Scandal

Chapter 16

The library clock tolled eleven. Simon lounged in his chair and watched Emily. He had been engaged in the task for the past twenty minutes, possessing himself in patience while time ticked past and the rain poured down outside.

Studying Emily was not an unpleasant occupation. She appeared extremely fetching this morning in a green-and-gold-striped gown trimmed with flounces. There were several beautifully worked dragons embroidered around the hem. Her gleaming curls were drawn back in an artfully arranged style that gave the effect of a shower of flames cascading down her nape.

She was sitting on the opposite side of the black lacquered library desk, her head bent anxiously over a list of names. It was clear she was agonizing over the task to which she had been set, that of selecting those who were to receive cards for her first soiree.

"There is no need to work yourself up into a state over this matter," Simon finally said gruffly. "Just put a checkmark beside the name of everyone you wish to invite. My secretary will do the rest."

Emily looked up sharply, her green eyes narrowed behind the lenses of her spectacles. "It is not as simple as selecting investments, you know. I must make weighty decisions here. I do not want to offend anyone. It will reflect directly on you, Simon."

Simon sighed and fell back into a brooding silence. He was feeling restless and uneasy and, he suspected, guilty.

Guilt was a new and disturbing emotion for him and he did not care for it. There was no room for it in his clearly focused life. He did not even begin to understand it. Until now his world had consisted of simple, straightforward concepts such as vengeance, justice, honor, and duty.

Simon's gaze slid to the sweet curve of Emily's breasts as he realized that passion had now been added to that list.

There was no doubt about it. He was in a strange and unpalatable mood.

He had been in this odd state since awakening early this morning, memories of the night still seething in his brain. One moment he would be contemplating his own weakness in going to the rescue of the Faringdon twin. The next he would find himself growing hard with desire as he recalled Emily's sweet, generous passion.

He could still feel her gentle hands on his shoulders and the warmth of her thighs as she sat boldly astride him, charming and bewitching him until he thought he would go mad trying to hold on to his self-control.

But most of all, Simon found himself recalling her disturbing words: There were times when I hated my father just as much as you must have hated yours.

"The thing is, Simon," Emily explained with an intense frown of concentration, "your secretary has prepared a very long list of names from which to choose. I do not know many of these people and I do not want to make any mistakes. Your aunt has explained to me how crucial it is to have all the right people at my first soiree."

"You may rest assured there are no wrong people on that list," Simon growled. "My secretary knows better than to include any inappropriate names. Furthermore, there is absolutely no risk involved in offending people by failing to invite them. It merely emphasizes and reinforces your power as a hostess."

She looked at him wonderingly. "I had not thought of it like that. But I do not wish to hurt anyone's feelings, my lord."

The way I must have hurt yours last night? Simon wondered silently. "If it makes you feel better, send a card to everyone on the list."

Emily's eyes widened in astonishment. "But we could not possibly fit everyone inside this house."

"You've been to enough balls and parties by now to realize that they're not considered a success unless the place is crammed full. The carriages must be lined up and down the street for blocks. The guests must be stacked like cordwood in the drawing room. With any luck one or two ladies will faint from lack of air. Everyone must pronounce the event a dreadful squeeze and a great crush. Invite them all, Emily."

She chewed on her lower lip. "I do not know, Simon. It sounds most uncomfortable. It would be much easier to converse and serve refreshments if we have a small crowd."

"To hell with intelligent conversation and proper service, my dear. This is not the time or place for them. The point of this whole thing, as my aunt will no doubt explain to you, is to see that you make a proper debut as a hostess. To do that people must talk about the party afterward. In order to get people to talk, it must be an extremely large and noisy event. Invite everyone on the list, Emily."

"What about Canonbury, Peppington, Adley, and Renton? I do not really know any of them and I—"

"Most especially Canonbury and Peppington," Simon said softly. "We will make very certain they both receive invitations."

Emily lowered the sheet of paper and looked at him, her head tipped thoughtfully to one side. "If you say so, Simon." Then she frowned again in sudden concern. "What if nobody responds to the cards we send out?"

Simon stifled a thin smile of satisfaction. "Believe me, my dear, they will all accept." He leaned across the desk and impatiently snapped the list from her fingers. "I will see that my secretary gets this and sends out the cards. Now, then, Emily, I want to talk to you."

"Yes, my lord?" She waited with an air of alert expectation.

