Page 68 of Emma & Edmund

With a glance at him, Emma saw the circle that had formed around the trio. A mix of men waiting for the chance to speak to the earl, women with daughters and nieces to introduce, and general spectators alike played witness to each word passed between them, analyzing each gesture.

Along with the onlookers, she watched as Jonathan brighten at the thought of a round, his hand flexing for a cue. It was almost a moment of pride when he straightened his spine and returned the scowl to his cheeks, putting on the airs of a proper chaperone once more.

"That just won't do," he started with a dignified sniff, "not just a single game at any rate, and I do believe a drink is first in order."

Well, Emma thought, at least she could say she was proud of her brother for at least one single moment before it was shattered.

"Games onlyafterdancing," the booming Lady Charlotte cut through, pushing her way through the formed crowd with exceeding ease, shooing Jonathan away. "Lord Lockhart, I have a line of young ladies just waiting for your time, if you'll follow me."

As the countess latched herself to Edmund's side, with the excitement of the escalating scandal dissipating, so too did those gathered. That didn't mean the whispers and giggles about what happened on the dance floor ended, Emma just heard them be taken to their respective groups for further dissection.

By the time Emma turned her attention back to the cause of the gossip, Edmund had been caught up in the whirlwind that was Lady Charlotte. Currently, it seemed the talk centered around the most appropriate girl for him to dance with next, with several candidates in the mix.

With his back bent to bring his ear closer to the lady in the loud room, Edmund looked almost frightened. No doubt he was being given the extensive family history of nearly every person, how each is related to another, wealth and properties and potential - or lack thereof, as the case may be.

He seemed in desperate need of help, but even Emma wouldn't dare to interrupt the old dame.

If she had any luck at all, the drink and excitement of the evening would blur the memory of her public transgression, and she should leave Edmund alone to enjoy his once-in-a-lifetime evening.

Chapter 19

It was a good plan, to leave Edmund alone, until it wasn’t.

Nearly an hour had gone by since their round on the dance floor, and Emma found herself clustered around a particularly large landscape framed in elaborate gold filigree. The rich greens of the rolling hillside acted as the current topic of discussion. Even if the piece was lovely, Emma felt her eyes glaze over as those around her talked.

If Margaret had been there, surely some of her boredom would be alleviated. Yet, when she went to find the girl after departing the ballroom, neither hide nor hair of her could be found, with Grace not having a clue to her whereabouts.

She had thought of checking the bedroom just in case her friend had slipped into bed, but a glimpse of Edmund across the room, still encircled, kept her in the gallery.

She was far from used to competing for his attention, accustomed to the way he seemed to gravitate to her even in the dead of night, in the depths of the wet woods.

When the ghost of a finger trailed down her gloved palm held behind her back, she nearly jumped out of her skin in fright.

Gathering herself as best she could, her fear turned to indignation.

"Edmund...!" She glared at the smirk on his face, wholly forgetting their surroundings, addressing him as she always would. Luckily for her, the group she was with was much more enthralled with his arrival than her verbal misgivings.

"Lord Lockhart, good of you to join us!" The older Mr. Hawthorne raised his drink to the host. "We've just been discussing this work here. Anything you can tell us? Where is this?

"Ah, I am happy too," Edmund said with almost too much enthusiasm. "It is from my family's property in Scotland. Funny story, that! When this painting was commissioned..."

Emma tried to focus on his explanation, she truly did, but her mind when blank when a large, warm hand covered the low of her back. It took every muscle in her face to keep the giddy grin from her cheeks.

She should move away, should make it clear that this familiar, open touch could not happen. How was that possible when that sly, secret brush of his palm was the best part of her evening thus far? It wasn't as if those in their group, currently being taken on a journey through the Highlands, could see what was transpiring right in front of them, hidden in skirts in bodies as it was.

The same couldn't be said for anyone wandering from behind, where the clear connection would be seen. But it didn't seem to matter much.

It didn't matter when, as he was expounding on the history of the home in the background of the painting, thick fingers trailed up her spine.

It didn't when the group dispersed, and the two remained; and although Edmund's touch fell from her without the guard of bodies, it seemed as both refused to move.

And it almost didn't matter when Edmund looked into her eyes and the world began to melt away again.

"Miss Thompson," he said with a husk to his words, stirring her deep in her core, offering his hand, "will you take a stroll in the garden with me?"

The 'yes' was on the tip of her tongue, already formed on her lips, nearly the same moment he finished speaking. She wanted it more than she wanted air.

Maybe it was the people talking around them, the change in song from the drawing room next door, or just for the joy of extending that wonderful feeling, but regardless of the reason, her answer was still the same.

---