Emilia had thought Miss Prudence would be sketching in the bedroom, and there were some scattered drawings on the bed, but otherwise no sign of her.

Weren't they supposed to meet after whatever business she had with Miss Poole?

It felt imperative now that they speak on the matter of Sir Anthony. Emilia couldn't help feeling, in addition to her discomfort at having been tasked with refusing his proposal, that this was a proposal Prudence might actually wish to accept.

Long after the Marquess of Sanderson's potential engagement to Charity was stopped before it could start, Prudence had confessed to Emilia that, if it were she in her sister's shoes, she might have made a different choice. "Charity has always been after a love match," Prudence had said then, on one afternoon's long walk to Pickering. 

"One with Ian in particular," Emilia had put in. Charity had never been very mysterious about her feelings for him.

"I have no such attachments," Prudence had sighed.

"None at all?" Emilia prodded. Though Prudence was not the romantic sort, she did sometimes go on and on about a certain neighboring earl and, though it was always in annoyance, it was quite suspicious how much she found to say about Lord Stanborough. Didn't Prudence like that one phrase, the one about the lady protesting too much?

"I might like to lose myself in a nice romantic  poem or play," Prudence said evenly, "but such things are mere fantasies."

"One might say those fantasies came true for Miss Charity," Emilia couldn't help but say.

"Dear Charity is, as always, the exception to such rules. I suspect birds and rainbows and flowers float about in her wake." Prudence laughed. "Even if they didn't, she'd imagine they did. She seems content in her life, even if there's a bit of toil and trouble, but I doubt I'd be equal to it. If anything, I doubt I'd share her enthusiasm about toiling in the kitchen. I'd rather have time for my art. To have wealth, security, the freedom of your husband having his own interests and you having yours, and with a young, kindhearted man... Really, a girl could do worse and many have."

"I suppose I must agree with you there." Emilia had read enough in the gossip sheets to know that far too many a young debutante found herself married off to a man not so young, nor as kindhearted as Lord Sanderson.

"And it wouldn't be the first marriage between a lady and a man who prefers the company of men," Prudence went on, "or one quite specific man, as I understand the case to be with Sanderson." Prudence had never been prejudiced about such matters. She'd read so many bawdy plays and poems, much to her mother's chagrin, that Emilia often wondered if anything would shock her. 

Really, Emilia had been shocked upon first discovering Sanderson and his... particular friend, but having sat with the knowledge a while, her shock gave way to sorrow -- for him and his friend and whoever he might marry.

"But for your husband to be in love with another," Emilia had argued, "whether a man or a woman, wouldn't that be difficult to live with?" The Hartleys always had little love between them, but from all Emilia had heard, Mrs. Hartley still seemed incensed at the idea of Mr. Hartley mistresses. And she doubted Mr. Hartley loved any of them. Wouldn't it be more painful if he did?

"Not if romantic notions are not part of the arrangement in question," Prudence had said after some thought. "He'd have his love for another and... Well, I'd have my art. It's a romance that takes precedent over any others for me, I assure you."

If that marriage appealed to Miss Prudence, why wouldn't this one?

Granted, Sir Anthony could not offer her the wealth and prestige of a marquess, but his proposal had been honest, respectable, even practical — something she thought Prudence might appreciate. Emilia did not feel as if she had the right to refuse it.

Whether it was just getting Prudence's permission to refuse, in light of the offer itself, or to urge her to end this charade, the sooner she spoke to Prudence, the better.

Emilia did attempt to take a walk while she waited. The clouds were gathering and she thought she might as well enjoy what sunlight was left before it was denied them again, but she'd never been one to meander about for the sake of it. What was the point in walking unless one had somewhere to go? So she found herself outside the kitchen window before long.

She poked her head in at the side, trying to spy whether Miss Prudence was there, but could not catch a glimpse over everyone bustling about. They must be preparing for supper by now. She did spy Evie, however, sat at a table, poking a needle into something pink and frilly.

