Chapter Seven
Emma sat at her dressing table, watching as Susan arranged her hair for the evening’s card party. She had pleaded that her head still hurt, hoping to avoid dinner, which she did, but Lady Agatha had been firm about her attendance at tonight’s entertainment afterwards.
“Hiding only gives credence to gossip, my dear,” her aunt had said, with a shrewd look that suggested that she knew exactly why Emma wished to hide.
“The blue ribbon, I think,” Emma said, more to distract herself than from any real interest. But when Susan wove it through her dark red curls, she had to admit that the effect was striking. It was the same deep blue as the ribbons from their morning’s truncated treasure hunt...
She closed her eyes against the memory of his hands at her waist, his mouth on hers, the way that everything had seemed so perfect for that one breathtaking moment, before it all fell apart.
“There now, Miss.” Susan stepped back. “Will there be anything else?”
“No, thank you.”
Emma studied her reflection. At least she looked composed, even if she felt anything but. A tap at her door preceded Lady Beatrice’s entrance.
Her friend took one look at her face and rushed to embrace her.
“Oh, Emma! After I left you here, I saw Lord James in the parlour, just before we went in to dinner. He told me everything. That horrible Lady Anne! Though he says that Lord Limnwood did threaten her quite impressively about not spreading tales.”
Emma’s heart gave a treacherous leap.
“Did he?”
“Yes, though that hardly makes up for denying the kiss in the first place.” Lady Beatrice drew back to study her. “You look lovely. That blue brings out the blue tones in the violet of your eyes beautifully. Though...”
She hesitated.
“Though what?”
“Well, it is the same colour as this morning’s ribbons. People might notice...”
Emma’s chin lifted.
“Let them. I refuse to let Lady Anne dictate my choice of ribbons along with everything else.”
Lady Beatrice’s eyes sparkled.
“Good! Now, shall we go down? Lord James says that the Duke has planned some sort of special entertainment with forfeits for the card games.”
“Forfeits?” Emma’s stomach dropped. “What sort of forfeits?”
“Valentine-themed ones, apparently. Though the Duke assured everyone that they would be completely proper.” Lady Beatrice’s expression turned mischievous. “Even if they do require interaction between partners.”
Emma closed her eyes briefly. Of course they would. Because this evening needed to be more complicated.
They descended to find the drawing room already filling with guests. Emma’s eyes found Lord Limnwood immediately, though she quickly looked away. He stood with his brother near the fireplace, his evening clothes emphasising his height and broad shoulders in a way that made her breath catch.
“Ah, Miss Everton!” The Duke’s cheerful voice drew her attention. “We missed you at dinner. I trust that you’re feeling better?”
“Much better, Your Grace. Thank you.”
“Excellent! Then you’ll be able to participate fully in our entertainment.” His eyes twinkled. “We’re dividing into groups at four tables - you’ll find your assigned place marked with a blue ribbon.”
Of course it was. Emma managed a smile and moved towards the indicated table. Lord Limnwood was already there, though he seemed intensely focused on adjusting his cuffs. Lord James and Lady Beatrice would complete their four, she noticed with some relief. At least she would have friendly faces at the table.
“Now then!” The Duke called for attention. “The rules are simple. Each hand lost requires the paying of a forfeit, drawn from these bowls.” He gestured to where footmen were placing decorated china bowls on each table. “The forfeits must be paid immediately, and no exchanging or refusing is permitted. Though I assure you, all are perfectly proper.”
Emma sank into her chair, keeping her eyes carefully lowered. She could feel Lord Limnwood’s presence across the table like a physical thing.
“Shall we begin?” Lord James’ voice held carefully suppressed amusement. “Though I should warn all of you, I am absolutely terrible at cards.”
“How fortunate then,” Lady Anne’s voice carried from the next table, “that the forfeits will provide such excellent entertainment. Though some might find them rather... challenging.”
Emma’s hands clenched in her lap, but she forced herself to appear unaffected. Lord Limnwood, she noticed, had gone very still.
