Talk of the Ton (Free Fellows League 5)

Her sister was still biting her lip. Emma sighed. “You haven’t changed an iota from when you were seven years old, Bethany. Have a little faith in me!”

“That’s just it,” Bethany said. “You haven’t changed either, Emma. You’re playing to win, above all. But you may not wish to win, if you think about it. Marriage is too important to turn into a game.”

“You give the evening—and marriage—too much importance,” Emma retorted. “I’d just as soon marry Kerr as any other Londoner. He’s handsome, wealthy, and titled. More importantly, if I find that I don’t like him on closer examination, I’ll call my carriage and be away. He will never know that he was assessed and found wanting. I’ll simply write him a note annulling our betrothal, come to London, and find a husband more to my taste.”

Bethany gave up. “I shall be waiting in the carriage. If anyone shows a sign of recognizing you, you must leave immediately.”

“No, no, we must do the thing properly,” Emma said. “I’ll take a room at Grillon’s Hotel as a French widow. That way no one could connect the two of us.”

“Go to the ball in a hackney, from a hotel!” Bethany gasped. “Absolutely not! You would be ruined if anyone found out. You will take a room at a hotel over my dead body!”

“I’ll allow you to drive me to the ball,” Emma said soothingly.

But Bethany was not fooled. The smile on her sister’s face was that of someone who had never lost a challenge yet and had no intention of losing this one. She was alive with joy. There was nothing Emma enjoyed so much as a challenge: the higher the stakes, the better.

“No hotel,” Bethany added, trying to sound firm.

“Of course not,” Emma replied.

Chapter Six

One Week Later

The carriage rocked over the cobblestones on its way to Burlington House, where Cavendish was holding his masquerade ball.

“What if someone recognizes you?” Bethany moaned. She was indulging in an agony of second thoughts.

“No one will recognize me,” Emma said patiently. “I haven’t been to London in almost five years, since before Mama grew ill. And I never properly debuted, you remember. Just think of it as a game of charades, nothing more.”

The sparkle of passing lights reflected in the gleam of Emma’s jeweled dress. She was sitting opposite Bethany, facing backward since her dress took up the entire seat. It laced up the front and then cut wide over her breasts, flaring into sleeves whose brocade flowers were picked out in jewels.

Bethany gasped. “We forgot to discuss—to discuss—”

Emma raised an eyebrow.

“The baby!” her sister sputtered.

“Oh that,” Emma shrugged. “I certainly understand the mechanics. And given Kerr’s reputation, he should have no questions in that area.”

“But the mechanics—” Bethany moaned, her alarm clearly growing.

Luckily, the carriage was slowing down; Emma judged she had better hop out before her little sister tried to issue a veto on the evening. “Deficient though I may be in experience,” she said, “the trifling embarrassment of allowing my fiancé to do the necessary will not overset me. It must be done at some time, must it not?”

Bethany seemed to be having trouble catching her breath.

Emma sighed. “Unless I have been gravely misled, the act is nothing to which one should attach undue sentiment. Although I have no particular feelings about where this event takes place, I should prefer a location other than the carriage. In fact, I shall insist that I, as a representative of the French nation, should not be deflowered in a carriage.”

Bethany gulped.

“I suppose that you did the thing properly, in a dark room under the covers,” Emma said kindly. “But you know that I’ve never had a grain of proper sentiment about me, Bethany. I have no particular feelings for Kerr. But I do think that it will be an excellent thing for our marriage if he discovers that he has, in essence, been ‘hoist with his own petard.’ ”

“Is that Shakespeare?” Bethany asked dubiously.

“I have to win the challenge,” Emma explained, “because otherwise Kerr will see no particular reason not to continue in his indifferent ways. I think it best to take him in hand before we marry.”

“Oh, Emma, I wish I’d never told you Kerr’s comment! John would not approve of this evening,” Bethany moaned.

Emma laughed. “Of course your husband wouldn’t approve, darling. He’s a sweet, thoughtful man who is a perfect match for you.”