She waved a hand, hoping to catch her eye, but the girl seemed quite intent on whatever she was mending. She didn't want to knock and interrupt everyone's work. She knew quite well how frantic dinner preparations could be, particularly for a large party such as this. And she'd already frequented the kitchen far more than any guest ought to do.

Luckily for her, Evie seemed impatient with her work, tossing it down with a huff as she glanced up.

Emilia waved quite frantically then, hoping the girl would see her. She did, and Emilia put a finger to her lips, hoping she'd also know not to make a fuss about it.

After a moment, Evie stepped out the door, looking confused. "Why, Miss Crewe. Did you want Mopsy early? It's no trouble to—"

"No," Emilia cut in, "I was simply looking for Miss Finch."

"Oh... Well, you could have rung."

Ah, yes. Ringing. She'd hardly done that once in her time here. If Emilia wanted to find someone, she was always better off using her own two feet, anyhow. "You know, I was... passing by on my walk, so I thought I might look in here. Is she about?"

"Not down here. She's in the library with Miss Poole."

"Since this morning?" Really, if Miss Prudence wanted to keep ruining their ruse, she was doing a fine job of it, spending yet more time with Miss Poole. The girl was far too clever to be fooled for long.

"Oh, no. From what I understand, Miss Poole was eager for a morning walk, so they are doin' their library business this afternoon." Evie paled. "I hope you aren't cross with her. I don't mean to tell tales."

"No, of course not!" Emilia gave her a reassuring smile. She would never get accustomed to all this deference, not if she put on this charade for ten years. "I simply thought they had concluded their... library business. I have no true need of her now. And I'm very sorry to interrupt your work."

Evie glanced ruefully down at the lace-edged square of pink in her hand, a needle dangling from it. "Tis no bother. My work needed a bit of interruptin' as I can't seem to make this look right."

"What are you working on?"

"Monogrammed handkerchiefs for Lady Adele. I thought it would be easy practice for embroiderin' and the like, but I've made a mess of it."

Emilia studied her work. "It's not hopeless. But you really shouldn't have tried starting with a satin stitch."

"I didn't even know that's what this was called. I was just goin' off Mr. Fletcher's work." She pulled another handkerchief from her stuffed apron. "I been tryin' to make mine look like that, but I ain't havin' much luck."

"Mr. Fletcher is a valet of many years," she said, eyeing the D.B. at the corner. Daniel Byrne. She ran her fingers over the letters... admiring the stitches, of course. She'd never thought men capable of such delicate work. Imperious as he was, Mr. Fletcher certainly had his talents. "You can't make somethin' this grand on your first try." Emilia handed the handkerchief back before she did something mad, like smell it or tuck it into her pocket. "You should start with a stem stitch."

Evie laughed. "I don't know what that is either."

"Just a wee outline of the letters you mean to fill in later. It will give you a guide. And don't practice on the handkerchiefs, for heaven's sake. Find a bit of scrap until you get the knack of it."

Evie tilted her head. "My, you know quite a lot about stitching. Miss Finch only told me it was well enough and I should just keep practicin' when I first showed her my work."

Emilia paled slightly, wishing she'd kept her instructions to herself. Now who was ruining this ruse?

"Ah, but of course." Evie laughed. "You young ladies of quality. I suppose you got all sorts of time to practice embroidery and needlepoint."

"Yes, precisely!" Emilia said eagerly. "You know," she went on, unable to resist, "I could show you a few more little tricks, if you have the time."

"That is very good of you." Evie smiled widely before stepping back. "But I shan't want to intrude upon your time."

"It's no intrusion at all, I assure you. The one thing more satisfying than being an expert at something is telling people what an expert you are." God, how she wished she could have more time with Evie. She seemed so eager to learn. And there was so much Emilia could teach her. The poor girl was learning little enough from the current Miss Finch.

"Well, I might have a bit more time for such things now." Evie grinned. "And so will Miss Finch. So you might not need to help me at all. There's a bit of a surprise for her... But I shall not tell you lest you spoil it." Evie seemed to draw into herself again. "Not that I'm suggesting you... Forgive me if I'm bein' too pert or—"

"Oh, please! Think no more of that," Emilia assured her. "I think you've witnessed enough of myself and Miss Finch to know I don't consider pertness a problem. Though I am mildly curious about this surprise of yours..."

