Page 45 of The Earl's Christmas Deal
The fire crackled merrily in the grate, casting shadows that spread across the shelves and toward the door. From the other side of it,visible through the crack where it remained ajar, two eyes watched the pair through the gap in the hinges as Frederick processed what he had heard.
Every passing word made the fear in his gut multiply to an unbearable degree and he knew if there was ever a time to act, it was now.
***
Later that evening the guests had gathered for a festive dinner and the atmosphere was lively as the main course of duck was served.
Charlotte and Lord Spencer had been placed opposite Emilia and Adam. They were having a lively discussion with the Pinkertons about Lord Spencer’s phaeton.
“Because you see,” Lady Pinkerton was saying, “I have been trying to persuade Lord Pinkerton that he is too old to purchase something so high. Everyone who uses them speaks of their dangers. Why, my nephew broke his arm falling from his,” she said reproachfully.
Lord Spencer cleared his throat, reaching for his glass and glancing at her.
“Madam, I am not the right person for you to be speaking to on the subject, though it pains me to say it. Every man should have a try in a High-Perch. They are elegant things—smooth and quick. Imagine the regal way you would look about Regents Park with two glistening chestnut mares before you.”
Lord Pinkerton, who was a wiry, slim man in his late fifties, chortled at Lord Spencer’s words and raised his glass to him.
“I believe you have picked the wrong quarry, my dear,” he said happily to his wife. “I shall make inquiries the moment we are back in London.”
“When you break your back falling off the thing, I shall have no sympathy,” said Lady Pinkerton irritably and stabbed at a piece of duck as she continued her supper.
Lionel smiled wickedly as Adam rolled his eyes.
“Do you have a phaeton, my Lord?” Emilia turned to Adam.
“I am of the same opinion as Lady Pinkerton—death traps the lot of them.”
“Poppycock!” Lionel cried, and Emilia watched Charlotte’s shoulders shudder with mirth as she tried to keep her composure.
But away from their merriment, at the other end of the table, Emilia could see the duke speaking with her father. She shifted in her seat, wondering whether he had noticed the attention Lord Bellebrook had shown her that day and what he might think of it.
“I much prefer a concert hall and a glass of port,” Adam added, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of duck as Charlotte gave Emilia a meaningful look.
“Emilia and I went to see Clementi at Hanover Square in the summer,” Charlotte said, “it was exquisite.”
“Oh, I would give anything to be able to play like him,” Emilia said. “It was a flawless performance. He was wearing blue shoes!”
Adam laughed as Miss Fairfax began to name some of the pieces they had heard at the concert to Lionel. His cousin had never had much interest in music and nodded with polite attention, but Emilia positively came alive with the topic.
She had appeared somewhat reserved since their agreement, both of them conscious that they were walkinga fine line between propriety and scandal, but now she was incredibly animated.
He would have given a great deal to stand up and claim Lady Emilia right there, putting the duke off forever, but he knew it was impossible. They would have to grow their connection in a way that would be remarked upon but not overt. It was a difficult balance, and Emilia had been stiff and quiet up until this point.
Adam watched her enthusiasm with a growing sense of affection and pride. He loved hearing her speak of music—she clearly adored everything about it. He made a promise to himself that when they were married, he would take her to a concert every week.
“I lost my grandmother several years ago,” Emilia explained to Lionel. “She was the one who instilled in me my love of music. It was she who took me to my first concert.” Her voice was low and gentle. “She is what made me who I am today. I would not have adored the pianoforte quite so much if I had not heard her play.”
“Have you thought any more of your own compositions?” Adam asked eagerly, finding himself curious as to what Emilia might create if she were to write some music herself.
Miss Fairfax was looking at him strangely, an odd little smile flitting over her face as Emilia stilled and looked across at him uncertainly.
“When one speaks of Clementi, I can only think of the great composers of our time, and it chills me to think I could think of writing anything at all.”
“But you will never know,” Adam said sincerely, “unless you try.”
Emilia’s gaze met his, and for an electric moment, he was suspended in it, the excitement infectious as her eyebrows drew together.
“Perhaps I shall try then,” she said finally.