“I believe it’s your deal, brother,” Lord James said pointedly.
The cards whispered against the green baize as Lord Limnwood dealt. Emma picked up her hand, grateful for something to focus on besides his proximity. The familiar patterns of hearts and diamonds swam before her eyes.
“Your play, Miss Everton.”
She started at his voice - the first words he had spoken to her since that morning.
Quickly, she played a card, then immediately realised her mistake.
“Oh dear,” Lord James’ grin widened. “I believe that means that you must pay a forfeit, Miss Everton.”
Emma’s heart thundered as she reached for the bowl. The slip of paper she drew trembled slightly in her fingers as she read it.
“Well?” Lady Beatrice prompted. “What does it say?”
“‘Recite a verse about your partner’s best quality’.” Emma’s voice emerged steadier than she felt. She looked up, meeting Lord Limnwood’s eyes properly for the first time that evening. For a moment, she was back in the garden, feeling his arms around her, his lips on hers... She drew a steadying breath and spoke:
“In proper form his manner’s cast,
Each rule observed, each boundary fast,
Yet ‘neath that rigid mask, I see
A heart that longs to beat more free.”
She saw him flinch slightly at her words, though his expression remained carefully neutral. Around them, conversation at other tables continued, but she felt the weight of Lady Anne’s attention from the next table.
“Very clever,” Lady Anne’s voice dripped honey-sweet poison. “Though perhaps some might consider such... observation... rather forward.”
“I believe,” Lord Limnwood’s voice cut through the tension like a blade, “that the forfeit specifically required commenting on one’s partner’s qualities. Miss Everton has fulfilled that requirement with both wit and propriety.”
Emma’s breath caught at his defence, unexpected after his denial that morning. She caught a glimpse of something raw in his eyes before he looked away.
“Your play, my Lord,” Lord James prompted quietly.
The game continued, but Emma’s mind whirled. What did it mean, that he would defend her so publicly after this morning’s events? And why did her heart leap with hope despite her best efforts to guard it?
Three hands later, Emma’s concentration was thoroughly shattered. Lord Limnwood had been forced by forfeit to describe her eyes in detail - a task he performed with careful correctness that nonetheless left her pulse racing. Lady Beatrice had recited a comic verse about Lord James’ smile that had everyone laughing. And now...
“Your forfeit, my Lord.”
Lord James held out the bowl to his brother, his eyes dancing with barely suppressed mischief. Lord Limnwood drew a slip of paper, and Emma saw his shoulders stiffen as he read it.
“Well?” Lady Anne called from the next table. “Do tell us what the forfeit requires. Though perhaps it might prove too... challenging for some sensibilities?”
Emma saw his jaw clench before he spoke.
“‘Stand behind your partner’s chair and arrange their cards for one hand, ensuring no other player can see them.’” The room seemed to still. Emma’s heart thundered so loudly she was certain everyone must hear it. Across the table, Lord Limnwood’s eyes met hers, asking a silent question. She lifted her chin slightly and nodded. He rose with careful grace and moved around the table. Emma forced herself to breathe normally as he came to stand behind her chair. “May I?”
His voice was barely a whisper as he reached for her cards. She nodded again, not trusting her voice. His hands brushed hers as he took the cards, and she felt him draw a sharp breath. The scent of bergamot and cedar surrounded her as he leaned closer to arrange the cards, his breath stirring the curls at her temple.
“How cosy.” Lady Anne’s voice dripped acid. “Though perhaps some might find such... intimate arrangements rather disturbing. What do you think, Lord Radmill?”
“I...” Lord Radmill looked uncomfortable. “That is...”
“I think,” Lord James cut in smoothly, “that my brother manages the forfeit with perfect propriety. Though if you find it disturbing, Lady Anne, perhaps you might focus on your own game?”
Emma felt Lord Limnwood’s silent approval in the slight relaxation of his posture. But he remained close behind her, closer than strictly necessary, as he arranged her cards with careful precision.
