“Then as your friend, you must heed my advice: Be careful with that young man’s life,Felicity. Were any man to think one ofmysisters worthless, I'd likely find some inventive way to maim him.”
Felicity chuckled. “You are very much like my brother. After my disappointment became clear, he threatened to call out Lord Bransley several times. And when I refused to let him duel over me, he begged me to let him maim himjust a littleand in some creative way.”
“Brothers, it seems, are a loyal lot.”
“Mine certainly is. You might borrow him if you have need.” Her friendly grin took a mischievous bent.
“I do not have need of him.” Emma downed the rest of her glass.
Mr. Sinclair appeared more eager than before and Sir Rexley more determined. A bit of jealousy had done them well.
As they showered Felicity with compliments, Emma melted toward the edges of the room where the wallflowers wilted.
“You look like you need this,” said a voice nearby. Lady Huxley held out another champagne flute.
And why not? Emma took the champagne. She sipped this one, the bubbles of the previous already floating her away. “Thank you.”
“We have not been introduced,” Lady Huxley said, “but I would like to know you. I am Viscountess Huxley. And you are…?”
“Lady Emma Blackwood.”
Lady Huxley tapped her shoulder with her half-full flute. “The Duke of Clearford’s family friend.”
“Just so.” Emma steeled herself for a confrontation. She’d invited it, waltzing with Clearford.
But instead of glaring, the widow smiled. “You're stunning if you do not mind me saying so.”
A true compliment, meant in every word and expression, and Emma bloomed a bit inside. “Thank you. I am a little shocked by such a gracious appraisal, but I do not object. Most women enjoy compliments. Allow me to give you one as well.”
“Please do.”
Emma’s compliment must be true as well. She had just the thing. “You have an enviable figure.”
“Oh!” Lady Huxley’s smile broadened. “I do, don't I?” She peered down at her decolletage with pride, then sighed. “Unfortunately, Clearford does not seem to notice.”
“Oh, surely he must.” Particularly when they were attached to a lady so frank and disarmingly nice.
“I assure you, he does not. Henotedthem once, but it was like he cataloged them as a fact—the grass is green, the sky is blue, Lady Huxley possesses breasts. And he has not looked since.” Another sigh.
“I am sorry for that.” But she wasn’t. She took another sip of her champagne. “I hear he is courting you.”
“Oh, yes, I suppose so.” Lady Huxley swayed side to side with the music. “It would be an excellent move for me to make. He's much younger than my first husband and much more handsome. But he's very emotional, do you not think? Quite brooding. I keep wondering what it would be like to live with such a man. I cannot quite picture it. It did not appear to bother you, though, when you were dancing with him.”
“Oh, no! His broodiness does not bother me at all. Perhaps because I am a bit brooding myself at times.” Shameful to admit, but there it was. “Besides, I find him quite logical.”
Lady Huxley patted Emma’s hand. “We all have our flaws, my dear. And believe me. He is not logical.Iam logical. He hides his passions beneath a calm exterior. But I am not fooled.” More swaying side to side as she sipped her drink. “I watched you dance with Clearford.”
Here it came, the confrontation, the warning to keep her distance. “I hope you know it meant nothing. Merely a dance with a family friend. I do not wish you to worry about—”
“I wish youwouldworry me. I think I’ll root for you to win him. So, I do not feel obligated to marry him myself.”
Obligated! What women would marry that man out of obligation instead of all the other reasons to do so—his humor, his mind, his good heart. “I am not aiming to win him, Lady Huxley. I am not even in the race.”
“Rosalie. Call me Rosalie. And I shall call you Emma because we are destined to be friends.”
“That’s two I’ve made in a single night.”
“You’re irresistible. See, how could I not root for you?”
