I was able to succeed,” he said softly, his words barely reaching her ears such was the quietness of his voice. “But I fear I cannot.” He lifted his head and looked straight into her eyes, his expression grave. “Pray, stay away from Lord Rochester, Miss Bavidge.”
“Why?” Emma asked, a swirl of anxiety in her stomach. “What is it that he—”
“I can say no more,” Lord Morton interrupted, holding up one hand to prevent her flow of questions. “Forgive me, Miss Bavidge. Good evening.”
And with that, he bowed, turned, and began to walk away from her, leaving Emma feeling more confused and conflicted than ever.
Chapter Seven
Nathaniel lifted his chin as he walked into Lord Marne’s residence, trying to settle his tumultuous thoughts and tangled mind. It had been two days since he had last seen Miss Bavidge, and since then, he had been unable to remove her from his thoughts in any way. She had lingered there, his heavy burden still resting on his shoulders as he thought of her.
“Good evening, Lord Morton.”
Attempting to smile, Nathaniel greeted his host. “Marne. Good evening. Thank you for the invitation, old chap.”
Lord Marne grinned. “Not at all,” he replied chuckling. “Now, you must try to smile a little better than you are at present, Morton, else you shall chase all the young ladies away. Do you not want to be considered a suitable match for someone?”
Nathaniel rolled his eyes, knowing full well that his friend was teasing him. “I have not given the matter much consideration,” he replied, with an arched brow. “You know that last year I was caught up with another matter entirely and so this year—”
“This year, you may do as you wish!” Lord Marne replied, clapping Nathaniel on the shoulder and ushering him a little further into the room. “I am well aware of the aid you gave to Lord Knighton—you know that I shall speak nothing of it to anyone, of course—but I do hope that you will be able to find yourself a little less burdened this season.” His expression became somewhat serious, reminding Nathaniel of the time he had come to Lord Marne’s townhouse last season, when he had been torn by Lord Rochester’s broken promises. He had felt the weight of guilt back then also, although Lord Marne, being a decent sort and an excellent friend, had encouraged him not to think of himself as having done anything wrong at all. Lady Marne, a gentle and sweet soul, had been on hand to listen also, giving her opinion on Lord Rochester—which had shown her evident dislike of the fellow, as Nathaniel recalled.
“My dear wife is somewhere amongst the crowd,” Lord Marne continued, still urging Nathaniel through the small crowd. “Ah yes, there she is. She is speaking to Lady Smithton, I believe.”
Lady Marne, her youthful face alive with interest as she listened to Lady Smithton, suddenly caught sight of her husband and Nathaniel and waved them both over at once. Lord Marne, however, was caught by the arrival of yet another guest and so had to excuse himself, leaving Nathaniel to greet Lady Marne and Lady Smithton alone.
He moved forward quickly, wanting to ensure that he greeted and thanked the hostess for the invitation also. “Lady Marne, I am very glad to be here this evening,” he told her, adding just a hint of exaggeration to his words. “Thank you for inviting me. I know that these soirees of yours can be very enjoyable.”
Lady Marne chuckled. “Always so kind, Lord Morton,” she said, smiling at him. “Now, are you acquainted with Lady Smithton?”
“I am not,” Nathaniel replied, honestly. “Although I will confess to having heard of you, Lady Smithton.”
Lady Smithton did not seem to take offense at this, much to Nathaniel’s relief. Instead, she smiled and nodded whilst Lady Marne made the introductions, dropping into a quick curtsy which he returned with a bow.
“I can assure you, Lord Morton, that whatever you have heard of me is nothing more than idle gossip,” Lady Smithton said once Lady Marne had finished.
“I am not at all inclined to listen to such things regardless,” he told her, honestly. �
�I dislike how society seems to thrive on such things.”
Lady Marne nodded firmly. “That is something I can vouch for,” she replied with a quick smile in Nathaniel’s direction. “Lord Morton has an excellent character, Lady Smithton.”
“Indeed.” Lady Smithton’s eyes searched Nathaniel’s face curiously, as though she were seeking something but did not yet know where it lay. “I must say, I am glad to hear such accolades, Lord Morton. They are often few and far between, I find!” Nathaniel was about to say more when Lady Smithton beckoned to someone just behind him, and he turned to see none other than Miss Bavidge walking towards them all, her face holding a blank expression. She did not look at him nor greet him but rather waited until Lady Smithton had begun to speak.
“Lord Morton, I believe you are acquainted with Miss Bavidge,” Lady Smithton, sounding quite nonchalant, although Nathaniel was suspicious that this meeting had been hastily contrived in Lady Smithton’s mind the moment she had heard he was a respectable gentleman. “Now, Miss Bavidge is here with me for this evening, so I did wonder if I might beg a favor from you.”
Nathaniel cleared his throat, looking towards Lady Smithton and away from Miss Bavidge, who had a slow red flush creeping up her cheeks. “And what might that be, Lady Smithton?” he asked as calmly as he could, fearing that the lady was going to push himself and Miss Bavidge together when, the truth was, he should be doing what he could to remain apart from her.
“I was hoping that you might sit with Miss Bavidge when the musical performances begin,” Lady Smithton said, sounding quite delighted with the prospect. “You see, I have another dear friend that I have quite promised to sit near to when the time comes for the musical part of the evening, and I fear that I would quite neglect Miss Bavidge!” She dimpled at Nathaniel, her eyes glowing with the certainty that came from knowing he could not easily refuse. “What say you?”