"Damn. Must you always look at me that way, elf? I vow that you are going to turn me into a Bedlamite with that unholy combination of naivete and mischief. You almost make me forget that just yesterday you were busy trying to employ a cutthroat."

"I am sorry, my lord," Emily said, not appearing the least bit repentant. "Are you planning to lecture me again on that matter?"

"No." Simon stood up and walked over to the window, turning his back on her. He studied the drenched garden behind the townhouse while he collected his thoughts. "I have a difficult task before me, Emily."

"What is that, my lord?"

"I wish to apologize to you," he said softly.

There was a small pause before Emily said carefully, "Whatever for?"

"For my unchivalrous behavior last night," Simon muttered. "I did not treat you well, elf. I behaved in a most ill-mannered and ungentlemanly fashion."

"You mean all that business about ordering me into your bed? Rubbish. Pray do not regard it, my lord," Emily said lightly. "I had an excellent time once I got there."

Simon shook his head in awe. "You are amazing, Emily."

"Well, 'tis not as if you were unkind or cruel, Simon. You were simply in a temper and you had every reason to be irritable, considering you had just been obliged to forgo a twenty-three-year-old vow of vengeance. If I had been truly alarmed, I would have escaped to my own room and locked the door. You did not frighten me in the least."

"Apparently not." He was silent for a long moment. "There is something else for which I must apologize."

"Now you are beginning to alarm me, Blade," she said, laughter in her voice. "What was your other grave sin?"

"I underestimated you, my dear. You come across as so naive and optimistic, so determined to see the bright side of everyone and everything, so damn certain that I am some sort of hero when I know perfectly well I am not, that I did not credit you with a proper comprehension of your family situation. I should have known that anyone as shrewd with investments and money as you are could not be entirely blind to human nature. Did you really hate your father at times in the past?"

"Yes." Emily's voice no longer held a light note.

"You were correct when you said I must have hated mine for leaving me to pick up the pieces after he put that damn bullet through his head." Simon clenched his hand slowly and then forced himself to relax each finger. "I did not even realize just how much I hated him until you pointed it out last night."

"It seems a perfectly natural reaction to me, my lord," Emily said gently. "We were, both of us, given adult responsibilities at a very young age and expected to perform as adults. We were obliged to look after the welfare of others at a time when, by rights, someone should have been concerned about our welfare."

"Yes. I had not thought of it that way." Simon gazed out into the gray mist. "It was raining that night when I found him. He had come back from London two hours earlier. I heard my mother asking him what was wrong. He would not speak to her. He went into the library and announced he was not to be disturbed under any conditions. Mama went upstairs and cried. After a while we all heard the shot."

"Dear God, Simon."

"I reached the library first and opened the door. He was lying facedown across the desk. The gun had fallen from his hand. There was blood everywhere. And I saw that he had left a note. For me. Damn his soul to hell. He did not say goodbye or explain why he had to kill himself or tell me how in God's name I was supposed to handle the mess he had created. He just left a damn note telling me to take care of my mother."

"Simon. My dear Simon."

He did not hear her rise from the chair, but Emily was suddenly there behind him, her arms going around his waist. She hugged him with a fierce protectiveness, as if she could somehow banish forever the sight of his father's brains spattered on the wall behind the desk.

For a long while Simon did not move. He simply allowed Emily to hold him. He could feel her warmth and softness and he realized that this was akin to what he experienced when he made love to her, but slightly different. It was not passion he was feeling, but another kind of closeness, one he had never known before with any woman.

After a while it dawned on Simon that he was feeling calmer, more at peace with himself. The restlessness that had awakened him that morning was gone.

There was silence in the library until Greaves knocked on the door to announce the arrival of Simon's secretary.

Emily entered the park at a brisk trot, followed by her groom. The mare she was riding was a beautiful gray with fine, sensitive ears, delicate nostrils, and spectacular conformation. The horse had been a gift from Simon, who had surprised her with it two days earlier after their conversation in the library. Emily and her maid had promptly decided that the very new, very dashing riding habit a la militaire complimented the animal perfectly.

"Ah, there you are, Emily," Lady Merryweather said as she approached on a sleek bay. "You look spectacular in that black habit." She examined the red and gold trim on collar and cuffs with a critical eye. "I confess I had a few doubts when we ordered it, but I am very pleased to see how it sets off your fair skin and red hair. Quite dramatic."

