15. Jealousy
Chapter fifteen
Jealousy
Emma entered the ballroom on her brother-in-law’s arm, acutely aware of the stares that followed them.
Garlands of holly and mistletoe draped every archway for the Christmas Ball, while the scent of mulled wine and roasted chestnuts wafted from the refreshment tables.
Arthur Salisbury cut an impressive figure; tall, elegantly dressed, with an air of easy authority that made even the most pompous peers defer to him.
“Tell me, dear sister,” he said conversationally, guiding her through the crowd, “what exactly were you hoping to discover when you removed that painting in my secretary’s office? The one concealing your favourite eavesdropping spot?”
Emma nearly stumbled. “I—what?”
His lips twitched. “Oh, I’ve known about that hole for years. Alexi used to spy on my business meetings through it before we married. I saw no harm in it. You’re both clever enough to know when to hold your tongues.”
“You knew all this time?” She glanced up at him, finding only amusement in his expression.
“Naturally. Though I must say, your interest in water infrastructure is rather more specific than Alexi’s general curiosity about my affairs.” He smoothly sidestepped a cluster of young ladies. “Is there something about London Water Works I should know about?”
Emma hesitated, then whispered, “I believe their new pipes may be faulty. The cholera outbreaks follow the pattern of their recent installations too precisely to be coincidence.”
“Ah.” Arthur’s tone remained light, though his eyes sharpened. “And I suppose your research proves this?”
“It would, if Dr Moreland hadn’t stolen it.”
“The younger or elder?”
“Both, it seems.” She couldn’t quite keep the bitterness from her voice.
“Speaking of the younger, Alexi tells me you nursed him back to health in Rochester.” His smile turned knowing. “And that there might be…feelings involved?”
“No! I—”
“Stop the research, Emma.” His voice was gentle but firm. “Let me handle this.”
“How?”
“Haven’t the faintest idea yet.” He grinned boyishly. “But I’m rather good at sorting out predicaments, wouldn’t you say?”
“This is more than a mere entanglement. If what I suspect is true—”
“Then their ruin is imminent.” He sighed dramatically. “Which is why I absolutely cannot approve of you getting involved with the son. Terribly awkward at family dinners, having to pretend we didn’t destroy his inheritance.”
"I must persist. While you prevent further casualties, I shall uncover the source of the disease and those responsible."
"Your Dr Moreland proves most capable in this endeavour."
She regarded him with astonishment. "You've been in consultation with him?"
"Naturally. He holds the key to unravelling this catastrophe."
"You conduct these investigations without my input? When I stand at the very precipice of understanding?"
Her brother-in-law bestowed upon her the indulgent smile of a benevolent patriarch. "My dear Emma. Though I hold you in highest regard, you possess all the subtlety of a charging stallion in a porcelain emporium."
"Why must everyone liken me to unruly livestock?" she protested.
“Surely you can deduce why. If an event occurs with such frequency, one must consider whether the fault lies not in the observers but in oneself—much like your habit of interrupting intimate moments.”
Emma couldn't suppress her mirth despite the gravity of their discourse. “You’re insufferable!”
"So Alexi frequently reminds me." His eyes softened as he spotted his wife across the room. "Speaking of my beloved... Ah, and here comes Lord Kincaid."
Emma followed his gaze to see Michael approaching, but her attention caught on Lady Amy in the distance.
The young woman had paused in her conversation to straighten a footman's askew coat collar with unconscious kindness, exactly the sort of thing Michael would do.
The same attention to detail, the same instinctive care for others.
"You know," Arthur said carefully, "many think you and Lord Kincaid would make a perfect match. Your shared medical passion, your history..."
"Will I have no secrets from you?" Emma sighed, though her eyes remained on Lady Amy.
"Of course not. Though if you wish to maintain any illusion of privacy, perhaps refrain from sharing with your sister."
Emma watched as Michael's path toward her took him past Lady Amy.
The way his steps slowed, how his expression brightened at her welcoming smile, it was everything she'd once hoped to feel for him herself.
Michael was perfect on paper: kind, brilliant, honest in a way Everett might never manage to be.
Yet her traitorous heart still leaped at the memory of dark eyes and surgeon's hands, of kisses that tasted of danger.
"They suit each other perfectly," she said softly. "Nothing about Everett and me has ever been perfect," she admitted. "But perhaps that's not what I need after all."
As Michael approached with a determined expression, Arthur gave Emma’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Do try not to overthrow any more companies tonight, dear sister. It’s frightfully bad form at a ball.”
