Free Cardiff Siblings 01 - Seven Minutes in Devon by Catherine Gayle

interjection or if she ought to be mortified
to have her reading habits set out so plainly before the party. She
blushed slightly, and it then intensified when Sir Henry gave her
an appraising look, his friendly, brown eyes sparkling.
    “ A lady after my own heart.
I’ve not had the time to devote to my own desire to read of late,
but when I took my Grand Tour, I spent more time reading than I did
anything else…much to the chagrin of my companions.”
    “ And to those who must
listen to you discuss it now,” grumbled Lord Jacob beside her
beneath his breath.
    Emma glanced around, but no one else
seemed to have heard his comment. She decided to ignore it, to
pretend she hadn’t heard a thing. It seemed the wisest course of
action at this juncture. To keep from doing or saying anything
inappropriate, she placed another spoonful of soup into her
mouth.
    Mr. Deering let out a hum of assent.
“Much of my time is now spent reading legal tomes, when I’d rather
read for enjoyment.”
    “ Legal tomes?” Serena
queried. “Are you a barrister then, Mr. Deering?”
    “ In my second year.” He
brushed the corners of his mouth with his napkin while a footman
lifted away his bowl of soup. When the servant backed away, he went
on. “I do have a bit more time for pleasure reading now than I did
during my schooling, but only just.”
    “ Pity,” Lord Jacob said
amiably, which took Emma by surprise. He’d not seemed one to pity
anyone for any reason, up to that point. Or to be amiable, for that
matter. But then he looked down at the plate being placed before
him, with roast squab and parsnips, and the previous glower
returned to his features. “Pity you ever decided to return,” he
added so low, Emma was certain that no one could have heard him
besides her.
    She’d think he was deliberately trying
to shock her or be provoking if she didn’t believe she rated as low
on his scale of notice as a slug.
    Sir Henry then struck up a
conversation with Mr. Deering about their tours of the Continent,
granting Emma a moment to regain her bearings. Having a few things
in common with these two gentlemen would only serve to aid her
cause. Perhaps she could glean more of their interests throughout
the course of their meal. Even if she couldn’t, there was at least
some connection between them now, so she wouldn’t feel quite so
lost in a conversation—if she ever got up the nerve to start
one.
    Sir Henry and Mr. Deering both looked
expectantly at her then, and she chastised herself for not paying
attention. She opened her mouth to apologize for her lack of
attention, but a voice at the far end of the table carried to her
over the din.
    “ I can’t imagine why they
have brought her into society again. Her skin is ghastly with all
those scars! She’ll surely ruin the appetite of anyone in her
general vicinity, simply from her presence.” The biting words came
from Lady Portia Hemmings, a dark-haired, sharp-tongued debutante
who had made Emma’s skin crawl upon their first meeting. “Clearly
it has already affected Lord Jacob’s appetite.”
    This diatribe only justified Emma’s
premonition about the woman. She glanced down to the other end of
the table, where Mr. Cardiff sat, but he clearly hadn’t heard it.
Nor had Lord Trenowyth, who was in mid-conversation with a
debutante whose name Emma couldn’t remember.
    She bit down on her lip, halting her
apology to the gentlemen she’d been ignoring. Serena gave her a
brief shake of her head, questioning her with her eyes, and then
spoke, drawing the two gentlemen’s attention onto herself. She
mustn’t have heard what Emma had heard. There would be no need to
question if she had.
    Surreptitiously, Emma turned her gaze
to where Morgan was happily chatting away with Lord Muldaire,
oblivious to the fact that another lady was boorishly denigrating
her character.
    Whether Morgan had heard it or not
didn’t matter. Emma had. It left her mouth dry and her chest tight
and caused hot,