The Heir and the Spare (18 page)

Only to ensure she was doing well, of course. Not because he really wanted to see her, or anything.

Because he could see her all too well in his mind. Scowling at him. Glaring at him. He replayed in his mind that night when she had stormed into his room. He could not, for the life of him, remember a word she had said, but he could perfectly recall her breasts swelling above the lace bodice of her dress, and her hair tumbling like flames around her face, down her back.

And then there was the adorable look of surprise and delight when he had caught her on the stairs. And then later that night, the image of her reclining in his arms, her mouth swollen from his kisses, her eyes dark and wondering. That was the image that nearly undid him every time. That was the one that woke him up at night.

He looked at the damn invitation once more. Embarrassed and annoyed, he sent his reply.

Lady Stillmore left Annabelle at home to prepare for the dinner party while she herself called on Lady Palmerston.

“Where is your niece?” she asked, arranging her sage-colored skirts around her as she took a seat.

“She is in her chamber, claiming fatigue or illness or whatever affects young women when they wish to avoid calling hours.”

“Is it still that bad?” Lady Stillmore asked, concerned.

“No, but she has no idea all the gentlemen I’ve turned away. It seems that Kensington’s apology has repaired her reputation.”

“Will she recover for this evening?”

“I’ll ensure that she does,” Lady Palmerston replied, motioning for the butler to bring tea.

“Well, it suits my purpose to find you alone. There is a matter which we must discuss.”

Lady Palmerston arched one brow with interest and went about pouring the tea.

“When Winsworth came to me the other day, suggesting that I host this small, informal dinner party, supposedly to celebrate the upcoming wedding, I was suspicious. I knew he was up to something. I was proven correct when he sent over this.” Lady Stillmore removed a slip of paper from her reticule and handed it to Lady Palmerston.

“It’s . . . a guest list,” Lady Palmerston said.

“Third name from the bottom,” Lady Stillmore said impatiently. Lady Palmerston looked closer, smiling slyly upon reading the name Devon Kensington.

“So he will be in attendance tonight?”

“Yes. I have drafted a few seating options for the dinner table, depending upon how we wish to proceed.”

“I think, my dear, we have some negligent chaperoning to do this evening,” Lady Palmerston said. The two women exchanged delightfully wicked smiles. “Nothing drastic, of course. We still don’t know if the man can be trusted. But Emilia’s father recommended him highly.”

“I see. Well then, we must work quickly. I do believe I must increase the order of champagne for tonight.”

At six o’clock, Lady Palmerston barged into her niece’s room, finding Emilia staring out the window. “It’s time to dress, my dear. Have you given a thought to what you shall wear?”

“Oh, not really,” Emilia replied with a sigh. It was just a dinner among friends, so there was no need to wear her best dress. She’d rather stay home in her nightgown, actually, but she wouldn’t miss her friend’s party.

“I think you ought to wear this one,” her aunt replied, already rummaging through her wardrobe and pulling out a champagne-colored gown.

“Isn’t that one too fancy?” Emilia asked skeptically.

“Not at all. Meg will be up momentarily with a bath.”

A short while later, Emilia sank into the warm water scented with rose oil. In the past few days since Devon’s grand apology, Emilia had avoided as much social interaction as possible. She had spent calling hours in her room, peering out the window and watching her callers arrive and then depart a few moments later. It seemed that Devon’s public display had done wonders for her reputation. She hated that he had the power to do that. At the same time, she wanted to kiss him for it.

But of all the callers, he had not been one of them. Perhaps he was truly sorry. Or perhaps he simply wanted to cleanse his conscience. Either way, it was clear that he considered himself finished with her. Well, she was finished with him, too.

So what if he had redeemed himself? So what if he set butterflies fluttering in her stomach? So what if she missed the feeling of being held in his arms? She told herself that she had lived most of her life without that feeling, and she could manage the rest without it as well.

