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  “Not at all, Mrs Hayton.” Captain Quentin was on his feet already.

  “I was some distance down the street when I realized I didn’t have them.” She smiled prettily at the Captain. “I am so sorry to disturb your visit.”

  “Of course not,” said the Captain.

  “Where did you leave them?” Emma asked, trying not to glare at her mother. She should have expected this. “I didn’t see them after you left.”

  “Well, let me see . . .” Mother turned her head from side to side, her eyes large and limpid. “I don’t see them – oh dear, they are my favourites, I shall be so distressed to lose them . . .”

  “Nonsense,” said Captain Quentin gallantly. “They are sure to be here somewhere. Let us look for them.”

  Emma, who knew very well her mother hadn’t gone anywhere other than the chair where the Captain now sat, set to work, checking the table and looking behind the chair. Under Mother’s direction, the captain looked under all the furniture and behind all the cushions. When Mrs Hayton exclaimed happily that she had found the gloves, Emma was sure Mother had slipped them out of her reticule. Then she thanked the Captain profusely, and before long she was sitting around the tea tray with them. Just as Emma knew she had intended, when she came back on such a flimsy pretence.

  She didn’t waste any time getting around to her purpose, either. “How nice of you to pay a neighbourly call, Captain,” she said, smiling at him with an almost adoring air. “I’d no idea my daughter had a new neighbour.”

  “Not so new,” he said, returning her smile. “I’ve lived in George Street since early spring.”

  “Oh, dear!” Mother glanced at Emma with wide eyes. “And you are just now becoming acquainted?”

  Emma opened her mouth to reply, but the Captain didn’t notice and spoke first. “We have spoken often, Mrs Hayton. I hold Lady Bowen in very high regard.”

  Emma closed her mouth. Her mother slowly turned her head to look Emma squarely in the face, her expression slightly victorious.

  “Mother, the Captain will hardly wish to sit and chatter all day with two women,” Emma said in warning. “I am sure he is a very busy man.” Her mother was at it again, and if the Captain hadn’t been present, Emma would have asked her mother to leave at once.

  “Of course, dear, of course.” Mother patted her hand. “But he came to call; that must indicate some desire to converse, surely?”

  Emma flushed. Too late the Captain seemed to recognize the presence of a trap; his expression grew more closed and cautious. Mrs Hayton turned to him and smiled again. “Are you enjoying this fine weather, Captain?”

  The grey clouds that had alarmed Jane were just visible through the window, although sun still streamed in. Emma glanced at the Captain just in time to meet his eyes, glimmering with wry humour.

  “Very much so,” he murmured.

  “Until the rain comes,” said Emma.

  “Thunderstorms,” added the Captain.

  “Fierce ones, I understand.”

  “Really, Emma, you needn’t sound so gleeful,” exclaimed her mother, and Emma almost choked on a laugh. The Captain coughed.

  “I had come to issue an invitation,” he said. “My sister and her husband have secured a box for a performance of Shakespeare next week. I wondered if you would care to accompany us, Lady Bowen?”

  “Well, that is a lovely invitation,” said Mrs Hayton before Emma could speak. “But I do worry that Shakespeare is too clamorous for a lady. This Mr Kean has wrought such a change on the public, with his dramatic, violent portrayals of all those tragic heroes.”

  Emma gaped at her, then jerked her eyes back to her cup of tea. Oh no. Please, dear heavens, no . . .

  The Captain’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Indeed.”

  “I find nothing to be so enjoyable as a dinner party among friends,” Mother went on. “There one can enjoy the society of the company and not be distracted by an unruly crowd in the pit.”

  “Er . . . yes,” murmured the captain, staring at her in fascination.

  Emma was almost quivering with fury. “I quite enjoy the theatre as well.”

  Her mother laughed, her tinkling light laugh that had enthralled so many men. “Nonsense, dear! You had dinner parties all the time in Sussex; she is the perfect hostess, Captain. Emma dear, it’s certainly time you began going about again, but discreetly. You’ve been out of society so long.”

  The Captain’s smile was a bit stiff. “Of course,” he said. “A dinner party.”

  “Mother,” whispered Emma between gritted teeth. “Please.”

  “Just a small one would be perfectly acceptable,” Mother said, ignoring Emma. “Don’t you agree, sir?”

