To Love and to Loathe (The Regency Vows #2)(13)

While the thought of Willingham possibly noticing her inexperience was mortifying, she thought she could bear it better from him than from any other gentleman of her acquaintance. Despite their constant barbs, she somehow knew that he wouldn’t use this particular weakness as ammunition in their future battles, if for no other reason than that he prided himself on besting her fair and square, and would no doubt consider sinking to underhanded tactics to be beneath his dignity, or some similar nonsense.

The thought of explaining this to Emily, however—innocent, virginal Emily—was mildly daunting.

Instead, she decided to fall back upon the excuse that Willingham himself had provided for her—which itself was not entirely without merit.

“If I have a brief affair with Willingham and word gets around, it makes it that much easier for me to take my next lover,” she explained in businesslike fashion. Emily, predictably, looked somewhat scandalized by this explanation, though she did not interrupt.

“It’s so much easier to allow the men to come to me than to have to hunt for them myself,” Diana continued. “Once it becomes clear that Willingham and I had a liaison—but are no longer doing so—I shan’t even have to crook a finger to find another willing partner.”

“The men already come to you,” Emily pointed out. “Your dance card is always full. Afternoon calls at your house are practically a parade of eligible gentlemen.”

“Yes, yes,” Diana said. “But some of them seem to have distressingly proper intentions. I only want the ones with decidedly improper intentions, you see. Bedding Willingham should make that abundantly clear.” The more she spoke, the more obvious it became that to accept his offer would, in fact, make perfect sense.

Her mind thus settled, she decided to turn the conversation to Emily’s own romantic prospects. They were nearing the end of Emily’s sixth Season. Her first Season—when both Violet and Diana had themselves married—she had received several offers, but the Rowanbridges had insisted their daughter reject them, deeming none of Emily’s suitors sufficiently high in the instep for a marquess’s daughter. Her second and third Seasons had been missed entirely—the second because of a scandal involving her imbecile of an elder brother, who had fought a duel and killed his opponent, forcing him to flee to the Continent; the third, due to her mourning period for said brother’s death abroad. And for the past two years, Emily had been escorted about by a certain Mr. Cartham, owner of a gambling hell whose disinclination to call in the marquess’s debts was entirely dependent on his daughter’s presence on his arm at society events.

Cartham himself was hardly what her parents would consider appropriate marriage material; his ability to weasel invitations for himself to a surprising number of ton events was surely testament to the fact that the Marquess of Rowanbridge was not the only aristocrat in his debt. And everywhere he appeared, Emily was at his side; he had thus far displayed no intention of actually marrying her, seeming to find the presence of one of the most beautiful unmarried ladies of the ton on his arm satisfactory enough, but Diana was not about to risk the possibility that his plans could change.

“We’ve spoken enough of me,” she said cunningly, reaching out to link her arm with Emily’s as they walked. “I’m positively desperate to hear how Lady Tarlington’s musicale was.” She herself had missed the event, having already accepted an invitation to the theater that evening instead. Emily, however, had been present—and in company of which Diana highly approved.

“It was lovely,” Emily said calmly. “Mozart is so soothing, don’t you think?”

“Did you find the company… invigorating?” Diana asked slyly.

“Lady Fitzwilliam was there,” Emily said slowly. “I had a nice opportunity to speak to her—I do like her quite a bit, I’m so glad Violet introduced us. We weren’t able to speak for long, but West was there, too, and I saw them in conversation for quite a while.”

This was, indeed, quite an interesting piece of gossip, as Emily well knew—West, as the Marquess of Weston was known to his friends, was Audley’s elder brother and had been Lady Fitzwilliam’s beau when she was still Sophie Wexham. Diana, however, did not allow herself to be distracted.

“Anyone other than West and Sophie of particular interest?” she asked casually. “A certain gentleman who owns an oh-so-scandalous theater, perhaps?”

Emily sighed. “Lord Julian escorted me, as you are perfectly well aware, so you can stop beating around the bush and just ask me whatever it is you wish to know.”

Lord Julian Belfry was an acquaintance of Penvale, Audley, and Willingham from their Oxford years; Diana had never gotten the impression that they were terribly close, Belfry being a couple of years ahead of the others, but they had recently renewed the friendship—and he had shown more than a passing interest in Emily.

Belfry was the second son of a marquess but was considered rather scandalous; his father had disinherited him, and he’d used his inheritance from a relative to start a theater that catered to gentlemen of the aristocracy in search of a night out without their wives. Belfry was still invited almost everywhere by the ton—he was, after all, handsome, wealthy, and second in line to a marquessate—but he caused whispers and gossip wherever he went.

Diana could scarcely think of a less likely suitor for prim, proper Emily—which was of course why she was so entirely delighted by the whole thing.