Emma snorted. “Ye’re in love. Blinded to yer bloomin’ husband’s faults.”
Unable to relax despite the return of their childhood familiarity, Emma extended her leg and then curled one ankle behind the other. “At least Lord Hadfield demanded he receive the PORF mark and gain the responsibilities along with it as soon as he was made aware of them, unlike his brother.” The need to remain on guard steeled her spine and added an unnecessary edge to her tone.
Bronwyn raised her brows. “You know Landon would prefer you address him by his first name. And you are aware that my husband won’t hear of Christopher receiving the mark until he is wed. And in typical Neale fashion, my brother-in-law will only marry for love.”
Bah. The Head PORF, no matter his relation to Bronwyn, would always command her respect. And what was Bronwyn babbling on about? Marriage. Love. None of that mattered. The man had a duty. Christopher was next in line to inherit the Hadfield title and PORF responsibilities until Bronwyn birthed a son. It was well known that the Neale men never lived long. If she were in Christopher’s position, she would demand the right to fulfill a generations-old oath to protect the royal family. Instead, the man abided by his brother’s wishes with no objection. It left Emma with no desire to meet Bronwyn’s brother-in-law, despite her friend’s efforts to contrive an introduction between them.
“How do ye suppose Mr. Neale will find a wife if he can’t bloomin’ well find a secretary?”
“That is a valid point.” Bronwyn’s facial muscles twitched and contorted until Emma was pierced with one of Bronwyn’s I-have-a-plan looks. “Aha! If Christopher weren’t plagued by both searches, his temperament would be much improved. I shall redirect my efforts to finding him a wife. Once he is wed, he’ll be more amicable.”
“Are you implying that Mr. Neale is in need of…” Emma wagged her eyebrows.
“I am. I am indeed. Men are much more accommodating if they are…well… Never mind. You are an innocent. I shouldn’t be speaking of such things.”
Bronwyn’s words poked at a bruise upon Emma’s heart. They no longer shared a similar position within the Network. They lived on opposite sides of London. And while Bronwyn had never shown an interest in beaus or marriage, she was the first to find love and a partner in life. The ache in her chest spurred Emma’s retort. “Oh my, ain’t ye all hoity-toity now. Yer lady rules don’t apply when ye are speakin’ with me. And according to my Network sources, Mr. Neale is well acquainted with a number of widows. He has been spied visiting Madam Sinclair’s establishment on occasion. I doubt a wife will make a difference.”
“I can assure you, Christopher is well beyond his wild days, and since Landon left the law firm to him to run, Christopher’s only mistress has been work. In fact, his work ethic reminds me of someone I know rather well.” Bronwyn arched an eyebrow.
Bronwyn’s defense of her new brother-in-law didn’t surprise Emma, but to believe the Network’s information on the man was utterly wrong was highly unusual.
“Speakin’ of work, I’d best be gettin’ back to the shop.” Emma rose. Blood rushed to her legs, causing sharp prickling sensations along the backs of her knees. “Please don’t bother calling for a coach to be readied. It’ll be quicker if I simply take a hackney.”
Bronwyn stood and reached for her hands. “I’ve one more favor to ask before you leave.” Serious blue eyes bored into Emma. “I can’t postpone it any longer; I must host a ball, and I want you to attend.”
Good Heavens—a ball. The blood drained from her hands, leaving them cold and clammy in her friend’s grasp. “Ye know I’d lay me life down for ye, but I’ll not attend a ball amongst me clients.”
She could hardly manage being here when it was just the two of them. Surrounded by socialites, she’d find the walls of Hadfield townhouse even more restricting. To stand amongst those for whom she acted as modiste? She wanted nothing to do with their world. It was a world of ruthlessness, deceit, and greed. It was the reason why PORFs and the Network established themselves apart as separate organizations many generations ago. No. She couldn’t do it. Emma shook her head. “Not even if ye ordered me to. I’d rather face the Network elders’ council and risk banishment than parade meself before the eyes of the ton.”
Bronwyn’s shoulders sagged as she released Emma’s hands. “I understand.”
Blimey. The simple, undemanding statement stole all of Emma’s bluster and replaced it with guilt for denying her friend her support. Placing her hands behind her, Emma clasped them tightly and inhaled deeply to fortify her nerves. “I don’t know how to dance.”
Bronwyn’s watery blue eyes lit up. Her friend blinked, and Emma’s lips curved into a smile. Years of kinship returned. Emma found herself engulfed in a hug similar to the one Bronwyn had bestowed upon her a year ago when Bronwyn turned one-and-twenty, and Emma had gifted Bronwyn with a box of chocolates. The woman’s secret weakness.
The latch of the door squeaked, and Emma pulled away.
Bouncing on her toes, Bronwyn exclaimed, “I’ll hire us a dance master.”
Lord Hadfield’s warm voice came from the doorway. “Absolutely not. I’ll not allow another man the pleasure. I shall teach you.”
“Very well, we’ll hire one for Emma then.”
Bronwyn’s husband entered and came to stand next to his wife. Without hesitation, Bronwyn rose onto her tiptoes and greeted Lord Hadfield with a kiss square on the lips.
The man’s cheeks reddened as he smiled lovingly down at his wife. “I think I know the perfect candidate. I shall make the arrangements.”
Emma took two steps back, hoping to sneak out of the room. She froze when Lord Hadfield turned and addressed her. “Emma. It’s
