darker pink or white. Her gown was cut simply, the neckline forming a deep V, almost meeting the riband of darker pink under her bust, and she had on the pearl necklace her father had given her shortly before his death. She was pleased to see that Lydia looked charming as well, and did not feel, as she sometimes did, that Lydia’s appearance outshone her own. There was a happiness and excitement bubbling inside her that she felt nothing could dissipate.
Emily tried to convince herself that the excitement she felt was on Lydia’s behalf, a sort of vicarious pleasure, but she knew it had much to do with the presence of a certain curate who behaved as if he were a lord.
She found him puzzling, a mystery that needed solving, and wanted desperately to believe that was her sole interest in the gentleman. She could not be falling in love with a penniless curate. What kind of life could they have together? He did not even have a living, no real means of supporting a wife. Her family was not rich, by any means, but they were not impoverished, either, which she would be were she to marry Mr. Williams. But what was intriguing about Mr. Williams was that he did not behave as if he were impoverished. There was no deference about him, no false humility. He did not kowtow to Lord or Lady Abernathy, but behaved as if he thought he was their equal. Although he and Sedgewick were friends, Sedgewick seemed almost to defer to Mr. Williams. It was very odd. Emily felt sure there was more to Mr. Williams than there appeared. And she was determined to find out what it was.
He was with Jonathan Sedgewick, who looked pale as a ghost. Emily was not sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. It probably meant that Mr. Williams had spoken with him about Lydia, as he’d promised, but Sedgewick looked more as a man does when presented with his worst nightmare, not his fondest dream. Did Sedgewick not return Lydia’s regard?
Emily looked at her sister and was reassured when she saw that Lydia resembled a frightened rabbit. She knew Lydia was in love with Sedgewick. The two must both be suffering from nothing more than an attack of nerves. It was up to her and Williams to smooth the lovers’ path. Her encouraging look in Williams’s direction was enough to bring him promptly to her side, offering to lead her out in the first dance. When she accepted, leaving Sedgewick alone with Lydia, they had no choice but to join the set that was forming.
“They do not appear very eager, for two people in love,” Alexander said in a low voice to Emily.
“I know. It is very odd. Perhaps they are both just shy. I am sure as the dance progresses they will warm up toward one another.”
But as the dance progressed, Lydia and Sedgewick appeared to be going through the motions of the dance in utter silence. Sedgewick’s face was rigid and taut; Lydia would barely raise her head. Emily, who was enjoying her dance with Williams immensely, was disturbed by her sister’s odd behavior. Nonetheless, she whispered to Sedgewick as the motions of the dance brought them together: “Say something to her!”
Sedgewick looked affronted, turned red, and clamped his jaws together even tighter.
Emily sighed, and attempted to resume conversation with Mr. Williams, but noticed that he appeared distracted all of a sudden, and was barely managing intelligent replies to her attempts at conversation. She followed his gaze and was disappointed to see he was staring at Lady Abernathy’s party, which had just arrived. His attention appeared to be riveted on a particular blond lady, who, even from this distance, looked to be outstandingly beautiful and fashionable. “Lady Cynthia, I presume.”
“What?” Her partner replied, finally shaken out of his reverie.
“I presume that is Lady Cynthia you are craning your neck to get a glimpse of.”
“I would not know, never having met the lady. However, I can assure you that I was not craning my neck to get a glimpse of her, as you so delicately termed my behavior. I have a far more stunning lady quite nearby, whose, ahem, charms are perfectly visible without requiring any neck-craning on my part.”
Emily could tell from the direction of his gaze what particular charms he was referring to, and felt a blush forming in that general vicinity. However, she would not be taken in by his silver tongue. “What gammon. I bet you could tell me how many golden strands she had on her well-formed head.”
“Ah, that is where you are wrong. Even if I was admiring the lady, I would not have been admiring her hair, as I have always preferred brunettes over blondes.”
Before Emily could think of a response to that outrageous statement, the music ended, and she was being steered to the French doors that led to the terrace.
“Mr. Williams! Where are we going?”
“You look flushed. I thought you could use some fresh air.”
Giving her no chance to respond, he propelled her outdoors. “Now, isn’t this nice?” he asked Emily. Once again, though, he was not looking at her but was looking over her head into the assembly rooms. Emily tried to turn her head to see who or what had caught his attention and was pulled out of the light into the darker part of the gardens.
“Mr. Williams, what are you—” Before Emily could finish the sentence she had been pulled abruptly into Mr. Williams’s arms, and he had covered her mouth with his own.
Emily’s first thought was to struggle, which she did, putting her hands against his chest in an attempt to push him off. But his mouth on hers was gentle, unthreatening, and his hands on her waist were warm. She felt if she were being protected rather than assaulted, and she rather liked the feeling, so the hand she had raised to push him off curled around his neck and somehow ended up pulling him tighter.
Alexander had felt her first attempt at resistance and was wondering what he would have done if she had pulled away and slapped him across the face. There would have been no avoiding Lady Cynthia in that case, who had followed them to the French doors and had peered out into the gardens, looking for him. But Emily’s initial resistance had turned into enthusiastic cooperation, and, after assuring himself that Lady Cynthia had returned to the assembly rooms without spotting them, he entered wholeheartedly into the embrace. Emily, who had just a moment earlier felt protected in his embrace, now felt that she was in the greatest danger of her life, as his lips, which had been gentle and tender, increased the pressure, and his hands, which had been resting casually at her waist, were somehow stroking her bare back and shoulders. Just as she was thinking she really needed to end the embrace, and yet how much she really did not want to, Alexander lifted his head.
“I really should apologize for my ungentlemanly behavior, but I cannot honestly say I am sorry.” As Emily did not reply, but merely continued to stare at him, wide-eyed, Alexander laughed softly and kissed her on the tip of the nose. “I am afraid I must take my leave of you, Emily, but I am sure we will be meeting again shortly.”
Emily gathered her scattered wits about her. “But where are you going? What about the rest of the assembly?”
“The rest of the evening would seem unbearably flat in comparison with this experience, I assure you.” So saying, he kissed the top of her head and disappeared into the gardens. Emily, after staring into the darkness a few minutes, slowly returned to the assembly rooms. All the excitement had faded from the evening. “He is right,” she muttered to herself as she walked inside the doors and surveyed the scene before her. “The rest of the evening does seem unbearably flat.”
She returned to her mother’s side, to find her in conversation with Lady Abernathy. “I thought the poor dear would have wanted to rest after her experience, but she assured me she was fine, and did not want to cast a pall over the rest of the party,” Lady Abernathy was telling her mother. “She even condescended to come to this assembly, although I’m sure after the fetes and balls of London this seems a sad comedown.”
“Emily,” Lady Smithfield addressed her daughter, “poor Lady Cynthia Sommers, Lady Abernathy’s niece, was attacked by a highwayman en route from London this morning.”
“How awful,” Emily replied. “She was not hurt, I trust.”
“No, no, although I fear the dreadful man may have tried to take liberties with her.” Lady Abernathy lowered her voice. “I believe he attempted to embrace her.”
“No!” Lady Smithfield said, in shocked accents. “How disgusting. Why, I do not know how I would react if a brigand treated one of my girls in such a shocking manner.”
Emily wondered what her reaction would be if she knew that Emily had just been in a similar situation with a curate. Probably the same as if she had been embraced by a highwayman. Lady Smithfield viewed highwaymen and impoverished curates as being on about the same rung of the social ladder.
“Yes, poor Cynthia. Thankfully she has a great deal of fortitude. Ah, it appears she is coming this way now. Let me introduce you both to my niece, Lady Cynthia Sommers.”