Dressed after her bath, she stood before the mirror, surveying the stranger staring back at her. All of her other gowns fit her well, but this one transformed her. The silk fabric was the color of a glass of champagne and it lent a golden glow to her pale skin. The construction of the dress pushed up her breasts, almost as if they were to spill over. The fabric clung to her hips and the dip in her lower back. The sleeves, if one could even call them that, were slips of chiffon, delicately beaded, and had the tendency to slip off of her shoulders, leaving them bare. The dress was hardly appropriate for a debutant. Emilia loved it and wondered why she hadn’t worn it sooner.

Her hair was swept back from her face, save for a few tendrils. The rest of it was piled atop her head and adorned with one white rose.

She slipped on a pair of white satin gloves that stretched to her elbows. There, at least her forearms were properly covered. She was still looking at her reflection when her aunt bellowed from the hall that the carriage was waiting. As she descended the stairs, Emilia thought she detected a cluck of approval from her aunt.

Annabelle and her mother sat in their drawing room, awaiting their guests. Their eyes met from time to time, searching for information each was sure the other was deliberately withholding.

“Some scheme is under way, Mother, I am sure of it. Don’t leave me in the dark.”

“I confess I know nothing, my dear.”

“I know you called on Lady Palmerston this afternoon. Why, when you knew you would see her tonight?”

“It was a personal matter, Annabelle. And besides, I’m sure you know why Winsworth suggested we host this dinner.”

“I do not,” Annabelle said. Unfortunately, it was the truth. When her fiancé had called a few days ago, speaking briefly to her, and with her mother at length, she had become suspicious. He hadn’t called since then. Annabelle had not seen the guest list and suspected there was a clue there. She had searched all afternoon for that list, while her mother was out. When it was nowhere to be found, she assumed her mother had taken it, thereby greatly increasing her curiosity.

“Dear, please stop tapping your foot like that.”

Annabelle opened her mouth to retort that her mother ought to stop drumming her fingers on the upholstery when they both heard the unmistakable sounds of a carriage arriving, followed by the opening of the front door and footsteps in the hall.

The drawing room door promptly opened, and both women relaxed seeing it was only George and his younger sister, Juliet. Her fiancé greeted her warmly, yet avoided the questioning look she gave him.

There were more footsteps in the hall. Was it Annabelle’s imagination that everyone in the drawing room became tense? It was only Lady Palmerston and Emilia, resplendent in a gown Annabelle had never before seen. Did Emilia know what was going on?

The women perched upon the burgundy velvet settees, and George leaned against the mantel. The butler entered with a brandy for him and champagne for the ladies. They all eyed each other in between sips.

“So it appears that there are not going to be any bachelors here tonight,” Juliet said to break the silence. Annabelle smiled; there was never a silence that Juliet couldn’t fill.

“Wonderful,” Emilia muttered under her breath, adding a sigh of relief.

Annabelle looked around the room. Six people were present, and yet there were eight places set at the table. Who else was coming to dinner?

“George said it was just an informal dinner for the sole purpose of enjoying each other’s company. Yet we are all dressed up as if Prinny were coming to dinner.”

“That is right, Juliet. It is nothing more than an informal dinner among old friends,” Lady Stillmore declared, looking directly at George before turning to Lady Palmerston with a sly smile.

Annabelle searched Emilia’s face. She seemed uncharacteristically withdrawn, although color was returning to her cheeks from the champagne.

The door opened once again, and Lord Knightly stepped into the room. After acknowledging the ladies, with a particular smile reserved for Juliet, he accepted a brandy and stood beside George.

Emilia broke the moment of silence. “Annabelle, how are the wedding plans progressing? Or are we not to discuss that with the groom present?”

But instead of responding, Annabelle’s eyes widened as she saw something over Emilia’s shoulder. Emilia turned, and her sudden suspicion was confirmed: Devon had arrived.

Emilia could not think straight, could not decide what to do. So she settled for taking a deep breath and composing herself as best she could.

“Good evening, Devon,” George said.

“Devon!” Juliet said, leaping up with surprise and grinning at her cousin. “I heard the rumors that you were back from the dead. But I wouldn’t believe it until I saw you with my own eyes.”

