As the idea settled more deeply into his consciousness, Roderick acknowledged the sensation of rightness flowing through him.
After a while, he lifted his drink in a sort of toast. “Are you sure you won’t have some brandy? Best in London.”
The earl’s lips quirked, just a bit, certainly not enough to be considered a smile, but he gave a short nod and said, “I suppose one drink won’t lead me to ruin.”
Roderick detected the subtle sarcasm in his tone, and a smirk curled his lips. “You wouldn’t be the first to make such an error,” he quipped as he rose to pour his brother a drink.
Thirty-three
“What a delightful party.” Angelique lifted her opera glasses to scan the room. “So many handsome gentlemen.”
Emma murmured a noncommittal response.
Wasn’t every party delightful? Every ball a smashing success? Every soirée divine?
As the sarcastic thoughts crossed her mind, Emma tried to contain them, ignore them, pretend she wasn’t so disinterested in the whole thing.
She needed to keep up her enthusiasm, if only for her sisters’ sake.
Lily had undergone a sort of transformation in the few weeks since her harrowing abduction. Emma could see now it had started with Lily’s insistence that the identity of her rescuer remain anonymous, even to her family. That one small act of autonomy had started a wave of subtle shifts in Lily’s nature. She was becoming more confident in herself, more outspoken and willing to make decisions that did not necessarily fall in line with what her sisters wanted.
Emma loved it, and she was not the only person to see her sister’s maturing confidence. Her suitors had taken notice as well.
Lily was likely to become engaged very soon. One particular gentleman had been quite attentive. Though he was not exactly what she would have chosen for her sister, Emma would not be opposed to the match.
And Portia…well, she had also changed. Her impatience, her interest in society, even her tendency to be contrary, had waned. She started retiring early whenever possible and occasionally slept through much of the day. For the most part, she seemed content to slide through the rest of the Season without any undue effort or resistance.
It made Emma nervous, because she knew Portia better than that. The girl would never be content.
Other than those concerns, Emma had nothing to complain about. The Chadwicks, as a whole, were doing uncharacteristically well.
To date, there had not been a single whisper of Lily’s ordeal amongst the gossips. It seemed almost as though it had never happened. Any worry of scandal breaking eased with each day that passed.
The day after Lily’s return, Emma received a copy of the original loan contract signed by their father with the words PAID IN FULL written across it in Hale’s bold hand.
With Hale no longer a threat, the Chadwicks experienced a sense of financial security they had not had since before their mother’s death. Emma’s winnings from that fateful night had provided enough to pay off their outstanding bills. With conscientious budgeting, Emma believed she could keep Lily and Portia in society for the remainder of the Season.
And then…well, if either of them remained unengaged, Emma would have several months to come up with some way to fund another Season next year.
Perhaps she could apply at one of the other gambling hells around town.
The internal attempt at humor had the opposite effect as memories of her time at Bentley’s came to mind. Thoughts of her past employment invariably led to thoughts of Roderick himself, and there her mind would dwell. For hours sometimes.
Emma had never been one to lose herself in melancholy thoughts or dreams of what might have been, but lately she had become quite accustomed to doing just that.
She missed him.
She missed how he made her feel—bold and fearless—how he looked at her when he waited for her to speak, and most of all, she missed who she was when she was with him.
“Emma, darling, why do you not dance? So many lovely ladies and handsome gentlemen on the dance floor. You should be out there with them, ma petite.”
Emma sighed and looked down at Angelique where the lady sat perched at the edge of her seat amongst the matrons. They had gone over this a thousand times if they had gone over it once.
“Remember, I am too old for such things, Angelique. I am here to keep watch over Lily and Portia, nothing more.”
Angelique huffed, lowering her opera glasses. “That is ridiculous. One is never too old to dance.”
“Society would say otherwise,” Emma replied patiently.
“Then I shall have to prove society wrong, no?”
Emma watched in fascinated shock as Angelique rose swiftly to her feet, and without preamble or hesitation, crossed to the nearest gentleman, one in a group of young bucks containing not a single member who could say he was older than twenty-five.