Chapter One
As a rule,Miss Emmagene Stitch didn’t care for weddings or house parties.
Unfortunately, she was on her way to both.
Not two separate events, thankfully, but one overblown, pretentious affair that would combine two of her least favorite things. Weddings reminded Emmagene of love, which in turn soured her stomach, since she’d dispensed with the belief in such an emotion years ago. House parties were just a particular form of torture, especially for an older, unmarried woman, which Emmagene was. Forced intimacy with a group of people with whom she had nothing in common and who wouldn’t be pleased to find Emmagene in their midst. Spinsters, which she often declared herself to be, were viewed as an oddity with no specific function. If the entire event weren’t culminating in the marriage of her dearest friend and cousin, Honora Drevenport Culpepper, to the Earl of Southwell, she would stay home with a pot of tea and a good book.
“Have a lovely time, dear.” Mama pecked Emmagene on the cheek before sending her out the door, envy stamped clearly on her pretty features. “Are you certain—”
“I am, Mama.” Emmagene adjusted the ribbons of her bonnet. “You weren’t invited. It isn’t as if I can sneak you into my trunk as an unpleasant surprise for Honora. Do I need to keep reminding you?”
“Yes, but dear, if you would only speak to your cousin.” Her mother’s beringed fingers twisted about as Emmagene strode to the door. “I could be packed and join you in a day or two? Surely Honora will capitulate if you just ask her? I was only doing as Agnes wished and meant no disrespect toward my niece.”
Emmagene pulled on her gloves, rolling her eyes at the mention of her aunt and Honora’s mother, Agnes Drevenport. “Just because Aunt Agnes decided not to receive her own daughter didn’t mean you had to follow suit. The scandal wasn’t Honora’s fault.”
“Yes, but the circumstances are now greatly changed. I regret my earlier actions. As does your Aunt Agnes.”
“Because Honora is to be a countess. How that must chafe Aunt Agnes to have her own daughter, the future Lady Southwell, turn her away. Think of the gossip.” Emmagene’s eyes widened. She hadn’t an ounce of pity for her aunt. “She’s treated Honora terribly her entire life. The talk over Southwell only gave her another reason to do so.”
“You played a part in the gossip as well, Emmagene. Yet you are still being asked to attend.”
Emmagene paused at her mother’s words, hating the truth of them. She had unwittingly helped Lord Tarrington and Loretta Culpepper, Honora’s former mother-in-law, in the disparagement of her cousin’s reputation, nearly destroying Honora’s relationship with Southwell in the process.
“Honora has forgiven me.” Southwell probably never would, though he was sending his coach to collect her for the journey to his estate, Longwood, where the house party would take place.
“Exactly, which is why if you only asked—”
“I will not, Mother. Not for you and not for Aunt Agnes.”
Her mother pursed her lips, which signaled a lecture, one Emmagene was in no mood for. “You are so veryhard, Emmagene.”
She supposed she was, at least in her mother’s estimation. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mother. You and Aunt Agnes can spend the week I’m gone sipping tea and weeping over the fact all of London knows the new Lady Southwell refuses to receive either of you. You’ve no one to blame but yourselves. Neither of you had the decency to even apologize for the way you treated her. You had no interest in Honora until her impending marriage to an earl was announced.”
“That is unfair,” came her mother’s weak reply.
Emmagene didn’t think so. She marched off in the direction of the coach waiting for her, a magnificent conveyance bearing the Southwell coat of arms and pulled by a team of matching snow-white horses. While she didn’t trust Southwell, or any gentleman as a rule, Emmagene had to admit Southwell possessed excellent taste in coaches.
Emmagene stretched her fingers over the red leather squabs as she settled herself inside the coach with the help of Southwell’s footman. Pity she wasn’t taking this coach somewhere more inviting than a house party hosted by Lady Trent.
Lady Trent didn’t care for Emmagene. Not a whit.
Which was fine. Really, it was.
The coach jerked forward, and Emmagene glanced back at her parents’ three-story home of rough gray stone. She could just make out the pale oval of her mother’s face as she watched Emmagene pull away from the drawing room window. Mother was probably, even now, dashing off a note to her elder sister, Agnes, to inform her that despite pleading, Emmagene had gone off to the Earl of Southwell’s estate and Honora’s wedding alone.
Her mother thought it the gravest of sins to be a woman alone.
With a shake of her head, Emmagene smoothed down the skirts of her walnut-brown traveling dress and opened her book. Longwood was barely a full day’s ride from London but somewhat isolated in the country. She planned to doze a bit or read. The novel she’d brought was a frothy bit of fluff complete with a handsome gentleman rescuing a young lady in distress, something Emmagene would normally never read under any circumstances, but Honora had sent it to her. At the very least, it was sure to provide Emmagene some amusement.
Love.A word gentlemen cooed into young ladies’ ears so they would give up their virtue with little resistance.
She knew from experience.
The coach was in motion for several minutes before taking a sharp turn down a narrow treelined street. She peered out the window, trying to get her bearings. The street itself didn’t look familiar, though the homes, all richly appointed, told Emmagene the neighborhood was an affluent one. No matter how lovely the area, the coach should be headed in the opposite direction. If Southwell meant to rid himself of Honora’s sharp-tongued cousin, as Emmagene had heard him refer to her, he might do better to leave her in a less prestigious area of London.
She rapped on the roof to summon the driver. “I don’t believe this is the way out of town.”
“Lady Trent requested we pick up another guest for the wedding, miss,” the driver informed her. “We’ll only be a moment.”
