Emma tapped a finger to her lips, thinking. Young ladiesdidseem to disappear with astonishing regularity whenever Lord Lovell was about, but he couldn’t have taken Caroline anywhere last night. He’d been at Lady Swinton’s ball.
He might have gone afterwards, though, or sent someone else to fetch her. A man of wealth and resources like Lord Lovell had any number of faithful servants who’d perform whatever task he demanded of them, no matter howquestionable.
But then Emma recalled the expression on Lord Lovell’s face in the garden last night when he’d looked at Flora, the tenderness with which he’d touched her face, and she shook her head. “No, I don’t think it was Lord Lovell.”
Emma went to the desk, scratched out a few quick lines to Helena, then held out the note to Daniel. “I’ve asked Helena to let us know the moment Caroline returns.”
Daniel took the note and slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll see to it.”
Emma wasn’t satisfied, but there wasn’t much else she could do, and all thanks toLord Lymington.
That man was slipperier than a fish wriggling on the end of a hook. Slipperier even than Emma herself, which made him the most maddening gentleman she’d ever met, or the most intriguing.
Either way, Emma intended to do just as Lord Lymington had ordered her to do.
She was going to stay away from Lord Lovell.
As for Lord Lymington…well, he was another matter, entirely.
Chapter Seven
Rotten Row was awash in flawlessly tailored coats, silver-tipped walking sticks, and gleaming Hessians. Aristocratic gentlemen crowded the pathway, posing and preening like a muster of peacocks on the strut.
That was always the case in London during the season, but never more so than when the weather was fine during the fashionable hour, as it was today. Emma took in the masculine display with an amused smile on her lips. It looked as if a giant hand had plucked up White’s, turned it upside down, and shaken it like a salt cellar until every gentleman inside had come toppling out onto Rotten Row.
If a lady was on the hunt for a nobleman, she’dfind him here.
Orhe’d findher—
“Goodness, Lady Jane looks dashing today, doesn’t she, Emma? Just look at her pelisse. It’s the height of fashion, and that shade of yellow is so flattering on her!”
“It is, indeed.” Emma drew Lady Flora’s arm through hers and gave her hand an affectionate pat. She’d never known anyone more disposed to be pleased with people than Lady Flora. She had a kind word for everyone.
Such an open, generous heart was rare, in Emma’s experience.
“I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a London sky quite so blue as it is today.” Lady Flora turned to Emma with a smile. “It’s a lovely day for a walk.”
“It might be lovelier still, Flora,” Lady Silvester spoke up from behind them, where she was walking arm in arm with Lady Crosby. “Lord Lovell and Lord Lymington are behind us, and will surely overtake us if we proceed at a more sedate pace.”
Lady Flora’s sunny smile vanished. “Lord Lovell might do as he pleases. I’ve no idea what he’s even doing in London. His family hadn’t any plans to come for the season. You may be sure I won’t trouble myself to accommodate his sudden appearance. No gentleman is worth such a fuss, no matter how handsome or charming he is.”
A brief, shocked silence fell, then Lady Silvester sputtered, “Why, what an unkind thing to say. Shame on you, Flora!”
“Unkind, but trueall the same.”
Lady Silvester was gaping at Lady Flora’s back. “That’s no way to speak of a gentleman who’s been your friend all these years. He’s always been kindto you, Flora—”
“He’s kind to all the young ladies.” Lady Flora thrust her chin up in the air. “Lord Lovell is a rake. You know it as well as I do, Grandmother, and there’s no sense in pretending otherwise. Any young lady of sense won’t give any credit to his flirtations.”
Emma’s wide-eyed gaze swung between Lady Silvester and Lady Flora. If what she’d seen in the garden last night wasn’t enough to convince her there was more than just friendship between Lady Flora and Lord Lovell,thiscertainly was.
For Lady Flora to unleash such a flurry of barbs on Lord Lovell was a sure sign she was nursing a secret affection for him. Or perhaps a not-so-secret affection, nor an unrequited one, from what Emma had witnessed last night.
“I won’t be such a fool as to listen to his nonsense,” Lady Flora muttered, more to herself than to Emma. She was marching down the pathway, as if determined to leave Lord Lovell choking on her dust.
Emma scurried after her, cursing herself for not seeing how it was at once.
Of course, Lady Flora was besotted with Lord Lovell. Why shouldn’t she be? Every other young lady in London was besotted with him.
