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Trust Joanna to notice what Emma had hoped to conceal. Her aunt had always been perceptive—unnervingly so, at times.

“Perfectly well,” Emma replied too quickly, arranging her skirts as she sat. “Why wouldn’t it be? Tristan is thriving with his tutor, I have gotten back into painting.”Never mind the real reason why. “And the Athena Society is scheduled to meet again soon.”

Joanna raised an eyebrow, clearly seeing through the deflection.

Unlike Annabelle, who would have demanded a full account of Emma’s thoughts and feelings right then and there, Joanna knew when to leave well enough alone. It was one of the many reasons Emma cherished her young aunt.

“You know,” Joanna said instead, opening her newly purchased book again and turning the pages with deliberate care, “if there’s ever anything on your mind—anything at all—I’m always here to listen. Old aunt or not.”

There was a gentle understanding in her voice that nearly shattered Emma’s composure. How much simpler things would be if she could just unburden herself and explain these confusing feelings that had taken hold since that day at the lake. But how could she articulate what she didn’t understand?

“Old aunt? I hardly believe that,” a rich male voice interrupted from behind them.

Both women turned to find a tall, handsome gentleman regarding them with twinkling eyes and an all-too-charming smile—the kind that proved he knew his good looks allowed him to get away with many a crime.

“Forgive my intrusion, ladies. The comment was too tempting to resist.” He bowed deeply. “Nathaniel Godric, the Marquess of Knightley, at your service. And thoroughly ashamed of my poor manners.”

Emma recognized the Duke of Westmere’s friend immediately. The man’s easy smile and the humor dancing in his eyes matched everything she’d been told.

“Lord Knightley,” she acknowledged with a small curtsy. “I believe you’re acquainted with the Duke of Westmere?”

“Indeed, one of my oldest friends. We served together in His Majesty’s Navy,” Knightley confirmed, his eyes lighting up with recognition. “You must be Lady Cuthbert, and”—he turned to Joanna, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips with a flourish that lingered just a moment longer than propriety dictated—“this vision before me must be Joanna Dennison. Victor mentioned you both, though he failed to do justice to your beauty, My Lady.”

The Duke had mentioned us?

A becoming blush colored Joanna’s cheeks. “You flatter unnecessarily, My Lord.”

“Not at all,” he said earnestly, gesturing to the book in her hands. “Ah, Bulfinch’s new mythology collection! A woman of excellent taste. Have you reached the tale of Apollo and Daphne yet? It’s particularly well rendered in this edition.”

“I’ve only just purchased it,” Joanna replied, clearly pleased by his interest. “Are you a scholar of mythology, Lord Knightley?”

“A dabbler at best, though Greek myths have always fascinated me. The gods, so powerful yet so deeply flawed—rather like us mortals, wouldn’t you say?”

Emma watched with growing delight as her aunt engaged in animated conversation with the Marquess. Joanna’s usual reserve melted away as they discussed literary merits and debated translations. It had been too long since Emma had seen her aunt so exuberant, so alive.

“I understand you ladies are members of the Athena Society,” Knightley said, after a particularly spirited exchange about Homer. “The Duke speaks highly of your discussions.”

At that, Emma’s head snapped up. “He does?”

She could not stop the words from tumbling past her lips, and the Marquess turned that charming smile on her.

“Oh yes, he does,” he replied with a theatrical enthusiasm that made suspicion brew in her belly.

She felt as though he were scheming a perfect con of some sort.

“I wonder…” he continued. “Would it be terribly presumptuous of me to request an invitation to one of your gatherings? I promise to be on my best behavior.”

Joanna’s eyes widened behind her spectacles. “My Lord, the Society is for ladies only. It wouldn’t be… That is to say, propriety would not allow…”

“Propriety is merely tradition that hasn’t yet been challenged,” Knightley replied with a roguish grin. “Besides, I’ve always found that the most stimulating conversations occur when propriety is gently set aside. Don’t you agree, My Lady?”

To Emma’s astonishment, Joannagiggled—a sound Emma hadn’t heard in years.

“You are incorrigible, Lord Knightley,” Joanna said, but there was no censure in her tone.

“So I’ve been told. Frequently and by reliable sources,” Knightley agreed cheerfully. “But before I scandalize you further, I should mention my true purpose in accosting you, ladies. I am hosting a small gathering at Knightley Hall next Saturday evening. Nothing elaborate—music, dancing, good company. I would be honored if you both attend.”

“That’s very kind of you, Lord Knightley,” Emma said, before Joanna could demur.