minutes, or perhaps lose her chance, and that would be appalling. She could not lose so soon the first lord she had spoken to familiarly, quite the handsomest man; and, even more to her liking, a man of wit and boldness.
She excused herself from Lucy Sandelson on the pretext of being rather warm, and made her way towards the conservatory. It would doubtless be far too cold in there, but what was a little discomfort in the pursuit of such advance?
She had waited five minutes, which seemed like fifty, when at last she heard footsteps. She did not turn, pretending to be absorbed in the contemplation of an azalea.
“I hoped you would not have grown cold and returned to the ballroom before I had the chance to disengage myself.”
She felt the blood surge through her. It was Ashworth.
“Indeed,” she said as calmly as she could. “I had no idea you had observed my leaving. I did not intend to be obvious.” What a lie. If she had not thought he observed her she would have had to return, and leave again. “I was finding the heat growing a trifle oppressive. So many people.”
“Do you dislike crowds? I am most disappointed.” He sounded it. “I was hoping I might invite you, and perhaps Miss Decker, to accompany me and one or two friends to the races in a week’s time. There is a big meeting, and all fashionable London will be there. You would have graced the scene, especially if you were to have worn the same delightful shade as you are wearing now. It brings all springtime and youth to mind.”
She was too choked with excitement to speak. The races! With Lord Ashworth! All fashionable London. Dreams flickered past her eyes in such profusion she could hardly distinguish one from another. Maybe the Prince of Wales would be there; he loved racing. And who knew who else? She would buy another dress in green, a dress for the races, fit to turn every head on the course!
“You are very silent, Miss Ellison,” he said from behind her. “I should be dreadfully disappointed if you did not come. You are quite the most enchanting creature here. And I promise you, the crowds at the races will be nothing like as stifling as here in the ballroom. It will all be open air, and if we are lucky, sunshine as well. Please say that you will come?”
“Thank you, Lord Ashworth.” She must keep her voice steady, as if she frequently were invited to the races by lords and it were no cause for ecstasy. “I should be most charmed to come. I have no doubt it will be a delightful occasion, and Miss Decker quite a proper companion. I understand she has accepted?”
“Naturally, or I should not have been so inconsiderate as to approach you.” That was a lie, but she was not to know it.
When Papa came to inform her it was time to return home, she followed obediently, smiling, in a haze of delight.
Race day was fine, one of those cool, dazzlingly sunny days of late spring when the very air seems to sparkle. Emily had prevailed upon Papa to purchase yet another new dress, and in the very green she wished. She had hinted at the eloquent argument that if really successful she might attract a future husband-a thought which could not fail to impress Papa. Three daughters were a severe test of any man’s connections and good fortune if he wished to see them satisfactorily married. Sarah had been matched, if not brilliantly, at least acceptably. Dominic had sufficient means, and was certainly more than personable. He was uncommonly handsome, and seemed of easy temper and good habits.
Charlotte, of course, was entirely another matter. Emily could not see Charlotte being nearly so easily settled. She was both far too unaccommodating in her nature-no man liked an argumentative woman-and far too impractical in her own desires. She wished for the most awkward and, in the long run, unrewarding attributes in a man. Emily had tried to speak to her regarding her ambitions, to point out that financial means and social standing, coupled with acceptable appearance and behaviour that was at any rate well-mannered, were all one could reasonably expect-indeed, were a very great deal more than most girls ever achieved. But Charlotte refused to be persuaded, or seriously to acknowledge that she even understood.
But today none of that mattered. Emily was at the race meeting with Lord George Ashworth and Miss Decker and some young man she barely noticed. He was of infinitely less promise than Ashworth, and therefore not to be considered at the moment.
The first race was already over, and George had won very nicely on it. He claimed to know the owner of the animal, which made the whole venture even more exciting. Emily paraded along the close grass, parasol in hand, luxuriating in an air of great superiority. She was on the arm of a member of the aristocracy, and an uncommonly handsome one. She looked both fashionable and lovely, and she knew it. And she had inside information on the winner of the previous race. What more could anyone ask? She was of the elite.
The second race was a smaller affair, but the third was the big event of the meeting. The crowd began to buzz in excitement, like a swarm of bees disturbed. The swirls of movement grew more violent as people elbowed their way towards bookmakers, calling odds, trying to induce higher and higher wagers. Men in elegant and rakish clothes laughed loudly, as fistfuls of money changed hands.
Once, while Ashworth was talking about horses’ legs, good heart, jockeys’ skill, and other things she did not understand, Emily observed an incident she could merely stare at, transfixed. A portly gentleman, somewhat red in the face, was chuckling to himself over his good fortune, clutching a note in his hand. He took one or two steps forward, moving towards a sallow man in dark clothes, lugubrious as an undertaker.
“Lose, old fellow?” the stout man asked cheerfully. “Never mind, better luck with this one! Can’t lose ’em all. Keep at it, I say,” and he gave a broad chuckle.
The thin man looked at him with polite dismay.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but were you addressing me?” His voice was quite soft. Had Emily been less close she would not have caught the words.
“You look as if misfortune has visited you,” the stout man went on heartily. “Happens to the best of us. Keep trying, I say.”
“Indeed, sir. I assure you I have had no misfortune.”
“Ah,” the stout man grinned and winked. “Not wanting to admit it, eh?”
“I assure you, sir-”
The stout man laughed and clapped the other on the arm. At that moment a stranger missed his footing and staggered sideways, cannoning into the stout man. He in turn fell forward almost into the arms of the sallow man in the mourning clothes. The man put out both hands to steady the sudden weight, or to fend it off. There were profuse apologies all round, and an attempt at straightening clothes. The ill-footed stranger muttered something, then apparently saw an acquaintance in the distance, and still talking, took himself off. A smart young woman materialized next to the dark man and begged him to come immediately and witness some good fortune of hers, while two other fellows having a heated discussion on the merits or demerits of a certain horse, took over almost the same spot of ground.
The stout man brushed himself down, drawing a deep breath. Then his hand stopped convulsively, halfway down his body, dived into his vest pocket, and came out empty.
“My watch!” he howled in anguish. “My money! My seals! I had three gold seals on my watch chain! I’ve been robbed!”
Emily swivelled round and tugged on Ashworth’s sleeve.
“George!” she said urgently. “George, I just saw a man robbed! He was robbed of his watch and seals!”
Ashworth turned round, a slightly indulgent smile on his mouth.
“My dear Emily, it happens all the time at the races.”
“But I saw it! It was most cleverly done. This man bumped him from behind and forced him almost on top of another, who ran his hands over him, and like a conjuror must have removed his possessions! Aren’t you going to do something?”
“What do you suggest?” His eyebrows rose. “The man who took them will be innocently engaged in something quite different by now, and the goods themselves will have been passed on to someone else neither you nor the victim has ever seen.”
“But it only happened this moment!” she protested.
“And where is the thief?”
She stared round. There was no one she recognized, except the victim and the two arguers. She turned back to George helplessly.
“I can’t see him.”