Evie laughed, nodding to the kitchen door behind her. "I think someone else is mildly curious right now— more than mildly."

Emilia smiled as she heard the whining and scratching at the door. "I guess someone wants to see me."

"Always. The way he pulls at the lead when it's coming close to your room. I should have known, the moment he heard your voice out here, he'd be beside hisself!"

Emilia found herself near tears. Obviously, she was completely enamored of Mopsy, but to know the feeling was so decidedly mutual was almost more than she could bear. "I shouldn't consider it any trouble to take him on a little walk, get him out from underfoot."

Evie giggled and moved to the door and opened it. "Well, there's no saving you now..."

As if she'd want to be saved.

Emilia leaned down as Mopsy bolted out the door, trying to grasp him long enough to pet him as he tried to jump at her and run little circles around her. "You disobedient thing! You've chewed your rope again!"

Mopsy wasn't the least bit shamed, licking at her hands, then sniffing at her pocket.

"Ah, is this what you're after?" Emilia pulled out the blue rubber ball, sending him into a frenzy. She had put it in her pocket with him in mind. She was glad to make use of it sooner rather than later. "I think I shall go tire him out a bit," she said to Evie.

"Thanks so much. I can't believe I was ever afraid of him. He's a dear, but he does like to get underfoot. Mr. Fletcher almost landed on his bottom this morning when Mopsy got too excited about a dangling cravat." Evie giggled.

"That must have been a sight," Emilia laughed as she took him off. Stodgy old valet. If one asked her, Mr. Fletcher could do with landing on his bottom.

She was happy to take Mopsy into the woods to play fetch, but he didn't seem to understand the rules of it very well. He loved to get the ball, but he wasn't quite as keen on giving it back. He seemed to want her to chase him for it and would not let go even when she got him in her grasp. She nearly landed on her own bottom trying to wrest the ball away from him.

"Why you naughty little..."

Mopsy let out a bark and darted away. She was quite ready to give him the chase he wanted, but drew up short at the pair of legs he darted behind.

"Mr. Byrne." Emilia straightened, resisting the urge to pat down her hair. It must look a fright.

He wasn't as formally dressed as usual. She'd seen him thus before, what with their little misadventure with Mopsy in the stream, his sleeves rolled up, his cravat undone, waistcoat open... Of course, he wasn't quite as wet this time, though she could see his skin was moist with sweat through his open collar.

She was certain Mr. Fletcher would be scandalized by his traipsing about in such disarray. As a lady's maid herself, she should be similarly horrified, yet she found this infinitely more intriguing than his usual state of dress.

She wondered if she'd been staring wordlessly too long before realizing that he also had yet to speak.

"I... I see now why you had such concerns about Mopsy," she said, breaking the silence. "He can be a very naughty boy," she finished with a slight smile.

He wasn't smiling, not even when Mopsy very sweetly dropped his ball between his feet.

"Look, I know he puts your servants out a bit, but he's really not—"

"The only one put out is me," he cut in, still looking so very serious, "with you."

She drew back. "With me?"

"My servants, you said." He was still glowering. "Yes. Tony said he told you."

"That he did. I was not actually surprised. It seemed quite obvious they defer to you. I suppose that's why you were so set against this poor little darling," she said as Mopsy nudged the ball with his nose, as if to tempt Mr. Byrne.

"The servants don't mind him. As for me, my chief concern is they'll pack him away when we leave," he grunted. "Can we not talk of the dog? Tony told you more than the truth of this little farce or... at least he asked you more."

She nodded, repeating. "That he did." She didn't judge him and Sir Anthony for it, really, considering she was enacting a farce of her own.

His jaw hardened. "Did you accept?"

"I... I am taking time to—"

"Will you accept?" he broke in, his tone clipped.

