The duchess looked entirely confused as Meg removed the glass from her mother’s hand, set it aside and then she and Emma each took one of her arms. They began to lead her through the crowd, holding her up as she stumbled in her growing stupor.
“Don’t fall,” Emma heard Meg whispering through clenched teeth. “Oh, please, don’t fall and let them see.”
Emma was flooded with a sense of empathy for the other woman. She understood what it was like to have a parent who humiliated her. She understood the fear that engrained, the anxiety. Only it was her father who did it to her, rather than her mother.
She caught a glimpse of a few in the crowd staring and cleared her throat. “Oh yes, Your Grace, itisdreadfully hot, isn’t it? The retiring room will be just the place to recover your senses.”
Meg shot her yet another grateful look as those in the crowd went back to what they were doing. But as they exited the room, Meg looked over her shoulder. Emma didn’t know what she was doing, so focused was she on keeping the duchess upright, but within moments of them exiting the ballroom and going into the hall toward the little chamber where the ladies went to rest, there were heavy footsteps behind them.
Emma glanced over her shoulder and her heart nearly stopped as she saw the Duke of Abernathe at her very heel. His usually bright and confident expression had been replaced with one of concern.
“Meg,” he said softly.
Emma’s heart skipped without her wishing it to have that reaction. He had such a deep, resonating voice, one that hit her in the stomach and then trailed little flutters even lower.
An entirely inappropriate reaction when she was dragging his drunken mother away from the eyes of Society. She pushed the reaction away and refocused.
“Yes,” Meg said, answering a question he hadn’t asked.
He frowned as he opened the retiring room door and allowed Meg, Emma and the dowager to enter. It was empty, thank goodness, and Emma and Meg helped the duchess to a settee where she collapsed, grinning up at them.
“I like your friend, Meg,” she slurred. “Gemma, you may not be a great beauty, but you have spark.”
Meg gasped. “Mother! Enough.” She turned to face Emma. “I’m so sorry.”
Emma reached out to take Meg’s hand, trying desperately to ignore Abernathe as he stood at the door to the room, arms folded, gaze focused on the little show before him. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I-I should leave you. But I hope your mother feels better.”
Meg blinked at tears and nodded. “Yes, thank you again for your help, yourkindness, Emma.”
Emma squeezed her hand and then turned toward the door. Abernathe was staring at her now, his dark gaze focused on her face as she took a few hesitant steps toward him.
“Y-Your Grace,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
He nodded at her. “Thank you, Miss…”
He trailed off and she whispered, “Liston, Emma Liston.”
“Miss Liston,” he said.
Then his focus was gone, back to the family drama unfolding on the fainting couch across the room. Emma left them, shutting the door behind her and leaned against it, trying to catch her breath.
What had just happened was certainly not what she expected as she entered the ball tonight. Somehow she had involved herself with one of the most powerful families in Society. Somehow she’d come to know a secret about them.
Now she could only hope it wouldn’t come back to haunt her.
James scowled as he watched his carriage pull away from the drive. Deep, abiding anger pulsed within him as he turned back toward Meg, who was standing in the foyer, face pale and pinched.
How he hated to see her that way. It brought back memories from their childhood. Memories of taking care of their mother on dozens of nights when she’d lost herself like this. Memories of Meg’s pained face when their father had ignored or chastised her. They’d only ever really had each other to rely on. When she was hurt, James felt as though he’d failed her somehow.
“I should have gone with her,” Meg said.
James shook his head. “Mother had Miss Watson with her,” he said, referring to their mother’s lady’s companion. “And she was so apologetic that she allowed Mother to drink too much, I’m certain she will take good care of her.”
“Your carriage may not survive the trip home,” Meg mused, though her tone was anything but humorous.
“It can be cleaned if she casts up her accounts,” he said with another frown. “Areyouall right?”
“She hasn’t made a scene in public like that in years,” Meg whispered. “Thank God Miss Liston was there. She helped me enormously.”
