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“A diplomatic compromise,” Annabelle conceded with a knowing look.

“I do so prefer that Radcliffe rewards patience,” Lady Winterbourne piped up. “Too many recent novels insist on instant gratification.”

“Speaking of instant gratification,” Annabelle began, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “I have acquired a most fascinating volume from my contact in Paris. A novel that explores the… shall we say, unspoken aspects of marital relations with remarkable frankness.”

A wave of scandalized delight rippled through the assembly, immediately curtailed by a sharp knock on the drawing room door. The butler, clearly discomfited, entered and bowed.

“My Ladies, forgive the interruption. Lord Sidney has arrived and requests admission to your gathering.”

A collective intake of breath preceded a moment of stunned silence.

Emma felt her cheeks flush with indignation. “Lord Sidney is here? Now?”

How dare he come here? Was it not enough that he kept accosting her at public gatherings and places? Would he now seek to pester her at her friend’s house as well?

Before the butler could respond, the man himself appeared in the doorway, attired in an expanse of emerald-green silk and cream brocade that would have seemed excessive even in a London drawing room. He surveyed the assembly with the indulgent smile of a superior being confronted with an amusing curiosity.

“Ladies, please forgive my intrusion on your literary discussions.” Sidney bowed with practiced yet slimy elegance. “I was passing by the estate and remembered that the Athena Society was in session. Forgive me, for I could not resist the opportunity to observe this much-discussed intellectual circle.”

Annabelle rose, her posture impeccable, her expression coolly polite. “How unexpected, Lord Sidney. I was unaware that you harbored an interest in feminine literary pursuits.”

“I find all aspects of the female experience inherently fascinating, Miss Lytton,” he replied, his gaze sliding from Annabelle to Emma with practiced subtlety. “Particularly when curated by women of such discernment.”

Joanna set her wine glass down with deliberate precision. “How extraordinary that your interest should manifest just as we were about to discuss a text of particular delicacy, accessibleonlyto our members.”

“Indeed,” Annabelle agreed, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “And as our constitution explicitly limits attendance to female members, we find ourselves in the awkward position of being unable to accommodate your curiosity, however flattering.”

Sidney’s expression hardened momentarily before reassuming its practiced charm. “Naturally, I would not dream of disrupting established protocols. Though perhaps the constitution might be amended, given the valuable perspective a masculine intellect might contribute to your discussions.”

“A masculine intellect would certainly be welcome,” Joanna remarked, adjusting her spectacles. “Should you encounter one in your travels, Lord Sidney, please direct him to us.”

A muffled sound of amusement escaped several members before propriety reasserted itself.

Sidney’s smile thinned perceptibly.

“Yourunmarriedaunt’s wit remains as sharp as ever, Emma,” he observed, his tone suggesting this was not entirely a compliment. “I shall leave you ladies to your scholarly pursuits. Though I hope, Emma, that you would reconsider my invitation for dinner next Thursday. Tristan would benefit immensely from connecting with his family.”

Emma inclined her head with precise formality. “As I explained this morning, our Thursday engagements are quite fixed. Perhaps another time.”

Sidney’s gaze lingered on her face, the calculation evident behind his cordial expression. “Another time, then. Ladies, good evening.”

As the door closed behind his departing figure, a collective exhale echoed through the room.

Annabelle returned to her seat beside Emma, her hand seeking her friend’s in a gesture of silent solidarity.

“Well,” she said quietly, “it appears Thornfield Manor’s new occupant intends to make his presence felt beyond its boundaries.”

“He has always possessed an inflated ego,” Emma muttered, grateful for the pressure of Annabelle’s fingers around her own.

Joanna retrieved her wine glass, her expression contemplative. “He’s the furthest thing I’ve seen from a wholesome family man.”

“He’s always watched you too closely,” Annabelle added with a scowl. “Even when you were newly married, his gaze lingered far longer than was proper. And now he turns up, all eagerness and false concern? It reeks of something worse than mere interference.”

Emma felt a chill of apprehension. Sidney as a distant figure—disquieting but far away—had always been manageable. But Sidney as a man emboldened by proximity and obsession was another matter entirely.

“He shall find me an implacable opponent if he thinks that Tristan’s future—or mine—is subject to his whims,” she declared, her quiet voice edged with steel.

“Not merely you,” Joanna assured her, raising her glass in a subtle salute. “He shall find us all far less yielding than the Society darlings he’s used to manipulating.”