Page 138 of A Foolish Flirtation

“Oh, I couldn’t do that. Poor Mrs. Ryland would be so embarrassed after she begged the favor on my behalf.”

“Well, don’t let them put you out. It doesn’t matter a jot if you get voted onto their committee or whatever it is.”

“It’s a bit late in the day to tell me that!” she scolded him, but on the next morning, when Lady Sharpe was brought into her presence along with about fifteen other ladies all wearing very fussy outfits with lots of lace, she found she rather enjoyed playing the gracious hostess.

Lady Sharpe was a large woman, built on generous lines, she walked with a silver knobbed cane and wore a very large posy of flowers pinned to her breast. She looked Emmie up and down with shrewd eyes. “Lady Faris?” she said in some surprise, casting a withering look to the ladies standing on either side of her.

Emmeline extended her hand. “Welcome to Vance. I am most happy to make your acquaintance, Lady Sharpe.”

“Well, well, pretty creature, aren’t you?” she remarked in that blunt manner that only a very privileged few can get away with. “You quite put me in mind of someone I once knew a long time ago.” Her eyes glazed over. “Now, who was it?” she murmured. “Adelaide…or was it Amabel Richlow. Any relation?” she asked in a rich, plummy accent.

“I’m afraid not. My parents originated from the Yorkshire region.”

“Mm, I suppose not, then. Somerset!” she exclaimed suddenly, striking her walking stick against the floor for emphasis. “That was where her people hailed from. There now! I knew I would remember. Oh, she was a great beauty in the old style. All vying for her hand they were, my brothers and my Harry included!”

Lady Sharpe’s eyes misted over. “Lord, what cakes they made of themselves over her! Had them eating out of the palm of her hand, she did! Not like these chits nowadays,” she snorted. “Prancing around with their silly notions about twenty-inch waistlines and their ridiculous hats! A man likes to have something he can catch hold of, that’s what my Harry used to say.”

“Er, yes, of course,” Emmie said blankly, casting a hurried look about the other ladies who all looked rather embarrassed and lost for words. “Shall we all proceed into the drawing room? I have had refreshments laid out there and all the chairs are arranged for us to be comfortable.”

She had just finished shaking the hands of all the other ladies present and was asking them to be seated when she heard herself hailed from out in the hall.

“Emmeline!”

Emmie turned, recognizing her husband’s voice. “If you will excuse me for just one moment, ladies,” she said apologetically, hurrying out into the hallway. “What is it?”

He swept her up into his arms and started waltzing her across the floor. “Run away with me, Ballentine,” he said whimsically.

“Where to?” She laughed, following his footwork instinctively.

“The beach?” he suggested. “We could build a hut out of driftwood and sleep under the stars.”

“Sounds very sandy. Why aren’t you at the stables with Mr. Masterman? He will think you’re shirking your responsibilities again.”

“Devil take him. I don’t care if he does.”

“Well, I care,” Emmie insisted. “You promised me that you would take me to a race meet next month and I think it would be more enjoyable if one of our horses wins that gold cup.” Jeremy threw back his head and laughed.

“What a lot of twaddle that Needham woman has been talking!” Lady Sharpe said in loud, carrying tones. “He’s clearly infatuated with the gel! I’m glad I came to see how things stood for myself! I shall certainly ask Lady Faris if we can use their south lawn for the fete. I have no doubt she can twist that man about her little finger.”

“I see she has my measure,” Jeremy remarked, twirling her about. And it was clear he did not care one bit.

EPILOGUE

Six Months Later

The Christmas Ball at Vance Park

Jeremy dismissed his valet and examined his reflection critically in the mirror. He was wearing full evening dress tonight and checked the impeccable fit of his black tailcoat and white silk waistcoat before adjusting his cravat to his satisfaction.

His cufflinks gleamed in his reflection, complementing the burnished gold of his hair. He wanted to look the part of the perfect host tonight, beside his blooming wife. Absently, he fitted the hook of his watch chain into place and slipped his watch into his pocket. Now he just needed his gloves. Hearing a discreet cough behind him, he turned. “Ah, Colfax, here you are.”

“You wanted to see me, milord.”

“Yes, Emmeline tells me congratulations are due.” If he did not know any better, he might have thought Colfax colored faintly.

“Yes, milord,” he said woodenly after a moment’s pause. “Miss Pinson has agreed to make me the happiest of men.”

“I’m very glad to hear it. I was starting to think you were making slow work of your wooing.”