She did. One did not disobey Lady Mercer, the dragon who stood sentry before the assembly room doors, one terribly tall feather towering above her, bobbing in the gentle evening breeze. She had a granddaughter ready to wed. A quiet thing with intelligent eyes who likely needed a stout man with protective arms. Aye, a good match, that. One Emma would never get to make.
“How dare you return here,” Lady Mercer said.
“I have done nothing wrong.” Emma held her chin high.
“You stole another woman’s suitor. You betrayed your friend’s trust.”
“Do you see me married?”
“You did not care if you married, only that she did not. Yours is a cold heart.”
Emma’s feet were cold, but her temper boiling. And her heart… well, she’d not consulted that organ in quite some time. “Absurd. I tried my best to save Miss Dunn from pain. She would not listen to me.”
“Do not come back to these rooms.” Lady Mercer’s voice held the finality of the grave. “You are not welcome. Not here. Not in our homes or gardens. Not in our lives. Do you think we’d trust you around our daughters after last winter?”
“But you’ll trust that snake, Parkington? He is the one who should be shunned. Not me.”
“You seduced him.”
Emma laughed. When she found breath enough, she let the sound die down the street and stood straighter. “Is that what he’s been telling everyone? I wouldnever.” He’d tried to seduce her. He’d failed. He’d sought revenge with the surest of weapons—gossip.
Emma strode down the street and into the fog.
Lady Mercer did not try to stop her, and after three steps, Emma heard the door of the assembly rooms slam shut.
Only then did she droop.
Utter failure.
The gas lamps on either side of the street flickered in the deep fog, and her brain could not quite cut through the haze of her situation. How to move forward?
One step at a time and closer to St. Andrew’s Square. Closer to her father, too, and he would not be pleased. Her shiver had little to do with the chill air, yet she hesitated when she stood before her family’s home. Perhaps he was not inside. Perhaps he was in the old town, losing money over cards or wine or women. That was better than facing him after such a spectacular failure.
Surely he’d be out carousing.
Emma pushed into the townhouse and stood still in the entryway as the door closed behind her, listening. Nothing but silence. Perfect. She tiptoed up the stairs.
“Emma!”
Blast. Not only was her father home, but he knew she was, too.
Keep tiptoeing. Pretend you heard nothing.
“EMMA!”
No use hiding now. He’d keep crying out like a banshee until she appeared, or he’d stumble after her, risking his neck on the stairs. She crept back downstairs into his study and found him foxed.
“How many whiskies tonight?” she asked, standing as far from her father as she could.
“Don’t judge me, lass.” The Earl of Glenhaven sprawled across a low sofa near the crackling fireplace, a leg dangling over one end and his arm dangling over the back. He snapped it toward the ceiling, the index finger extended. “Come closer and tell me why you’re home so early.”
She crept closer, but not enough for him to grab her should he take it to mind.
He lifted his head to consider her with glassy blue eyes, then dropped it back down. “You found a mark so quickly, then? Who? Tell me.” He hiccupped.
The truth might send him into a rage. But what choice did she have? “I have not. I’m afraid I will not.”
“Nonsense.” He hiccupped. “You merely do not wish to make a little effort. You’re being a stubborn, selfish girl.”