  The Captain blinked. “Yes,” he said cautiously.

  She beamed at him. “I am certain Emma would be delighted to attend.”

  Emma wished she had locked the door when her mother had left. Now she had no choice but to raise apologetic eyes to the Captain, who looked almost desperate. He cleared his throat. “Would you honour us with your company, Lady Bowen? On this upcoming Saturday evening?”

  She would try to explain to him tomorrow, across the garden wall. For now she just wanted to help him escape, so she could tear into her mother. “You are too kind, sir,” she murmured. “Thank you.” He turned to her mother. “And you, Mrs Hayton?” Mother cast one twinkling glance at Emma as she laughed. “Thank you, but I must decline. I am engaged at the Powells’ that evening.” Emma was sure she didn’t imagine his shoulders easing in relief. “Well.” He shuffled his feet then rose. “I should leave you to your conversation. Mrs Hayton, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Lady Bowen.” He bowed as Emma and her mother made their farewells, then left.

  Four

  “How dare you!” Emma whispered furiously the moment the door closed behind him. “Mother, that was unpardonably rude!”

  Mother waved one hand. “Unpardonable, pish. He fancies you, my dear; who are his people? Where is he from? What are his connections?”

  “He is my neighbour,” she snapped. “He is a gentleman, and that is all I know about him. I shall have to apologise tomorrow – how could you do that?”

  “Emma, my dear, you are such an innocent.” Mother was unmoved. “Sir Arthur left you a pittance. You shall have to marry again, and it might as well be to a man of means and station.”

  “You mean someone unlike me,” she retorted. “Because I have modest means and modest station.”

  “And you don’t want to sink lower, either!” Mother rounded on her suddenly. “You don’t know what it’s like to be watched with pity and scorn,” she said in withering tones. “Wearing your clothes until they are practically rags because you can’t afford a new gown or gloves. Dusting your own parlour so you look like a servant – and then receiving a caller in that state! I want more for you, dearest, and you should, too.”

  Emma met her mother’s fierce gaze. Mother’s father had been a baron, but a destitute one. Mother had told her many times how the family went hungry after her father lost at the races or the card tables. There had been no money for fine clothes or servants, and that poverty had shaped Emma’s mother into a woman of endless ambition. With her beauty she had caught one husband, Emma’s father, who was a prosperous mill owner, and then a second. Mr Hayton had been an MP, and a decent man, although thoroughly under his wife’s thumb. Even now, twice widowed and with a healthy annuity, Mother was constantly thinking how she could improve her situation, by any means necessary.

  Emma had learned early on that her mother would happily use her to do it. Mother had contrived to have her compromised by a wealthy viscount, even though he was three decades older than Emma, and then tried to persuade her to seduce Mr Fitzwilliam, who had no title but owned one of the largest estates in north-eastern Sussex. In desperation Emma had wed Sir Arthur, who was kind and genial and managed to keep her mother from overrunning their lives.

  “Mother, I am content as I am. I do not need a new husband
so that I might wear new gowns and keep my own carriage and dine on fine china. Sir Arthur left me enough to be comfortable, as I am,” she said, raising her voice to forestall her mother’s impatient protest. “Now you have gone and manipulated Captain Quentin just for fun, and he was too polite to say nay! He is my neighbour, and a kind man, and you have humiliated me.”

  Mrs Hayton cupped Emma’s cheek in her hand. “You are so like your father,” she murmured. “Satisfied with so little.”

  Emma clenched her jaw. Her father had been an affectionate papa. “Is that what you were to him?” she whispered. “What I was to him?”

  Mother released her. “The Captain is a handsome man,” she said, picking up her reticule. “He is young to be retired; he must have made his fortune in the wars. I shall see what I can learn about him. Do not do anything until I speak to you again.”

  “My feelings, whatever they may be, wouldn’t be affected in the slightest by anything you say.”

  On her way to the door, Mother glanced back at her. “You would ignore a man of fortune, right on your doorstep, just to spite me?” She shook her head. “Emma dear, sometimes I wonder how you can be my child.”

  “I do, too,” she replied quietly as her mother closed the door.

