Pity.
She had seen it written all over his handsome face as his glance had brushed over the torn lace on her glove and the generous fitting of her gown. Pity for a woman who, when compared with the other refined beauties, personified by the likes of Lady Charlotte, fared very badly. Gathering her scattered wits, she tried to regroup.
‘Secrets?’
‘My sources say you arrived in England not from the country, but from Jamaica?’
She laughed, congratulating herself on the inconsequential and tinkling sound. ‘And they would be right. I came back to England after sorting out my father’s possessions when he died, and setting his affairs into order.’
‘Your father was a scholar?’
A scholar? Oh God, what was he referring to now? And just who were his sources? She was pleased when Lord Henshaw caught her attention.
‘Lady Emma. Are you feeling better?’
‘Yes. Very much better, thank you.’ Such a polite society, Emerald thought, as she gave him her answer. Such a lot unsaid beneath every question. She pulled her fingers away and laid her hands against the voluminous skirt of her gown.
‘Did you hear of Stephen Eaton’s problem the other night, Asher? He met with footpads by the dockside and has a wicked lump on his head. The local constabulary are out in force to try to find the culprits. Word is that it’s a shocking state of affairs when a gentleman cannot even ride around London without being robbed and beaten.’
‘He is saying he was robbed?’
‘Yes, though I cannot work out for the life of me what he was doing at that time and in that part of London, given he had left my ball only an hour or so earlier. His watch and pistol were taken and a ring he wore upon his hand that was a family heirloom. Diamonds, I think. He plans to spend the next few months abroad to recover from the assault, his mother says. I saw her this morning.’
‘A fine scheme. I hope he takes his time to make a full recuperation. If you see his parents, do acquaint them with my sentiments, and say that I was asking after him.’ Pure steel coated his words.
‘I will do just that. Does your sister know of his mishap?’
‘My sister?’
‘Lucinda. She has danced with him at several parties and I thought perhaps there was a special friendship…’
Jack’s voice tailed off. Emerald was certain that he had just put it all together and also deduced that this was neither the time nor the place to discuss such things. She saw him chance a quick look at Charlotte Withers behind him before he changed the subject entirely.
‘My oldest sister was hoping to visit Annabelle Graveson next month, Asher. How is she keeping.’
‘Very well.’ His tone was amused as he finished off his drink. ‘You will meet the Gravesons this weekend at Falder, Lady Emma.’
‘Are they relatives, your Grace?’
‘No. Annabelle Graveson was married to my father’s friend. When he died, he asked me to watch over the affairs of his wife and son.’
Jack Henshaw joined in the conversation. ‘The old Duke was a philanthropist and Asher has inherited his own bevy of needy folk.’
Asher said nothing, but Emerald could tell that he was not happy at his friend’s summation of duty. Interesting, she thought, for a man who professed to caring for little as he held the world at bay.
Looking around, she noticed an attractive dark-haired woman whose eyes were fastened on the Duke of Carisbrook, but if he felt her regard he gave no indication of it as he leant towards her as if to shelter his words from the others around them.
‘Eaton is using the ploy of a robbery to ease his guilt, I would suspect. Though there is another explanation. How honest is your cousin?’
‘As honest as I am, for the ten commandments were the bread and butter of our childhood.’ She felt the distinct turn of guilt in her stomach.
‘You never lie?’
‘My father taught us the importance of truth and honesty.’
She forced back conscience and stiffened when he reached for the locket dangling on a long chain about her neck.
‘Is this some family crest?’
‘My mother’s,’ she replied softly and deposited the golden trinket down again between her breasts, glad when he did not pursue the topic.
‘Who was French?’
She looked at him blankly. ‘Pardon.’
‘You said that your mother was from France.’ He was so close she could have reached out a finger to run along the hard cut of his jaw.
‘I did? Yes, of course I did. Because she was.’ Lord, this lying was eating at her composure and she felt sweat in the palms of her hands.
‘Êtes-vous originaire du sud ou bien du nord de la France?’
What was it he had said? Something of north and south. This much she had translated, though the other was lost to her.
‘Oui.’ She chanced one of the ten or so French words she actually knew and was disconcerted by the amusement scrawled on his face.
‘And honesty was as important to your mother as it is to you?’
‘Yes, your Grace.’
‘Admirable,’ he returned and as his eyes glanced across the loose material of her gown she felt the skin on her nipples pucker and folded her arms. She should have worn her underclothing, but it felt so much better without it.
‘It is seldom one meets a woman of such high moral fibre.’
The blood rushed into her face. ‘I will take that as a compliment, your Grace,’ she said simply.
His laughter brought the conversation around them to a noticeable quietening and as she looked up the hostess, Lady Flora, caught her eye and smiled broadly. Emerald observed that the green-eyed beauty standing next to their host didn’t look anywhere near as friendly as she posed a question.
‘I hear that your newest ship is ready for a launch here in London, your Grace. What is it to be called?’
‘The Melanie.’
An inexplicable tension filled the room.
Who was Melanie, she wondered, and what was she to Asher Wellingham? Someone important, no doubt. Someone he loved?
But where was she now?
The Bishop of Kingseat raised his glass.
‘To the Melanie, then. May she ride the waves long and true and be as beautiful as her namesake.’
There it was again. Her namesake? Interest flared as Asher acknowledged the toast and drank and Emerald was struck by the difference five years had made in the lines of his face.
Hardness and distance.
For some reason the thought made her unfathomably sad and when the topic turned to dancing she was pleased, for it gave her time to compose herself.
Half an hour Emerald stood alone near a pillar that led off to a balcony. Asher Wellingham was across the other side of the room with the beautiful green-eyed woman draped across his arm. From this distance the darkness of her carefully coiffed hair was exactly the same shade as his. The memory of her own hair was sharp and she raised her hand to pat down the short errant curls.
Two ladies behind her were talking about the Duke and she turned so that she could overhear them more easily.
‘If only he would look our way, Claire. Just