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The trill of a waltz began, and she didn’t even have a partner. And there was Penelope, all smiles and excitement as she dragged Howard onto the floor. Dash it all.
“If someone had wagered me that Emmeline Hervey would be standing at the edge of the dance floor while a waltz played, I would have lost a great deal of money.”
Emmie turned around, smiling despite the distraction. “You don’t wager, Will Pershing.”
William Pershing inclined his head, his mop of dark brown hair falling across one eye and the rest of him looking nearly as disheveled, as if the cravat had been an afterthought and his coat the one that happened to be nearest the door. He even had ink stains on his fingers. “True enough,” he said. “I do dance, however, if you’re willing to risk your toes.”
That was Will, absentminded, but always good-hearted. And tonight, saving her from looking like a social pariah. “You are a godsend, my friend,” she said, grinning as she took his outstretched hand.
“You are the only one to think so,” he commented, his smile almost making her forget that they were practically siblings. “My mother took one look at me earlier and just shook her head.”
Emmie laughed. “That’s only because you are so very close to being dashing. A haircut, a bit of tidying up, and that eyes-half-closed brooding look, and you’d be irresistible.”
Will lifted an eyebrow as he put a hand on her waist. “If that’s the only difference between me being swarmed by females or not, I’m rather happy to remain myself.”
“Well, I’ve always adored you, so I have no complaints about that.”
He gazed at her for a heartbeat before he twirled her onto the floor. “You do have a way with words, Em.”
She bit back her smile a little as they swung past Penelope. She was supposed to be gloomy and distraught and not looking for a husband, after all. “I saw your mother earlier,” she said once her cousin had passed by. “She’s still trying to convince my mother to join her at a coffeehouse for breakfast.”
“Yes, I’m afraid drinking coffee makes her feel daring, and she’s determined to drag all her friends into the habit with her.”
As they turned and the other dancers flowed past, she returned to her quest. Another half dozen gentlemen came to mind, but not a one infatuated enough with her that he could be induced to propose tonight. “You haven’t been about much, Will. I’ve had to find new riding companions.”
Will shrugged. “Oxford, and an apprenticeship with Lord Howverton. I could manage a ride or two, though, if you’ve a mind. We are neighbors.”
Only half listening, Emmie nodded. “Of course. Does Lord Howverton ever smile? I must know.”
“Not in my presence,” he said, grinning. “He’s been lobbying to widen every canal between London and Wales. It’ll improve shipping speed and lower costs of both coal and iron. He’s up against every Tory in Parliament, but the longer we put off this sort of progress, the further behind we’ll fall.”
Will Pershing was only two years her senior but serious as the grave when it came to politics and the state of the kingdom. If only he paid as much attention to his dress. “An apprenticeship? Surely you’re worth more than that, Will.”
“I’m a nobody, I’m afraid. And, I quote, ‘far too young to have a grasp of the difference between necessity and fashionable folly.’”
“Nonsense. All you need is someone to remind you to take a moment to charm a fellow before you try to convince him to open his purse, and perhaps a young lady acquainted with a great many wives of departmental secretaries and parliamentarians.”
“Ah. You and I should become partners, then, Emmie. You could charm Midas himself into donating gold for a good cause.”
She smiled again. “I have missed you and your compliments.”
When he smiled back, amusement touching his light green eyes, her attention snagged. Will Pershing was a handsome young man beneath his disheveled surface, tall and well-built if still a bit gangly. All her friends thought him serious and shy, not adept with flirtations or conversations about the weather, while she reckoned he just couldn’t be bothered. Everyone knew his future lay in the government, either in Parliament or on some Department Secretary’s staff. She wouldn’t have been surprised to hear one day that he’d been elected prime minister. They’d been neighbors and friends since childhood; he’d even proposed to her in Seasons gone by, though she hadn’t paid him any mind.
Oh. Oh.
William Pershing.
Why not her and Will Pershing? She wanted to keep her home, and obviously he needed a wife who could encourage him to dress more carefully and make the effort to be charming, to help him open whichever doors he might find closed because of his age or his lack of deep familial pockets or pedigree.
She shoved down the responding electric flutter of her nerves. Rationally, she was more than adequately prepared for married life; aside from her formal education, she knew how to make herself—and her spouse—popular among the haut ton. She knew how to speak to her social betters and lessers, she’d discovered precisely how much ratafia and Madeira she could imbibe and still keep all of her wits about her, and she could hostess a dinner party for two or for two hundred with equal aplomb. Really, she was a veritable artist, and a social calendar her medium.
Other ladies her age might pine for true love, but by becoming Mrs. Pershing she would get the one thing her heart truly desired—Winnover Hall.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Will muttered, tilting his head a little as he gazed down at her.
Oh yes, Will. She did need him for all of this. Closing her eyes for just a moment, Emmie took a deep breath. This was only the rest of her life. “I’ve told you about Winnover Hall.”
“Yes. I’ve always wanted to see it. You describe it quite vividly.”