Page 121 of A Foolish Flirtation

Goodness, how she had disliked her! The wretched woman had been smiling the whole time she had voiced her surprise, oh so gently, in Jeremy’s choice of second bride. It had given Emmie a horrible sort of satisfaction afterward to learn that her predecessor had not cared for her either!

To be fair, it had not only been Mrs. Needham who had hinted at Jeremy’s popularity with the opposite sex. Even the vicar’s wife had implied that Blanche Pebmarsh had hoped to capture his interest.

With a jolt, Emmie realized that Jeremy was still looking at her expectantly. “Being my father’s daughter was not so bad,” she said quickly to cover her abstraction, “but I should not have wished to be his employee. In fact, to tell the truth, I could have wished he had done things differently in a fatherly capacity, though he could be entertaining and even pleasant company when he was in a convivial mood.”

“What kinds of things would you have liked him to do differently?” he asked at once.

“Well, he could have given me some insight as to his business, for one. He left me in an entirely ridiculous position on his death.” Jeremy was silent. “I consider it his fault that I made foolish decisions after he had passed,” she said indignantly.

“You mean, appointing Stockton as head of Ballentine Trading?” he asked silkily, and Emmie had to force herself not to bristle.

“Yes,” she agreed. “In fact, that was entirely my father’s fault. He told me to do that. It was practically the last thing he said to me.” She hesitated. “Though, perhaps I would have done that in any case,” she added fairly.

Jeremy looked annoyed. “Did your father tell you to marry him?” he asked confrontationally.

Emmie nearly gasped. Refusing to meet his gaze in the mirror, she shook her head. “Not as such, though he told me I could do a lot worse. I think—I have always thought deep down that he encouraged Humphrey to propose to me.”

Jeremy nodded. “I doubt he would have had the nerve to do so if your father had not sanctioned it, but I don’t know how you could do much worse than wed a bigamist,” he added dryly. “Even I did not manage quite those depths of depravity.”

Emmie felt herself turn red. “Of course, Humphrey would never actually have married me,” she said wretchedly. “That would have been a crime.”

Jeremy shook his head. “Must you always rush to his defense?” he asked with disgust.

Emmie set her hairbrush down very carefully. Talking of Humphrey around him was definitely a mistake, she was learning. It had the unfortunate effect of making him antagonistic. “You never said how Teddy’s interview with Pinky went,” she said brightly, changing the subject. Her voice sounded high and unnatural. “Please tell me.”

He did not answer at once, expelling his breath in an irritated hiss of air. “About as well as can be expected under the circumstances,” he answered at last. “Teddy climbed on the bed beside her and was most contrite. Miss Pinson wept over him and likely thinks of him as more saintly than ever,” he answered irritably. “I fear Mina was right. Your friend is no match for him.”

Emmie felt a flash of annoyance and had to tamp it down. Had she not said so from the very first? And he had refused to listen to her! Pointing this out now would doubtless be a mistake, so instead she bit her tongue. “You will never guess who Pinky met last night,” she carried on, her steely calmness sounding artificial even to her own ears.

He scrutinized her for a moment before responding. “Who?”

“Lady Frances Vance.”

“Lady—?” Jeremy looked startled, sitting up.

“Yes, one of the family ghosts.” She nodded. “She met her in the lane, and Lady Frances nodded to her.”

Jeremy, who had looked as though he was about to dismiss this as so much nonsense, hesitated. “She nodded?” he asked slowly.

“Yes. Pinky said before she could register who it was, she had passed her by, and then you know, when she looked back over her shoulder, she was gone. Vanished into thin air.”

“Extraordinary,” Jeremy murmured. “But then, I suppose she is practically a Vance by this point.”

“Is that what she did when you saw her? Nodded, I mean.”

He opened his mouth and then shut it again. “That was all a very long time ago,” he said dismissively. “I’m sure I can hardly remember it now.” His answer, Emmie was convinced, was a barefaced lie.

“Why do you suppose Pinky saw her now?” she persisted, unable to hide her curiosity. “I am quite convinced she did, you know. She said she noticed her red dress and French hood and feared it was some terrible portent.”

“Her red dress?” he repeated carefully, then gave a short laugh. “Well, there you have it. Miss Pinson did not receive a dire warning from Lady Frances at all. She saw her sister. She needs to put her wedding cake back under her pillow.”

“You mean—?” Emmie gasped.

“Who knows? Maybe Lady Mary was simply feeling bored and mischievous.” He climbed off the bed and sauntered over to the connecting door. “Do you know, I feel rather tired this evening. I believe I’ll retire early.”

Emmie shrugged her shoulder. “As you wish, my lord.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, one hand on the door handle. “Doubtless you are tired after all the excitement of the day,” he said with icy politeness.