  Phineas walked slowly down the steps of Lady Bowen’s house. That had not gone as expected. Mrs Hayton was a beautiful woman, but Phin thought he’d be careful not to be drawn into conversation with her again. She’d manoeuvred him right into throwing a dinner party when he suspected Lady Bowen would have rather accepted his invitation to the theatre. And now he would have to go tell his sister Sarah they weren’t going to the theatre after all, but that she must help him plan a dinner at his house. He’d never done such a thing. Sarah would have such a laugh at his expense over this. Whom could he even invite? Sarah and her husband, of course; perhaps he could get his old mate Hakeham to come, and Morris and Campbell were genial fellows . . .

  No, too many gentlemen. Phin felt a flutter of panic. Just Hakeham, then, and . . . and . . . he could ask his mother, he supposed, or ask Sarah to invite another lady. Instead of going on to his club, as he had planned to do, Phin jogged up the steps of his own home and let himself in. “Godfrey!”

  “Yes, sir?” Godfrey stepped promptly from the dining room.

  “Plan a dinner party,” Phin told him, flexing his fingers and cracking his knuckles as he thought. “For Saturday next.”

  “Yes, sir. Shall I send notes around to the usual guests?”

  He meant Hakeham, Morris, Campbell and some other men who had been with them in the Navy, Phin’s usual companions. Phin squared his shoulders. “No. There will be ladies present.” Godfrey’s eyes flickered in the direction of Number 12, and he went a shade paler. “Yes, that lady,” Phin told him. “Clean the house from top to bottom. Send to Lady Stanley if you need any plate or advice or . . . anything. And, for God’s sake, get Smithy sobered up to cook a decent meal.”

  “Truly, sir? A dinner party?”

  Phin nodded. Lady Bowen had looked lovelier than ever today, her chestnut hair a little mussed and her pink gown that looked soft and worn. She was a beauty, but not a hard, polished one. Phin preferred a woman who looked natural and comfortable rather than a woman who looked arranged and artful, as if she would crumble the first time a man embraced her. He had spent far too much time already thinking about embracing Lady Bowen, but Phin wanted to court her properly. If he had to throw a damn dinner party to do that, so be it. As his man hurried off to carry out his orders, Phin took a deep breath. It was like the preparation to set sail, making sure the supplies were ordered and the men instructed on their duties. But he was in charge of setting the course.

  Five

  Emma tried at once to rectify the situation. The next morning, she was up early, and rushed into the garden, hoping he would be there. As soon as he came out, she called over the wall to him. “Good morning, Captain.”

  “Good morning, Lady Bowen.” He sounded as cordial as ever.

  Emma said a quick prayer he wasn’t holding Mother’s actions against her. “I must speak about yesterday, when you called—”

  “Yes, I enjoyed it very much. It was a pleasure to make your mother’s acquaintance.”

  He was a good liar, she thought. It had been a nightmare from her point of view. She forced herself to go on. “I must apologise for her behaviour, though. To suggest you throw a dinner party—”

  “But no, my dear,” he protested, and Emma paused. “My dear Lady Bowen. I am delighted you agreed to join our party – it will be a small gathering, just my sister and her husband, my mother and an old friend of mine from my Navy days.”

  Emma pushed aside the little flicker of interest in the way he’d called her ‘my dear’ before adding her name. She tried not to recall her mother’s blunt assessment of the Captain’s regard for her. She said the only thing she could say. “I’m sure it will be lovely. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  The dinner was almost a success.

  Phin had prevailed upon his mother to act as hostess, since his sister couldn’t stop smirking when she looked at him. Mama had raised her eyebrows when he asked, and he knew Sarah had already told her why he was throwing together a party on such short notice. But Mama merely smiled and said it was good to see him taking an interest in society at last, and agreed.

  Godfrey polished the dining room to a sparkle, and laid the table with Sarah’s second-best china and silver. He impressed upon Smithy, the cook, that his employment hung on this dinner. Phin was relieved by the succulent smells that filled the house as Saturday evening approached. Godfrey brushed and pressed his best coat, and Phin dressed with care. He hadn’t been this nervous even when the admiral had come aboard his ship.