Emily grinned. "Thank you, Araminta."

"You really should have removed the spectacles, however," Araminta admonished. "They do nothing for the habit."

"Araminta, I cannot ride a horse without being able to see what I am doing or where I am going."

"There must be some way to manage. We must work on the problem." Araminta drew her horse up alongside Emily's and the two started along the path, their grooms following at a discreet distance.

"Simon does not seem to mind my spectacles," Emily pointed out.

"Simon has a rather odd sense of humor. He finds your various eccentricities extremely amusing. And I must admit that they do not seem to be hurting your social success. The ton is quite taken with you these days. Your poor husband had a difficult time obtaining even one dance with you last night at Lady Crestwood's ball."

Emily blushed. "He could have had as many dances as he wished and well he knows it."

"Yes, I suppose that is true," Araminta acknowledged with a knowing glance. "I am certain he is well aware that you would trample over an entire mountain of your poor, faithful admirers to get to him if he but crooked his finger at you from the far side of a dance floor. Everyone else in Society is certainly aware of that fact."

"Really, Araminta, you make me sound like a hound who bounds straight to her master's side whenever she is called."

"Well, you do tend to make your preference for your husband quite clear. That is not particularly fashionable, my dear. And, to be perfectly frank, I am not altogether certain it is wise. You do not want Blade to begin to take you for granted."

"Blade takes nothing for granted," Emily stated. "He has a true understanding of everything he chooses to acquire and a full comprehension of the cost of whatever he does."

Araminta chuckled. "I can see it is hopeless to lecture you on the advantages of not giving away your true feelings to your husband. Now, then, my dear, you must tell me how the plans are going for your first soiree. Did you send out the cards?"

"Yesterday. I invited everyone on the list Simon's secretary prepared, Araminta. I trust I did the right thing. It is going to be a terrible crush."

"Just what you want. Trust me, my dear. You must be certain that the house is so crowded it takes people half an hour just to get in the door."

Emily grimaced. "That is what Simon said, but I still think it sounds uncomfortable."

"It is not a question of comfort, it is a matter of cementing your position as a hostess among the haute monde."

"Yes, I know. I must not embarrass Simon in any way," Emily said earnestly. "Believe me, Araminta, I am well aware of how important this soiree is to my husband. As Blade's wife it is my duty to make the affair a great success. The social world will be watching to see what sort of hostess the Earl of Blade has married and I am determined that Simon not be humiliated in any way."

Araminta frowned. "I do not think you quite understand, Emily. This is your debut as a hostess. It is your soiree."

"And everything I do will reflect on Simon," Emily concluded firmly. "The soiree must be perfect in every detail. I have spent hours on the plans already. Very exhausting, if you must know the truth."

Araminta gave up and nodded to a lady being driven toward them in a brown landau. "Smile," she commanded Emily in a low voice. "That is Lady Peppington. I shall introduce you."

Emily smiled cheerfully at the elegantly dressed middle-aged woman as Araminta made the introductions. Lady Peppington inclined her head in a frozen nod and then looked away. The landau went briskly on down the path.

Emily was seized with panic. "Bloody hell."

Araminta raised her brows. "What on earth is the matter now, Emily?"

"You said that was Lady Peppington," Emily hissed.

"What of it?"

"She's on my guest list and 'tis obvious she does not particularly like me. What if she will not attend my soiree? Simon will be furious. He distinctly told me he wanted the Canonburys and the Peppingtons to come. Araminta, what shall I do?"

"Absolutely nothing. You may be certain the Canonburys and the Peppingtons will come to your affair, along with everyone else who gets an invitation."

Emily shot her companion a speculative glance. "How can you and Simon be so positive of that?"

"Simon has not told you about Canonbury and Peppington, has he?"

Emily remembered the grimness in her husband's expression when he had informed her that Canonbury and Peppington would attend the soiree. "Araminta, is there something I should know about these people?"

"It is not my place to tell you," Araminta said, looking thoughtful, "but I believe I shall. It is in your own best interests to know what you are getting into here and I do not think Simon will rush to inform you. He is strongly inclined to keep his secrets to himself."

"Araminta, do not beat about the bush. What is it, for heaven's sake?"

"Northcote's father, Canonbury, and Peppington were all close friends and business partners of Simon's father."

"Yes?"