“Hello, Juliet. You’ve grown since I last saw you,” Devon responded, smiling.

“Tell that to George,” she responded. “He still treats me as if I were a child.”

Emilia watched the greetings among the family and old friends with a bittersweet ache in her heart. Phillip had told the world his twin was dead, and all had believed him. She could only imagine the grief his friends must have felt.

George introduced Devon to Annabelle, who said she had heard much about him, which made Emilia cringe. She recovered though, enough to return his polite smile.

A wave of disappointment washed over her. It was just as she had guessed—he considered himself done with her since the apology. He would be polite to her, of course. But he wouldn’t kiss her again. Not that she wanted him to. Perhaps a little. But that was beside the point, she reminded herself. Completely irrelevant and impossible and not worth thinking about.

Lady Stillmore, ever the perfect hostess, suggested they all go into dinner and began pairing everyone up for the short walk downstairs to the dining room. Emilia accepted Devon’s proffered arm.

As they paused at the top of the stairs, she thought it almost like the night they first met. His grip tightened slightly, as if he, too, were thinking the same thing. She found herself moving slowly down the stairs, not so much out of a fear of falling, but to make the moment last a little longer.

The walls of the dining room were painted spring green. A crystal chandelier decked with dozens of candles illuminated the table set below. Small bouquets of pink and yellow roses were scattered amongst the gleaming silverware and serving dishes, all set on a white lace tablecloth. Footmen, in matching gray livery, stood by, waiting with bottles of chilled champagne. Informal dinner indeed; Lady Stillmore had outdone herself. The guests milled around the table, looking for their name cards, which the hostess had strategically placed.

Devon was neither surprised nor disappointed to find he was seated beside Miss Highhart. The two matrons sat at either end of the table, with Lady Palmerston seated facing the French doors that led to the terrace and the garden beyond.

Devon was also not surprised when Juliet began questioning him.

“So, cousin, where have you been?” she started.

“America,” he replied, glancing at Emilia, who was sipping her champagne. “Philadelphia.”

“So is that how you know Miss Highhart?” she asked, and turning to Emilia, she added, “That is where you are from, right?”

“Yes,” Emilia answered reluctantly. “But we only met . . . recently.” She set down her glass, and as she did, Devon’s hand brushed against hers, accidentally or deliberately, she wasn’t sure. She jerked her arm away, as if it were burned, and in the process, toppled her glass. Fortunately, it had been empty. But the sound of glass clattering against china made her wince.

“So what have you been doing in Philadelphia?” Knightly asked.

“Business. I oversee the operations of Diamond Shipping.”

“Diamond Shipping?” Knightly asked. “Emilia, isn’t your father involved with that? There was an article in the newspaper about it last week.”

“Yes, Harold Highhart is my boss,” Devon asked.

“And you two never met before?” Juliet persisted, twisting one of her dark brown curls around her finger. “Are you sure? I mean, I heard about the mix-up with Phillip, but you two seem as if you are more than mere acquaintances.”

Devon assured his cousin they had only just met, while Emilia took a long sip of champagne. Her palms were damp, and she had no appetite for the dish placed before her, even though it looked delicious. She forced herself to take a few bites, anyway. She was nervous, that was all.

“It’s funny,” Juliet continued, “even though they look exactly alike, I’ve never had any trouble telling them apart.”

“That’s because we’ve known them all of our lives, Juliet,” George answered.

“I guess once you get to know them, it becomes impossible to mistake one for the other,” Juliet said. Emilia took another long sip of champagne and looked pleadingly to her aunt to change the subject.

“Winsworth, you haven’t told us where you are going on your honeymoon,” Lady Palmerston said.

“My estate, in Kent,” George replied. Talk then turned to the upcoming wedding. Footmen refilled the champagne glasses. Emilia felt Devon’s leg brush against her skirts, and for a second or two, she wondered how she managed to feel his touch so intensely through all the fabric. She jerked her leg away, banging it on the leg of the table in the process. She would have a bruise there tomorrow. She took another sip of champagne, focusing on nothing but the cold bubbles sliding down her throat.