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“Did my idea work?” she asked excitedly. “I noticed you arrive, and then I didn’t see you again for the rest of the evening. A few ladies speculated that Countess Lieven asked you to leave.”
Emma’s mouth gaped. Her dearest friend had done the deed, not Mr. Kingsley, as she’d assumed. “You told Lady Lieven?”
“Of course!”
“How could you do such a thing, Susan? My mother now believes I went to Hell dressed as a boy!”
Susan drew back with a slight frown. “But you did.”
“And no one was supposed to know about that.”
“I am dreadfully sorry, Emma. I thought you didn’t care who knew.”
“Of course I care! Mamma is now sick with worry and furious about the idea that I entered a gaming hell dressed as a boy.” And now others had seen her there last night. Susan might have instigated the rumor, but Emma proved it correct by entering the establishment. She’d made a mess of things.
“Do you want me to speak to your mother? I can tell her it was a jest.”
“I doubt it will help.”
Susan placed her teacup down with a loud clink. “We must do something. I will ask my mother for help. She can speak to Countess Lieven about what happened and tell her it was a misunderstanding. A rumor with no substance.”
“Thank you, Susan. But I think it might be for the best if I stay banned from Almack’s.”
Now she owed Mr. Kingsley an apology for her behavior yesterday. She dreaded the idea of facing him to admit she was wrong about him, again. And she only had three more items on her list to complete. Perhaps Susan could help her with one detail. “Susan, your brother Oliver is quite the artist, is he not?”
Susan smiled. “Yes, much to Papa’s distaste. He would prefer Oliver to study law as Miles has done.”
“But he did have an instructor, did he not? A teacher who helped him perfect his art.”
“Of course! Mr. Bowles came into the house weekly when Oliver was home from Eton.”
“Do you think Mr. Bowles would instruct a lady?”
Her friend’s smile faded. “I am not certain. But my understanding is he lives in Soho.” She leaned in closer and whispered, “With his mistress.”
Emma shrugged, wondering why his living arrangements would matter. “Do you have his address in Soho?”
“No, I would never have been given that information.”
“Twenty-two Frith Street,” a male voice sounded from the threshold.
“Oliver!” Susan jumped to her feet and ran to hug her brother. “What are you doing home?”
Oliver Lancaster had the traditional good looks of all the Lancaster men with chestnut hair that tended to curl, warm brown eyes that usually shone with laughter, and a big grin. “Do not tell Papa,
but I was thrown out of Cambridge.”
“Oh Oliver, Papa will be furious. Oxford now Cambridge!”
He disentangled himself from Susan’s arms and bowed to Emma. “Good afternoon, Miss Drake.”
Emma nodded at the young man. “Oliver.”
Oliver casually walked to the sofa and sat where his sister had been sitting. He poured himself tea and grabbed a biscuit. After swallowing a bite, he asked, “What has you inquiring after Mr. Bowles, Miss Drake?”
Emma explained her dilemma regarding an art instructor. “Do you think he would help me?”
Oliver laughed. “He’s an artist. If you’re willing to pay him, be assured, he will help you.”
