by Nichole Van
“Well? Do I look like a lady?”
Georgiana smiled and rose gracefully. “Indeed! You look every inch the proper lady. Do you feel more yourself now that you are rightly dressed?”
Emme wasn’t sure how to answer that question. She turned and looked in the mirror.
She stood clad in a sage green silk evening dress, the empire waist gathered high around her rib cage, sleeves puffing slightly our from her upper arms, the low-cut bodice edged with delicate lace. The dress itself was beautiful.
Emme turned sideways, noting how the heavy fabric draped to the floor. She could feel the pressure of the boning in her tight corset or stays, as Georgiana had called them. The stays kept her posture perfectly upright, her back almost unnaturally straight. But it felt odd to have her chest and waist squeezed so tightly while the rest of her body was so free.
Isn’t it a little risque to not wear underwear? Alter Emme murmured.
Emme frowned at that. She had only a knee length garment Mary called a chemise underneath the corset and dress. She felt quite underdressed. And yet somehow not.
Again, the now familiar panic threatened. Emme took several calming breaths and willed it back. They were becoming old friends, she and anxiety.
Georgiana must have noted her slight frown as she looked at her reflection.
“You don’t like it?” she asked. “I thought that the green would be most becoming with your darker hair and pale skin. And it brings out the green hints in your eyes as well.”
Emme turned to her with a smile, determined to put on a brave face.
“Thank you, Georgiana. The dress is truly beautiful and I love it.” She did. “I was just feeling some concern over my faulty memory. I hope that I don’t embarrass you this evening.”
Georgiana laughed. “Oh please, don’t fret, Emma! This evening should be a small affair with only you, James, Arthur and myself in attendance. Sir Henry rarely gives large dinner parties at Sutton Hall. There is no one you need fear. Now come, let us show the gentlemen how well you look!”
Emme nodded and looped a shawl over her arms, following Georgiana down the stairs. Georgiana’s color had seemed better the last several days, her coughing less harsh. She was more lit from within, more cheerful. They paused after entering the drawing room door, allowing the two men within to rise to their feet. Arthur gave a stiff bow.
James looked absurdly distinguished in a dark navy coat with an ivory and gold striped waistcoat, snowy neckcloth expertly tied. Tan breeches hugged his legs, his hair carelessly styled, as usual. James’ eyes lit up as they locked with hers, an appreciative grin tugging his lips.
I want to drown in that crinkly smile of his, Alter Emme swooned.
Really, couldn’t that dry voice make itself more useful?
This is being more useful. Trust me. Now she just sounded smug.
Emme mentally rolled her eyes.
She reminded herself (again!) that she had a mystery man in a locket upstairs who obviously meant something to her. Thinking of James as anything other than her host and the brother of her friend would be wrong. It was the buried memory of another man that caused her insides to go all boneless when James smiled at her.
It wasn’t James himself. No. Definitely not.
Besides, she had her first post-memory-loss dinner party to navigate this evening.
Emme swallowed, trying to force the butterflies back into her stomach as they stepped outside to the waiting carriage and the short ride to Sutton Hall.
Back to Sutton Hall
Still in the drawing room
May 9, 1812
Emme stood frozen, unsure how to proceed.
Like a deer in headlights, Alter Emme unhelpfully suggested.
So if shaking hands was taboo, how did one greet another human being?
Really, when had things become so needlessly complicated?
“I am so sorry . . . ,” Emme hesitantly began.
“Think nothing of it, m’dear,” Sir Henry boomed. “We all understand you are having to relearn so many things right now. Must be dashed difficult not having one’s memory.”
Emme managed a wan smile. He had no idea.
“Indeed,” James’ amused voice sounded near her ear. Perhaps too amused.
Emme flicked an annoyed glance at him. She was not ready to see the humor in this situation.
“When greeting a new acquaintance, a lady generally curtsies and nods her head in acknowledgment,” Georgiana said quietly. “Watch.”
Georgiana did just this, elegantly bowing her head and murmuring, “Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Henry.”
