Page 51

“ I am all right. Everything is all right,” Emma whispered to herself in an almost inaudible voice.

She had learned early in life to wear a mask and pretend that nothing truly moved her. It was, naturally, a necessary skill for anyone in the ton—and especially so for a young widow with a young child to care for and a reputation to maintain.

The afternoon sun cast its long shadows on Lady Pembrooke’s perfectly groomed garden, where society’s elite had gathered for what was, no doubt, supposed to be a celebration of summer.

Emma knew it for what it truly was: just an opportunity for high society to judge and scrutinize one another as usual.

Crystal flutes clinked softly together, and servants meandered between the tables, carrying even more trays laden with wine glasses. Ladies in pastel silks and gentlemen in crisp waistcoats engaged in the familiar dance of polite conversation and subtle character assassination.

Emma quietly took a sip of her wine while she used her other hand to adjust her silk bonnet and make sure the ribbons were still tied in a proper bow underneath her jaw.

She’d put much thought and effort into her dress—the gown was modest enough to honor her status as a widow yet stylish enough to keep her far out of the bad books of the ton’s fashionable ladies.

It would not do for her to seem as though she’d completely stepped away from Society—the countryside still boasted a vibrant social life, and it was one she did not intend to be completely isolated from.

And she attended these things not simply for her sake but for the sake of her young son, who was still growing and was quickly gaining an interest in many things she most certainly could not keep up with.

If she cut herself off completely from London’s high society, it would only make things terribly difficult for him when he came of age and realized that he was an outcast. She would not ruin him in such a terrible manner.

Still, that did not mean she quite enjoyed having to endure all the curious glances and mocking side talk made at her expense. Even now, she had to use her fan to shield her nearly curdling expression from the barrage of glances and whispers directed her way.

“They’re watching us again,” Annabelle Lytton, her friend and closest confidante, whispered, leaning in so that her words would not carry beyond their small circle.

And indeed, her friend’s blue eyes glimmered with an all-too-familiar mischief that Emma always found herself admiring and envying in equal measure.

“Lady Harwick and her flock of harpies have not stopped staring our way since we arrived.”

Of course, it’s Lady Harwick.

Emma sighed inwardly.

She had been at the mercy of the prying and unkind noblewoman ever since moving to the countryside, and she was already quite used to the woman’s antics.

Lady Harwick was the type to never let a single piece of gossip about those she considered as even a minor inconvenience go unwielded.

Emma had an intuition that if the woman had caught wind of Tristan’s venture into the Duke of Westmere’s property, there was no doubt that she would have been the center of gossip in this gathering—even more so than she already was.

Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Let them stare then,” she replied, even as she felt the familiar tightening in her chest. “I suppose they must find their own lives so terribly dull if they’re so focused on others.”

Beside them, Miss Joanna Dennison—Emma’s aunt and one of her closest companions—let out a soft chuckle, the sound partially muffled by her ivory fan.

She was quite a handsome woman, but at six-and-thirty years of age, she had been properly put on the shelf, what with the men of the ton running after the skirts of far younger women.

“They are just envious, my dear,” Miss Joanna said, her gray eyes sharp behind the round spectacles that rested on the bridge of her nose.

“Not all of us have the courage to create something as meaningful as your Athena Society. We all know it is quite easier to throw stones than to build something of value.”

Emma could not help the warmth that surged through her at the mention of her book club.

The Athena Society had started as a simple meet-up for women who wanted to dive into literature beyond the dull novels that were usually considered ‘suitable’ for them. It had blossomed into a true haven—a space where minds could connect without the usual societal constraints.

Well, of course, the ‘proper’ ladies of the ton never failed to make fun of the club every chance they got.

Emma did not quite care about that. The book club’s members were utterly lovely spinsters and widows, and she loved the idea that her small gathering was the place where all these women could find solace away from the loneliness she knew had them in a tight grip.

“Speaking of stone throwers,” Annabelle said, her voice dropping a notch into a conspiratorial whisper, “get ready. The vultures are circling.”

Emma followed her friend’s gaze and spotted Lady Harwick approaching, flanked by two other women whose names she most definitely remembered but whose company she never particularly enjoyed.

