Page 69 of The Mister I Married

Chapter Eighteen

The evening of Emmy’s inaugural dinner party finally arrived, and although the flowers had wilted by the middle of the meal, the conversation was lively, and the food and drink were both superb and enjoyed liberally by all, even her father-in-law.

By the time dinner was over, the mood was a distinctly merry one, and as the party retired to the blue salon—charmingly furnished with rosewood tables and seating upholstered in shades of blue and cream—Emmy couldn’t help feeling proud of herself.

“Congratulations on a successful dinner party,” Lucinda Ogilvy whispered as she looped her arm through Emmy’s and drew her in for a turn about the room. She was the picture of elegance tonight in dark green silk with her thick red curls piled high on her head.

“I’ve been a bundle of nerves all week,” Emmy admitted sheepishly. “I was certain this evening would be an utter disaster.”

Lucinda smiled. “But you were wrong.”

“Apparently so.” Emmy gave her new friend’s forearm a squeeze as their steps fell in line. “Thank you again for your help with the guest list. Your advice was invaluable.”

As a newcomer to the area, she’d had no idea whom to invite, but Lucinda was born and raised in Gladwin and she knew absolutely everyone.

“I was happy to assist,” Lucinda replied. “I think these dinner parties of yours are a very good idea. It is a shame that no one has had a chance to know Tess before now. She is such a delightful girl.”

Emmy smiled, her gaze finding her sister-in-law who was standing beside the pianoforte chatting with Lucinda’s sister, Catherine, and another guest, Miss Henrietta Plum, a petite blonde of similar age who was here with her mother and father.

“I hope these dinner parties will help,” she said with a sigh. “I hate to think of Tess holed up in this house all those years with no social life to speak of, and only her father and brother for friends. Not that she was unhappy, of course, but a girl ought to have female friends her own age.”

“I agree,” Lucinda said. “And I think she is lucky to have you in her life. You’ve made her very happy tonight.”

Emmy smiled as they paused together by the hearth, her gaze on Tess as she laughed at something Miss Plum was saying. She did look to be enjoying herself this evening, and even seemed to be making new friends, just as Emmy had hoped she would.

She’d worried the evening would be a total shambles, but everything had gone according to plan—wilted table flowers notwithstanding—and she’d even managed to relax enough to enjoy herself.

She had Alex to thank for that, at least in part. He was a surprisingly good host, friendly and interested as he conversed with their guests, and though Emmy suspected he would rather be almost anywhere else tonight, he was here, and he was doing his part to make the evening a success.

He was with Lucinda’s husband now, standing near the door with a glass of claret in one hand, his other tucked away in his trouser pocket. Mr. Ogilvy, a slender, fair-haired man with warm green eyes and perpetually-rosy cheeks, appeared to be chatting his ear off, but Alex bore it with a smile.

As if feeling the weight of her stare, his eyes met hers, warming the moment he looked at her. Emmy’s cheeks flushed and she swallowed hard, her body flooding with an answering heat.

“Goodness me,” Lucinda murmured, chuckling softly from beside her. “Every woman should have a husband who looks at her like that.”

Emmy pulled her gaze from Alex, discomfited to realize she’d nearly forgotten Lucinda was there. “Like what?” she asked, embarrassed but equally curious to hear what her friend would say.

“Like he appreciates you greatly, and intends to express his gratitude later on, in private, and in a multitude of ways.”

Lucinda grinned and Emmy’s cheeks flushed anew. Time to change the subject.

“Speaking of husbands, I like yours very much,” she said, meaning it sincerely. “He is an amiable man, and very easy to talk to.”

“He drives me absolutely mad sometimes,” Lucinda replied with a wry smile. “But I do love him, and he’s a wonderful father. We’re lucky to have him.”

“He’s lucky to have you, too, I should think.”

“Oh, he is,” Lucinda agreed without preamble. “And I tell him so often.”

Emmy laughed. She’d met Lucinda’s husband earlier that week, and their sons, as well—two adorable little red-haired cherubs who were obviously adored by their parents. The picture of familial contentment in the Ogilvys’ drawing room had stayed with her these last few days, and she’d imagined a similar scene here at Bristlewood, of her and Alex at play with their own brood of little ones. Even now, the frisson of pleasure that ran through her was a surprise.

Still, she did not dislike it.

Stealing another glance at her husband, she smiled to herself. She had a feeling Alex would be a wonderful father, too.

“How are you doing, Father? Do you need anything?” Alex kept his voice low as he approached his father, who was sitting alone on a sofa by the fire, his gloved hands folded neatly in his lap.

“No, thank you, my boy. I’m fine,” Mr. Whitcomb replied with a small smile.