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      Devlin’s eyes narrowed with contempt. ‘I am a busy man. My time is precious. And I have no interest in trade.’

      Emma’s eyes widened at the implied insult.

      Ned smiled. ‘And yet here you are, sharing that precious time with me.’

      Devlin bristled. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. He glared at Ned for a moment before addressing Emma. ‘If you will excuse me, Miss Northcote.’

      She gave a tiny nod of her head.

      The four young noblemen made curt bows and walked away.

      Emma and Ned looked at one another.

      It could have been just the two of them standing there, as it had been that day at the old stone bench. But that day was long gone and was never coming back.

      His eyes traced her face.

      ‘Goodbye, Emma.’ A small bow and he walked away.

      * * *

      That evening was one of Lady Lamerton’s rest evenings, as she called them. One of two or three evenings a week when she stayed at home. To rest and nurture her strength and vigour and to make her presence all the more appreciated at the Foundling Hospital’s ball the next evening. Every night and they grew tired of one, she said. Too few evenings and they thought one out of it. The trick was in getting the balance of nights in and nights out just right. And the dowager knew a thing or two about such subtleties of the ton, having spent a lifetime mastering its handling.

      They sat together in the little parlour playing whist.

      ‘Apparently the picnic raised more than three thousand pounds for Colonel Morley’s regimental charity.’ Lady Lamerton eyed her cards.

      ‘A very successful fundraiser. Mrs Morley must be happy.’ Emma placed a card down on the pile.

      The dowager gave a tut when she saw the card.

      Emma smiled at her.

      And the dowager smiled, too. ‘Positively crowing. You know she never got over Lamerton—God rest his soul—choosing me over her. Accepted Morley as a poor second best.’

      ‘I did not know that.’

      ‘It was so long ago that there are few enough of us left to remember.’

      ‘Was it a love match between you and Lord Lamerton?’

      ‘Good heavens, no!’ She gave a chuckle as if it were an absurd suggestion. ‘Lamerton needed my papa’s fortune.’

      As too many earls needed Ned’s.

      ‘I was in love with someone else.’

      The revelation was so unexpected. It allowed Emma a glimpse into the past and the young and passionate woman that Lady Lamerton must have been.

      The dowager placed her card down on top of Emma’s with deliberation. When she looked up to meet Emma’s gaze she smiled. ‘Elizabeth Morley’s contribution to the picnic was paltry. Considerably more is expected of the hostess than a few seed cakes. Little wonder her face was so sour when she saw the magnificence of my peach flans.’ She gave a small cackle.

      ‘You are incorrigible.’

      ‘I am blessed with natural ability.’

      They both smiled.

      ‘I saw you talking to Devlin and Mr Stratham. Matters between you and Devlin seem amicable.’

      They were hardly amicable, but in her role as the dowager’s companion Emma could not be anything other than civil to him. She gave a smile that the dowager interpreted as agreement.

      ‘You do know that Mr Stratham contributed the pineapples.’

      ‘Rather too extravagant,’ said Emma.

      ‘I would describe it as a clever move. When it comes to cultivating the ton, he knows he must make his money work for him.’

      Ned was a shrewd man. She thought of the way he had sat in the Red Lion all those months. Self-contained, serene, but with so much beneath. She thought, too, of Devlin’s words about Ned and women. She hesitated just a moment, then spoke.

      ‘And yet I heard a rumour concerning Mr Stratham.’

      ‘A rumour, you say?’ The dowager raised an eyebrow and looked interested.

      ‘That Mr Stratham is less than discreet or honourable when it comes to women.’

      ‘Rather a risqué rumour for the ears of an innocent.’

      Emma smiled. ‘I could not help overhearing a conversation as I was passing.’

      Lady Lamerton smiled her appreciation of eavesdropping. ‘It is a quite misinformed opinion, my dear. Stratham is not that manner of man at all.’

      ‘And yet he did spend time with Mrs White at the picnic.’ Emma thought of the vivacious young widow and the way her violet eyes had looked so seductively into Ned’s, the way she had touched a gloved hand on more than one occasion to his arm.

      ‘Amanda White is always angling after him, but without success.’

      ‘That is surprising.’

      ‘Not at all. He is focused upon his business interests and on securing himself the best marriage alliance for his money. Stratham undoubtedly attracts women, but however he conducts his affairs it is with discretion. There has been nothing untoward. And believe me, had there been, I would know. Gentlemen of trade are not exactly welcomed with open arms into the ton. He is under constant scrutiny.’

      There was a truth in that. Emma knew very well how the ton viewed self-made men.

      ‘Who was speaking of him?’ the dowager wanted to know.

      ‘I could not see. I was trying to be discreet.’

      ‘I must teach you better.’

      They exchanged a smile, then went back to their cards.

      With the last trick played the dowager had won again.

      ‘You are too good at this,’ said Emma.

      The dowager chuckled.

      As Emma shuffled the pack and dealt the cards again, her mind strayed to Ned and their conversation earlier that day.

      But you were courting titles on the marriage mart.

      Before you. And after.

      And in between?

      No.

      He had not lied about her father. Maybe he was not lying about the rest of it.

      She had the feeling that her initial reaction, natural though it was to finding Ned Stratham living the life of a gentleman in Mayfair, had been misjudged.

      Ned had never hidden the fact that he kept secrets. He had not lied about his. He was right; she had been the one who had lied about hers, even if it was for the best of reasons.

      But I’ll be back.... We need to talk when I return... She remembered the look in his eyes, serious, intent, soul-searching. About their future, she had thought. A future together.

      She wondered what would have happened had she waited for him as she said she would.

      She wondered with all her heart what Ned Stratham would have said.

      * * *

      Within the main hall at the Foundling Hospital the next evening the ball was in full swing. The turnout was more than good. In one corner of the room a posse of musicians played Handel’s music, on account of the many fundraising concerts the composer had played on behalf of the Hospital. The design inside the hall, like the rest of the building, was Palladian, yet simple and unadorned; the Hospital did not want to be open to accusations of extravagance.

      Ned

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