13. Taste
Chapter thirteen
Taste
Emma shifted uncomfortably in her pink silk gown, the candlelight from dozens of beeswax tapers reflecting off the crystal-beaded trim like captured starlight.
Holly and evergreen garlands draped every surface, their sharp scent mingling with mulled wine and roasted chestnuts.
The colour of her gown, which Alexi had insisted brought warmth to her complexion, seemed to mock everything she stood for, making her feel like one of the sugar plums decorating the Christmas tree in the corner.
"Stop fidgeting," Alexi murmured beside her, adjusting a sprig of mistletoe that some mischievous footman had hung directly above the receiving line. "You look enchanting."
"I look ridiculous. Like a strawberry ice at a Christmas feast."
"Precisely. Soft, sweet, and utterly accommodating. Exactly the impression we want to give Dr Moreland." Her sister's smile turned wicked as she tucked a white rose into Emma's hair, its petals dusted with silver to mimic frost. "Even if we both know you're more akin to surgical steel beneath."
Before Emma could retort, the first guests began arriving, shaking snow from their cloaks and stamping cold feet on the marble floors.
She adopted what she privately thought of as her "physician's mask"; pleasant but reserved, though Alexi called it her "someone's about to have a limb removed" expression.
The warmth from the blazing Yule log in the grand fireplace did nothing to thaw her carefully maintained composure.
“The Right Honourable Earl of Abinger and Lord Kincaid!”
Emma’s composure cracked. She stared at Michael—her Michael—resplendent in evening dress, looking every inch the nobleman he apparently was. His sheepish smile did nothing to quell her rising indignation.
“Miss Brown.” He bowed over her hand. “I believe I owe you an explanation.”
“Indeed, my lord,” she said with crisp emphasis on his title. “Why was a peer’s son playing at being a commoner?”
“I wanted to be judged on my own merits.” His eyes held a plea for understanding.
“Mr Martin Crane!”
Emma’s heart lifted at the familiar name. She turned to Michael. “We shall discuss this later if I can get through the crowd of swooning ladies. You look marvellous.”
“That sounds shockingly like a compliment, Miss Brown.” Michael smiled with one sceptical brow lifted before leaving the greeting line.
“Martin!” Emma broke protocol to embrace him warmly, ignoring Michael’s frown as he turned away to greet an older couple. His recent marriage had apparently agreed with him. He fairly glowed with contentment. They switched to German as they exchanged greetings.
“Kleine ?rztin.” He laughed, using his old nickname for her meaning “Little Doctor”. “Still fighting the good fight, I see?”
“Someone must keep Arthur in line,” she responded, grinning as they shared the private joke about Lord Salisbury’s occasional pig-headedness.
It wasn’t until she heard a throat clear behind Martin that she realised she’d missed another announcement.
Her heart stopped at the sight of Everett—no, Dr Moreland—standing with his father.
He looked devastating in formal dress, most traces of injury gone.
His dark eyes burned into hers as he watched her interaction with Martin.
“Dr Moreland,” she said coolly, inclining her head. “How unexpected to see you here looking well despite disobeying your doctor’s orders.”
“Indeed.” His smile held an edge. “Though clearly my absence caused no distress, seeing you so…diverted.”
“Why should it?” She matched his tone precisely. “Patients come and go. One hardly notices after a while.”
His eyes narrowed at the subtle insult. “How fortunate, then, that your professional detachment remains intact. Though I wonder if all your patients receive such thorough attention.”
Heat flooded her cheeks at his implication, but she kept her voice honey sweet. “Only the truly interesting ones. Though so few prove worthy of prolonged study.”
Something dangerous flickered in his gaze. “Perhaps your research methods require refinement.”
“Or perhaps some subjects simply lack substance.”
The air between them was charged with everything they weren’t saying. Emma was acutely aware of Alexi watching them with growing interest.
“You wound me, Miss Brown.” His smile was all teeth. “And here I thought we had such stimulating intellectual discussions.”
“Did we?” She widened her eyes innocently. “How strange. I scarcely remember them.”
His soft laugh held no humour. “Then it appears they were less memorable than I had hoped.” He bowed with exquisite correctness. “I shan’t keep you from your admirers.”
Emma watched him move away, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had hoped his presence would not affect her as before, but one glance from those dark eyes still made her tremble.
