Maude glanced down at her gown and then into the clusters of people.
“Nigel, darling!” she called out.
Nigel joined them, and Maude kissed his cheeks in greeting.
“Hello, Maude. It’s been several weeks since I last saw you.” Nigel came to stand close to Emmeline as Verbena moved away from the group.
“Yes. I believe it was at the Browns’ party.”
When Maude moved on to mingle, Nigel murmured to Emmeline, “She’s too much for me, I’ll admit it.”
“Who, Maude? She’s harmless. She just wants to marry well. I would say most women are like her.”
“That’s true enough, but she goes about it too brazenly. I prefer a softer woman. A woman like you.”
“Like me?” She smiled up at him.
“Yes. You’ve thought of marriage, surely.”
“Of course. Most women do.”
“How do you picture your future husband?” he asked softly.
“I don’t really have a picture. I want a good man. A kind man. A man I can respect.”
“I’m all those things, Emme,” he said, smiling.
She smiled too. “So you are.”
She looked across the room and saw Maude in conversation with Everett. She knew they would be a dark match, but one that Maude would like as marriage to Everett would eventually make her a countess. Everett would be able to handle himself with a woman like Maude, unlike some men, who would not be able to contain her.
Maude smiled up at Everett, but he looked across the room at Emmeline with an unreadable expression on his face.
“Perhaps we could talk further about it—in the library,” Nigel suggested.
Emmeline turned her gaze back to the man beside her. “What, Nigel? I’m sorry.”
“Could we speak privately in the library?”
“Of course. We won’t be missed for a few minutes.”
She led the way, and once in the library he took her hand in his. “I was clumsy earlier in the cellar. You’ll forgive me,” he began.
“There’s nothing to forgive, Nigel,” she soothed him.
“I said I’ve watched you grow into womanhood, and that’s true. I’ve long admired your beauty and intelligence. I think we would make an excellent couple.”
“What are you saying?”
“I am asking you to marry me, dearest Emme.”
Emmeline licked her lips and looked away. She was fond of Nigel and liked him well enough. But there was no passion—and no love—as she reasoned there should be between a husband and wife.
“You don’t mention love, Nigel,” she said softly.
“Love?” he asked, confused.
“Yes. Love.”