Page 56 of The Marquess’s Forbidden Bride

Furious, Emma’s mind raced to decide what to do. If she contradicted Aldersby, claiming he’d assaulted her, she’d just make the story even more inflammatory, therefore all the surer to race around the ton. Horrifying and embarrassing her gentle hostess and worse, humiliating Sarah.

The end result would not change, even if others believed Aldersby had taken liberties without her permission. Ladies might secretly sympathise with her, but gentlemen would almost uniformly believe, even if she didn’t invite Aldersby’s actions, she’d led him on sufficiently that his response could be excused. Especially if he were prepared to do the decent thing and offer marriage.

Protesting his actions or refuting his declaration now would not save her. Nothing she could say or do, she realised in furious despair, would save her now.

‘I trust ladies do know how to keep a secret,’ she said at last, hoping the story would not be spread as soon as they returned to the house. ‘Lady Telford would be upset to know such things were happening in her garden.’

One lady sniffed, her expression stiff with disapproval. ‘You should have thought of that before slipping out to meet your lover.’

Aldersby laughed. ‘But my lady, when have people in the throes of passion ever thought rationally? I trust you will spare your hostess, though.’

All the ladies being friends of the baroness, to shield her, Emma hoped they would conceal the story until they returned to town. It wouldn’t remain hidden an instant longer.

All she wanted now was to return herself and decide what to do next to minimise the scandal and the damage to her sister’s reputation.

She knew there was no hope of salvaging her own.

‘I should like to return to the house now,’ she said, proud her voice did not tremble.

‘Alas, we must wait to complete this interlude, my sweet,’ Aldersby said.

‘Best wait until after the vows are exchanged,’ the first lady said, obviously still affronted by their licentious behaviour.

‘Oh, but one must give some leeway to so ardent a suitor!’ Lady Routham said. ‘After all, this pert miss has kept him dangling a very long time. But naughty man, once your young lady has recovered from the shock of discovery—how embarrassing, even to one of her passionate nature—you must make a proper declaration, if in fact you have not yet done so.’ She wagged a finger at him. ‘And I expect to hear the banns have been called this very week.’

‘I should hope so,’ the first lady said with a sniff.

‘Come, my love,’ Aldersby said, holding out his arm. ‘Sorry that I am that I cannot give you now the caresses you begged for, I promise you will not have to wait long to experience…everything.’

Ignoring his arm, filled with impotent rage and anxiety, her distress only deepened as an appalling thought penetrated. What would Charles think when he heard?

He must know she’d never agree to meet Aldersby, surely. But why had he sent the note and then not been here to meet her? Had he been delayed by Lady Jersey? How had Aldersby known she was going to meet him? Had he glimpsed the note before the footman delivered it?

Somehow Lady Routham, still grinning with satisfaction like a Cheshire cat, must be behind this scene. How, Emma couldn’t yet determine.

All these burning questions might eventually get answers, although those answers would be of only intellectual interest; they would not change the outcome one iota. In the eyes of the ladies Lady Routham had brought with her to witness this, Emma was thoroughly compromised. Even if she wed Aldersby, there would always be whispers and questions about her character.

Since she had no intention of wedding Aldersby, she would be ruined. Lady Routham had her revenge on the Wellingfords indeed.

Chapter Eighteen

A frustrated Charles gazed around the ballroom, hunting for Emma. At first, he’d been surprised to see Lady Jersey and her friends arrive, not having known that, as good friends of the Telfords, they were always bid to the parties at Oak Knoll. But his pleasure in seeing her rapidly diminished when he realised she intended to keep him dancing attendance at her elbow. He’d been quite willing to flatter and flirt at entertainments when Emma had not been present, but he gritted his teeth at the necessity of doing so tonight, when all he wanted was to dance with Emma.

Still, abandoning Lady Jersey to pursue Miss Wellingford would bring down on them just the sort of interest and speculation he wanted to avoid at this point. With them both cautiously easing into a courtship, he didn’t want to frighten her off by having them become the focus of the ton’s gossip.

Finally, Lady Jersey released him to go torment several of her other swains, leaving him free to look for Emma. But having been unable to discover her in the refreshment room, the card room or the salon where guests gathered to chat, he was back in the ballroom—and still seeing no sign of her.

He’d received no note begging for his help, so she shouldn’t have slipped out to the arbour. So where had she gone?

Perhaps she was mending a torn lace in the ladies’ withdrawing room, but with Claire absent, he had no way of determining that. Hart, who’d put in a brief appearance at the ball’s beginning, had already departed to join his wife and child, leaving Charles totally on his own.

He was about to make another round of the entertainment rooms, speculating he might have missed her transiting to one place while he was searching another, when the sound of voices coming from a side door leading to terrace caught his ear. Ready to explore any possibility, he strode in that direction.

The group entering through that door immediately riveted his attention. Emma came first, a grinning Aldersby at her side, following by a gloating Lady Routham, a matron wearing an expression of severe disapproval and two others who had their heads together in animated chatter.

He’d begun approaching when Emma’s appearance stopped him in his tracks. Pale, thin-lipped, expressionless, several gold-brown curls pulled loose from her coiffure, she walked rigidly upright, one hand in a soiled glove holding together the edges of her evening cloak, pointedly ignoring the baron who paced at her side.

Spotting Charles, she stopped short, her expression crumpling into a look of almost despair, tears welling in her eyes. Then just as swiftly, she smoothed her features back into an expressionless mask and continued forward.