"Simon was only twelve at the time his father shot himself, but he knew, because he had heard his parent discuss it, that Northcote, Canonbury, and Peppington had all invested together with Simon's father in a South Seas trading company venture. The night he shot himself, the earl left Simon a note telling him, among other things, that after paying his gambling debts, the only financial resources left for his son and wife would be whatever was realized from the trade venture."

"Oh, dear," Emily said, beginning to grasp what was coming.

"Simon sat down and, at the tender age of twelve, wrote to all three men asking them to advance his mother some money on the basis of the profit expected on his father's shares."

"And they refused?"

"They did not even bother to respond. Instead, they took advantage of a clause in the trading company contract to sell Blade's shares to another investor. Simon and his mother were cut out of the partnership completely. They did not get a penny."

"Bloody hell."

"There was nothing illegal about what Northcote, Canonbury, and Peppington did, you understand. Simply a matter of business."

"But Simon and his mother were effectively cut off from their last source of income."

"Yes. Simon will never forgive or forget."

Emily frowned. "I am surprised he did not seek vengeance on all of them along with my father."

"Oh, he did, Emily." Araminta nodded at another acquaintance. "He most certainly did. A very subtle vengeance. He has ensured that each man is somehow at his mercy. As of six months ago he already held Canonbury and Peppington under his paw. You, my dear, apparently did something that handed him Northcote on a silver platter."

Emily's lips parted in shock as she recalled the rescue of Celeste and the cool wariness between Simon and the marquess that had been evident later. "Bloody hell. But the present marquess is the son of the man who wronged Simon and his mother, not the one who sold Blade's shares." Her voice trailed off as she recalled her husband's rigid code.

"Precisely," Araminta murmured. "Simon has lived in the East for a long time. In his eyes the sins of the fathers fall upon the children and indeed the entire family."

"No wonder Simon acted so strangely when I informed him that I had told Lady Northcote all obligations between our two families were settled."

"Yes. I imagine it came as something of a shock to Blade." Araminta's mouth quirked in amusement. "Word has it, however, that he did, indeed, honor your commitment to forgive the old debt."

"My father once said something about Simon having Canonbury and Peppington under his control. At the time I did not understand. I merely thought he meant Simon was a powerful man."

"Which he is. He got that way by ensuring that he always knows the deepest, darkest secrets of those with whom he deals. The information gives him power. And he does not hesitate to wield it."

"Just as he knew that I was my father's weak point," Emily said half under her breath. "My husband is an extremely clever man, is he not?"

"He is also a very dangerous one. You appear to be the only person in the whole of London who does not go in fear of him. That is no doubt one of the reasons the ton finds you so fascinating, my dear. You blithely dance where angels fear to tread. Are you quite certain you could not ride that horse without the aid of your spectacles, Emily?"

"I should run straight off the path and into the trees," Emily assured her. She pushed the offending spectacles more firmly onto her nose. "Come along, Araminta. I see Celeste up ahead and I cannot wait to show her my new mare."

"A moment, if you please, Emily. It is not like you to change the subject so quickly. What are you planning? I can tell you are up to something."

"Nothing significant, Araminta. I believe I shall invite Lady Canonbury and Mrs. Peppington to tea as soon as possible, however. Will you join us?"

"Good lord." Araminta stared after Emily. "I most certainly shall. The experience should prove interesting."

The salon held in Lady Turnbull's drawing room the following afternoon was not at all what Emily had expected. She had been exceedingly anxious ever since receiving the invitation because she knew she would be meeting and mingling with some of London's most sophisticated literary intellectuals.

She had spent hours choosing the right gown and the right hairstyle. In the end she had opted for the serene, classical look, on the assumption that a crowd of people interested in romantic poetry and other intellectual matters would favor the style.

She had arrived at Lady Turnbull's in a severe, high-waisted, modestly cut gown of fine, gold muslin, trimmed with black dragons. She'd had Lizzie do her hair a l'antique.

Emily had discovered immediately upon being shown into Lady Turnbull's drawing room, however, that all the other ladies were wearing gowns cut with fashionably low decolletage and had frivolous little hats perched rakishly on their heads.

Two or three of the women tittered as Lady Turnbull came forward to greet Emily. As she took her seat, Emily was painfully aware of the curiosity and amusement of those around her. It was as if she had been hired to entertain them with her eccentric ways, she thought in annoyance.