Sir Henry bowed properly again, his mustache wafting slightly. As if it too were bowing.
Georgiana surreptitiously gestured for Emme to try.
With a weak smile, Emme placed the ball of one foot behind the other and bent her knees slightly, lowering her head at the same time, hoping to mimic Georgiana.
The action did not feel familiar in the slightest. It was like her brain was determined to make everything as confusing as possible.
Hey, be nice, Alter Emme warned.
“The trick is to keep the movement constant and fluid, graceful from start to finish,” Georgiana encouraged in her ear.
Fortunately, the next fifteen minutes provided Emme with ample practice. Sir Henry insisted Emme take his arm as he led her around the room, introducing the vicar and his wife, two elderly spinster sisters, an aged gentleman and his portly son, an eager matron with three unmarried daughters who squirmed uncomfortably as their mother described how ‘eligible’ they were. The list went on. She greeted each one with the same smooth bend of her knees and dip of her head.
One introduction stood out.
“Lord Linwood, Miss Linwood, may I present Miss Emma?”
This was said to the icy-eyed man with the pretty petite woman at his side. Emme was struck again by a sense of familiarity. Did she know them?
Lord Linwood oozed money and power; a man to whom the world never said no. Miss Linwood smiled kindly at Georgiana in greeting, her dark hair curling around her face, thick lashes framing her dark eyes.
So this was Miss Marianne Linwood then, Arthur Knight’s we-are-not-betrothed betrothed. Small and dainty, she had a helpless look that would make men fall over themselves to care for her. She dipped a small curtsy in return to Emme’s, quietly murmuring, “Miss Emma.”
Her brother, on the other hand, . . . well, his response bordered on incivility. Which, Emme realized, really was his point. His gaze remained fixed on a mark about a foot above her head, a nod of greeting scarcely perceptible. His murmur of “Miss Emma” low and barely heard. Utterly dismissive but still adhering to proper form.
Oooh, he’s good, Alter Emme clinically noted. Man, it must take generations of inbreeding to get that just right.
Emme sighed. Her evening had only needed this.
Miss Linwood glanced past Emme’s shoulder and suddenly blushed.
“Mr. Knight and Mr. Arthur Knight, how pleasant to see you this evening.” Turning, Emme saw the Knight brothers coming to a stop beside Sir Henry.
“Lord Linwood. Miss Linwood.” James’ nodded his head in greeting, though his polite smile seemed faintly annoyed.
Annoyance. It was an emotion she had yet to associate with James. In fact, this was the first time she had seen him wear it.
Lord Linwood turned his head and actually made eye contact as he nodded his head in greeting to the brothers. Though Emme noticed his eye twitch slightly as Arthur exchanged strained, love-lorn looks with his sister.
It was comical to watch. Marianne kept trying not to stare at Arthur, but it was a losing battle. He would catch her eye and she would stare at him longingly. And then one of them would realize what they were doing, and they would break contact, each looking away, Marianne blushing.
Please tell me they aren’t always like this? It’s a little nauseating, Alter Emme buzzed.
Emme silently agreed.
<
br /> Searching for something to break the awkward silence, Emme asked, “Miss Linwood, please forgive my presumption, but are you sure we have never met? You seem somewhat familiar.” Emme noted James’ look of surprise from the corner of her eye.
Lord Linwood also reacted to the question, briefly fixing steel-gray eyes on her. His gaze flicked over her face, a gleam of something briefly flaring and then instantly veiled.
“Indeed?” Sir Henry beamed. “How fascinating! Do you suppose you have met in London?”
“I . . . I couldn’t say, Sir Henry,” Emme stammered.
Miss Marianne pursed her pretty mouth for a moment and then shook her head, “I am afraid I cannot recollect ever having been introduced, Miss Emma. But I must be honest, our acquaintance is so large it is hard to remember everyone I have met.” Her eyes shown with sincerity. How could such a haughty man be related to her? “My dear brother is forever scolding me to be more diligent in remembering faces and names.” She smiled wanly, looking expectantly at Lord Linwood.
