“I thought your husband invited me,” he suggested ruefully.
He really should not test her further; she was beginning to look like Eliza did when she was about to hit him over the head. “Hugh made suggestions, but I approved all invitations. So come with me now and pretend that you are pleased to be here. Or have you given up on actually appearing in Society as an individual?”
Muttering to himself, Michael pushed up out of the chair he had been occupying pleasantly since his escape. Not that the card room had been so very dreadful, he’d only lost interest in participating in the conversations occurring there. Diana had pleaded a headache, so she had chosen to remain at home to rest. He’d grown used to only appearing to further their courtship, but he hadn’t cried off himself purely for the sake of Hugh and Elinor and this first informal event they had hosted.
Much of the company was filled with people he admired well enough; he was simply not feeling the thing. Was that so wrong?
“Thank you,” Elinor chirped, taking his arm.
“Does your brother feel so badgered by you at times?” Michael inquired with a tilt of his head as he led her down the corridor.
Elinor nodded once. “Of course. He has four sisters, after all. And just so you are aware, Eliza wrote to me and bade me to keep you out of mischief.”
Michael coughed in mock effrontery. “I never make mischief! She had best mind what she says to people, given the favors I have agreed to do for her while in London. I’ve a mind to tell her she can come fetch her own fabrics.”
“She doesn’t care about fabrics,” Elinor laughed as they reentered the card party. “It’s all about the… Never you mind. Send me her demands for the modiste, and I’ll see to that in exchange for your good behavior tonight.”
“Done.” He patted her hand, giving her a smile. “See? It wasn’t for naught that I went to the library.”
Elinor nudged him hard before stepping away to return to her guests.
Michael chuckled and began to amble about the room, forcing himself to look as pleasant as he could. Several people smiled, returning his nods of greeting, and some of the young ladies, he did note, lingered in their smiles.
Intriguing. Was this because Diana was not in attendance, and they knew no engagement had been set as yet? Perhaps Elinor hadn’t been exaggerating after all.
He smiled further still when he caught sight of Mrs. Partlowe, Elinor’s sister, sitting alone nearby. He moved in that direction, feeling some sage conversation with her would be preferable than forcing politeness elsewhere. Emma had always been a creature of sense, not carried away by fancy like her sister or some of her friends, yet she was also one of the originators of the Spinster Chronicles. She had left the fold to marry her husband, choosing not to continue with the column, which had injured some to a degree, though no one had taken it harder than Charlotte. He remembered well the rant Charlotte had made over the comfortable marriage and departure, but he had not felt the same.
On the contrary, it had made perfect sense to him that Emma had chosen such a course.
“Mrs. Partlowe,” he greeted, bowing when he reached her. “May I take the seat beside you?”
She smiled up at him, and for the first time he noted faint lines in her features that had not been there only a few years ago. Yet they suited her, and her loveliness was not diminished by them. “Please, Michael. It would be a pleasure.”
He sank down, sighing in relief and at once as comfortable with her as he had ever been. “You look tired, Emma. Can I say such a thing?”
She laughed softly. “Perhaps only to me. And I feel tired, thank you. The twins are anything but content these days, and I find myself in an interesting condition at an inconvenient time.”
“Congratulations, and my condolences?” he suggested with a wince, chuckling to himself.
“Yes, quite.” She sighed, shaking her head. “It is a blessing, of course, and many women have dealt with such a condition inconveniently, but I think I shall need another version of myself in addition to manage it all.”
He smiled with some sympathy. “We’d only be so fortunate.”
Emma’s smile quirked crookedly. “Flatterer.” She turned her attention across the room, and her smile deepened. “Now there is a pairing for us.”
Michael followed her faint gesture and saw Lieutenant Henshaw and Kitty Morton sitting in a pair of chairs near each other, deep in conversation, both seeming on the edge of their seats.
“At last,” he said on an exhale, crossing one knee over the other. “I wasn’t sure they would ever get there.”
Emma laughed to herself. “Should I warn Izzy that her sister-in-law is sitting too close to him? Or that they are holding each other’s hand?”
“Absolutely not,” Michael retorted. “Miss Morton looks delighted with her present situation, and Henshaw might burst. Leave them. That’s as it should be.”
“Is that how it is for you?” Emma’s question was much softer, and while it carried the same inquisitive direction her sister had used earlier, he felt none of the impertinence or prying of it.
More than that, he needed to think about the question.
“I couldn’t say,” he eventually replied, considering his feelings for Diana and the relationship they were cultivating. “It’s… different.”
“I can understand that,” Emma murmured, looking down at her fingers. “I never had the frantic part of love. The breathless, unable to sleep, romanticized and publicized version of it. I did not even marry for love, but I found it all the same.”
Michael took her hand, squeezing gently. “I hoped you would.”
She smiled up at him, her eyes and smile warm. “There is more than one way to love, and to feel love; even romantic love. Some feel it loudly and cannot