She began to wonder if she had made a serious mistake in accepting the invitation to join the group. At that moment Ashbrook flicked shut an elegant enameled snuffbox and straightened away from the mantel against which he had been leaning with negligent grace. He came forward to kiss Emily's hand, thereby bestowing instant cachet upon her. Emily smiled back gratefully.

Emily was further disappointed, however, when the conversation turned straight to the latest gossip, rather than the latest romantic literature. She listened impatiently to the latest on dit and wondered how soon she could leave. It was obvious she was not mingling with a group of clever intellectuals, after all. It was true everyone in the room had a marvelously fashionable air of ennui and every word spoken was laden with world-weary cynicism, but there was no interest here in literary matters. Across the room Ashbrook caught her eye and winked conspiratorially.

"By the bye," a gentleman who was introduced as Crofton drawled, "I have recently had the pleasure of playing cards with your father, Lady Blade."

That caught Emily's full attention. She glanced at him in surprise. She was wearing her spectacles, so she could see Crofton's cruel and dissipated face quite clearly. She guessed he had once been a handsome man, with his bold, saturnine features. But now he appeared jaded and thoroughly debauched. Emily had not liked Crofton from the moment she had been introduced to him.

"Have you, indeed?" She took a noncommittal sip of her tea.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Quite a neck-or-nothing gamester, your father."

"Yes." Emily prayed for a change of topic.

"His spirits seem a bit depressed of late," Crofton observed. "One would think he would be bursting with enthusiasm over your excellent marriage."

"You know how fathers are," Emily said, feeling desperate. "I was his only daughter."

"You were, I gather, extremely important to him," Crofton murmured. "One might even say vital to his well-being."

Emily looked at Ashbrook, smiling hopefully. "Have you read Mrs. Fordyce's latest effort, my lord?"

"Mrs. Fordyce is a silly frump of a woman, sadly lacking in intelligence and talent." Ashbrook volunteered the sweeping pronouncement with an air of complete boredom.

Emily bit her lip. "I rather enjoyed her new novel. Very strange and interesting."

The small group laughed indulgently at this display of rustic taste and went back to a discussion of Byron's latest antics. Emily risked a glance at the clock and wished it were time to leave. She listened to the prattle going on around her and decided that the literary society of Little Dippington accomplished far more in its Thursday afternoon meetings than this elegant salon ever would. As she always did when she was bored or unhappy, she mentally went to work on new stanzas for The Mysterious Lady.

A ghost was indeed called for, she decided. The poem needed more melodrama. Perhaps she could have the heroine encounter a phantasm in an abandoned castle. She must remember to tell Ashbrook she intended to add a ghost. She had brought the manuscript with her in her reticule this afternoon but she wondered if she should turn it over to him so soon. It might be better to wait until she had added the ghost.

Conversation in the drawing room drifted into a new channel.

"If we are speaking of likely investments," one foppish gentleman said portentously, "I don't mind telling you about a new venture I am looking into at the moment. Canal shares for a project to be built in Hampshire."

Emily reluctantly let her attention snap back to the present. She raised quizzical eyes toward the gentleman who had just spoken. "Would that be the Kingsley Canal project, sir?"

The gentleman's glance swung immediately toward her. "Why, yes, it would. My man of affairs brought it to my attention recently."

"I should have nothing to do with that venture, if I were you, sir," Emily said. "I know something about the previous financial ventures arranged by the gentlemen behind the Kingsley Canal project and it is a record of failure and loss."

The man gave Emily his full attention. "Is that a fact, Lady Blade? I am most interested in hearing more about the project, as I am on the brink of putting quite a large sum into it."

"If you want to invest in canals," Emily said, "I would suggest that you first investigate coal mining areas. Or look into the potteries. I have found that wherever one finds a product that needs an economical path to market, one finds a need for canals. But one must consider the people behind the venture as carefully as the venture itself."

At that casual pronouncement, all male eyes in the room were on Emily, the women soon taking their cues from the men. Emily blinked owlishly under the unexpected scrutiny. She had continued her investment work here in town. After all, the ladies of the Little Dippington literary society still depended on her. But Emily had not expected to find herself discussing such topics today. She had come here to talk of higher matters.

"I say," one of the men began, instantly casting aside his carefully cultivated attitude of ennui, "Do you favor any particular projects?"

