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Bess gave a begrudging nod. "I suppose you're right."
"Now, how do I look?"
That finally softened her frown. "Beautiful, ma'am. I only wish we had a nicer cloak to cover that lovely gown."
"It is lovely thanks to you. Now I must be off. I'm late. I'll only get two hours of play in before my dinner engagement. Do not wait up. I expect I'll return toward dawn agai
n."
The coach she'd hired awaited her at the end of the alley. She had meant to be in it a quarter hour before, but Hart had descended upon her door, pounding the wood as if it were her willful nature beneath his fist. The memory urged her legs to move faster. The surprised driver jumped from his perch and yanked the door open just as she arrived.
She should have canceled her dinner plans, but she was to have a late private meal with Lord and Lady Osbourne and she couldn't bear to miss it. She wouldn't see them again after tonight; she knew that even if they did not. "One last relaxing night before the Season begins to whirl," Lord Osbourne had said, and Emma was thankful they'd invited her.
But first there was this fete at Tunwitty's. Then another party to attend after her quiet meal with friends. Friends who would be hurt when they heard the truth.
But that was not her concern. Her safe was slowly filling. She'd almost reached her goal.
Emma was so lost in gloomy thoughts that she didn't notice the carriage had stopped. The door simply opened and she descended. As soon as the butler swept open the door of the house, as soon as she stepped through, Emma realized she'd made a mistake. She should not have come to this party.
Gentlemen strode by whom she'd never seen before. Ladies were everywhere. The women's heads turned as they passed her, taking in her utilitarian cloak and simple hairstyle. Emma hurried to unfasten the cloak and hand it to the butler. It seemed she had inadvertently gotten herself invited to a respectable party smack in the middle of the Little Season. More households were arriving every day, and while there would be no glittering balls for at least a few weeks, the new arrivals needed entertainment.
Emma maintained her pleasant smile and told herself not to panic. These ladies might disapprove, but none would know the truth about her. Her uncle's village was a tiny, sleepy place. Whatever squires or baronets she had known were not wealthy enough to travel early to town. Their funds simply would not stretch so far. Her plan would hold.
Checking to be sure her hair was still in place, Emma felt the hard jut of the little crystals she'd woven into her braid. She could not afford spectacular hats or expensive feathers, but she was glad for the crystals at least. Between them and the lovely gown, she probably wouldn't be mistaken for the governess.
Two women passed, arm in arm, and Emma felt the burn of two pairs of suspicious eyes, but when she nodded, they nodded stiffly back.
"Lady Denmore!"
She jumped and couldn't suppress her gasp as she scanned the large entry for a familiar face. When she caught site of Mr. Jones rushing toward her, her tension broke on a wide smile.
"Mr. Jones," she sighed and watched a flush work up to his cheeks as he bent to kiss her gloved hand.
"A great pleasure to see you, Lady Denmore. It has been at least a week. I mean to say . . ." He cleared his throat loudly. "Would you care for a refreshment? I would be happy to—"
"I'm afraid I will not be here long, but I would enjoy a tour of the rooms if you'd be so kind. I have never been to Lord Tunwitty's home."
"Of course, of course." He offered a thin arm, his eyes not quite meeting hers. Mr. Jones was young and shy, and Emma was very careful to always be kind but not encouraging. His arm jumped beneath her fingers.
"Will you be playing tonight?" he asked. "I have never. . . I mean I wonder if you will always be keen to play so . . . ardently."
"I do not think so," Emma answered honestly. "I am simply enjoying the challenge of it."
"You are quite good, of course. Quite good. I am a great. . . a great admirer of yours. I have never mastered the intricacies of most of the card games, not well enough to bet more than pennies. You are so very clever."
"Thank you, Mr. Jones." He blushed again, and Emma scrambled for a way to change the subject. "Tunwitty's home is quite lovely." They'd toured three rooms already, but Mr. Jones had been too involved in his compliments to offer commentary.
She steered him toward the more raucous end of the hall. Before she had passed the first door, she heard a loud hoot.
"The lively Lady Denmore! I was hoping you'd make it to my table this evening, my dear."
She managed to hold onto her smile despite that it was Marsh shouting from the crowded library. In fact, her mood inched up to something close to glee. Here was a chance to fleece this disgusting man before she left town. "Marsh," she purred and let Mr. Jones lead her into the room. "I am in the mood for brag tonight. Do you play?"
"Brag?" He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering at the bodice of the dress. "I've been known to play a round of brag or two. That game is quite old-fashioned for someone so young. And quite involved for a woman. Are you certain of your feminine skills?"
"Oh, yes," she offered with a smile.
The men parted to let her make her way to an empty chair at the curved table. Emma glanced over the other players, nodding to the men she knew. There were fewer than normal and she counted that to her advantage. In general, men considered women inferior players, and, in general, those men lost to her.