He merely gave a hint of smile. “Indeed, sister. It would be an impossibility to remember all who come within our acquaintance, particularly those who are . . . unremarkable.”
Emme felt herself stiffen at his slight. Really, he was a fairly horrid man. Again, his gaze skimmed over Emme, still dismissive but somehow speculative.
“Yes, of course, Miss Linwood,” Arthur enthused, taking the opportunity to move closer to her, ignoring the tension. “It can be hard to remember everyone.”
“Memory can be a tricky thing,” Sir Henry agreed, his mustache wiggling as he spoke. It was truly impressive, wide and bushy below his nose. Like some furry animal had taken up residence on his face. Emme assumed Sir Henry had a mouth underneath somewhere. Not that she could see it.
“Thank you all for your patience,” Emme said, determined to not be cowed. “I am sorry to be such a trial. Sometimes the first idea that comes into my head is correct and other times it obviously is not.”
Linwood expelled air from his lungs, clearly indicating his wish for the conversation to end. James tensed at Emme’s side.
“Never fear, Miss Emma!” Sir Henry boomed. “I am most eager to help you recover your missing memory, m’dear. I knew a fellow once in Antigua who had been hit on the head by a yardarm. Poor fellow lost his memory and most of his power of speech. He could barely walk for three months afterward. . . .”
Sir Henry continued his story until the butler announced dinner.
An hour later, Emme wondered when simply eating dinner had become so difficult. As the guest of honor, she found herself seated next to Sir Henry at the head of the large table, heavy with crystal and silver.
This would have been fine but Lord Linwood—as the highest ranking peer in attendance—had been placed opposite her. He managed to communicate his disdain of her continued presence without so much as lifting an eyebrow. Fortunately, James had been seated on her other side.
Sitting down, she had recognized the array of silverware and glasses next to her plate. She knew generally which item to use and when.
The food had been less so. Some things she recognized (the roast beef that Sir Henry carved) but other dishes not so much (a gelatinous mass with what looked suspiciously like a hog’s foot suspended inside). There had been a chicken curry dish with fluffy rice that she had particularly enjoyed. It was the most familiar tasting entree of the entire evening, and Emme said as much.
“Fascinating, madam,” Sir Henry nodded. “You find the taste of curry familiar then?”
“I do. Though I think the curries I have eaten in the past have been a little spicier than this. But it is still delightful.” The last part said with an apologetic smile. Lord Linwood flicked his eyes sideways as she spoke, the look somehow conveying absolute annoyance and boredom in one single glance.
“Fascinating,” Sir Henry said again, mustache twitching, indifferent to Linwood’s haughty behavior. “Perhaps you have spent time in India, Miss Emma?”
Sir Henry continued to treat Emme as if she were some sort of archaeological dig. That if he managed to explore the right spot, he would reveal all her secrets. So far he had uncovered that Emme spoke a little French, an astonishing amount of Spanish, had a decent knowledge of Homer and a startling understanding of the current conflict with Napoleon.
He brought another bite of food to his mouth. Emme had to force herself to stop watching him eat. Sir Henry somehow navigated food around his mustache without leaving any behind. Impressive. They both were. The mustache and the eating.
Emme considered his question and then shrugged her shoulders. “I could not say. You have traveled much then, Sir Henry?”
“Sir Henry is famous in these parts for his exploits as a young man. I understand he cut quite a figure with the ladies in his day.” James murmured the last part from behind his hand, deliberately pitching his voice to carry.
“You are being too kind, James m’boy.” Sir Henry wagged his eyebrows in a way that Emme supposed to be expressive. However, as his eyebrows were only slightly less bushy than his mustache, they looked more like arching caterpillars. “I was always the despair of my father, never able to stay put for too long. Had too much wanderlust. I have visited a great many places, though I never made it to India or the East Orient. My family had holdings in the West Indies, and so I spent much of my youth in the Bahamas.”
