She couldn’t help but turn to glare at the viscount. How dare he kiss her when he was engaged to another woman?
Michael—rather Viscount Weston—had the grace to appear uncomfortable, as though he realized his behavior was far from appropriate.
“Where are you from, Miss Grisby?”
Emma’s mind filled with the image of their two-room flat at the lodging house. She could hardly share the address on Trenary Lane without raising suspicion. While she and the viscountess had discussed answers to several questions, that had not been one of them.
“She and her dear mother live north of London,” the viscountess answered smoothly. “They rarely come to the city, so Miss Grisby’s visit is very special to me.”
Miss Vandimer’s mouth thinned as though displeased with the answer. Emma felt like hugging the older woman, for she’d as much as declared Emma’s importance to her. How lovely to have a champion. She was so used to fending for herself that she wasn’t quite sure what to do or say other than smile.
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy the entertainment London has to offer.” Miss Vandimer wrapped her hand around Viscount Weston’s arm. “It’s too bad that my fiancé will be too busy to accompany you.”
“Nonsense.” The viscountess dismissed Catherine’s words with a wave of her hand. “Michael will be more than pleased to escort us when needed. Won’t you, Michael?”
Viscount Weston eyed his grandmother as though surprised at her declaration. Nonetheless, he agreed. “Of course. Anything for you, Grandmother.”
Emma couldn’t help but wonder if Viscountess Weston cared for Miss Vandimer. Surely she was in favor of her grandson settling down and marrying.
“Your gown is quite...lovely.”
“Why thank you,” Emma said with a smile. Somehow, the pause made it sound as if the woman had another word in mind but chose a polite one. Emma decided to ignore that. “Viscountess Weston has excellent taste, wouldn’t you agree?”
Catherine nearly scowled. She could hardly say anything bad about the gown now. “Trės belle.”
“Merci. Le vôtre robe est belle ainsi.” Returning the compliment seemed the wisest line of defense.
Viscount Weston turned to her, a brow raised in surprise. “You speak French?”
“Yes,” she said, reminding herself not to glare at Miss Vandimer. She well knew the woman had been trying to make her feel uncomfortable, as though she were some country miss who hadn’t learned proper French.
“Your accent is impeccable.”
“Why, thank you.” Her uncle had taught her and insisted she perfect her accent.
Viscountess Weston beamed. “Well done.” She turned to Miss Vandimer. “Perhaps Miss Grisby might assist you with your accent.”
Miss Vandimer’s mouth popped open at the veiled insult.
Viscount Weston patted his fiancé’s hand. “Would you honor me with this dance?”
With a lift of her chin and a glare at Emma, Miss Vandimer stepped away with Viscount Weston.
Emma glanced at the viscountess to see her smile remained. Angering Miss Vandimer did not seem like a wise idea, but she could hardly control Viscountess Weston. In truth, it had been rather entertaining.
“We shall find a spot a little farther from the musicians. We need to be able hear.” She led the way and soon they were visiting with the viscountess’s friends.
Emma’s nerves calmed as the night continued. Several men approached, all asking her to dance, and she began to enjoy herself. She knew the proper steps for dancing and though she had little experience, she thought she’d performed quite well.
While a part of her felt guilty for having a good time, another part reminded her that if she appeared miserable, no man would want to spend time with her. That would defeat the whole purpose of the project.
“Have I introduced Lord Tagart?” the viscountess asked.
Emma turned to find a rather handsome man at her side. “A delight, I’m sure.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” he said with a smile. He had dark hair that threatened to disappear within a few years. His brown eyes were friendly and held a twinkle that made her smile.
Emma liked him immediately.
“The viscountess tells me you haven’t been in London long.”
Preferring not to lie, she hesitated before settling on an answer. “All this is certainly new to me.” She glanced out across the crowded ballroom, only to realize she was searching for Lord Weston. Immediately she turned back to Lord Tagart, determined to focus on someone who mattered. “I’m sure events such as this are quite routine for you.”
“Actually, no.” He chuckled. “I rarely come to these functions. My aunt requested my presence, and I find myself very grateful to her.” He smiled at her, making her realize that he referred to meeting her.
Flattered, she returned his smile, pleased she’d found someone she actually liked. So many of the people here seemed to pretend to be someone they weren’t. But who was she to judge when she was doing the same thing? Her mother always told her one shouldn’t judge unless one has walked in that person’s shoes. She looked down at her own, just visible beneath the hem of her gown.
“Is something amiss?” Lord Tagart asked.
Emma abruptly looked up, realizing he must think her behavior quite odd. “I’m sorry. I was thinking of how my mother always tells me not to judge people unless I’ve walked in their shoes.”
Lord Tagart looked down at his feet, then back up at her as though truly considering her words. “That is excellent advice.”
“She’s a very wise woman.”
“Then she must have a very wise daughter.” He held her gaze for a moment. “May I fetch some lemonade for you?”
“That would be lovely. I’m quite parched.”
As he departed in search of refreshments, the viscountess moved closer. “Lord Tagart would be quite the catch.”
“He seems like a nice man.”