She opened and closed her mouth several times, thinking there was no honest way to answer that. Despite the lie she was currently living, she didn't like speaking dishonestly. "Sir Anthony is a fine young man and his offer is a very reasonable one."

"And what of my proposal?"

"The one after that silly little kiss?"

"Silly?" he scoffed.

"You weren't in earnest."

"I absolutely was--"

"And I told you I released you from any obligation. And you encouraged me to hear Sir Anthony out."

"That was when I thought you meant to refuse him," Mr. Byrne said through clenched teeth. "But if you think Tony's offer so reasonable, then allow me to improve upon it." He stepped forward.

"Please do not." Emilia stepped back, forcing a laugh. "I think one proposal is certainly enough for today."

He took another step. "Very well, then. We shall call it a negotiation. I much prefer that term, anyhow."

"And why would you want to improve upon Sir Anthony?" She lifted her chin, hoping to put him off. She could not entertain yet another proposal, not from him. "This behavior is not that of a friend, sir!"

"Must everyone question..." Byrne stilled, his lips thinning. "Tony is my friend. As such, I know him. This will not leave him brokenhearted." He threw up his hands. "Do you think I want this? Do you think I relish feeling this way about you when Tony has already staked his claim?"

"His claim!"

"I came here looking for a wife, and not just any wife," he went on heatedly, "one who would attract the right sort of attention. And I'll have you know that a... a countrified bluestocking of a baron's daughter does little to benefit me!"

Emilia gaped at him, offended for Prudence's sake as well as her own now. "Countrified? I'll have you know I read La Belle Asemblée every month and... and other things." God, she couldn't think of one book Prudence had read at the moment, still she added peevishly, "They don't call Prudence Crewe a bluestocking because she's stupid!"

"I never said she was... or that your were... That's not what I—"

"This bein' my second proposal today, I must say the first was better than this nonsense." She put up a hand. "Why don't ye go find someone more to your likin' and leave me be?" she sneered.

"See, that's just what I mean." He pointed at her. "This accent of yours that comes and goes. The little sayings you come out with, the silly puns—"

"I happen to like puns! And if you ask me," she said, enunciating clearly now, "your accent is far more—"

"I'm saying that I choose you despite all that!" He gripped her arms. "And a bit of London polish could fix everything. Believe me. I'd wager I was more countrified than anyone. And it worked for me. "

She stared at him balefully. "And if I don't want to change who I am?" Her hand, previously suspended between them, had now landed against his chest.

"We can negotiate on that," he said, drawing her in.

"There's that word again. You act as if I'm some... piece of business," she breathed. Her hand was already braced against him. She really should push him away. Why didn't she?

He let out a low chuckle and drew her closer yet. "That you are. A very distracting piece of business. Perhaps I should try another tack with you."

She let out a breath that was more of a squeak. "I can't think of any tack you might try that would make that proposal any better than—"

"You really are distracting," he said over her, his voice soft now. "I can barely look at or even think of anything else the moment I see your eyes."

Now she wasn't certain she could breathe if she wanted to, but she choked out, "Can't even see them with these dratted glasses."

"I see them clearly. So dark brown, they are nearly black. Like dark pools beckoning a man to his doom... or his destiny." He leaned down.

She stiffened her hand against him, meaning to still him. Hadn't his proposal been insulting not only to her but to Miss Prudence? Yet her fingers curled into his open collar instead, brushing against the light dusting of reddish hair on his chest. It was almost hard to see against the flush of his skin. She wondered what her own skin must look like. It felt hot and almost... itching. "Last night, you said my virtue was safe with you."

He removed one hand from her shoulder, holding her fingers against his chest. "Your virtue, perhaps, but I can make no such guarantee about your lips." He leaned in further.

She closed her eyes, waiting... Then let out a slight groan as she opened them, noting his lips were still shy of touching hers.

"If you wish me to stop," he murmured, "tell me now. Just say the word."

"We shouldn't," she sighed.

"I think we both know that quite well. And the word is 'stop.' Just say it."

"I can't," she moaned before closing the distance between them.

