Emily's Choice (Rough Draft)

Chapter Twelve

It was an unusually silent and thoughtful Emily who attended the Almack's ball on the next Wednesday evening. She danced one quadrille with Sir Percival, and then claimed to be slightly fatigued. She sat next to her aunt against the wall with the other wallflowers as her cousin went to find a different partner.

"It will be your own fault if you don't dance again tonight," Lady Amelia informed her. "I cannot see what you have against Percival, Emily."

"We simply do not suit each other, Aunt," Emily said wearily. "We never have, even when we children, and I am very certain we never will. Please, can we not speak of it any further?"

Exasperated, Lady Amelia turned away and began a conversation with the older man standing nearby. Emily watched the dancers whirl around the room. Though she tried to focus, her mind kept going back to her newly acquired knowledge regarding her mother's past.

As soon as she had been able to, Emily had written Rosalind a long, detailed letter to tell her cousin all. She hoped for a quick response, but it was still too soon to expect a reply. In the middle of her musings, Emily realized that a gentleman was standing in front of her and she was staring at his polished shoes.

"Miss Lawrence?"

Recognizing the voice, Emily put on a smile. "Lord Evan!" she exclaimed, lifting her head to look up at the man. "Excuse me. My head was in the clouds."

"It must have been," Lord Evan remarked with a grin. "I don't know how long I have been standing here, trying to get your attention."

Emily forced a laugh. "You just arrived," she accused. "Admit it!"

"You have caught me out," Lord Evan admitted good naturedly. "Now, I am to keep you here until Will can get across the room. Have you had any recent news from Ambershire?"

Startled, Emily frowned as she thought back. "No, I have not had a letter from Rosalind this past week," she answered. "Did you just say Mr. Williams asked you to keep me here?"

Lord Evan chuckled. "The waltz is next," he confided.

"The waltz?" Emily asked in bewilderment. Her eyes widened in surprise. "You cannot be implying what I think you are implying!"

"Is that so?" Lord Evan responded cheerfully. "Look there."

Feeling a mixture of delight and dread, Emily followed his gaze to see Mr. Williams walking towards herself and Lord Evan with one of the Almack patroness', Lady Cowper, on his arm. "Miss Lawrence," the lady called out with a smile. Emily surged to her feet to curtsy. "Mr. Williams has been telling me that you were gracing us with our presence tonight. My, you look very like your mother."

"Thank you," Emily replied in surprise. "Did you know my mother well?"

"Our families were once of intimate terms," Lady Cowper answered. The musicians struck up the next dance, the waltz just as Lord Evan had warned. Lady Cowper looked up at Lord Evan. "Are you going to ask me to dance, West?"

"It was on the tip of my tongue," the man declared, gallantly offering his arm. "Might I have this dance, Lady Cowper?"

"Indeed, you may, you insincere rouge," the lady responded with a laugh. She glanced at Emily and Mr. Williams. "This particular dance will be over before you can dance a step if you are not careful, Williams."

With that pronouncement said, the Almack patroness and Lord Evan joined the dancers. "Would you like to dance, Miss Lawrence?" Williams asked. He smiled as Emily hesitated. "As you see, I have done everything to satisfy propriety. Lady Cowper has given her permission for you to waltz. There can be no objection."