“Very much so,” he murmured.

“Until the rain comes,” said Emma.

“Thunderstorms,” added the Captain.

“Fierce ones, I understand.”

“Really, Emma, you needn’t sound so gleeful,” exclaimed her mother, and Emma almost choked on a laugh. The Captain coughed.

“I had come to issue an invitation,” he said. “My sister and her husband have secured a box for a performance of Shakespeare next week. I wondered if you would care to accompany us, Lady Bowen?”

“Well, that is a lovely invitation,” said Mrs Hayton before Emma could speak. “But I do worry that Shakespeare is too clamorous for a lady. This Mr Kean has wrought such a change on the public, with his dramatic, violent portrayals of all those tragic heroes.”

Emma gaped at her, then jerked her eyes back to her cup of tea. Oh no. Please, dear heavens, no …

The Captain’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Indeed.”

“I find nothing to be so enjoyable as a dinner party among friends,” Mother went on. “There one can enjoy the society of the company and not be distracted by an unruly crowd in the pit.”

“Er … yes,” murmured the captain, staring at her in fascination.

Emma was almost quivering with fury. “I quite enjoy the theatre as well.”

Her mother laughed, her tinkling light laugh that had enthralled so many men. “Nonsense, dear! You had dinner parties all the time in Sussex; she is the perfect hostess, Captain. Emma dear, it’s certainly time you began going about again, but discreetly. You’ve been out of society so long.”

The Captain’s smile was a bit stiff. “Of course,” he said. “A dinner party.”

“Mother,” whispered Emma between gritted teeth. “Please.”

“Just a small one would be perfectly acceptable,” Mother said, ignoring Emma. “Don’t you agree, sir?”

The Captain blinked. “Yes,” he said cautiously.

She beamed at him. “I am certain Emma would be delighted to attend.”

Emma wished she had locked the door when her mother had left. Now she had no choice but to raise apologetic eyes to the Captain, who looked almost desperate. He cleared his throat. “Would you honour us with your company, Lady Bowen? On this upcoming Saturday evening?”

She would try to explain to him tomorrow, across the garden wall. For now she just wanted to help him escape, so she could tear into her mother. “You are too kind, sir,” she murmured. “Thank you.” He turned to her mother. “And you, Mrs Hayton?” Mother cast one twinkling glance at Emma as she laughed. “Thank you, but I must decline. I am engaged at the Powells’ that evening.” Emma was sure she didn’t imagine his shoulders easing in relief. “Well.” He shuffled his feet then rose. “I should leave you to your conversation. Mrs Hayton, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Lady Bowen.” He bowed as Emma and her mother made their farewells, then left.

Four

“How dare you!” Emma whispered furiously the moment the door closed behind him. “Mother, that was unpardonably rude!”

Mother waved one hand. “Unpardonable, pish. He fancies you, my dear; who are his people? Where is he from? What are his connections?”

“He is my neighbour,” she snapped. “He is a gentleman, and that is all I know about him. I shall have to apologise tomorrow — how could you do that?”

“Emma, my dear, you are such an innocent.” Mother was unmoved. “Sir Arthur left you a pittance. You shall have to marry again, and it might as well be to a man of means and station.”

“You mean someone unlike me,” she retorted. “Because I have modest means and modest station.”

“And you don’t want to sink lower, either!” Mother rounded on her suddenly. “You don’t know what it’s like to be watched with pity and scorn,” she said in withering tones. “Wearing your clothes until they are practically rags because you can’t afford a new gown or gloves. Dusting your own parlour so you look like a servant — and then receiving a caller in that state! I want more for you, dearest, and you should, too.”

Emma met her mother’s fierce gaze. Mother’s father had been a baron, but a destitute one. Mother had told her many times how the family went hungry after her father lost at the races or the card tables. There had been no money for fine clothes or servants, and that poverty had shaped Emma’s mother into a woman of endless ambition. With her beauty she had caught one husband, Emma’s father, who was a prosperous mill owner, and then a second. Mr Hayton had been an MP, and a decent man, although thoroughly under his wife’s thumb. Even now, twice widowed and with a healthy annuity, Mother was constantly thinking how she could improve her situation, by any means necessary.

