Page 43 of Burning Secrets of a Lady's Pen
Imelda forced a smile, looking over to her friend with half an apology already on her lips as she did.
Charlotte and Joanne flanked her, their expressions contrasting one another. Where Charlotte’s lips were twitching, Joanne’s were a straight, disappointed line. Imelda couldn’t help but feel as if it were due to her inattention. Ever since she had arrived at the Woman’s Word, she had been half-in and half-out of the conversation.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” Imelda laughed, the sound only half real. “You’re speaking about mybrother,remember? I’m trying very hard to imagine that he is one and the same with this dashing gentleman you keep mentioning, I’m just having such a very hard time doing so.”
“Oh, what nonsense!” Charlotte giggled. “Your brother is the epitome of a gentleman, you know. He had flowers delivered forbothmy mother and I this morning, you know. It was really rather charming of him. Normally mama only receives flowers when someone wants something from her.”
“Well, hedoeswantsomething,” Joanne pointed out almost caustically.
Imelda flinched but couldn’t stop her smile at how widely Charlotte was beaming over the whole thing.
“It’s safe to say that Spencer is rather taken,” Imelda confessed.
Charlotte’s cheeks pinkened, her eyes darting over to where the man in question stood with Aunt Cassandra.
“You know, my aunt was just asking me about the Cunninghams’ upcoming ball,” Imelda mused pointedly. “I didn’t remember any of the information myself…”
“Perhaps I should go and inform her,” Charlotte leaped at the offer. “I do have all of the information, you know. And doing so now would keep me from forgetting.”
“Of course.” Imelda laughed knowingly.
She needn’t have bothered, as it was. Charlotte had no sooner finished talking than she hurried off to do just that. Although anyone with eyes could see it was more to spend time with Spencer than anything else.
Imelda watched with amusement as her friend hurried off, her heartwarming at the realization that Charlotte could very well actually end up being her sister-in-law by the end of the Season if Spencer got what he wanted. It was a strange thing to appreciate, maybe, but she couldn’t have picked anyone better if she had tried herself.
“She looks happy,” Imelda murmured to Joan as she turned to face her.
Joanne didn’t smile back, her eyes frosty as she shrugged. “As do you.”
The words were strangely arctic, clipped, and laden with a duality that made Imelda look back in surprise.
Joanne had been oddly prickly all evening, but thus far her words had only been vaguely ominous.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that,” she confessed slowly, her eyebrows furrowing. “Of course, I’m happy that Spencer and Lady Charlotte are getting along so well…” She didn’t know what it had to do with her in the first place, other than her trying to help Spencer get Charlotte’s notice…
“You do seem to be currying a very particular sort of favor,” Joanne returned icily, her eyes skewering Imelda’s with an intensity that wasn’t to be borne.
“I—you—Miss Tuberville.” Imelda exhaled heavily. “Just what exactly is it that you are accusing me of?”
Joanne’s laugh was bitter, her lips thinning out as she shrugged caustically once more. “Did you think that no one had noticed? First, you cozy up to Lady Waddeson and Charlotte, and now her nephew Lord Salthouse? I don’t know how exactly you learned of his nom de plume, but it hasn’t escaped my notice in the least that ‘Prospero’ went from critiquing your work to singing its praises.”
Joanne’s words were like knives in Imelda’s pride, her eyes burning as she took a half-step back from her supposed friend.
“You cannot think me so grasping as to actually attempt such a thing.” Imelda could barely contain the fury that filled her words, her disbelief clear. She would never…
“Grasping? Did I use such words? Advantageous, maybe. I think you saw merit in making such illustrious friendships, surely.” Joanne’s smile was as brittle as her words, her eyes still narrowed.
It took everything in Imelda not to scream.
She had done no such thing.
Lady Waddeson was a friend of her aunts. Charlotte, her daughter, whom Imelda now actually considered a dear friend. Corin…
Corin was another story entirely.
“I didn’t realize you thought so little of me!” Imelda snapped, her voice shaking. “I will succeed by myownmerit, not that of my acquaintances or otherwise.”
Joanne eyed her warily, her shoulders stiff, and Imelda could almost swear that she hesitated.