“A good hand, I believe,” he murmured.
His voice was pitched for her ears alone. The warmth of his breath against her ear made her shiver.
“Thank you.”
She managed to keep her voice steady, though her whole body hummed with awareness of him. He didn’t move away immediately, and Emma found herself holding her breath, wondering if he might... what? Kiss her again, here in front of everyone? The very idea was absurd. Yet something in the charged silence between them suggested he was thinking of it too.
“Your play, Miss Everton,” Lady Beatrice prompted gently.
The spell broke. Lord Limnwood stepped back, returning to his seat with perfect composure. But Emma saw his hands clench briefly as he sat, suggesting that his control wasn’t quite as complete as he wished it to appear.
“Really,” Lady Anne’s voice carried clearly, “one must wonder about the wisdom of such forfeits. Particularly when some participants seem to find proper behaviour so... challenging.”
“I believe,” the Duke’s voice cut through the tension, “that all forfeits are being performed with perfect propriety. Though perhaps, Lady Anne, if you find them disturbing, you might wish to retire?”
Emma didn’t dare look up, but she could feel Lady Anne’s fury radiating from the next table. The woman’s voice, when she spoke, was tight with suppressed rage.
“Not at all, Your Grace. Though I do feel that someone should speak up when standards of behaviour are at risk of being compromised.”
“And who better to do so than one so... experienced in observing others’ behaviour?” Lord Limnwood’s voice was arctic. “Though perhaps some might find such close observation rather disturbing in itself.”
The silence that followed his words was profound. Emma looked up to find his eyes blazing with barely controlled anger. Lady Anne had gone pale.
“I’m sure that I don’t know what you mean, my Lord.”
“Don’t you?” His smile held no warmth. “How fascinating, given your detailed knowledge of events you could only have witnessed through very... dedicated... observation.”
Emma’s breath caught as she realised what he was doing - reminding Lady Anne of his morning threat without explicitly revealing anything.
“I believe it’s your play, brother,” Lord James intervened smoothly. “Though perhaps we might take a brief pause for refreshment? The evening grows warm.”
Indeed, the tension in the room had raised the temperature considerably. Emma welcomed the chance to step away as footmen appeared with glasses of lemonade and small cakes.
“Walk with me?” Lady Beatrice touched her arm. “I fear that I need a moment of air.”
They moved to stand near the windows, which had been opened slightly to admit the chill evening breeze. From this position, Emma could see Lord Limnwood’s reflection in the glass, still seated at their table, his expression was thunderous as Lady Anne approached him.
“I don’t know what game you think you’re playing,” Lady Anne’s voice carried just far enough for Emma to hear, “but surely you cannot mean to actually... that is, someone of your position...”
“My position?” His voice was deadly quiet. “And what position would that be, Lady Anne? That of a man who values truth over malicious gossip? Or perhaps that of one who recognises the difference between genuine concern for propriety and mere spite?”
Emma’s hands trembled slightly as she lifted her glass of lemonade. After his denial that morning, she hadn’t expected him to defend her so fiercely. Yet there he sat, facing down Lady Anne’s spite with cold precision, while still maintaining perfect propriety himself.
“He’s rather magnificent when roused, isn’t he?” Lady Beatrice whispered. “Though I confess, I’ve never seen him quite so angry.”
“I don’t understand,” Emma whispered back. “This morning he...”
“This morning he acted from instinct - the instinct to protect you that’s been drilled into him since childhood. But now?” Lady Beatrice smiled slightly. “Now he’s had time to think about what truly threatens you. And it isn’t gossip about a kiss.”
Emma’s heart gave a treacherous leap of hope.
“You think so?”
“I think,” Lady Beatrice said carefully, “that a man doesn’t defend a lady so fiercely unless his feelings run very deep indeed. Though he might not yet be ready to admit it.”
