Proper Secrets by Rachel Francis Page A

choose.”   The dance came to an end and Mr. Wingrave led Emily away, so engrossed by their interaction that neither realized how they seemed to others an involved couple.
    “Intelligent, sensible, and with enough affection to overcome your prideful boundaries,” said Mr. Wingrave.   His frank description made Emily laugh.
    “Did I tell you that such a man does not exist?”
    “If he did, would you have him?”   The query silenced her laughter, so awash with implications that any humor was caught in her throat.   A shadow over Mr. Wingrave’s shoulder broke the intense communication and saved her from answering.
    “Wingrave, I would have words with you,” said Mr. Annesley.   Mr. Wingrave turned from her to face the one who addressed him.
    “Our families have nothing to say,” he stated, striding away from the man without disengaging Emily from his arm.
    “You’ll be pleased to know Mrs. Pratchett is well in Dunbarrow,” said Mr. Annesley as he followed them.   Mr. Wingrave whirled on him in such fury that Emily let go and stood back.
    “Do not speak of it here!” he warned, startling nearby dancers.   Mr. Annesley frowned, but relented, bowing his way back to Bridget.   Mr. Wingrave settled and regained connection with Emily.   The mystery surrounding him had gathered up into a storm in her head, the first raindrops now fell.
    “I apologize, Miss Worthing.”
    “I accept,” said Emily.   Not even in her curiosity could she bring herself to ask about that kind of a reaction.
    “I know not what to say after such behavior, I cannot explain.”
    “Another secret?   Do I see the real Mr. Wingrave before me, or is it a doppelgänger?” said Emily.   He smiled.
    “All too real, my lady.”
    “Hmm,” she sighed.
    “This does not prevent you from answering my question,” said Mr. Wingrave.
    “After the reflection of a few moments, I cannot see why it is of any consequence.   If I advertise my answer, how shall I surprise anyone?   I am due a certain amount of anticipatory nervousness on the part of my suitor, as is any woman.”
    “I see that feminine wiles have not eluded even you, Miss Worthing.   You would keep your suitor in just as much agony as the next woman, and with even less guarantee of success.”   Their walk slowed as they found a corner to stand in.   The party went on around them, their body language throwing a shroud of privacy over the space they occupied.
    “If anyone agonized over me I should be extremely surprised, considering my well-known views,” said Emily.
    “Love cares not for the decree of mortals.”   Feeling again the weight of his words, Emily cast about for another subject.   Already they leaned too close to one another.
    “Maybe if I could find a husband like Mr. Barham,” she suggested.   He had not left Mrs. Barham’s side all evening.
    “Mayhaps you marry a hound instead, they come trained already,” said Mr. Wingrave.
    “You do not believe in obedience to one’s wife?”
    “Obedience yes, but not at the sacrifice of dignity.   Mr. Barham does himself and his business harm by acting in such a way as to disrespect himself to please his wife,” said Mr. Wingrave.
    “You would displease your wife to further your image?” inquired Emily.
    “I would hope that my wife would not ask me to belittle myself for her.   I, however, have not sworn off marriage in the hopes that there will be one woman with the qualities I seek, instead of despairing that the majority of the feminine gender does not meet my requirements.”   His eyebrow arched in her direction.
    “How impertinent of you to argue with me so!” laughed Emily.   She and Mr. Wingrave found many more things to argue over before the night was through, every so often remembering that it was impolite to monopolize each other’s attention.   By the time Emily laid down on her pillow, she found herself thinking of Mr. Wingrave in different terms, as one who might belong to her if his