“I could not agree more,” Portia piped in as she turned to lie back on the sofa like a languishing princess.
Lily laughed. “By the look of you two, one would think we had just endured the Inquisition.”
Portia lifted her arm to cover her eyes. “More like the Hundred Years War.”
“Well, I think it was a promising afternoon,” Emma said. “It was kind of Lord Griffith to invite you girls to accompany him and his mother on a drive through the park tomorrow morning. It should be a lovely day.”
“You haven’t met his mother,” Portia replied dryly.
Emma scowled. “That is rather unkind.”
“Lady Griffith is an overbearing gossipmonger and a frightful snob,” Portia argued unapologetically. “In a single conversation with her, I heard no less than thirteen catty comments about ladies who believe themselves to be her friends. The woman will say anything about anyone in an attempt to make herself appear superior.”
“You are exaggerating,” Lily accused. “She is not that bad.”
Portia just snorted.
“What is the matter with you, Portia?” Emma asked. “What has put you in such a mood?”
Portia swung her feet to the floor and stood in one abrupt movement. “Nothing is the matter with me,” she snapped. “It is the whole of London that needs an adjustment.”
She stormed across the room and nearly collided with the butler as he arrived with some refreshments. Snatching a couple of biscuits from his tray, Portia slid past him and out the door.
Emma turned to Lily with a quirked brow. “What was that about?”
Lily hesitated for a moment, as though trying to decide just what she should admit. The younger Chadwick sisters shared a particularly close bond and their loyalty to each other trumped just about anything, even an inquiry from their oldest sister.
After a moment, Lily replied vaguely, “I think the Season has been a bit disappointing for her.”
Emma wondered what exactly the girl had been expecting. She decided to talk to Portia later, when her sister had a chance to calm down a bit. There was no point in prodding Portia when her temper was high.
Turning her focus on Lily as she poured them all some tea, she mentioned lightly, “Lord Fallbrook was quite attentive again today.”
Lily met her gaze for a few long seconds, then lifted her brows and gave a rueful smile. “Do you mind if we talk about something else for a change? The constant attention to husband hunting can get tiresome.”
“Of course,” Emma replied with a pang of regret.
Perhaps she had been pushing too hard. It would certainly explain Portia’s temper. The girl tended to fight back when she felt even the slightest bit bullied. If Lily, who was typically so willing to accept Emma’s lead and rarely complained about anything, felt as though she were getting overwhelmed, it was time to take heed.
Noticing the butler had thought to include the morning post on the tray, Emma picked up the stack of missives and opened the first one. On more than one occasion, Emma wished she hadn’t thought to have their mail forwarded when they left their town house for Mayfair. There were often more bills and demands for debt repayment than invitations to social events. Trying not to dwell on what could not be changed, she lifted her gaze to smile at her younger sister.
“What shall we talk about?”
Lily leaned forward to pour a dollop of cream into her tea, then added a healthy dose of sugar. Bringing the sweet drink to her lips, she eyed Emma over the rim of her cup. Curiosity flashed brightly in her gaze. “Truth be told, I am simply dying to hear about your day, Mrs. Adams.”
Emma had been afraid of that. She glanced toward their great-aunt. The small book of sonnets lay open in her lap, and the lady’s gentle snores assured that she had drifted off to sleep in the chair.
There was no reason not to answer Lily’s inquiry, except that the only thing worth telling was something she had no intention of discussing. Her disconcerting reaction to Mr. Bentley and their prior meeting would have to remain tightly under her tongue. It was difficult keeping things from her sisters, let alone something that so frequently claimed her own attention. But whatever attraction she had to her employer was irrelevant to their circumstances and needed to be doused…as soon as Emma figured out just how to manage such a task.
Keeping her tone light, she replied, “There is not much to tell, really. I sat at a desk for several hours, reviewing documentation of profit and expense, going over members’ accounts, and bringing the information up-to-date. Not exactly fascinating material for conversation.”
Lily waved her hand in dismissal. “I am not asking about your duties. I want to know about the place itself.” She leaned forward to whisper, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Is it a sinful den of depravity?”