“Emma?” Ned wanted to be absolutely certain that the cruel girl who had scorned him earlier in the season would not be present to wound him again.

“As far as I know, she’s left London,” she replied offhandedly, studying her image in the mirror, trying to decide if she liked the hairstyle Meg had created for her.

“She’s probably gone to nurse her wounds,” Belle guessed, settling down onto Emma’s bed.

“What do you mean?” Ned asked, striding into the room and perching next to his sister.

“I’m afraid Clarissa was a little miffed when she realized that Ashbourne was quite determinedly pursuing Emma,” Belle smirked. “Clarissa kept throwing herself at him shamelessly, and I must say that his grace was very polite to her at first. Uncharacteristically polite, if you ask me. I think he was trying to impress Emma with his good manners.”

“I doubt it,” Emma said dryly.

“Well, what happened?” Ned asked impatiently.

“This is the good part.” Belle leaned forward and smiled with glee. “About a week ago she absolutely pressed herself up against him, and believe me, her gown was far lower-cut than mine.”

“And?” Ned urged.

“And Ashbourne simply gave her one of those cold stares he’s so famous for and said—”

Emma cut in, lowering her voice in imitation of Alex’s, “‘Miss Trent, I can see down to your navel. ’”

Ned’s mouth fell open. “He didn’t!”

“No, but I wish he had.” Emma laughed uproariously, and Belle exploded into giggles.

“What did he really say?” Ned urged.

“I believe it was: ‘Miss Trent, kindly remove yourself from my person. ’”

Ned was ecstatic. “And then what happened?”

“For a moment I thought Clarissa was going to faint,” Belle said animatedly. “At least a dozen people heard the remark, and she’d been telling everyone that she was out to snag him. Which was ridiculous, of course, because it’s obvious to everyone that Ashbourne is only interested in Emma. Anyway, after giving everyone the most murderous glare, she fled the ballroom, and no one has seen her since. My guess is that she’ll spend a month or so rusticating before she comes back to try to sink her claws into the Duke of Stanton.”

“But he’s well over sixty!” Ned exclaimed.

“And thrice widowed,” Emma added.

“You know how women like Clarissa are,” Belle sighed. “She’s got it into her head that she wants a duke. Ashbourne was obviously the top choice since he’s still young, but I doubt that Clarissa will be choosy now. She wants a title, and she wants it now. If she doesn’t get a duke, mark my words, she’ll start on the marquesses and earls. That’s when you had better watch out, Ned.”

“But I’m only a viscount.”

“Don’t be obtuse. You’ll be an earl eventually, and Clarissa knows that.”

“Well, you can be sure I’ll avoid her assiduously now that I know what she’s really like.”

“You know, Ned, I think that you owe me a favor,” Emma declared. “You’d probably still be pining over her if I hadn’t sent you that fake love note.”

Ned grimaced at the thought of being in Emma’s debt. “Much as I hate to admit it, you’re probably right. But don’t get it into your head to continue meddling in my affairs.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Emma said innocently.

Belle and Ned both looked at her dubiously.

“It must be almost time to leave,” Emma said, rising.

As if on cue, Caroline swept into the room. She was dressed in a lovely midnight-blue gown that complimented the stunning blue eyes she had passed on to both of her children. Her chestnut hair was swept up atop her head, and she certainly did not look old enough to have mothered two adult children. “We really must be off,” she announced. With a quick turn of her head, she scanned the room until her eyes fell on her daughter. “Arabella Blydon!” she exclaimed, horrified. “What on earth are you wearing? I do not recall giving you permission to wear such a low-cut gown.”

“Don’t you like it?” Belle countered weakly. “I think it’s rather flattering.”

“I told her that one could see right down to her navel,” Ned drawled.

“Edward!” Caroline said sharply. Emma whacked him in the shoulder with her reticule, flaying him with a mutinous glare. Caroline gave them only a passing glance before she continued her lecture. “I do not know what you were thinking. That gown will give men the wrong idea.”

“Mama, everyone is wearing gowns like this now.”

“‘Everyone’ does not include my daughter. Where did you get that?”

“Emma and I bought it at Madame Lambert’s shop.”

Caroline whirled to face her niece. “Emma, you should have known better.”

“Actually,” Emma said truthfully, “I think Belle looks beautiful.”

Caroline’s eyes widened and she quickly turned back to her daughter. “You may wear that gown when you are married,” she announced.

“Mama!” Belle protested.

“Fine!” Caroline huffed. “We’ll ask your father. Henry!”

All three members of the younger generation groaned. “I’m sunk now,” Belle mumbled.

“Yes, dear?” Henry Blydon, the Earl of Worth, ambled into the room. His brown hair was liberally streaked with silver, but he still retained the air of elegance and affability that had won Caroline’s heart a quarter of a century earlier. He smiled lovingly at his wife. She looked pointedly at their daughter. “Belle,” he said simply, “you’re naked.”