“You mean, you’ll settle for any toad with pockets to let?” He didn’t sound convinced.
Emilia’s face heated. “Well, no. I mean, he needn’t be terribly well put together, like you, or very wealthy, like the viscount, but I would be lying if I said I want a ghastly husband or one who’s too below hatches. I should like very much to live in the city, you see, and realize that takes funds.” She locked her gaze on the inlaid floor. Had she just called Mister Banbrook handsome?
“Ah, so you wish to be a socialite, to put your training to good use? I suppose a title is preferable?” His tone was light, yet somehow edged.
Emilia darted another glance his way, but his face was a mask in the wash of candlelight. Unsure how to construe his expression, she could only answer without prevarication. “Oh no, I shouldn’t like a title, or anyone too wealthy. It seems to me being at the center of things would be a great deal of work, and would not permit time for anything truly enjoyable.”
“For most women, being at the center of things is what’s truly enjoyable,” he countered in that same tone.
Here she was on surer footing. “Well then, most women are wrong. What’s truly enjoyable is art, and music, and theater. I should like to listen to concerts and go to exhibits, and travel to London to visit the British Museum. Perhaps go even farther someday, to the Continent.”
“In the pursuit of music and art?” Another glance showed his brow creased in surprise.
“Is that so difficult to believe?” she asked. Worry touched her. “Or is it so difficult to find a man who will want those things? At home, they say Edinburgh is a place of great culture. When I came here from the countryside, I thought I would find gentlemen who appreciate that.”
“There’s very little gentlemen appreciate outside of horseflesh, gambling and—” He grimaced. “Let’s leave it at horseflesh and gambling.” He turned his head and scanned the room. “Well, Miss Glasbarr, you ask much, but I’ll see what I can do.”
