Page 22 of The Duke's Inconvenient Bride
“Lady Carlisle.”
Emma turned toward the male voice, and her eyebrows pinched together. Mr. Mayhew had broken off from a group of men and was approaching them.
“Lady Violet and Lady Emma,” he added. “The evening has improved by your arrival.”
“That is very kind of you,” Violet replied, fluttering her dark eyelashes at him.
Emma murmured something—she didn’t know what, but it seemed to be satisfactory, because no one looked at her twice.
“It’s just the truth.” He sounded as though he meant it. “May I have the next dance?”
A little of Emma’s hope leeched away. Violet was engaged—word had already spread to most members of theton—and somehow, she was still the one he’d asked to dance. Not that Emma particularly wanted to dance with him after hearing him dote on her sister, but it was the principle of the thing that mattered.
Don’t let it get to you.
“You may.” Violet took his hand and allowed him to lead her away.
Lady Carlisle harrumphed. “A lot of good that will do him. She’s to marry a duke.”
Emma hid a laugh behind her hand.
“Come along,” her mother said. “Let’s find you a dance partner.”
Emma kept stride with Lady Carlisle, surprised by her attitude. So far, she hadn’t concerned herself with Emma’s prospects at any of the balls they’d attended. Perhaps Violet’s successful engagement had motivated her to seek an alliance for her other daughter too.
“Ah, look. There’s Mr. Bently.” Lady Carlisle raised her hand in greeting.
Mr. Bently glanced behind himself and, seeing no one there, slowly came toward them.
“Good evening, ladies,” he said, and clearly realizing his duty, added, “Lady Emma, would you like to dance?”
Excitement fluttered in Emma’s belly as she set her hand on his. Perhaps Mr. Bently would be more capable of changing where his affections lay than Mr. Mayhew was.
“I would love to.”
The strains of another song began, and Mr. Bently led her in a minuet. He moved with perfect grace, and she practically floated across the floor with him.
“So,” he said as they came closer to each other. “Is the rumor of Lady Violet’s engagement to the Duke of Ashford true?”
She crashed down to earth.
“Yes, it is.” Her jaw tightened. Good lord. Even now, when Violet was betrothed, was every gentleman in Mayfair more interested in her than in Emma?
“What a shame,” he said.
“Not for her or the duke,” she said tartly.
He looked taken aback, and they didn’t speak again during their dance. She was grateful when he returned her to her mother, but her mood sank lower when she realized Lady Carlisle was not alone. Violet and Mr. Mayhew stood with her.
“You and Mr. Bently danced beautifully,” Violet said to Emma.
“Lady Violet.” Mr. Bently was breathless, and Emma doubted it had anything to do with their dance, since he’d seemed fine a moment earlier. “Would you grace me with a dance?”
Violet beamed, took his arm, and let him lead her away.
“Lady Emma,” Mr. Mayhew said, not to be outdone. “A dance?”
Emma went with him because she knew it was expected of her. A few days ago, she’d have been ecstatic to dance with him, but now it felt empty. She winced when he stood on her foot.
