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Emma’s eyes widened. “Lady Harrington invited us to her garden party? The same woman who missed no chance to disparage us whenever she could?”

“The very same,” Joanna confirmed, removing her spectacles to polish them—a gesture that accompanied her deepest perplexity. “She claimed to be motivated by remorse, but there was something in her manner… a suggestion of external influence.”

The invitation sat between them like a riddle waiting to be solved, its presence a disruption to the carefully mapped social terrain they had grown accustomed to navigating.

Emma speared her aunt with a look again as the woman picked the card up.

Joanna huffed out a laugh. “I am just as astonished as you are,” she added, her fingers still clutching the elegantly embossed card as though it were made of clouds. “What could have possibly prompted such a remarkable change of heart?”

“Perhaps she experienced a crisis of conscience,” Emma suggested, knowing that her explanation sounded implausible even as she uttered it.

Now, Joanna’s laugh held a note of incredulity because she, too, did not believe those words either.

“Lady Harrington would require a conscience first, my dear.” Her gaze sharpened as she noted Emma’s heightened color. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”

“Me?” Emma blinked at her aunt in innocent surprise. “How could I possibly influence Lady Harrington? We hardly run in the same circles.”

“Then… could it have been Annabelle?” Joanna mused, setting the invitation aside and taking Emma’s hands in her own. “That girl does have a temper, after all.”

Emma shook her head. “I am not so sure. We may ask her about it the next time we meet.”

“Indeed.” Joanna nodded. “I truly am curious as to what prompted this.” Then, she tilted her head. “Or… maybe the Duke stepped in?”

Emma froze. The Duke? Why would her aunt bring him up out of nowhere like this? Had she been too eager when she’d told her aunt about what happened last night?

Already, her thoughts were plagued with memories of the previous evening—of the Duke’s strong arms enfolding her, of his lips claiming hers with intoxicating possession, of his voice whispering scandalous promises against her heated skin.

Embarrassed, she quickly banished the memories, though a telltale flush crept up her neck.

She quietly extricated her hands from Joanna’s grasp, busying herself with straightening the already immaculate arrangement of flowers on the side table.

“I fail to see what the Duke of Westmere’s movements could have to do with Lady Harrington’s sudden bout of remorse.”

“Am I reaching too far?” Joanna’s tone was gentle, but there was a sliver of suspicion there.

Emma nodded once. “You surely are.”

“Forgive me.” Her aunt put her hand on her shoulder. “I am just concerned about your relationship with the?—”

“I keep telling you, Joanna, there is no relationship,” Emma interrupted, her voice a bit too shrill.

“Is that truly so?” Joanna pressed, taking a seat beside her. “Because your expression suggests that you hope for something more?—”

“No, I…” Emma stared down at her clasped hands. “I shouldn’t have allowed it,” she whispered. “A moment of weakness… It was just a momentary indulgence that can lead nowhere.”

“Oh, my dear Emma.” Joanna’s voice softened. “You’ve denied yourself happiness for so long, carrying the weight of propriety and responsibility since Harold’s passing. Is it so terrible to feel something for another man, even momentarily?”

“You don’t understand.” Emma’s voice caught. “I have Tristan to consider. I cannot indulge in… in whatever this is. The Duke… He does not seem like a man who seeks permanence, and I cannot afford to be a passing fancy. The scandal alone would ruin Tristan’s prospects.”

“And yet,” Joanna observed quietly, “I’ve never seen Tristan so animated as when he speaks of His Grace. Nor have I seen such light in your eyes since Lord Cuthbert died.”

Before Emma could formulate a response, the door burst open to admit a flustered maid. “Begging your pardon, My Lady, but Master Tristan has sent word asking when Lady Cuthbert might return home.”

Emma rose, grateful for the interruption. “I should return home.”

“Thank you for your support, my dear.” Joanna embraced her niece. “And… think on what I said. And perhaps consider that what seems like an impossible choice may not be so impossible, after all.”

CHAPTER21