“It’s hardly an amusing question,” Emma said, pouring her own tea through a scowl.
Rosalie wiped a tear away from her eye. “It is only that my answer to your question could benoandyesat the same time, I think. Some do, perhaps, think of our club as a scientific one. Certainly, there is much lively and often intellectual discussion and, at times… experimentation.”
“But the books are not scientific?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Will you tell me what sort of books you read, then?” Emma held the cup near her lips but did not drink. She inhaled the rising steam.
“Not yet, I think. I’m still making observations to determine if you are worth an invitation. But I am positive it would be for the best if you were part of our club.”
“Rosalie”—Emma snapped her cup to its saucer in her lap—“will you please speak plainly.”
“I would. I swear to you I would, but it’s a delicate matter. As I said, we are quite selective. And I cannot offer an invitation without the approval of the entire group. I think you’ll be accepted, though.” Rosalie pushed her bottom lip out. “I dislike subtlety. I much prefer direct conversation. Tell me… has your aunt discussed this with you?”
“Discussed the… book club?”
Rosalie nodded enthusiastically.
“No. Is she a member?”
“Oh yes, one of the founding members.”
Emma lifted her cup to her lips but then set the entire cup and saucer aside on the table next to Lady Huxley’s. Agitation rose up in her like a hiccup. “No, she has said nothing, but… she did give me a book.” Her cheeks became coals. “And I know she has borrowed books from Clearford’s sisters.”
“Those Merriweather sisters.” Lady Huxley chuckled. “Lady Macintosh is testing you. She has the same idea I do, I see. Wonderful. Tell me—what book did she give you? I see from the red of your cheeks it’s a good one.”
“I… I can’t say. I don’t remember.” Lies. She’d opened it once every day, reading a sentence at a time, waiting for the explosion she knew must come. The heat in her cheeks jumped high as soon as she saw the cursed thing.
“Your lips are lying, but your blush tells the truth. It’s the sort of book an unwed lady is not supposed to know about, isn’t it?”
Emma covered her face with her palms. “How did you know?”
“Because those”—Lady Huxley leaned closer over the tea set—“are the particular sort of books your Lady Macintosh’s book club reads.”
Emma’s hands dropped. “No!”
Lady Huxley’s head nodded like a boat bobbing on choppy water. “Yes, yes, and you must join us. If your aunt is giving the books to you, I refuse to feel guilt for revealing the nature of the club. I see now it is not merely a possibility, your joining, it’s an eventuality. Come, do say you will join us.”
“I-I… well, no, I can’t. I—”
“You can, and you must.”
“How canyouparticipate in such a club? You are soon to be a duchess! You should be cultivating a pristine reputation!”
“A duchess? I see you’ve not heard.” Rosalie snorted, throwing her head back and sending her curls bobbing. “I was reading the books before the duke was courting me, and I shan’t stop now. Even if I had agreed to marry him, I would not have stopped. He’s much too emotional. I prefer a more practical sort of man.”
Emma’s hands, curved around her teacup in her lap, flinched, and the teacup tilted, and the red-hot heat of steaming tea seeped through her skirts, her shift, her skin. She jumped to her feet, hissing.
“Heavens!” Rosalie jumped to her feet, too, snapping up a serviette from the tea tray. “Here! Are you burned?”
The heat was disappearing, leaving nothing but a dull, insistent ache. Emma shook her head and sat, urging the widow to sit as well. “Apologies. I am more startled than anything.” She accepted the serviette and dabbed at the dark stain on hercream skirts, cold now. Her body the same—hot and vibrating yet cold and numb all over. She kept her gaze down as she tended the stain. “Y-you rejected Clearford’s suit? W-when did he propose?”
“A week ago, I think. And how else could I answer? We do not suit. As a matchmaker, you should see that.”
“You do suit.” Still, Emma dabbed at the spot, perhaps a touch more aggressively than before. “You do. You are of similar backgrounds and are friendly with one another. You share the same goals in life. You would have been comfortable together.”
“Me? Comfortable with such a gloomy, serious fellow? You forgot to take temperament into account, I think, Miss Matchmaker.”
