“Yes, Emma,” Lady Frances cooed, her tone all false niceness. “It isn’t as if a woman likeyouwould ever catch his eye.”
“I’ve heard Sir Archibald’s wife finally died,” Lady Rebecca said. “Perhaps you should inquire if he is looking for a wife to take care of those eight children of his.”
They used “helpful” tones, but there was no denying the cruelty of them. Emma kept her expression neutral as she said, “I hadn’t heard. I’m sorry for his loss and I appreciate your thoughts for me and my future.”
Lady Rebecca and Lady Frances each smiled and laughed, then they linked arms and flounced off without another word for Emma. When they were gone, she let out the breath she’d been holding in and muttered, “Rotten cows.”
“I’ve never liked them either.”
Emma stiffened at the voice that came from behind her. She slowly turned to see who had overheard her inappropriate outburst. She blushed to find Lady Margaret, the sister of the Duke of Abernathe, standing at her back, a smile brightening her pretty face.
“Lady Margaret,” Emma gasped, her breath suddenly gone from her lungs.
Like her brother, Margaret was very well liked. If she hadn’t already been engaged to the Duke of Northfield, there was no doubt she would have had dozens of offers of marriage to choose from.
And yet, unlike the women who had just left Emma’s side, Margaret had always seemed kind when they interacted. Just as she smiled kindly now.
“I-I shouldn’t have said that,” Emma said. “Please don’t tell them.”
Margaret slipped up beside her and laughed. “I try to avoid the two of them, myself. I promise you I would never tell them a word of whatwethink of them.”
Emma breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” She shifted with discomfort. “Er, how are you enjoying the party?”
“Lady Rockford outdoes herself every year trying to make her debut ball memorable. But she has clowns this year and their makeup is disturbing.” Margaret grabbed Emma’s arm and pointed toward one of the performers. “See?”
Emma looked and found the clown Margaret referred to. The red of his makeup resembled blood just a little too much. “Oh my, thatisalarming,” she said with a shiver.
Margaret laughed and Emma found herself doing the same. “I swear, next year she’ll bring prisoners from Newgate, complete with chains, just to make us all talk.”
“Oh dear, I think I’ll skip that party,” Emma said.
Margaret nodded. “I’ll stay home with you.” She smiled broadly. “Now tell me…”
“Emma,” Emma supplied quickly.
Margaret’s brow wrinkled. “I know who you are, my dear. I came over to talk to you, didn’t I?”
“Oh,” Emma said, blushing. “I assumed you might not remember as we haven’t spoken all that much through the years.”
Margaret shrugged. “These things are always such a crush. It isn’t for lack of wanting to. I’ve always enjoyed our talks when we have spoken.”
Emma tilted her head, uncertain now if she was being teased. “Have you?”
“I have. But tell me, what were you and the other two discussing that made you so cross with them?”
Emma bit her lip, uncertain how to proceed. She’d never been much of a liar, but it felt unseemly to tell Margaret that the ladies had been discussing her own brother.
“Well…” she began.
Margaret’s eyebrow arched. “Abernathe,” she suggested.
Emma felt blood rush to her cheeks. “Yes,” she whispered. “How did you know?”
“Everyone isalwaystalking about James,” Margaret sighed, and Emma wasn’t certain if she was upset or resigned or angry at that fact.
“But almost always in a good way, my lady,” Emma said swiftly.
“Oh please, call me Meg,” Margaret said. “All my friends do.”