"Well," Emily said slowly, "I have several correspondents in the midland counties and two of them have recently written to me concerning a new canal project. I confess I have not been paying a great deal of attention to financial matters lately but I am rather intrigued by this arrangement. I have had successful situations with this group of investors in the past."

All pretense of a literary discussion was dropped as Emily became the focus of everyone's attention. She found herself inundated with questions and demands for more information on investment projects. It was all familiar territory, if unexciting, and, anxious to make a pleasant impression, she concentrated on her answers.

An hour and a half went by before she chanced to glance at the clock. She gave a start when she saw the time.

"I do hope you will forgive me," she said to her hostess as she sprang to her feet and gathered up her reticule. "I must be off. Thank you so much for inviting me."

"We shall look forward to having you attend our little group next week," Lady Turnbull said, with a quick, assessing glance at the fascinated expressions on the gentlemen's faces. "Perhaps you can give us more information on investments and such."

"Yes, do come back next week," one of the gentlemen urged.

"I would very much appreciate hearing your opinions on the corn harvest this summer," another said.

"Thank you," Emily said, edging quickly toward the door. Mentally she made a note to be otherwise engaged next week, if possible. "If you will excuse me…"

"I shall see you out to your carriage," Ashbrook said with grave gallantry.

Emily looked at him in surprise. "Oh. Thank you."

Outside on the steps she waited in tense silence for him to ask if she had brought along her manuscript. She could not bear to thrust it upon him unless he requested it.

"I am glad you came today," Ashbrook said softly as Blade's black and gold carriage approached. "I hoped you would. Now I find I cannot wait until we meet again. Will you be attending the Olmstead affair tomorrow night?"

"I believe so, yes." Emily clutched the reticule and wondered if she should casually mention the manuscript. Perhaps something charmingly offhand about Whittenstall, Ashbrook's publisher, would do the trick. She frantically searched her brain for something suitable.

"Did you find time to work on your epic poem?" Ashbrook asked as he watched the carriage pull up in front of the steps.

Emily breathed a sigh of relief. He had not forgotten, after all. "Yes, yes, I did. I just happen to have it with me."

"Do you?" Ashbrook smiled deliberately. "Shall I have a look at it, then, to see if it might be suitable for publication?"

"Oh, Richard, that is so kind of you. I was afraid you had forgotten and I did not want to impose." Emily yanked open the reticule and hauled out the precious manuscript. "I have definitely decided to add a ghost," she said as she handed it to him with trembling fingers. "You might bear that in mind as you read."

"Certainly." Ashbrook took the manuscript and smiled suavely. "In the meantime, will you promise to save a dance for me tomorrow night?"

"Yes, of course," Emily said happily as Harry handed her up into the coach. "Thank you, Richard. And please, I beg you, be perfectly honest in your opinions of my work."

The door of the carriage slammed shut and Emily was whisked off before Ashbrook could reply.

A few minutes later the carriage came to a halt in front of the Blade townhouse. Emily alighted eagerly and headed immediately upstairs to her bedchamber.

She was going past the closed door of the old, unused nursery when a loud thump, followed by a distinct groan, brought her to an immediate halt.

"What on earth?" Opening the door and peering inside, Emily was startled to see Simon and the twins stripped to the waist. Charles was just picking himself up off the carpet. Simon was standing over him, feet braced, and Devlin was watching with an expression of deep concentration.

"You do not punch with your fist," Simon said sternly. "You let the man come straight at you and then you turn slightly to the right. He will instinctively follow you and in doing so, put himself off balance. Balance is everything. Do you understand?"

"I believe so." Charles rubbed his bare shoulder. "Let me try it again."

"What is going on here?" Emily asked, fascinated.

The three men swung around to face her, their faces reflecting a united sense of masculine outrage.

"Emily!" Charles yelped.

With horrified expressions, the twins leapt for their shirts, which were hanging on nearby chairs.

"Damnation, Emily," Simon said furiously. "This is no place for a female. Take yourself off at once. And close the door behind you."

"Are you practicing some odd form of boxing, Simon? Is it something you learned in the East? I would love to observe. Perhaps I could even take a few lessons." Emily looked at him hopefully.

"You will leave this room immediately, madam. And you will close the door behind you," Simon thundered.

Emily cast a quick glance at her brothers' scowling faces and found them equally implacable. "Oh, very well. But I must say, you three are certainly a bunch of extremely poor-spirited killjoys."

Emily retreated back into the hall and closed the door behind her.