“Is being nice important to you?”
She looked closer at the viscountess in surprise. “Shouldn’t it be?”
“That is up to you. Something to think about. You need to determine what requirements you have in a husband.”
Somehow, the very idea tightened her stomach. She couldn’t imagine making a list of what she wanted, but she understood the point. It was one she needed to consider. Now more than ever, she longed for her family. Tessa would easily be able to make a list. She could imagine her sister beside her, whispering in her ear about the merits of that gentleman or the gown worn by the lady across the room.
If circumstances were different, much different, they would’ve been here with their mother. Now that would truly have been fun.
Instead, she stood here by herself, trying to determine who was a friend and who was not. In many ways, it was not so different than trying to navigate the servants at the homes where she’d served as governess.
“Miss Grisby, may I introduce you to Lord Calverton? He has a lovely home in the country I’ve had the privilege of visiting.” The viscountess gave Emma a pointed look, as if suggesting this was a man whom she should consider.
Soon, a few other men joined their group. She could hardly keep their names straight. Lord Tagart returned with lemonade for which she was very grateful. The glass gave her something to do with her hands and sipping it helped to fill the awkward silences that came with meeting new people.
“Aren’t you a grand success this evening?” The whisper in her ear gave her a jolt followed by shivers, and the return of her anger.
“I’m pleased to have met several nice people.” She glared at Viscount Weston out of the corner of her eye, not ready to forgive him. Nor did she want to appear rude to the other people with whom she was visiting.
“Tagart.” Viscount Weston seemed rather surprised to see him at her side. “Good to see you.”
“Weston. Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.”
“Thank you.”
“Where i
s your fiancé?” Emma couldn’t help but ask, partly out of curiosity and partly because she’d rather keep her distance from the woman.
“I believe she’s dancing.” The viscount scanned the dancers but didn’t appear to search in earnest for her.
Unable to hold her silence a moment longer, she drew Michael aside to whisper, “How dare you!”
He raised a brow at her heated accusation. “How dare I what?”
She glanced about to find their conversation was already drawing a few stares, but she was determined to confront him about this. “You know very well to what I am referring.”
Michael knew but didn’t care to explain his behavior. How could he when he wasn’t certain what had driven him to kiss her? The best he could do was to play it down, as though it hadn’t mattered as much as it had. As if kissing her hadn’t seemed as vital as breathing in that moment.
He kept his voice low, not wanting to air their conversation any more than she. “A simple kiss to wish you well on this new endeavor.”
“You are engaged.” The accusation in her tone was echoed by the flash in her eyes.
He shook his head and glanced away. Dare he tell her that her anger only made him long to kiss her once more? “A kiss between old friends. Nothing more.”
“I trust it will not happen again.”
He bit his tongue to stop himself from telling her he accepted her challenge. His nod seemed to appease her. He’d watched the crowd of men grow around Emma and with it, his concern. Why wasn’t his grandmother keeping a closer eye on her?
Catherine had been less than pleased when he’d advised her that he needed to see what was happening, leaving her in the middle of a conversation. He knew she was most likely fluttering her lashes at some other lord. The time had come for a conversation with her about his expectations of the marriage. He had no intention of being made a fool by her behavior.
He pushed aside his irritation with his fiancé to focus on his irritation with the woman at his side. “Perhaps you’re going a bit too far with your attempt to meet a man?”
“How so?” She narrowed her eyes as though she couldn’t imagine of what he was speaking.
“I thought you hoped to meet a potential suitor or two.” He eyed the ring of men nearby. “Not gather a flock.”
“I have not done anything wrong,” she whispered.
While he knew her behavior had been circumspect as he hadn’t taken his eyes off her since they’d parted, she had to be doing something to attract this many.
His gaze caught on some of this season’s hopeful debutantes on the other side of the room. Their pale gowns and youthful faces would attract some, but when compared to Emma’s more mature form and the intelligence that radiated from her, he knew with whom he’d prefer to speak. Obviously the men before her felt the same way.
Yet when he scanned the group surrounding them as Emma moved back to stand near then, his irritation returned.
“I understand you haven’t yet had the opportunity to partake of London’s sights. Perhaps you might enjoy seeing one of the museums,” Lord Calverton suggested.
“Oh, that would be—”
“Excellent idea.” Michael made an attempt at a smile as he turned to Emma. “Which day shall we go?”
Her eyes widened. “I thought you were...otherwise engaged this week.”
Guilt pricked him at her choice of words. He wasn’t aiding her by escorting her when she could be spending time with a potential suitor. Never mind that he found the idea of her in another man’s company intolerable. In truth, he needed to keep a close eye on her. What if the professor attempted to contact her during an outing?
“My plans have changed.”
Catherine would be displeased to hear he’d be spending more time in Emma’s company, but he told himself he had no choice. With Simmons dead, they had few leads to pursue. In all honesty, he was starting to believe that Emma had no idea her uncle lived. If he hadn’t contacted her in these past ten years, why would he bother to do so now?