Emma had learned early on that her mother would happily use her to do it. Mother had contrived to have her compromised by a wealthy viscount, even though he was three decades older than Emma, and then tried to persuade her to seduce Mr Fitzwilliam, who had no title but owned one of the largest estates in north-eastern Sussex. In desperation Emma had wed Sir Arthur, who was kind and genial and managed to keep her mother from overrunning their lives.

“Mother, I am content as I am. I do not need a new husband so that I might wear new gowns and keep my own carriage and dine on fine china. Sir Arthur left me enough to be comfortable, as I am,” she said, raising her voice to forestall her mother’s impatient protest. “Now you have gone and manipulated Captain Quentin just for fun, and he was too polite to say nay! He is my neighbour, and a kind man, and you have humiliated me.”

Mrs Hayton cupped Emma’s cheek in her hand. “You are so like your father,” she murmured. “Satisfied with so little.”

Emma clenched her jaw. Her father had been an affectionate papa. “Is that what you were to him?” she whispered. “What I was to him?”

Mother released her. “The Captain is a handsome man,” she said, picking up her reticule. “He is young to be retired; he must have made his fortune in the wars. I shall see what I can learn about him. Do not do anything until I speak to you again.”

“My feelings, whatever they may be, wouldn’t be affected in the slightest by anything you say.”

On her way to the door, Mother glanced back at her. “You would ignore a man of fortune, right on your doorstep, just to spite me?” She shook her head. “Emma dear, sometimes I wonder how you can be my child.”

“I do, too,” she replied quietly as her mother closed the door.

Phineas walked slowly down the steps of Lady Bowen’s house. That had not gone as expected. Mrs Hayton was a beautiful woman, but Phin thought he’d be careful not to be drawn into conversation with her again. She’d manoeuvred him right into throwing a dinner party when he suspected Lady Bowen would have rather accepted his invitation to the theatre. And now he would have to go tell his sister Sarah they weren’t going to the theatre after all, but that she must help him plan a dinner at his house. He’d never done such a thing. Sarah would have such a laugh at his expense over this. Whom could he even invite? Sarah and her husband, of course; perhaps he could get his old mate Hakeham to come, and Morris and Campbell were genial fellows …

No, too many gentlemen. Phin felt a flutter of panic. Just Hakeham, then, and … and … he could ask his mother, he supposed, or ask Sarah to invite another lady. Instead of going on to his club, as he had planned to do, Phin jogged up the steps of his own home and let himself in. “Godfrey!”

“Yes, sir?” Godfrey stepped promptly from the dining room.

“Plan a dinner party,” Phin told him, flexing his fingers and cracking his knuckles as he thought. “For Saturday next.”

“Yes, sir. Shall I send notes around to the usual guests?”

He meant Hakeham, Morris, Campbell and some other men who had been with them in the Navy, Phin’s usual companions. Phin squared his shoulders. “No. There will be ladies present.” Godfrey’s eyes flickered in the direction of Number 12, and he went a shade paler. “Yes, that lady,” Phin told him. “Clean the house from top to bottom. Send to Lady Stanley if you need any plate or advice or … anything. And, for God’s sake, get Smithy sobered up to cook a decent meal.”

“Truly, sir? A dinner party?”

Phin nodded. Lady Bowen had looked lovelier than ever today, her chestnut hair a little mussed and her pink gown that looked soft and worn. She was a beauty, but not a hard, polished one. Phin preferred a woman who looked natural and comfortable rather than a woman who looked arranged and artful, as if she would crumble the first time a man embraced her. He had spent far too much time already thinking about embracing Lady Bowen, but Phin wanted to court her properly. If he had to throw a damn dinner party to do that, so be it. As his man hurried off to carry out his orders, Phin took a deep breath. It was like the preparation to set sail, making sure the supplies were ordered and the men instructed on their duties. But he was in charge of setting the course.

Five

Emma tried at once to rectify the situation. The next morning, she was up early, and rushed into the garden, hoping he would be there. As soon as he came out, she called over the wall to him. “Good morning, Captain.”

“Good morning, Lady Bowen.” He sounded as cordial as ever.

Emma said a quick prayer he wasn’t holding Mother’s actions against her. “I must speak about yesterday, when you called—”

“Yes, I enjoyed it very much. It was a pleasure to make your mother’s acquaintance.”

He was a good liar, she thought. It had been a nightmare from her point of view. She forced herself to go on. “I must apologise for her behaviour, though. To suggest you throw a dinner party—”