Tomorrow she would meet him again.
Ashley was home.
3
“’TISmadness, by my life,” Luke gave as his opinion as he sat in his brother’s dressing room, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, his eyes watching the powder in a cloud above Ashley’s head, then lowering to watch the valet gingerly remove the powdering gown Ashley had donned over a full-skirted evening coat of burgundy brocade.
Ashley grinned at him. “’Tis not every day one arrives home after a seven-year absence,” he said, “to be reunited with one’s brother and sister and mother and to find a ball in progress celebrating the birth of another nephew. A third now between me and the dukedom, Luke. Well done.”
Luke raised his eyebrows. “’Tis in the nature of marriage,” he said, “as you have discovered for yourself. One’s brood tends to expand in number.”
Ashley laughed as he stood and buckled his dress sword at his side and slipped his stockinged feet into heeled and buckled shoes. He was feeling rather wild and reckless. What was the point in going to bed, as his mother and Luke and Anna had urged him to do? He would not sleep anyway. He rarely slept. But the absence of sleep was worse when one lay alone in a darkened room. No, he would go down to the ballroom and dance.
“I shall look forward to meeting your sons and Doris’s children tomorrow,” he said. “And Joy. She was but a babe when I left.”
“And is now a little girl who favors her mother in looks to such a degree,” Luke said with a sigh, “that she has her papa wrapped very securely about her little finger and knows it. Wait until you have a daughter, Ash.”
Ashley laughed gaily. “Lead on to the ballroom,” he said. “One would hate to arrive too late to dance. I shall dance with all the prettiest young ladies. Are there any?”
Luke pursed his lips and looked keenly at him. “There are,” he said.
“Then present me to the prettiest first,” Ashley said, opening the door and bowing with mock courtliness as he grinned and gestured his brother to precede him. “Who is she?”
“’Tis a matter of personal taste, Ash,” Luke said. “For myself, I can never look past Anna. But ’tis an affliction that does not affect all men, I am glad to say. ’Twould not be good for any other man’s health.”
Ashley laughed again. “Anna is spoken for, then,” he said. “I will have to settle for second best.”
His tiredness was forgotten. Suddenly he was filled with energy. Suddenly he wanted to dance all night and all tomorrow too. He wanted noise and laughter and movement and flirtation. Above all, flirtation.
He was standing inside the doorway of the ballroom again a few minutes later, his brother at his side. A vigorous country dance was in progress. He resented the fact that he would have to wait for it to finish before he could dance himself. He felt drunk with exuberance and gaiety. He looked about him with interest. He saw the members of his own family, who looked surprised to see him all decked out for the ball, and then smiled at him. He saw a few familiar faces from the neighborhood. He saw Agnes, Anna’s younger sister, who was dancing. She was Lady Severidge now, he remembered, of Wycherly Park close by. She had grown plump.
Then his eyes lit on a young lady who was sitting on a sofa some distance away, half turned away, though he had the impression that she had looked away from him the very moment his eyes moved in her direction. He smiled. He had noticed the same thing with a number of other people in the room. Doubtless he was the sensation of the hour.
“That one, egad,” he said to Luke, indicating the young lady on the sofa. “The one sitting with—with Will Severidge, by thunder. He has grown more portly with age. Who is she? And pray do not devastate me by telling me she is married.”
Luke did not answer, and Ashley swung his eyes to him and laughed.
“Zounds,” he said, “but you will not keep the secret. Who is she? Present me to her, Luke. I mean to dance with her. Without delay. This particular set is ending, by my life.”
“She is Emily,” Luke said. “’Twere better...”
Ashley did not hear what would be better. Emily. Emily.Emmy?
“Emmy?” His voice was almost a whisper. “She is Emmy? Little Emmy?”
“Yes,” Luke said.
He stared at her blankly. She was totally unrecognizable. Though that was not the real reason he stared. She was the one person he hadnotthought about during his journey home. He had not really thought about her in years. And yet now he remembered all in a rush how very...preciousshe had once been to him. He had carried her in his heart for many long months after his departure, half with pleasure, half with heaviness, until the heaviness had outweighed the pleasure. He had missed her. He had wanted her. Not sexually—she was a child. Nonetheless he had needed her—her companionship, her acceptance, her devotion, her happiness, her peace. But he had despised his need for a child. And he had been uneasy with some guilt over it. He could no longer remember quite why he had felt guilty. But he had put her very effectively from his mind.
And then he had met and fallen in love with Alice. And had married her when he had found his feelings returned. It had been a love based on need—perhaps on both sides—just as his love for Emmy had been. But with Alice it had been reassuringly sexual in nature. She had been a woman and not a child. His lips tightened with memory for a moment.
But by God, how could he have all but forgotten Emmy? And not even given her a thought during the voyage home? And not thought of seeing her in Luke’s ballroom? It was as if he had pushed her ruthlessly from his consciousness and slammed the door on her. He could no longer remember why he would have done so.
“Take me to her,” he said even as he watched another man step up to her and take her hand in his. William Webb, Lord Severidge, got to his feet.
“We are expecting an announcement tonight,” Luke said, “of her betrothal. To Powell, the man who is with her now. He has spoken with both Royce and me. She seems enamored of him.”
“Does she, by Jove?” Ashley had not taken his eyes off her. In full profile she was stunningly beautiful. He still could not believe she was Emmy. Emmy, all grown up, a woman and not a child. “Take me to her.”