Before Emma could respond, the Duke called for the games to resume. As she returned to her seat, she found Lord Limnwood watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch. For the first time since that morning, she wondered if perhaps all was not lost after all. The remainder of the evening passed in a blur of cards and forfeits, though none quite so challenging as those earlier ones. Emma found herself hyperaware of Lord Limnwood’s every movement, every careful word. He played his cards with perfect attention, yet she noticed his eyes straying to her whenever he thought she wouldn’t notice.
As the clock struck ten, the Duke rose to signal the evening’s end.
“A most entertaining series of games!” He beamed at the assembled company. “Though perhaps tomorrow’s activities might prove less... provocative.”
Emma couldn’t quite suppress a shiver as she remembered that tomorrow’s entertainment would involve flower arranging - which meant working closely with Lord Limnwood again. As if reading her thoughts, he looked up, their eyes meeting across the table.
“Miss Everton.” He rose, bowing perfectly. “Might I escort you to your aunt?”
Her heart leapt at this unexpected courtesy.
“Thank you, my Lord.”
They moved away from the table together, maintaining proper distance, yet somehow seeming to draw every eye in the room. Emma felt Lady Anne’s gaze boring into her back, but kept her chin high.
“I feel that I must apologise,” he said very quietly as they walked, “for allowing Lady Anne to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t allow anything.” She matched his quiet tone. “Indeed, you were quite... forceful in your defence.”
He glanced down at her, something warming in his grey eyes.
“Not forceful enough, perhaps.”
Before she could respond to this cryptic statement, they reached Lady Agatha’s chair. Emma curtsied, her skirts brushing his legs as she did so.
“Until tomorrow, my Lord.”
“Until tomorrow.” His voice roughened slightly. “Though perhaps... that is...” He stopped, glancing around at their interested audience. “Sleep well, Miss Everton.”
He strode away, leaving Emma to wonder what he had been about to say. Lady Agatha’s knowing look suggested that she had her own thoughts on the matter.
“Well, my dear,” her aunt rose, taking her arm, “a most interesting evening.”
“Indeed.” Emma managed to keep her voice steady. “Though I fear that Lady Anne found it rather trying.”
“Did she?” Lady Agatha’s tone could have frozen mulled wine. “How fascinating that she should be so concerned with others’ behaviour, when her own leaves so much to be desired.”
They had reached the door when Lady Anne’s voice carried across the room.
“Such a shame when people forget their proper place in society. Though I suppose some find it difficult to maintain proper standards when their circumstances are... reduced.”
Emma felt the words strike like physical blows. Her family’s reduced circumstances after her brother’s death had been carefully glossed over in society, but Lady Anne’s words made it clear - she knew, and meant to use that knowledge. A sudden silence fell as Lord Limnwood stepped into Lady Anne’s path.
“How interesting.” His voice carried clearly. “I had always thought true nobility to be shown most clearly in behaviour, rather than circumstances. Though perhaps some find that concept... difficult to grasp.” He turned on his heel and strode to where Emma stood frozen in the doorway. To her complete shock, he bowed over her hand, his lips brushing her glove in a gesture that bordered on impropriety. “Good night, Miss Everton. I look forward to tomorrow’s activities with great anticipation.”
Emma’s heart thundered as she watched him walk away. That gesture, that pointed courtesy in front of everyone, had been a declaration of sorts. But of what? Support? Friendship? Or something more?
“Well,” Lady Agatha said dryly as they climbed the stairs, “it seems that Lord Limnwood has finally decided which side of propriety truly matters.”
Emma touched the spot on her glove where his lips had pressed.
“What do you mean?”
“My dear, there are two kinds of proper behaviour. That which protects reputation through rigid rules, and that which protects through honour and courage.” Her aunt smiled slightly. “It seems that his Lordship has finally learned the difference.”
Emma fell asleep that night with her glove still clutched in her hand, dreaming of grey eyes and gentle lips and the possibility that perhaps, just perhaps, love might prove stronger than rules after all.