“You shouldn’t. And if you do, I’ll be happy to remind you how absolutely devastated you were over the entire affair that culminated in your marriage to Culpepper.” Emmie picked up a glass of punch, nose wrinkling as she took a sip. “Disgusting. I do wish the ladies could be served something other than punch or wine.”
“You can’t be seen drinking brandy and roaming about, Emmie. It isn’t done.”
Her cousin shrugged. “As if I care. I’ve already been labeled a spinster. On the shelf. My parents have thankfully given up on me.”
Honora had not. Her cousin was known for her scathing remarks, her low tolerance for those she considered tedious—which was nearly everyone save Honora—and the severity of her person. She kept everyone at arm’s length, especially gentlemen. Not that there were any who would brave the armor of Emmie’s harsh personality. It saddened Honora because the Emmie she knew was loyal. Fiercely protective. Funny, even, when she chose to be.
“I like the flower.” Honora nodded to the rose stuck into Emmie’s tightly coiled hair.
“My maid insisted, though I told her I didn’t see the point. At least I like roses.”
The rose was the only concession Emmie had made to soften her appearance. Everything else about her screamed restraint in an effort to stifle what attractiveness she possessed. The gown she wore, a striped blue organza, possessed a high neckline showing not a bit of skin. The sleeves were fitted and closed at the wrist. She wore no other adornment save the rose. Next to Honora, Emmie looked drab and dried up. Purposefully, Honora thought.
“Tarrington is unlikely to forget how I humiliated him this evening, though I still don’t regret it,” Honora mused. “I’ll have to stay out of his way in the future.”
“It shouldn’t be difficult. He’s unlikely to approach you again,” Emmie replied. “By the way, have you seen Her Grace, the Duchess of Denby? Her duke was drooling over her as she witnessed your denouncement of Tarrington. His Grace’s withered claws were digging into her skin, clutching her to his side. I can’t imagine anything worse than sacrificing yourself to such a man on the altar of marriage.”
“Plenty of ladies do so, Emmie. Perhaps she loves him.”
Emmie burst into laughter. “Honora, stop. I nearly spilled the punch. Love. There’s no such thing.”
In spite of her marriage to Culpepper, Honora wanted to believe in love. At least in theory. “I always wonder why Anabeth didn’t marry Southwell. She was so enamored of him. Everyone was certain they would make an announcement before he left England. I have it on good authority—”
“Whose authority?” Emmie’s dark eyes flashed. “Wait, let me guess. My brother’s wife. The gossip.”
“Virgil has been married for some time, Emmie. Can’t you at least try to like her?”
Emmie rolled her eyes in disgust.
“At any rate, according toRebecca”—Honora made a point of emphasizing the girl’s name—“Anabeth has been trying to seduce Southwell since he returned last year, but her attempts have proved unsuccessful. His rejection has led Anabeth to suggest Southwell’s lack of interest in her is really due to a failing on his part,” Honora said delicately. “Which I find hard to believe.”
“Because it’s Southwell? Your hero?” Emmie snorted.
“He isn’t my hero.” At least not any longer.
“A fitting end to an unkind rake who should have remained in the Amazon. Don’t you dare forget, Honora, what Southwell agreed to. I certainly haven’t. He thought you the most hideous young lady that night—”
“Not him but Anabeth,” Honora interjected.
Emmie shook her head in frustration. “What does it matter? You cried harder over Southwell than anything Tarrington or Anabeth did to you.” She looked down at her slippers for a moment. “It’s the worst sort of betrayal.” Her eyes caught Honora’s. “Making a woman believe you care when you don’t. Using her for your own ends.”
Honora couldn’t argue with Emmie’s logic.
“Worse”—Emmie lifted her chin—“Culpepper used your adoration of Southwell to torment you for the entire length of your marriage. I’m surprised your mother-in-law didn’t do the same.”
“I don’t think she knows. If she did, Loretta would certainly use it against me. She was abroad that year with Culpepper’s sister, only returning after we had wed. By then, the gossip was completely gone due to Mother’s efforts and my marriage. No one cared what had happened to Miss Drevenport, especially not anyone in London. They’d already moved on to the next scandal.”
“Just don’t forget the reason you had to marry Culpepper is as much Southwell’s fault as Tarrington’s. I know, Honora”—Emmie took her hand—“how you imagined Southwell to be…well…wonderful. But he isn’t. Just remember that when you are introduced.”
“I won’t forget a thing, Emmie.”
“Good, because Southwell is headed this way with Montieth in tow.” Emmie raised a brow. “Did he always use a cane?”
“Southwell? No,” Honora said absently, smoothing her gown over her hips, a habit from long ago.
“I’m sure he’s pretending an injury to garner feminine sympathy. A tactic used by a multitude of rakes to charm women into bed. Don’t let him fool you, Honora.”
“There isn’t a chance of that,” she replied. “He’s a complete cad.”A beautiful one.