“Well,” Alexi murmured beside her. “That was fascinating.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Emma said stiffly, though her fingers trembled as she smoothed her pink skirts.
Emma was still trying to steady her nerves from her encounter with Everett when Helen swept into the room like a force of nature, her blue gown a stark contrast to Emma’s pink confection.
Just the sight of her dearest friend made Emma’s shoulders relax slightly, even as Helen’s entrance drew every eye in the room.
“There you are, my darling!” Helen’s voice carried across the space with deliberate clarity.
She paused mid-stride, her blue eyes scanning the crowd before landing on Everett.
“Oh my, is that the infamous Dr Moreland? Well, I must admit, the devil does wear a handsome face. Though I’ve seen better.
” Her lips curved into a dangerous smile.
“Now, shall I go over and accidentally spill the entirety of my wineglass down his perfectly tailored coat?”
“Helen, don’t you dare,” Emma hissed, catching Helen’s arm as her friend started to move in Everett’s direction. “I’ve already caused enough of a scene tonight.”
“Spoilsport.” Helen pouted but allowed herself to be redirected. “Though I suppose you’re right. Wine would be far too quick. I’ve got that lovely curry sauce in my reticule…”
Despite herself, Emma felt a laugh bubble up. “You did not bring curry sauce to a society party.”
“Didn’t I?” Helen’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Check my reticule if you don’t believe me.
I came prepared for war, darling.” She looped her arm through Emma’s, steering them toward a quieter corner.
“Now then, tell me everything. Your letters couldn’t possibly capture all the delicious details of your encounters.
I shall enjoy watching him try not to look affected when you are dancing in the arms of other men.
Or when I arrange for Lord Chadwick to sit with him at dinner.
You know, his lordship is infamous for cutting cheese every third bite. ”
“Helen!” Emma tried to sound scandalised, but her friend’s high spirit was already working its magic, helping her find humour in what had been a painfully tense encounter. Emma couldn’t help but laugh, even as she felt tears pricking at her eyes. “I’ve missed you terribly,” she whispered.
Helen’s expression softened immediately.
“None of that now,” she said gently, producing a handkerchief from somewhere in her elaborate gown.
“We are not giving that man the satisfaction of seeing you cry. Moreover, your sister clearly went to great lengths to paint you up like the most delectable strawberry ice, and we mustn’t ruin her hard work. ”
“You think I look like a strawberry ice too?” Emma groaned.
“The most sophisticated strawberry ice in all of London,” Helen declared with mock solemnity.
“Now then, shall we go to the blue parlour? Your sister’s port is calling, and I have several more completely scandalous suggestions for dealing with our dear Dr Moreland that I simply cannot voice sober or in polite company. ”
As Helen guided her through the crowd with the skill of a seasoned navigator, Emma felt the knot in her chest beginning to loosen. She might be dressed like a confection and her heart might still ache, but with Helen by her side, she felt like she could face anything. Even as a pink confection.
“Oh!” Helen stopped suddenly, her eyes widening with delight. “Is that Lord Kincaid I see? My goodness, he looks like an angel.”
Emma’s mouth gaped open. “You knew? You knew! Why didn’t you tell me Michael was a lord?”
Helen’s mouth twitched in a suppressed grin. “And ruin the surprise? I’ve been dying to tell you in all honesty, but I wanted to see your face when you learned of it.” She looked at her friend pointedly. “Now, does his title make him more attractive?”
“Not to me.” Emma’s gaze involuntarily drifted to Everett. The line of her lips thinned as she realised he was charming a young woman.
“Darling, if it weren’t for your dress, I’d have mistaken you for a bull readying for a fight,” Helen said as her eyes followed her friend’s. “Come, let us drink and discuss whether your former or current lover cuts a finer figure in evening dress.”
Emma couldn’t quite quell her smile. “I may have my prejudices.”
“For or against your beloved?”
Helen provided a much-needed distraction for a short time, but too soon, Emma returned to her duty as the sister of the host and hostess.
As more guests arrived, she remained achingly aware of Everett’s location in the room, as if some treacherous part of her body had oriented itself to his presence.
His every movement drew her attention; the way he carried himself with that quiet authority, how his shoulders filled out his evening coat, the grace with which he navigated the crowd.
Most infuriating was how he seemed to know exactly when she was watching him, turning just enough to catch her gaze with that insufferable half-smile.