Page 90 of The Devilish Pleasures of a Duke

The footman grinned. “A message arrived for you while you were gone, my lord.”

“For me?” Adrian asked in surprise. “What have I done now?”

“What haven’t you done?” Emma whispered, covertly nudging him away with her chin.

“I don’t know,” he said under his breath. “If I’ve missed something, do let me know. My wife is forever eager to further my education.”

She gave a delicate cough. “In private, my lord.”

He sighed. “What was this message?”

“Lady Serena says she will be delighted to join you for supper tonight,” the footman replied.

Adrian smiled uneasily at Emma. “I swear to you, I had nothing to do with this. Do you wish me to tell her that we are unable to receive her tonight?”

“No,” Emma answered him firmly. “If she is an old friend, it would be unforgivable to snub her.”

Adrian looked doubtful. “I’m not sure that I ever explained to you the exact nature of my relationship with Serena. But she and I never were the best of friends.”

No matter, Emma was determined to behave decently toward her husband’s former sweetheart. As Adrian’s wife, a woman of noble birth, she would be compassionate, a gracious winner as it were. She would also, in the most polite manner possible, make it absolutely clear that Adrian was taken for life.

At least this was the advice she repeated to herself hours later as she met Hermia outside her room on the way to supper.

Hermia had dressed in full evening regalia, a crepe turban ornamented with a plume of peacock feathers and a gold evening gown underlaid with layers of cream lace. A spidery gauze shawl dangled over one plump shoulder. “How do I look?” she inquired. “And do be honest.”

“You shall catch every eye at the table,” Emma answered.

“Hmph. I have just heard from the housekeeper that Serena indeed is a raving beauty. I don’t believe it, of course, for housekeepers are seldom truthful.”

Emma paused. She was underdressed, as usual, in a long-sleeved bisque-satin evening gown with a silk-flowered hem. “Raving beauty or not,” she said. “It would be an insult for us to be late to meet her.”

Hermia slowed pace as they approached the dining hall. “She has waited for almost a decade.”

“I know,” Emma murmured.

“Perhaps because no one else would have her,” Hermia added, more from defending Emma than unkindness.

Emma held back a smile. “You are indeed a stouthearted lady, Hermia.”

“A woman of a certain age acquires an understanding of human actions,” Hermia explained with a dismissive smile. “I will even go so far as to predict that Serena has a malicious nature.”

Emma laughed in disbelief. Hermia’s predictions were as reliable as a gypsy fair girl’s. “Oh, really?”

“Those of us with obvious beauty must strive to develop strength of character.”

“Did I hear myself mentioned?” Odham asked behind them, offering each lady an arm. “Strength of—”

“Shallow,” Hermia went on. “Vapid. And, most likely, selfish.”

Odham blinked. “Well, obviously you were not discussing me.”

Adrian emerged from his father’s study, somber, lean, and attractive in black evening attire. “Is everyone ready to eat? I’m famished.”

Emma examined her husband with unhidden pleasure. “Aren’t we waiting for our guest?”

He brushed her cheek with a kiss. “Serena? I believe she sent word she’d be late.”

“I told you.” Hermia nodded her turban-adorned head in satisfaction. “That is a sign of thoughtlessness if ever there was one.”