Lady Harwick’s smile was sharp as a knife, and her pale blue eyes scrutinized Emma’s appearance with the precision of a jeweler examining a dubious gem.

“Lady Cuthbert,” she greeted, her voice pitched just right so that those nearby could hear. “How lovely to see you out and about. We were starting to think you had permanently retreated into your widow’s weeds and… those unusual literary interests of yours.”

Emma kept her smile in place, though she could feel it tightening at the edges. “Lady Harwick, what a delight. I believe a well-rounded life needs both solitude and social interaction in equal parts.”

“Indeed,” Lady Harwick replied, her gaze darting to Annabelle and Joanna before settling back on Emma. “And how is your little… gathering coming along? The Athena Circle, was it?”

“Don’t you mean, the Club for Society’s Undesirable Women ?” Lady Mary Rothforth, a tall, spindly woman who wished she was half as unkind as Lady Harwick, giggled behind her fan.

And then the three of them started to laugh, inciting others within earshot to join in.

But Emma was unmoved.

“The Athena Society,” she corrected firmly, deciding not to take the bait. “And it is thriving, thank you for your interest.”

Lady Harwick let out a disgusted scoff.

“We have just finished a fascinating discussion on Mrs. Shelley’s work,” Emma added, refusing to give the noblewoman the satisfaction of seeing her stutter.

Lady Harwick’s second companion—Lady Penelope Morton, if Emma remembered correctly—let out a small sound that was probably meant to be a laugh but came out more like a snort.

“How progressive of you. Next, you will be telling us you have taken an interest in politics or mathematics!” she mocked, her voice high and needling.

“And what a terrible disaster that would be,” Annabelle chimed in, her smile bright but her blue eyes icy. “Just think of the horror—women using their minds for anything other than romance novels, gossip, and needlework. Society would surely fall apart!”

It was clear that Lady Harwick did not appreciate Annabelle’s sarcasm, from the way her lips pressed into a near-invisible line. “Your wit is as sharp as ever, Miss Lytton. One has to wonder if that is why you remain a spinster.”

Before Annabelle could unleash what was sure to be a cutting retort, Emma gently placed a hand on her arm.

“We have been neglecting our other friends,” she said smoothly. “If you’ll excuse us, Lady Harwick, I think I see Mrs. Halloway waving at us.”

Emma was well aware that Annabelle was a devoted fan of romance novels, often sharing her favorites with the book club. However, she also knew that her friend would invariably seize any occasion to insult Lady Harwick and her sidekicks, even if it meant taking a jab herself.

Emma quickly led Annabelle away, making sure to keep Joanna close behind. It wasn’t until they had put a good amount of distance between themselves and Lady Harwick’s group that Emma finally let her shoulders drop a little.

“That woman,” Annabelle huffed, the feathers on her hat shaking with her frustration. “I swear she must practice her insults in front of a mirror every morning.”

“You really shouldn’t have engaged with her, Annabelle,” Joanna said, though there was a playful lilt in her voice. “It just feeds her nasty, little habit.”

“And we should just let those gossiping hens walk all over us?” Annabelle shot back, rightly incensed. “Emma works so hard to create an environment where women can actually think, and they act like she’s running a brothel of some sort!”

Emma knew her friend was fighting for her honor, but she also found her mind quickly wandering. And it was going back to a certain blue-eyed man she ought not to even be thinking about.

The Duke of Westmere.

For some reason she couldn’t quite put a finger on, her thoughts kept on circling back to him—particularly to that last moment before she’d left his estate, when she’d caught that tender look on his face as he patted his dog.

He was the Beast , the man the ton had labeled dangerous, half-mad, and remorseless; and yes, while he had been cold, she’d glimpsed something in his eyes in that flicker of a moment that contradicted the coldness of his demeanor as he spoke in a hushed tone to the animal.

Indeed, it felt as if he was wearing a mask, much the same as she was. And Emma did not quite know what to think about that.

“Emma? Have you heard a word I’ve said at all?” Annabelle’s voice pulled her out of her reverie.

Emma blinked hard and fast, realizing she’d completely retreated into her head.

Why did she keep thinking about that grouchy and insufferable man?

“Forgive me,” she said quickly, making sure to hide her thoughts behind her sociable mask.