Free Deadly Engagement: A Georgian Historical Mystery (Alec Halsey Crimance) by Lucinda Brant Page B

don’t give a fig who knows about—”
    “—because it wouldn’t redound to his credit.”

A dinner for fifty people at St. Neots House marked the beginning of the weekend engagement celebrations. Emily stood at the oak-paneled double doors, flanked by her grandmother and the Earl of Delvin, and made her curtsy to each guest as they filed into the state dining room with its three heavy chandeliers and string orchestra playing from the gallery.
    Between introductions, the Earl took the opportunity to congratulate his betrothed on a job well done, and was about to compliment her on her pretty gown of antique silk and seed pearls when her attention was diverted by a late arrival. Delvin looked up and saw his brother. The sight of him made the thought of the long meal unappetizing, yet he continued to smile, perhaps a little wider than before.
    Alec slid into the anteroom just as the last of the guests turned to go into dinner. He was late. He intended it that way. He smoothed back a curl and joined his friend Sir Cosmo Mahon, a corpulent gentleman in his late-twenties who had waved Alec over to his side. He immediately introduced Alec to a man of middle years with a fleshy florid face and a morose disposition, one Justice Lord Gervais. With them was Lord Andrew Macara, who as the Duchess of Romney-St. Neots’ son-in-law needed no introduction. He greeted Alec with a firm hand and a barrage of questions concerning his posting to Paris.
    Lord Andrew was still quizzing Alec, this time on the customs prevalent in a certain mid-eastern European kingdom he had read about somewhere in a memoir written by some chap whose name he’d forgotten, when they arrived at the head of the receiving line.
    If there was any sign of awkwardness between Alec and Emily it was on her part. Her curtsy was slightly clumsy and when she looked up with a shy smile he was regarding her without smile or frown. She made an innocuous remark that later she couldn’t recall and barely listened to his equally innocuous reply. He moved on and she was forced to be pleasant to Lord Gervais, who was now bowing over her hand, thus did not hear or see what was said between the brothers, only sensing it was a very short exchange. Now Lady Gervais curtsied before her, dressed in a vibrant red taffeta gown and towering headdress with matching dyed feathers who prattled out compliments which, even to Emily in her distracted happiness, sounded forced and backhanded.
    After a long twenty-three course dinner the ladies took coffee and tea in the Chinese drawing room, arranging themselves on the sofas and chairs set out at one end of the vast room away from a late afternoon sun. The Duchess presided over this chatty gathering of fan-waving powdered ladies with a serene smile that hid a quick eye and an open ear should the conversation not flow to her liking. Lady Charlotte Macara helped her mother distribute the dishes of tea. Handing Emily a dish she chastised her: a girl marrying the most eligible bachelor in London should carry herself with more decorum and not laugh out loud like a hoyden.
    Emily ignored her aunt because she was too happy to be bothered with her and had struck up a conversation with Lady Gervais who was pouring forth into Emily’s little ear all the latest gossip about several ladies in the room. By the time the gentlemen rejoined the ladies Lady Gervais was telling Emily a particularly humorous anecdote involving Lady Charlotte Macara and a pile of horse manure she had failed to notice while promenading up The Mall. Their giggles could be heard on the other side of the room.
    “A little beauty, isn’t she?” said a voice at Alec’s shoulder.
    “Yes,” he answered absently, attention focused on the strand of rubies and diamonds encircling Emily’s white throat. He recognized the necklace. It had belonged to his mother. He remembered her wearing it toward the end of her life, when she had finally found the courage to acknowledge him.
    “She