With a wink, he released her and made his way to Alexi, leaving Emma to face Michael’s earnest attention while her mind spun with possibilities.
Trust Arthur to treat potential scandal and corruption as if it were merely an amusing diversion.
Yet somehow his lightness made even the gravest situations seem manageable.
“So, my lord,” Emma said with exaggerated deference, “shall we discuss how you could live with deceiving your humble colleague?”
Michael’s eyes crinkled. “Would you believe me if I said I feared your sharp tongue would become even sharper if you knew of my title?”
“I would, since that’s true.” She glanced around at the cluster of young ladies watching him hopefully. “It seems your title has made you quite the catch this evening.”
“Please,” he groaned. “If one more mama tries to tell me about her daughter’s accomplishments in watercolours…”
“No interest in artistic pursuits?” Her lips twitched. “Though I notice you’ve paid particular attention to Lady Amy.”
A faint blush coloured his cheeks. “She’s…different. Performs the duties of a steward at her family estate. Asked intelligent questions about progressive medicine.”
“She’s quite pretty.”
“There is that.” He smiled sheepishly. “You approve?”
“Without a doubt. She’ll keep you on your toes without bruising your pride.”
“Unlike another lady I know.”
Helen appeared at that moment, linking her arm through Emma’s. “Michael, darling, you simply must excuse us. Emma and I have urgent matters to discuss involving…” She paused dramatically. “Feminine complaints.”
Michael backed away immediately, hands raised in mock surrender. “Say no more, Lady Helen. I know better than to interfere with your consultations.”
Helen practically dragged Emma to the blue parlour, closing the door firmly behind them. “Now then,” she said, pouring them each a generous glass of port, “tell me everything. And don’t you dare leave out a single detail about what happened with our devilish Dr Moreland.”
Emma sank into a chair, her cheeks burning. “Helen, I… I allowed myself…allowed him…liberties.”
“Brilliant.” Helen settled beside her. “You took your pleasure where you found it. Now, exactly how much pleasure are we talking about?”
“Helen!” Emma couldn’t help but laugh, even as her blush deepened. “We… There were lessons. Taste lessons, supposedly. But they became…more.”
“More?” Helen’s eyebrows rose with delighted interest. “Do elaborate.”
Emma buried her face in her hands. “He felt so… the way he looked at me… It doesn’t matter. This cannot last. Either Arthur will destroy his family or his father will destroy my career. How could I be so foolish and get carried away?”
“Well,” Helen said firmly, “he thought to use passion to cloud your judgment, and you used him for your own pleasure instead.” She grinned wickedly. “After all, a woman has needs, and from what I can see of him preening about the ballroom, he was at least physically qualified to meet them.”
Emma sighed dreamily. “He was.”
“Wonderful!” Helen gripped her hand. “I do hope you left him wanting more.”
Emma couldn’t help but smile, remembering certain moments. “I…may have.”
“Excellent!” Helen raised her glass. “Your first act of revenge—using him for pleasure while leaving him wanting. Now, shall we return and watch Lady Winona drape herself over your doctor like an ill-fitted curtain?”
Back in the ballroom, Emma spotted Everett amidst his admirers, Lady Winona clutching his arm and tittering at his words. The sight of his practised charm ignited both a hollow ache and simmering rage in her chest.
"You know," Helen murmured, studying the scene, "Lady Winona is terribly allergic to lavender. One small sprig in her reticule, and she'll be sneezing all over your dear doctor's coat. Such a pity. I hear sneezing is quite unfashionable this season."
Despite herself, Emma laughed. “You’re wicked.”
“Indeed. Now then, shall we plot your true revenge, or would you rather discuss Lord Kincaid’s obvious pursuit of Lady Amy? I saw your matchmaking attempts.”
Emma barely heard her friend’s words, transfixed by how effortlessly Everett commanded his audience’s attention and how desperately she wished she could be immune to that same magnetism.
“Good Lord,” Michael muttered as he approached Emma. “If looks could kill, half the debutantes in that circle would be dead where they stand. Your eyes are positively blazing.”
“They are not,” Emma said, trying to look anywhere but in Everett’s direction and failing.
“You must truly love him.” His voice held gentle understanding rather than jealousy.
Emma tore her gaze away. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Care to dance? We could attempt to make him jealous.”
“That would be petty and beneath us.” She paused. “Yes, absolutely.”
But as Michael led her through an elegant waltz, Everett never once looked their way. His apparent indifference stung more than his betrayal, if that was possible.