On this, her second kiss, she knew better what to expect. The breathlessness, the warm feeling of him against her, the surprising softness of his lips, that was all there again. Last night, she'd been so surprised to be kissed at the time that she'd barely done more than allow it and sag against the door.

Now, she'd gone and kissed him. She couldn't even pretend indifference if she wanted to. The damage was done. Shouldn't she make the most of it, just for now?

Emilia closed her eyes. Seeing became completely unnecessary as she could hear everything, feel everything, even smell everything. He smelled of clean sweat and of leather and horse. The breeze around them, picking up with the storm that was coming, teased at her hair and her skirts. The callouses on his left thumb as it slid over the skin near her shoulder. She could hear and feel the slight rasp of his waistcoat against her dress at their slight movements against each other, the way his breath mingled with hers when their lips parted only to join again...

She tilted her head as he'd done last night, fitting her lips to his, her top lip catching the slightly moist underside of his bottom lip. The hand she'd had between them slid over his collarbone, then up his neck, warm and pulsing under her fingertips. When they skimmed the slightly longer hair at the back of his neck, she lost all control...

Because he took it, his hands sliding to her back, snatching her against him, walking the both of them backward.

She could swear her feet left the ground a moment before she felt the rough bark of a tree through her dress. She felt his hand at the back of her head, protecting it from getting further mussed, something she thought was rather considerate of him before she ceased to think at all.

Last night's kiss, slow and tentative, had not prepared her for this onslaught.

He let out a breath that sounded more like a growl as he pressed his mouth to hers — the pressure hard and unyielding, yet the movements of his lips were soft.

She gasped as his tongue met the inside of her lips. She was not expecting that. Not that she didn't know tongues could be a part of kissing, but she hadn't expected it to feel so... overwhelming.

For a moment, all she could think was that Charity was right.

Charity had once, after some persuading, told her a bit more about kissing. And though it felt strange to ask — considering she was talking of Ian, who Emilia saw as more of a brother than anything else, and that she was asking Charity in the first place, who was five full years younger than herself — her curiosity outweighed all else.

She'd found Charity's description of the shivery feelings and frissons quite enticing... until Charity mentioned tongues, at which she balked. "Now, you're bamming me," Emilia had scoffed. "That doesn't sound enticing at all."

Charity had only smiled, giving her a little wink. "I suppose one doesn't know until they feel it."

She was certainly feeling it now, gripping at his hair to keep herself from sinking to the ground. Just the feel of his tongue gently tracing the inside of her bottom lip had her shivering against him.

He didn't seem unaffected as well, shaking as her tongue darted out tentatively to meet his. He pressed her more firmly against the tree then and she could feel it, that hardness in his breeches. She'd always found the idea of such things to be avoided, yet now she was surging against him, lifting her hips as one of his hands moved from her back to her breast.

She let out a moan, then, shockingly loud in the quiet of the wood.

There was another noise then, a loud whine...

She cast a sidelong glance at Mopsy, who was sitting with his ball in his mouth now, looking confused. She was not feeling any clearer, though she did push Mr. Byrne away, finally.

He went willingly, his eyes wide and his breath coming in harsh pants.

She stared at him, wondering what tack he would take after all that. She'd surely given into his negotiations all too willingly.

She nearly expected him to smile smugly and with good reason. At this moment, she might as well offer Prudence's hand in marriage as well as her own.

"I... I apologize," he said after a moment before turning on his heel and walking away... practically running.

She could do little but sag against the tree, gulping in air, fanning her face and wondering how in God's name she was to resist his negotiations after that.

*************

You might have noticed that this book has a new look. I was never that happy with the previous cover, so I made a better one where the people on it look more like the Emilia Finch and Domhnall Byrne I see when I write.

I hope you like it, too!

You might have also noticed that I've gone and added another little love triangle into this story. No, I'm not talking about Byrne/Emilia/Tony. I think we all know that triangle is not... triangular.

Both Emilia and Prudence seem determined to take young Evie under their respective wings. I wonder who will win her, in the end...