a duke, especially a young, handsome one. Yet how could she tell him of her awkwardness on the dance floor? She felt so silly when she thought of it all.
“Yes, Mama,” she said.
Her mother shot her a sharp glance over the toast rack. “You did not dance last night, Emily.”
Emily glimpsed the ragged edge of her thumbnail on the cup’s gilded handle, and she quickly tucked in her fist to hide it. “One must be invited to dance first, Mama.”
“I cannot believe you received not one single invitation! You are by far the loveliest girl this Season.”
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Mama.”
Her mother snorted. “I may be your mother and thus biased, but I am not the only one who sees your beauty. You simply do not use it to its full advantage! If you would smile once in a while when a gentleman speaks to you, show a bit of encouragement. When I was your age I had at least ten offers, and I was not half so pretty.” “And you chose Papa?”
“He was an earl.” Her voice turned wistful, as if she was caught up in old memories. “And very handsome, too, back then. I did not know …”
Emily knew what her mother’s younger self could not, that long line of feckless Carrolls who had frittered away the family fortune until there was only an old title. It merely went to show that name, title and handsome face didn’t always equal a suitable match. That men could be so deceptive, just like Mr Lofton was. But her mother couldn’t apply that hard-earned lesson to her own daughter now.
“I suppose there is Mr Rayburn,” her mother said dourly. “He is always very attentive to you.”
That was true. Mr George Rayburn was attentive whenever they met at parties or in the park, and he was handsome enough with his black hair and bright blue eyes, his slim figure and broad shoulders. But there was something in those fine eyes Emily did not quite trust when he looked at her, something not quite true in his smile when he kissed her hand and paid her compliments. She was probably just being foolish. All the other ladies seemed to like him very much. “I thought you did not like Mr Rayburn, Mama. He has no title.”
“True enough, but he does have a fortune, or so everyone says. At this point we cannot afford to be too choosy, my dear.” Her mother shook her head sadly at the prospect. “Well, there is one more grand ball left this Season, Lady Arnold’s soirée. It is the last chance before everyone dashes off to the country. I insist you dance at least three times there, Emily.” “Mama!”
“Yes, at least three. And I will hear no excuses. This is our last chance, do you hear me? Our last chance.”
Before Emily could answer these gloomy words, the butler mercifully arrived in the breakfast room with the morning post on his tray. Her mother seldom showed such desperation outwardly, with harsh words and eyes glittering with unshed tears. It made Emily’s stomach hurt to think she had been such a disappointment, that she could not help them. She couldn’t even help herself.
“There is a message for you from Miss Thornton, Lady Emily,” the butler said, handing her a note on pale pink stationery.
“Oh, wonderful!” Emily cried happily. She eagerly tore open the missive as her mother separated invitations from the bills. The stack of bills was always so much higher these days.
Jane Thornton was the one good friend Emily had made in London for the Season. The youngest of three daughters of a baronet, Jane was lively and fun. She could always draw Emily out of her shell and make her laugh, both at the follies of society and at her own serious ways. Jane had been gone for a fortnight, attending on a sick aunt, and Emily had missed her. Parties were no fun at all without her company.
But now it seemed Jane had returned, and was eager to hear all about the Orman ball. What little Emily could tell her, anyway, from what she observed behind her palm tree. She definitely would not tell Jane about falling into the Duke of Manning!
“Miss Thornton wants me to go driving with her in the park this afternoon, Mama,” Emily said. “May I go? I don’t think we have any other engagements today.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” her mother said impatiently with a wave of her hand. She seemed quite distracted by her letters, which was a good thing. She usually didn’t like Emily spending too much time with Jane, since the Thornton girls needed to find matches as well.
Emily took a deep breath and carefully added, “And may I go out this morning? I should visit the shops and find some new ribbon for my gown for Lady Arnold’s ball.”
“Certainly. Just don’t pay too much for it. The cost of ribbons has become quite shocking.”
“Of course not. I am always very careful about ribbon.” Emily hastily finished her tea and hurried from the breakfast room before her mother could recollect some reason to keep her at home. Or worse, decide to go with her to the shops.
Emily had very important work to do that morning, and her mother could absolutely have not a hint of it.
Emily hurried down the street, dodging around the thick crowds intent on their own business, too lost in her thoughts to notice her maid Mary, who scurried to keep up, or the displays in the shop windows. The feathered and flowered hats, the bolts of rich silks and delicate muslins, held no interest for her.
She was late, and that would never do. If only Amy hadn’t waylaid her as she headed to the door, intent on going over every detail of last night’s ball! It was nearly impossible to get away from her sister-in-law once she settled in for a coze. And Emily could hardly tell Amy and her mother why she was in such a rush to be gone.
She turned away from the busy thoroughfare, down a quieter side street. The lane was much narrower here, the cobblestones shadowed by the close-built buildings. There were no bright shop windows, only discreet little signs by dark-painted doors announcing attorneys and employment agencies. All quite respectable, but not an area her mother would want her to frequent or even know about. To Lady Moreby, London began and ended with the fine neighborhoods of the ton.
With Mary close behind her, Emily turned again, to an even quieter little square. No one was around at all, except for a maidservant sweeping one stone entryway.
It was this dwelling that was Emily’s destination. “Good morning, Nell,” she said. “How is everyone today?”
Nell gave her a wide smile of welcome beneath her mobcap. “Good morning, Miss Carroll! All is well enough here, as always. A new girl arrived yesterday. She’ll be a new pupil for you soon enough.”
Emily laughed. “Excellent! I do like security for my position. I should hate to think I wasn’t needed here any longer.”
“Oh, that will never happen, miss! You’ll always have pupils here. Everyone looks forward to Tuesdays, just to see you.”
Emily couldn’t help but smile as a warm, sweet feeling took hold of her and spread to her very fingertips and toes. After the tension of the ball and the cold weight of her mother’s disappointment, she could feel herself finally relax. Here, she could be herself, just Miss Carroll, and be accepted for it. Needed.
“I love Tuesdays as well,” she said. “Is Mrs Goddard about?”
“In the office, miss. She’s expecting you.”
Emily
