Page 29 of If I Loved You
Lady Margaret giggled uproariously at this quip.
Lady Prudence minced no words. “And what, pray tell, is your relationship with Zachary?”
Emma smiled at the lady’s very transparent attempt to presume a more intimate relationship with the earl than was real.
“The earl and I are cousins—”
“Barely, I would imagine,” the imperious woman charged in, “as the Benedicts are quite a small—”
“On his mother’s side,” Emma finished evenly and then lifted a polite and curious brow to Lady Prudence. “Are you acquainted with any of the Morrissey relations? Oh, but you must be, as weare such a prolific family.” And she laughed, as charmingly and as innocently as Lady Margaret had. This only saved her further verbal condemnation, but not so much from the lady’s scornful scowl.
Lady Kingsley, having joined her guests in the drawing room with her husband, strode with some purpose toward her daughters and Emma just as a low gong of a bell was sounded. Two footmen pushed open the double doors, insinuating that the party would now be going down to dinner.
“Oh, Mr. Pickering,” called Lady Kingsley, her eyes on Emma even as she said to the man who strode toward her, “Won’t you be so kind as to see Miss Ainsley down to dinner?”
Emma’s gaze was suspended upon the straining bodice of Lady Kingsley, wondering if the seams might survive the meal. When Mr. Pickering stood before her with a pleased smile and proffered arm, Emma met his warm gaze and gave him a gracious smile.
“Thank you, sir.” She set her hand atop his and not through his elbow, as she’d noticed Lady Stanhope had done in front of her, and they followed the other pairs out of the drawing room.
“You will suffer my company at dinner, Miss Ainsley?” Mr. Pickering inquired.
“I shall not suffer, but enjoy it very much,” She answered, entirely aware that Lady Kingsley, or Prudence herself, had arranged for the earl to lead the Hindrance into dinner. “Are you, sir, a member of parliament?”
“I proudly represent Ockendon in Commons, Miss Ainsley. But surely, you must believe that my appearance at Lady Kingsley’s table is reliant more probably upon my clever wit and happy banter.”
Emma liked him, and the merry glint in his eye. “Quite so, I should imagine. I expect to be satisfyingly entertained, sir, throughout the meal.”
Inside the dining room, whose earlier closed doors had kept this room secreted from the guests as they’d arrived, Emma’s eyes widened at the sight of the luxurious table and settings. Mr. Pickering led her around to the far side and held a chair for her near the middle of the table, taking a seat next to her.
She’d set enough tables at the inn to have a fair amount of knowledge about the service set before her, but fair at best. With a growing sense of dread, she counted eleven pieces of cutlery, seven items of gold-rimmed china, and three different crystal glasses. Her eye found the earl’s, as he set Prudence in one spot and then—purposefully, Emma thought—made several remarks to another man, moving away from the Hindrance, and then almost absently taking a chair several seats down from the woman, directly across from Emma. Perhaps Emma’s expression gave away her concern in regard to the lavish settings, that he said in a low voice, across the width of the table, “It will be fine,” which seemed to go unheard by any other, as people settled into their seats.
“I say, Miss Ainsley,” said Mr. Pickering at her side, “I have daughters about your age who, all three, were headed out this evening to some public ball. I ask you, my dear, is it truly necessary that the dressing of three women should involve fourteen different persons in my household and more than seven hours of time?”
“Oh, dear,” said Emma with a sympathetic smile toward the possibly harried man.
“You seem put together rather remarkably,” he noted, politely keeping his eyes on hers. “I have a feeling you required no such nonsense as all that.”
“Every girl dreams to be the princess at the ball, I dare say,” she reasoned.
“Would that any one of them had been born with their mother’s looks, rather than my own.” He gave her a long-suffering sigh, and then advised her to try the stuffed sole when a footman stood between them with that platter.
Thus charmed, Emma was happily engaged by Mr. Pickering as each course, seven in all, were brought to the table, now crowded with twenty-four persons, Emma counted. She watched either the earl or Mr. Pickering and copied whatever action they made, choosing her utensil appropriately, she was sure, all evening.
DAMN, BUT HE HADN’Tthought this through at all. Firstly, he’d been led to believe the dinner guests would be members of parliament and their spouses or partners. Lord Kingsley had pulled him aside just last week outside chambers, had insisted he must attend the dinner, had specifically said, “there’ll be much discussion about that bill of yours, Lindsey.” As it was, this formal gathering was more a husband hunting expedition, likely arranged by Kingsley’s wife, as there were—aside from the clinging and disenchanting oldest daughter, Prudence—two more daughters, equally in need of husbands and about as likely to land one as their older sister. Kingsley and his wife likely imagined theymight as well throw all three into the mix, hope at least one beckoned some interest. Zachary peered across the table at the middle daughter, he couldn’t remember her name, who was making eyes at Simon Fenton beside her. Fenton, for his part, appeared about as interested as any other man present, giving his white soup a zealous amount of attention in an effort to remain oblivious.
The other part, which he absolutely should have expected but had failed to take into consideration, was the amount of attention Emma was drawing. Of a certain, he was not surprised, and honest to God, he knew a sense of pride that she was so well received, making him the envy of many a man here tonight. And just as he’d entertained this self-satisfied thought, Simon Fenton raised his face from the soup finally. He gave no heed to the Kingsley girl, but let his wistful gaze fall onto Emma, which in turn curled Zach’s lip. Neither unhappily nor by accident, Zach allowed the young man to notice his reaction when that man’s covetous eyes left Emma momentarily to land on Zach. Not surprisingly, the soup suddenly engaged Fenton’s regard once more.
Zach was convinced of the true agenda of this gathering when dinner had finished, and Lady Kingsley did not insist the ladies take themselves off to the drawing room that the men might enjoy their cigars and brandy and weightier discussions. Instead, their hostess pronounced with a cackle that much resembled a nervous hen, “You gentlemen get on with your smoke and your drink. We ladies won’t mind, the party being so small that it seems pointless to break it in two.”
A lazier, more obvious excuse, Zach was sure he had never heard. With a sigh, imagining he might as well shelve his plans for a private chat with Lord Kingsley, Zach rose from the tableand thought to join two acquaintances in the corner of the room, where they were already availing themselves to the butler’s tray of half-filled snifters of what he was sure was a very fine brandy.
Emma was still in deep conversation with the gentleman, Mr. Sydney Pickering, next to her. He might at some point educate her on the proper form of showing equal attention to the persons on either side of you during dinner. But as he’d noted Lord Middleham’s absorption with the widow Stanhope and her cleverly displayed charms to his left, it seemed a worthless matter currently.
He joined Lords Wharton and Ryley around the brandy, waving off a footman’s offer of a tray of superb cigars and cheroots.
“I say, Lindsey,” said Ryley, a young viscount who always seemed to Zach to be on the verge of laughter, even while in chambers, “did you bring along the charming Miss Ainsley only to negate the schemes of Lady Kingsley?”
“Quite the impediment to the hopes of three certain ladies and their well-intentioned mama,” added Wharton. He held his head high and tilted to the right, a curious affectation that flaunted an air of haughtiness, though he was usually a congenial sort.
