Rowan’s gaze touched Emmeline’s face for the briefest moment. “An efficient city.”
“Indeed,” Lady Cresswell murmured, her smile losing some of its edge. “Very efficient.”
Lord Fairford approached at once, his bow deeper than the last. “Duchess, allow me to offer my congratulations. A remarkable match.”
“Thank you,” Emmeline replied.
“Quite remarkable,” he added, glancing between them. “Especially after the unfortunate business with Foxdale.”
Rowan’s hand shifted slightly at the small of her back, enough for Emmeline to feel the heat of his palm through her gown.
“Careful,” Rowan said mildly.
Lord Fairford blinked. “Your Grace?”
“With your wording,” Rowan replied. “It nearly suggested you intended rudeness.”
Color climbed the man’s neck. “Not at all. Forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive if nothing was intended,” Rowan said.
“No, of course. Nothing was intended.”
Emmeline kept her smile in place, though her pulse had begun to beat too quickly beneath the diamonds at her throat.
Mr. Pembury, a gentleman with thinning hair and too much eagerness bowed before them. “Your Grace, I trust Lady Juliet recovers well?”
Emmeline felt the name ripple through the small group around them.
Rowan did not so much as blink. “She remains in the country. Her health improves, though slowly.”
“And Wellfield?” Lady Fenwick asked, her fan moving with predatory delicacy. “Such an unfortunate postponement.”
“Perhaps,” Rowan said, his voice level, “it was not a suitable match.”
The fan paused.
“When my sister has recovered fully,” he continued, “she may consider a match better suited to her temperament.”
The authority in his voice closed the subject as neatly as a door.
No one dared push further.
Emmeline looked at him then, despite herself. There was no uncertainty in him, no trace of the panic that must have lived beneath all of this.
It was impossible not to admire him in moments like this. But it was also impossible not to resent him for being able to protect everyone with such force except the people nearest his own heart.
Frederick appeared at precisely the moment the silence risked becoming too heavy.
“Ironford,” he said brightly. “You have frightened half the room into good manners. A public service.”
Rowan gave him a flat look. “Calham.”
“And Duchess.” Frederick bowed over Emmeline’s hand with a flourish. “You look radiant enough to cause poetry, which I hope you will forgive.”
“Only if the poetry is brief,” Emmeline replied.
Frederick’s eyes lit. “Excellent. You see, Ironford? She understands art.”
