Margaret led her to a quieter corner near one of the side pillars, half-screened by palms and a pair of older ladies far too occupied with cards to bother looking up.
“Well,” Margaret said at once, catching her hand and holding it toward the light. “I cannot deny the man has excellent taste in diamonds.”
The ring flashed cold and bright.
Emmeline looked at it too, a strange trembling moving in her. It was beautiful. No use pretending otherwise. But the weight of it on her finger still felt a lifetime crystallized into stone.
“At least now,” Margaret went on, lowering her voice, “you look alive.”
Emmeline blinked. “Alive?”
“With this duke. Certainly, more alive than you ever did with Foxdale.”
“That proves nothing.”
Margaret gave her a look. “I saw the way you danced.”
A hot wave moved through her chest. “We danced appropriately.”
“No,” Margaret said. “You danced like two people trying very hard not to notice that they were touching.”
“That is absurd.”
“Is it?”
Emmeline looked away, though too late, because Margaret’s smile had already sharpened with victory.
“It was only for the ton’s eyes,” she said, noticing how weak that sounded as she spoke.
Margaret rolled her eyes. “Then enjoy it for the ton’s eyes. Enjoy the handsome duke and the scandalously beautiful ring and the fact that every woman in this room suddenly wishes she were you.”
Emmeline gave a short laugh. “They do not.”
“They do. At least for tonight.”
Against her better judgment, Emmeline let her gaze move back across the room.
She found the Duke at once.
He was speaking to a gentleman she did not know, yet the moment her eyes reached him, his lifted too, as though some invisible line had tightened between them and drawn his attention without permission. The look lasted only a second, perhaps two, but her heart changed under it, beating harder, fuller, in a way that made her almost angry with herself.
Nervousness, she told herself.
Then Lady Amanda arrived.
Emmeline knew her by sight, if not well by acquaintance—a polished beauty, dark-haired and exquisitely dressed, with the sort of carefully arranged loveliness that made men turn and women remember her. Her smile as she approached was perfect.
“Lady Emmeline,” she said warmly. “My congratulations. What a surprising turn everything has taken.”
Margaret stiffened beside her.
“Lady Amanda,” Emmeline replied, every bit as smooth.
Amanda’s gaze dipped to the ring with suitable admiration, though the look in her eyes remained bright and hard. “One must admire your resilience. After such a… disappointing misunderstanding with Foxdale, to recover so swiftly is really quite impressive.”
Margaret inhaled deeply.
Emmeline answered before her friend could. “How kind of you.”
