Page 3 of The Mister I Married

Miss Whitcomb’s mouth fell open with a gasp. “My mother was not a whore!”

“She abandoned her own family to run away with one of your father’s servants,” Lady Anne said flatly, arching her brows with sanctimonious disdain.

“She was in love,” Miss Whitcomb defended. “She only did what she felt was right.”

“But it was wrong,” Lady Anne replied. “And, in the end, she paid dearly for her sins.”

Miss Whitcomb’s lips parted but no words emerged, the allusion to her mother’s death a shocking unkindness.

“You know, Lady Anne,” Emmy said softly, drawing the girl’s ice blue gaze, “I have always found you to be petty and spoiled, but I never thought you cruel. I can only assume it is jealousy making you behave in this manner, as it is no secret—at least, not to me—that you have long wanted Lord Monroe for yourself.” She cocked her head to one side. “How unfortunate that you have neither the money nor the charms to tempt him.”

Lady Anne’s pointed chin shot up and she glared down her nose at Emmy, but she made no argument. Probably because there was none to be made. Emmy spoke the truth, and while the words had brought her no pleasure, she did not regret saying them.

Lady Anne gave a toss of her blond curls and stalked away, Miss Peyton trailing after her like the good little minion she was.

Emmy turned to Miss Whitcomb and reached out to gently grip her shoulder. “Are you all right?” she asked softly, noting the high color in the girl’s usually-pale cheeks.

Miss Whitcomb’s light brown eyes met hers and she nodded, though the stilted gesture seemed less than certain. “Thank you for coming to my rescue,” she said. “When Lady Anne asked to speak with me privately, I had no idea she would be so…” She flicked a hand out, searching for the word.

“So ghastly?” Emmy supplied. “Those two enjoy being horrible. Please don’t pay them any mind. They are not worthy of your attention.”

Miss Whitcomb nodded again, jostling her dark auburn ringlets as she nibbled her lower lip thoughtfully. “Is what they said about Lord Monroe true? Is he only interested in my dowry?”

Emmy pressed her lips together, hesitating. “It is no secret that he is in need of funds. He’s been openly hunting for a rich bride since last Season.”

Miss Whitcomb sighed. “That is unfortunate. He was the only gentleman to show any interest in me since I came to London.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true,” Emmy said.

Miss Whitcomb was a lovely girl with intelligent brown eyes, a kind smile, and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks. There was no reason she should not be pursued by eligible men. Eligible, intelligent men who were not foolish enough to hold her mother’s actions against her.

“Believe me, it is,” Miss Whitcomb said with another sigh. “It seems I should have given more credence to my brother’s warnings, after all. He tried to tell me that coming to London would not be easy, and it appears he was right. As usual.”

Emmy had to smile at her vexed tone. She knew all too well how irritating it could be when one’s brother proved to be right about…well, about anything, really.

“I do not believe I have met your brother.”

“Oh, right. He wasn’t there the night you and I first met, was he?” Miss Whitcomb smiled. “He is not overly fond of social gatherings, or of being social at all, but he is the best of brothers and very good to me.” Her smile dimmed a bit. “He did not want to bring me to London for the Season. He said coming here was a bad idea, but I begged and cajoled and finally he capitulated. I was so certain all would be well, and that no one would even remember what our mother had done. After all, it happened so very long ago…” She trailed off with a shake of her head.

Emmy’s heart squeezed with compassion. “This town never completely forgets a scandal, no matter how old it is.”

Especially when the scandal in question involved a beautiful woman abandoning her much older husband for one of his own servants. Such a scandal was simply too salacious to be forgotten.

“That is what my brother said to me,” Miss Whitcomb said wearily. “I should have listened to him. I should have—” She broke off with a little sniffle, her gaze lowering to the floor. “I should have—”

“Tess?”

Miss Whitcomb’s head came up at the sound of the deep male voice, and her eyes filled with tears as she choked out, “Alex!”

Emmy watched as she bolted past her and threw herself into the gentleman’s arms, a gentleman who was tall, dark-haired and obviously Miss Whitcomb’s aforementioned brother.

“Are you all right?” he asked his sister, concern tightening his voice. “What happened?” His gaze shot to Emmy, hard and unwavering. “What the devil did you say to upset my sister?”

Shock hit her like a boulder and her lips parted of their own accord, though no words emerged, only a garbled grunt of protest. “I…”

“Alex, no!” Miss Whitcomb scolded, pulling back to gaze up at her brother. “Lady Emmaline is not to blame for this. Indeed, she helped me—”

“It is quite all right, Miss Whitcomb,” Emmy broke in, finally regaining the use of her tongue. “Your brother is only looking out for you as any good sibling ought.” She offered Mr. Whitcomb her friendliest smile—one he did not return—before turning back to his sister. “I shall leave you now. Do try to enjoy the rest of your evening, hm?”

Miss Whitcomb nodded, her lips curving into a wobbly smile. “Thank you, Lady Emmaline,” she said. “I shall never forget your kindness tonight.”