lord. Good day to you.” She nodded toward the bookseller. “And to you, Mr. Homsby.”
“You have not answered my question,” Lord Wentworth said as she started for the door.
“I did not hear you ask one.”
He smiled, but it was as cool as Papa’s had been. “That is true. I cannot accuse you of dishonesty, can I?”
Heat coursed up her cheeks. Her gaze was caught by Mr. Homsby’s, but she looked hastily away. What a widgeon she was! She was wanting for sense to chide Lord Wentworth for being deceitful when Mr. Homsby could denounce her.
She must leave without delay. If she remained, either Mr. Homsby or she might reveal the truth. As she reached for the doorknob, a broad hand covered the latch. She looked over her shoulder, every word she had ever known vanishing from her head as she stared up into Lord Wentworth’s gray eyes. Storms she did not want to challenge filled them.
Slowly he drew his hand away, his sleeve brushing her arm in the most chance caress. She knew he had heard her gasp when his smile returned, warm once more as it had been in the garden.
No! She would not give it credence again. He had lied to her about Papa and about … She could not be sure what else, and she did not dare to stay to find out.
“Good day,” she murmured again. She was out the door before he could halt her, although she doubted if Lord Wentworth ever needed force to keep a woman by his side. His charm would garner him a place in any woman’s heart. But not in hers. She could not let that happen, not when her whole family’s future depended on her and the secrets she held in her heart.
Chapter Four
Emily looked out the window of her carriage as it came to an abrupt stop. The carriage rocked, and her coachman’s freckled face appeared in the window.
“What is it, Simon?” she asked, putting down the notebook where she had begun sketching out her next collection of poems. She must not let opportunity pass her by. If this book did as well as Mr. Homsby suggested, she could not delay beginning another.
“Accident, Miss Talcott.” He squinted at the pages she held, and she folded them, placing them on the seat. “Looks like a horse stumbled up ahead.”
“The passengers?”
Before he could answer, she heard a familiar, slightly too high-pitched voice. Simon opened the door and assisted her to the cobbled street. She rushed to the assistance of her bosom-bow.
Lady Valeria Fanning was, in Emily’s opinion, the most beautiful woman in Town, even when she was wringing her hands in distress. With gloriously red hair that curled perfectly about her heart-shaped face, she always dressed with just a hint of the garish. Her bold Kashmir shawl covered a pelisse that was opened to reveal her bright gold silk gown. Tall feathers perched on the top of her muslin poke bonnet and had been dyed to match the fancywork on her stockings. Valeria was not a woman to be ignored, even at the largest assembly.
Beside her stood the man of Miriam’s dreams, although Emily could not fathom why. Graham Simpkins was as bland as Valeria was beautiful. True, his hair seemed like spun ebony in the sunshine, and he possessed a strong silhouette. As usual, he hunched into himself as he watched the thrashing horse in the middle of the street.
“Valeria, are you hurt?” Emily asked, hurrying to her friend’s side.
“I do not believe so.” She nudged Mr. Simpkins with her elbow. “Graham, do recall your manners and say good day to Miss Talcott.”
“Miss Talcott?” He squinted into the sunshine. “Which one?”
“Emily, of course, you silly block.” Valeria pressed her hand to her bodice. “I swear that lame-hand coachman should never be allowed in the box again.”
Drawing her friend away from the center of the street, Emily asked, “Can you find someone to help that poor beast, Simon?”
A voice deeper than her coachee’s answered, “I think they are hoping to tend to that distasteful matter after you ladies have
“You have not answered my question,” Lord Wentworth said as she started for the door.
“I did not hear you ask one.”
He smiled, but it was as cool as Papa’s had been. “That is true. I cannot accuse you of dishonesty, can I?”
Heat coursed up her cheeks. Her gaze was caught by Mr. Homsby’s, but she looked hastily away. What a widgeon she was! She was wanting for sense to chide Lord Wentworth for being deceitful when Mr. Homsby could denounce her.
She must leave without delay. If she remained, either Mr. Homsby or she might reveal the truth. As she reached for the doorknob, a broad hand covered the latch. She looked over her shoulder, every word she had ever known vanishing from her head as she stared up into Lord Wentworth’s gray eyes. Storms she did not want to challenge filled them.
Slowly he drew his hand away, his sleeve brushing her arm in the most chance caress. She knew he had heard her gasp when his smile returned, warm once more as it had been in the garden.
No! She would not give it credence again. He had lied to her about Papa and about … She could not be sure what else, and she did not dare to stay to find out.
“Good day,” she murmured again. She was out the door before he could halt her, although she doubted if Lord Wentworth ever needed force to keep a woman by his side. His charm would garner him a place in any woman’s heart. But not in hers. She could not let that happen, not when her whole family’s future depended on her and the secrets she held in her heart.
Chapter Four
Emily looked out the window of her carriage as it came to an abrupt stop. The carriage rocked, and her coachman’s freckled face appeared in the window.
“What is it, Simon?” she asked, putting down the notebook where she had begun sketching out her next collection of poems. She must not let opportunity pass her by. If this book did as well as Mr. Homsby suggested, she could not delay beginning another.
“Accident, Miss Talcott.” He squinted at the pages she held, and she folded them, placing them on the seat. “Looks like a horse stumbled up ahead.”
“The passengers?”
Before he could answer, she heard a familiar, slightly too high-pitched voice. Simon opened the door and assisted her to the cobbled street. She rushed to the assistance of her bosom-bow.
Lady Valeria Fanning was, in Emily’s opinion, the most beautiful woman in Town, even when she was wringing her hands in distress. With gloriously red hair that curled perfectly about her heart-shaped face, she always dressed with just a hint of the garish. Her bold Kashmir shawl covered a pelisse that was opened to reveal her bright gold silk gown. Tall feathers perched on the top of her muslin poke bonnet and had been dyed to match the fancywork on her stockings. Valeria was not a woman to be ignored, even at the largest assembly.
Beside her stood the man of Miriam’s dreams, although Emily could not fathom why. Graham Simpkins was as bland as Valeria was beautiful. True, his hair seemed like spun ebony in the sunshine, and he possessed a strong silhouette. As usual, he hunched into himself as he watched the thrashing horse in the middle of the street.
“Valeria, are you hurt?” Emily asked, hurrying to her friend’s side.
“I do not believe so.” She nudged Mr. Simpkins with her elbow. “Graham, do recall your manners and say good day to Miss Talcott.”
“Miss Talcott?” He squinted into the sunshine. “Which one?”
“Emily, of course, you silly block.” Valeria pressed her hand to her bodice. “I swear that lame-hand coachman should never be allowed in the box again.”
Drawing her friend away from the center of the street, Emily asked, “Can you find someone to help that poor beast, Simon?”
A voice deeper than her coachee’s answered, “I think they are hoping to tend to that distasteful matter after you ladies have
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