“The Bahamas . . . ,” Emme repeated softly, pausing. The word instantly conjured a distinct image of white sand, lapping ocean and palm trees waving in the breeze. She could practically taste the salt sea air.
“It is a cluster of islands off the coast of the Americas.” Linwood misunderstood her silence, his tone clearly conveying his opinion of her intelligence. Emme blinked in surprise at his speaking at all.
“Yes,” she replied, trying to capture the fleeting image. “It’s a tropical place with miles of white sandy beaches and palm trees full of coconuts. Isn’t Nassau the capital?”
Now it was Linwood’s turn to blink in surprise. She managed to force him to meet her eyes for a fraction of a second before he dismissed her gaze again. It felt like a victory.
Sir Henry’s face brightened. Or rather his mustache quivered in approval. “Indeed! Not everyone would know such a thing. Fascinating!”
Linwood’s fork clattered to his plate as he dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, his mouth set in a firm line.
Emme nodded silently and turned her head back to the stuffed little bird she was currently eating. Or rather pushing around her plate to make it appear as if she were eating. It had eyeballs. And a beak.
It was unnerving.
But, really, that described her entire evening.
Linwood was being an ass.
James recognized this was nothing new. Linwood had long been a connoisseur of boorish behavior.
But he was quite sure that Linwood had hit a new low (or was it a high?) with his performance this evening.
And when faced with such churlish behavior, James only knew one way to respond.
“Sir Henry is a great collector of the exotic, particularly rare plants,” James said to Emma and then paused, deliberately catching the viscount’s eye opposite him. “Do you not agree, Linwood?”
Linwood blinked at him, slow and deliberate, conveying a wealth of disdain in the simple gesture. James gave the tiniest ghost of smile. Emma and Sir Henry glanced at them both as the pause lengthened.
Finally, Linwood said, “We all know that Sir Henry has a great love for the unusual. His taste is generally acceptable, unlike . . . others . . . with whom I am acquainted.”
James nodded. It was a decent hit by Linwood’s standards. But far too predictable.
He waited for Sir Henry’s reply, grabbing and holding Linwood’s gaze as their host spoke.
“Thank you, m’dear boy.” Sir Henry beamed at Linwood. “You have always been such a capital fellow!” He reached over and gave Linwood a hearty slap on the shoulder and then turned back t
o eating the quail on his plate.
James held Linwood’s eye throughout, smiling slightly. Linwood had walked easily into the set up. There was little that annoyed Linwood more than being called boy and fellow. Not to mention the unauthorized touching of his person.
James considered it a win.
Linwood’s lips twitched, conceding the score.
“Thank you, Sir Henry,” the viscount said, leaning back into his chair, “though I understand that Knight might finally be interested in selling you his father’s coin collection.” He gestured toward James, raising an eyebrow fractionally.
James blinked, acknowledging the parry.
“Indeed! Indeed!” Sir Henry turned with excitement to James. “How wonderful! Your father’s coins would be the pinnacle of all my collections. Is this true, Knight?”
James allowed a grin to slide across his face. Was that the best Linwood could do?
“Alas, Lord Linwood must be ill-informed.” James paused long enough to lend the word a wealth of meaning. “But as I have always said, should I decide to sell, I will contact you first, Sir Henry.”
James lifted his wine glass in a subtle salute to Linwood, indicating the viscount needed to try harder. Linwood responded with a faint clenching of his jaw.
Emma stirred at James’ side. Almost unconsciously, Linwood’s gaze flicked to her.
In that fleeting glance, James saw in the viscount’s eyes something he did not like. Linwood surveyed her with a look of . . . interest. There was no other word for it. As if Linwood were shopping for a new mare and liked what he saw.
Something bristly and ugly reared within James. It was a new emotion. One he had no memory of ever feeling before.
Linwood brought his gaze back, noting James’ narrowed eyes, the sudden tensing of his shoulders. Linwood’s mouth curved up ever so slightly. Though unintentional, the viscount realized he had scored a direct hit.
“What are your favorite things to collect, Sir Henry?” Emma said, drawing their host’s attention back to herself.