Page 104 of A Foolish Flirtation

Emmie sobbed. She could not help it. She snatched up her pillow to muffle the sound.

Surely not. Surely… Lowering the pillow, she tried to recall if she had ever heard the precise circumstances behind Jeremy’s engagement. It was no good, it was all a pain-filled blank. She remembered the congratulatory applause, the excited whisperings of what a picture-perfect couple they made, and precious little else.

Someone had whispered that the man stood alongside Lady Amanda was her father, Earl Tipton. Someone else had mentioned their families were long acquainted but that was nothing unusual among the aristocracy. Emmie had nodded, a painful, forced smile on her face. In one gloved hand she crushed her dance card between her fingers, in the other, her fan sticks had given with a loud snap.

Emmie could not even remember the carriage ride home afterward, though she was sure Mrs. Laverdale must have had some choice words to impart. If she had, they had made little to no impression. All she really remembered was knocking on her father’s study door the next morning and requesting an interview with him.

That was when Emmie had told him that she was not cut out for high society and that he would receive no lofty offers for her hand. Her father had been disappointed but not terribly surprised by this news. He was always a realist. The chance of her making some dazzling match had always been slim.

Mrs. Laverdale’s services had been dispensed with. Emmie had attended no more balls, and it had been the following week that her father had started bringing a “promising young man” from his firm home to dine with them. That man had been Humphrey. The rest, as they say, was history.

A knock on the door startled her. Lottie bustled in. “Your bath is ready, milady.”

“Oh, thank you, Lottie.”

As Emmie lay in the tub, immersed in water up to her chin, she realized she could not allow things to carry on as they were in this unsatisfactory manner. Something would have to be done, moreover she would have to do it. But what? What could she do to shock Jeremy out of his boundless civility?

Their wedding night being much on her mind, it was perhaps not surprising that his words in the bathroom at Winkworth Street drifted suddenly into her mind. What was it he had said? Something about wanting to watch her take a sponge bath? Crouched over it with your hair pinned high on your head. You would look just like a bathing Venus. Those had been his words.

She sat up, remembering the kindling look in his eye when he had voiced this thought. He had been in deadly earnest; she was sure of that. He really had wanted to see her play out such a scene. Considering how much she now knew he enjoyed watching her at her dressing mirror, it made sense that he would desire such a thing.

Did she have the nerve to do it, that was the question. At this point, Lottie entered the bathroom, carrying fresh linens. “I’ve set out your pale blue dress for today, milady, the one with all the pretty lace, as you’ve got visitors today and then your tea party at Miss Pinson’s.”

“Lottie,” Emmie began airily, in a complete change of subject. “Do we have such a thing in the house as a sponging bath?”

Her maid looked surprised. “Yes, milady. I believe there’s one in the cupboard over there.” She walked over to it and removed a large round tray. It looked much superior to the one at Winkworth Street, which had been a cheap affair. This one looked weightier and more substantial. “Here it is.”

“Just the thing!” Emmie said brightly.

“I should have offered its use to you, milady, only I thought you might appreciate the luxury of a full bathtub.”

“Oh, I do,” Emmie assured her. “’Tis only in this hot weather, sometimes a quick wash between a change of clothes is useful.”

Lottie nodded and replaced it where she found it. “If you ever want me to make it ready, just let me know, milady.”

“Thank you, Lottie.”

“And the pale blue dress?”

“Oh, that will be perfect. You always pick out my outfits beautifully.”

Lottie looked pleased. “If the weather holds, you could take your parasol and new lace gloves to match.”

“Do I own a parasol?” Emmie asked in surprise.

Lottie gave her a reproving look. “I set out all the lovely things from that most recent parcel, milady. Laid them all out for you to see in your dressing room. All sorts of accessories were included this time, lace caps, fichus, and bonnets. A quantity of fine things.”

“I own so many lovely things now, I’ve quite lost track,” Emmie admitted guiltily. “The dressing room shelves must be quite full.”

“There’s still plenty of room,” Lottie said complacently. “And so, I told his lordship when he asked.”

“You did?”

She nodded. “He always wants to know if there’s anything you might be needing. I told Mrs. Cheviot, and she agrees he’s quite the doting husband these days. She said we’ve never had such a picture of domesticity here at Vance, not in her lifetime, what with him squiring you to church on a Sunday, taking you to visit his tenants, and dining out with your neighbors once a week.”

“Well, one must do one’s duty,” Emmie responded vaguely. Was this really what passed for the height of domesticity in these parts? Things were certainly done very differently in grand houses.

She and Jeremy had so far been to dine with their nearest neighbors, Nellie and Amos Tavistock, an elderly brother and sister who lived at an elegant residence called Vance House. It had once belonged to the estate but had passed to his half brother on the event of their father’s death.