But Michael couldn’t put aside the idea that he would. And when he did, Michael had every intention of being there. They needed to know what the professor was up to and why. Heaven forbid if he was still trying to do some terrible experiment with children. Somehow, they needed to find him—before someone else’s life was in danger. Emma had to be the key to that.
~*~
Emma followed the viscountess up the stairs of the townhouse, her mind spinning much like it had while dancing at the ball. The evening had far exceeded her expectations. She’d thought she’d be standing by herself while everyone else visited. Instead she’d danced and taken part in many conversations. With a smile, she remembered Lord Tagart’s kindness, Lord Calverton’s shy smile. They were both nice men, very different from Viscount Weston, but pleasant all the same.
With a sigh, she thought once more of his kiss. Unfortunately, any man she met would be compared against him. It wasn’t fair, but what could she do about it?
Disappointment filled her as she pondered his engagement. In truth, it didn’t matter that he was engaged. How often had she told herself that he was not for her? Nothing had changed. She’d only changed her clothes and her hair, not the person she was on the inside.
She said it again in her mind, more firmly this time.
Not for me.
It failed to help.
“I wonder if I might ask you to read to me for a few minutes,” Viscountess Weston requested as she reached the landing. “I find my mind filled with all the conversation at the ball. Reading seems to allow me to sleep better.”
“I’d like that very much,” Emma said. She truly thought it a good idea. She couldn’t imagine going to sleep right now either.
“Lovely. Why don’t you prepare for bed and then join me in my room.”
Quickly, the maid removed Emma’s gown and corset and loosely braided her hair. By the time Emma knocked on the door of the viscountess’s room, she was sitting up in her bed with a book in her lap.
Emma couldn’t help but glance around the spacious room. It was decorated in various shades of cream with a pale green accent. The effect was cool and relaxing. A tufted chair stood beside the bed and the viscountess gestured her toward it.
“This is such a treat.” She handed Emma the book with a smile.
“I love to read with my family, so this is a pleasure for me as well.” She examined the title, surprised to find it was a popular fiction novel. “I’ve heard this is an exciting story.”
“I hope it’s not too exciting or I shall never sleep.” The smile she gave Emma was much like that of a young girl’s and made Emma smile in return. “Let us try a few pages and see if we care for it.”
Emma settled into the chair and opened the book. Several pages later, she was well engrossed in the story. She paused to glance at the viscountess but couldn’t tell if she was merely resting her eyes or if she was sleeping. She decided to continue to the end of the chapter just so she had a good stopping place. Unfortunately, the author put a clever hook at the end of it. She paused, debating whether she should turn the page.
“Surely, you’re not going to stop reading there?” the viscountess asked, her voice slurred with sleepiness. “Read the next few sentences so we won’t be left wondering if he braves the storm to go after her.”
With a smile, Emma read a few more sentences before pausing again.
“Thank heavens. A hero who didn’t try to protect her would not be worth reading about.” The viscountess opened one eye. “Don’t you agree?”
“Indeed. Though it’s her own fault for running out into the rainy night to begin with.”
“Hmm...true enough. Making silly decisions in the height of emotional drama happens more often than you think.”
“Have you ever done something like that?” Emma immediately regretted the question as soon as she asked it. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate of me.”
“Nonsense, my dear. If we’re to become frien
ds, we need to know these sorts of things about each other. And yes. I have. Terribly silly decisions. As is still true today, love matches were rare in my day, but I thought I’d found one with George. Shortly before we were to marry, I became convinced he didn’t love me after all.”
“How awful.”
“Indeed. I heard rumors that the reasons he wanted to marry me had more to do with financial matters than me. I was devastated. And like the silly heroine in the book, I left his company in inclement weather.”
Emma held her breath, hoping the viscountess would finish her tale.
“Lucky for me, he followed and convinced me that he loved me and saved me from frostbite.” She chuckled. “That was a night to remember.”
Emma tried to imagine what it would be like to have a man love her enough to come after her in the middle of a storm. Would she have a chance to find a man like that? Or did she need to accept any man who showed interest in her? Would it be enough for her to find one with whom she could be friends?
With a quiet sigh, she closed her eyes for a brief moment. She was afraid she’d already found a man whom she could give her heart to, but he didn’t want it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Michael stared at Charles Nulty, surprised this soft spoken, timid man could’ve once served as chief warder of Pentonville Prison for so many years. When Ashbury had sent a message this morning asking Michael to accompany him on this meeting, Michael had expected they’d be speaking with a man of some presence, an authority figure.
The man before them was nothing of the sort.
Instead, he was merely a bewildered old man. Michael could feel Ashbury’s frustration mount as Nulty puttered about his drawing room, showing them the collection of small china dogs his wife had accumulated. One at a time.
“This one is a Saint Bernard. Quite an interesting dog, you know.”
“Yes, that’s fascinating, but as I mentioned earlier, we’d like to ask you a few questions about your position at Pentonville Prison.” Ashbury glanced at Michael as though Michael should somehow assist him.
Michael lifted a brow, uncertain as to how he could help the old man stay on the topic at hand. “You were there for many years.” Michael tried a conversational tone, hoping that would relax Nulty.
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