“I know Huntly can be difficult.” A curl at her temple batted against her forehead as she spoke. “He’s a cousin of South’s, though whether on his mother’s side or father’s side, I can never seem to recall. South has so many relations I fear I can’t keep track of them. Huntly, however, tends to stand out as I’m sure you’d agree.”
“Our journey together was uneventful,” Emmagene assured her.
“Wonderful.” There was disappointment in her pleasantry. Lady Trent had probably been hoping Huntly would toss Emmagene out of the coach at some point during the journey. “I was hoping the two of you would get on.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say we got on, my lady.”
But Lady Trent’s eyes were already scanning the room behind Emmagene for anyone else she could converse with, like a drowning woman seeking a bit of driftwood to latch onto. This entire polite conversation was for Honora’s benefit.
“I hope you’ve found the rooms I picked out agreeable?”
The rooms Lady Trent had chosen for Emmagene, besides being in a completely different wing from those of the other guests, overlooked a struggling patch of vegetation interlaced with gravel and brick, likely the worst view Longwood had to offer. The mattress was full of lumps, the pillows sparse. She did hope the servants wouldn’t forget where she was.
“Very lovely, thank you,” Emmagene answered.
“Splendid!” Lady Trent exclaimed with a cluck of her tongue.
At her side, Honora sagged with relief that the exchange had not produced any sort of heated discussion.
Emmagene gave her cousin’s fingers a small pat. Though Lady Trent was in dire need of it, she would do nothing to ruffle the feathers of their hostess. Lady Trent had been unfailingly kind to Honora. Partly out of guilt, Emmagene thought, for the role she’d played in the brief estrangement of Southwell and Honora. Still, Lady Trent had not batted an eyelash when Honora had declared her mother would not be assisting in the arrangements, nor would Honora’s family, save Emmagene, be part of the house party and wedding. Instead, Lady Trent had stepped in and arranged everything, including attending the fittings for Honora’s wedding dress. But the main reason why Emmagene would tolerate Lady Trent was her adamant defense of Honora. When Aunt Agnes, Honora’s mother, had tried to pay a call on Lady Trent, she’d been turned away.
Loyalty was something Emmagene admired.
“Oh, I see Lord Carver is here. I wasn’t sure he would be able to arrive tonight. Some sort of upset at the museum. Please excuse me, my dear, won’t you?” She pressed a quick kiss to Honora’s cheek before floating away.
Honora watched Lady Trent, a frown on her lovely face. “I’d no idea, Emmie, that you were stuck with Huntly on the ride here. I should have taken a firmer hand with the details to make sure your rooms were close to mine.”
“Your rooms or Southwell’s?” Emmagene doubted her cousin spent any time in her own quarters.
“Emmie.” Honora shook her head, then laughed softly. “Southwell’s, of course. He doesn’t care to have us sleep apart,” she murmured in a low voice before casting her gaze in Lady Trent’s direction. “I allowed her to arrange everything. It isn’t something I would have enjoyed, what sort of flowers should be in vases and what the menu should look like. And after what happened, well, I knew it was her way of making things up to me.”
“Don’t give it another thought. I’m far past the age where a chaperone is required, Honora. I’m certain Lady Trent was aware. I read my book. Huntly snored.” Emmagene left out the part where Huntly had bodily moved her across the coach. “It was a wholly uneventful journey.”
“Huntly’s terrible. Mostly.” Honora laughed softly. “Not enough to scare the ladies off completely, but then, he is wealthy and titled. His manners leave much to be desired though. He seems very bent on offending nearly everyone he comes in contact with. A bit too blunt for my tastes, and I am a person who appreciates honesty.”
“You don’t find him charming like your beloved Southwell?”
“Not in the least. Huntly ogled my bosom the first time we met and didn’t bother to hide it. Southwell was quite furious at him. I fear my future husband has the veryworsttaste in friends.” She nodded in the direction of Lord Montieth, who was lurking around the room. “Montieth is awful as well. I’ve had more entertaining conversations with the overstuffed chair in my room.”
Emmagene smiled back at her. “I don’t doubt it.”
“Will you be all right for a moment?” Honora was looking in the direction of the Earl of Southwell, who stood across the room, speaking to Lord Carver. “Southwell is looking for me.”
The earl’s back was to Honora, cane clutched in one hand while the other was inconspicuously stretched in Honora’s direction.
“Of course.” Emmagene nodded with a smile. She wandered over to a far wall and pretended to be engrossed in the painting of a church. Discreetly, she peered at the rest of the guests, most of whom she wasn’t acquainted with outside of Lord Carver and the Earl of Montieth.
A distinguished older gentleman stepped into the room and pressed his hand possessively against Lady Trent’s waist.
“Lord Trent,” came a deep voice from behind Emmagene.
Huntly.
Taking a deep breath, steeling herself for disaster, Emmagene turned to the man at her rear.
He had bathed, if the damp curls around his ears were any indication. And shaved. The scent of stale smoke and cheap perfume that had invaded the coach earlier was gone.
“I was hoping Lady Trent had a lover,” Emmagene mused. “Might make this party more interesting.”
