Emily’s hand to his lips. “Save a dance for me, dear child.”
She rather liked him. Sixtyish, sporting an elaborate powdered wig, and the possessor of a rounded belly, he was reminiscent of a jovial grandfather.
For the next hour she was introduced to a long procession of “Your Graces,“ “Lords” and “Sirs.” Some of them studied her with masked interest behind bland eyes. Some seemed disposed to a casual regard. Hiding any genuine emotion behind an air of indifference appeared to be the order of the day.
There were unlimited opportunities to ask questions here, but Emily schooled herself to caution. If it should be repeated to Mr. Dodge that she was asking questions about his character, finances, and dealings, she could be subject to a very ugly scene. But it was the only way she could think of to find out what the man was up to.
Aside from Lord Kendell, she rather liked Lord Rodney Peele. He was a fiftyish jolly sort and very good humored. He reminded her a little of Squire Davis and a little of how her father might have been had he lived to Lord Peele’s age. He was with a woman half his age—Miss Janet Turner—and Emily found the woman unsettling. She was a vision in gold, from her shining blond hair to the tip of her golden slippers.
Emily had heard whispers that the woman was Lord Peele’s mistress, and that his wife was sickly and rarely left their home.
“Beautiful, is she not?” Lord Peele murmured when Miss Turner was whisked from their group to dance.
“Very,” Emily answered honestly. Janet was everything Emily was not—blonde, stunningly beautiful, vivacious, and confident.
“So full of life and energy.” Lord Peele’s gaze followed Miss Turner. “Men envy me.”
“Then you are fortunate to have won her.”
He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Janet’s reputation is not quite acceptable, if you know what I mean, but I would have her no matter.”
Emily supposed it would be bad form to remind the man that he already had a wife. “Then you must be a happy man to have your heart’s desire.”
He patted her hand and gave her a wistful smile. “You have much to learn, Miss Nevins. One’s greatest desire is often one’s curse as well.”
The thought of Ryan Sutton flashed through her mind. “I shall try to remember that, Lord Peele.”
“Never mind. Will you honor me with this dance, Miss Nevins?”
She curtsied. “It would be my pleasure, Lord Peele.”
“You must call me Roddy. Or Peele, if you’d rather. Everyone does.”
She took his offered arm, ready to proceed with her purpose of coming to London. “I’m so glad you asked me to dance, Lord…Peele, because I understand you are a friend of my sponsor, Mr. Henry Dodge.” In truth, she had no way of knowing who might be a friend to Mr. Dodge, but a bold bluff was her best ploy.
“Dodge? Why, yes. I am acquainted with the man, but I would hardly call our relationship a friendship.” He led her into a minuet.
“Then you know him through business?”
“Not precisely, my dear. He is an investor in a few of the same enterprises I am. Does quite well.”
“I am certain his clients are pleased that he invests their money well. I know I am.”
“Oh, to be sure. But I believe the money he invests in this particular enterprise is his own.”
“And he does well?”
“Better than my own solicitor.”
Emily smiled sweetly as Lord Peele passed her under his arm. She didn’t know what to make of this information, but she had asked all she dared without arousing suspicion. She would have to find out more from other sources.
After Lord Peele, she was passed to Mr. Fredrick Albright for a dance, then Sir Edmund Jennings. Once again, she smiled ingenuously as the lanky man with sandy brown hair and pale blue eyes led her through the steps of an allemande.
“Sir Edmund, I must tell you how pleased I am that you asked me to dance. I understand you are a personal friend of my sponsor, Mr. Henry
She rather liked him. Sixtyish, sporting an elaborate powdered wig, and the possessor of a rounded belly, he was reminiscent of a jovial grandfather.
For the next hour she was introduced to a long procession of “Your Graces,“ “Lords” and “Sirs.” Some of them studied her with masked interest behind bland eyes. Some seemed disposed to a casual regard. Hiding any genuine emotion behind an air of indifference appeared to be the order of the day.
There were unlimited opportunities to ask questions here, but Emily schooled herself to caution. If it should be repeated to Mr. Dodge that she was asking questions about his character, finances, and dealings, she could be subject to a very ugly scene. But it was the only way she could think of to find out what the man was up to.
Aside from Lord Kendell, she rather liked Lord Rodney Peele. He was a fiftyish jolly sort and very good humored. He reminded her a little of Squire Davis and a little of how her father might have been had he lived to Lord Peele’s age. He was with a woman half his age—Miss Janet Turner—and Emily found the woman unsettling. She was a vision in gold, from her shining blond hair to the tip of her golden slippers.
Emily had heard whispers that the woman was Lord Peele’s mistress, and that his wife was sickly and rarely left their home.
“Beautiful, is she not?” Lord Peele murmured when Miss Turner was whisked from their group to dance.
“Very,” Emily answered honestly. Janet was everything Emily was not—blonde, stunningly beautiful, vivacious, and confident.
“So full of life and energy.” Lord Peele’s gaze followed Miss Turner. “Men envy me.”
“Then you are fortunate to have won her.”
He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Janet’s reputation is not quite acceptable, if you know what I mean, but I would have her no matter.”
Emily supposed it would be bad form to remind the man that he already had a wife. “Then you must be a happy man to have your heart’s desire.”
He patted her hand and gave her a wistful smile. “You have much to learn, Miss Nevins. One’s greatest desire is often one’s curse as well.”
The thought of Ryan Sutton flashed through her mind. “I shall try to remember that, Lord Peele.”
“Never mind. Will you honor me with this dance, Miss Nevins?”
She curtsied. “It would be my pleasure, Lord Peele.”
“You must call me Roddy. Or Peele, if you’d rather. Everyone does.”
She took his offered arm, ready to proceed with her purpose of coming to London. “I’m so glad you asked me to dance, Lord…Peele, because I understand you are a friend of my sponsor, Mr. Henry Dodge.” In truth, she had no way of knowing who might be a friend to Mr. Dodge, but a bold bluff was her best ploy.
“Dodge? Why, yes. I am acquainted with the man, but I would hardly call our relationship a friendship.” He led her into a minuet.
“Then you know him through business?”
“Not precisely, my dear. He is an investor in a few of the same enterprises I am. Does quite well.”
“I am certain his clients are pleased that he invests their money well. I know I am.”
“Oh, to be sure. But I believe the money he invests in this particular enterprise is his own.”
“And he does well?”
“Better than my own solicitor.”
Emily smiled sweetly as Lord Peele passed her under his arm. She didn’t know what to make of this information, but she had asked all she dared without arousing suspicion. She would have to find out more from other sources.
After Lord Peele, she was passed to Mr. Fredrick Albright for a dance, then Sir Edmund Jennings. Once again, she smiled ingenuously as the lanky man with sandy brown hair and pale blue eyes led her through the steps of an allemande.
“Sir Edmund, I must tell you how pleased I am that you asked me to dance. I understand you are a personal friend of my sponsor, Mr. Henry
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