Chapter 9 #2
Three days later, Emeline and Louise arrived early at Raveneau House in Grosvenor Square. The autumn afternoon was unseasonably warm, and it was no surprise to find that the sun-dappled, walled garden behind the house was looking even more exquisite than usual.
Servants had covered long tables with fresh, blue-patterned cloths interspersed with bouquets of coral dahlias and purple asters.
Arabella, the housekeeper, was directing maids to set out artistically arranged platters of succulent purple grapes, thinly sliced apples, ham, and a variety of cheeses.
There were plates of freshly baked rolls with butter, dishes of perfect walnuts, and Arabella’s own pear tarts.
Emeline’s perusal of the food was interrupted by her mother, who appeared and wrapped her in a warm embrace.
“Oh, Emmie, it is wonderful to have you and Louise with us today.” Mouette’s gaze lingered on Louise, who stood at a distance, chatting with Devon.
“You know, before the guests begin to arrive, there is something I should tell you…”
She broke off at the sound of Justin’s voice. “My two beauties,” he murmured, inserting himself between them and addressing Emeline. “Prepare yourself, ma petite. Now that you are restored to London, all the men will be circling you like bees to honey.”
“Nonsense, Papa,” she scoffed. And yet she knew that she was looking especially pretty today in a gown of lilac-shot silk that set off her black-lashed eyes and raven curls. After two isolated years in Lyme Regis, digging for fossils, it felt rather pleasant to be a female again.
“Oh, look,” said Mouette, apparently forgetting what she wanted to tell Emeline, “there are Lord and Lady Wraxham, such old friends of Papa. I must welcome them.”
Emeline’s grandparents were sitting together under an elm tree, its leaves now turned deep red. Before she could go to them, she saw her mother guiding Lord and Lady Wraxham toward their shaded bench.
“Ah,” said a deep voice from behind Emeline. “There you are.”
Turning back in surprise, she promptly bumped into a broad male chest and gasped. Her senses took in a slate gray waistcoat, the fresh scent of his linen shirt, strong hands clasping her arms, holding her slightly away. Hart.
For an instant, Emeline felt dizzy. “It’s you!”
“None other.” He looked down at her, his mouth quirked with wry amusement—an expression she knew well by now.
Her heart was racing. “But—what are you doing here?”
Their surroundings seemed to evaporate. Emeline fought an urge to press herself against him, to tip her head back and seek, feel, taste his mouth on hers. She wanted it badly, and from the look that passed for a brief instant over his handsome face, he seemed to want it too.
But, after one charged moment, Hart had the sense to gently set her away from him. “Your father sent a note, inviting me. He wishes to make me known to Madame St. Briac.”
“I see. I was merely surprised…since you rejected the notion of attending when I mentioned it.” Somehow, Emeline composed herself. “But no doubt you felt obligated to accept Papa’s invitation.”
“Exactly so.” He sounded bemused. “I hope you have been well since our last meeting?”
“Oh, yes, Louise and I have been quite busy at the Reading Room.” She waved a casual hand for emphasis.
“I am pleased to hear it.”
What was it that seemed to be vibrating in the air between them? Could he feel it too? She licked her lips. “And what of Monte? Has he been settling in?”
He gave a short laugh, and one dark eyebrow flicked upward. “You could put it that way, I suppose.”
“No doubt he is missing me. Perhaps I will visit—one day.” Emeline paused. “But I daresay Monte is getting on famously with Mrs. Peachey and William.”
He winced slightly. “I should tell you that he has not taken to them as I had hoped. Instead, the mongrel has attached himself to me.”
“Oh!” She smothered a laugh. “Oh, dear.”
“Indeed.” Hart glanced around then. “People will whisper if you’re seen with me a minute longer, and I ought to greet the rest of your family.”
Emeline led him toward the bench under the elm tree where her Raveneau grandparents were holding court while Justin and Mouette stood nearby.
“You already know Papa, of course,” Emeline said. Before he could reply, Mouette lifted a hand in greeting and came toward them.
“Good afternoon, Lord Jasper.” She gave him one of her most beautiful smiles. “I think we may have met before, during one of your past sojourns in London, and of course we know your brother, the duke, and his duchess. It’s very good of you to join us today.”
Bowing to kiss Mouette’s outstretched hand, Hart flashed an equally charming smile. “I am honored.” He glanced back at Emeline. “The two Misses St. Briac are helping immensely with my research.”
“I’m so pleased, especially since you doubtless have other pressing concerns. Are you in London long, my lord?”
“No. Never.” His tone was ironic. “In truth, I depart for Lisbon a fortnight hence.”
Emeline had known this, yet hearing him say it aloud was still a shock. It’s just as well, she admonished herself. Time to stop being nonsensical!
Hart was soon chatting with her grandparents, leaning against the elm tree. At length, as other guests approached the hosts, he unhurriedly returned to Emeline’s side.
One of the kitchen maids approached with a tray containing goblets of sparkling wine, and Hart took two, handing one to Emeline. She had just sipped from the goblet when someone waved from the direction of the garden gate.
Hart squinted slightly. “Is that who I think it is?” He had removed his hat, and Emeline noticed how the sun glinted on his silver-flecked hair.
A tall, thin young man wearing gold-rimmed spectacles was making his way through the guests who milled about in the garden. As he drew nearer, Emeline spied fair hair poking out around the brim of his tall hat. Sir Giles Peyton. Good heavens, she had nearly forgotten he had been invited!
She nodded. “Yes, I believe it is Sir Giles.”
“You and Peyton are friends now?” There was a decided edge to his voice.
“I wouldn’t go quite that far…but Hart, do listen.” She tugged lightly on his coat sleeve. “I have had the most brilliant idea. Sir Giles is a perfect candidate for my Bridegroom List!”