  Then Sarah and her husband arrived, Sarah still delighted by the image of Phin infatuated with his neighbour, and Gregory flashing Phin a glance of wry sympathy. Hakeham arrived, as good-natured and discreet as ever, and then his mother. Mama cast a critical eye over the arrangements, and then gave a satisfied nod. Phin kissed her cheek. “Thank you,” he murmured.

  “You know you have only to ask, Phineas. I cannot wait to meet the lady who has inspired you.”

  He’d told his mother all about Lady Bowen. Phin pulled out his pocket watch again and checked the time. “Perhaps I shall go escort her,” he said. “Would that be acceptable?”

  Mama smiled. Sarah tried to hide her laughter in a cough. “Go fetch her, Phineas.”

  Emma tried not to attribute too much to the evening. She wore her best dress, a glazed cotton with embroidered hem, and her favourite shawl. Her mother had called the day before, clearly ready to tell all she had learned about the Captain, and for once Emma refused to see her. She pleaded a headache and locked her bedroom door. She didn’t want Mother to pollute her impression of the Captain or his guests. She didn’t want to have her head stuffed with Mother’s talk of advantageous matches and how to seduce the Captain, if he were good enough for Mother’s requirements. She still felt a burn of humiliation over the way Mother had acted, and resolved to be as polite and restrained as possible, to prove she wasn’t like that.

  But as she went down the stairs, her heart ignored all her sense and sped up.

  Then she opened the door, and jumped back in surprise. The Captain himself stood on her doorstep, hand raised as if to knock. He looked as surprised as she.

  Emma pressed one hand to her bosom and gave a shaky laugh. “I beg your pardon.”

  “No, no!” He looked abashed. “I merely thought to escort you.”

  Emma could see his front steps from the corner of her eye. “It is only twenty feet or so . . .” He looked to his steps and gave her a rueful smile, looking up at her from under his brows like a boy. Her silly heart bumped again. “But it is so kind of you,” she finished a bit shyly. “Thank you.”

  He extended his arm and they walked down her steps, covered the short distance between the houses, and then up his. A servant was w
aiting to open the door, standing stiffly at attention. Emma had seen him chatting with Jane over the railings. He took her shawl, then the Captain led her to the drawing room, where he introduced his other guests. Lieutenant Hakeham, a charming, merry fellow, had sailed with Captain Quentin. Viscount Stanley was married to the Captain’s sister, Lady Stanley, who greeted Emma with warm enthusiasm. It was Mrs Quentin, the Captain’s mother, who gave Emma the most pause. She was tall and regal, and seemed to size Emma up with one glance. But her greeting was polite enough, and then Lady Stanley took over the conversation, chattering gaily.

  “How wonderful you could join us tonight,” Lady Stanley said, drawing Emma apart. “I understand you are a gardener; my brother has often mentioned how lovely your garden is.”

  “Oh,” said Emma, glancing at the Captain. He was talking with his mother, but watching her. Good heavens, he looked attractive in his evening clothes. His dark hair gleamed with lighter streaks in the candlelight, but his eyes were as blue as she remembered. Emma had to drag her eyes away. “Indeed.”

  “Oh, indeed!” Lady Stanley exclaimed. “I vow, he has described a veritable Garden of Eden! You must share your secrets.”

  “Oh,” said Emma again. “It’s really not so grand; it is only a small city garden, after all.”

  Lady Stanley laughed. “To Phin, any patch of trimmed grass looks grand, after all his years at sea. Tell me, do you have roses? Our gardener does not like them, but I so long for some pink ones.”

  Emma smiled, glad for a safe subject. She could still feel the Captain’s gaze on her back, like the heat of a fire. It warmed her even as she talked, with relief, of roses and gardens until they went in to dine.

  Six

  It wasn’t until dessert was served that everything went wrong.

  Emma had excused herself to the necessary, and then took some time trying to pin up her hair again. The dinner had been marvellous, expertly prepared and served by the Captain’s man with astonishing speed and economy of movement; when the Captain mentioned Godfrey had been with him in the Navy, Emma understood why. All her fears about being out of place had evaporated in the easy atmosphere as the conversation flowed like wine – rich and mellow. The Quentins were an affectionate family, and it made Emma’s heart swell to see how the Captain was so easy and relaxed with his sister and his mother. It was exactly the sort of familial scene that had been so lacking in her own life, with her mother constantly worried about how such familiarity would appear.