The Importance of Being Wanton - Christi Caldwell Page 0,40
words tossed at her, and now spoke them in rote remembrance.
“That isn’t true.” Quitting her place, Emma went over to join the younger woman. “That isn’t true at all. You came and listened and wanted to be there with us. Because you believe in what we believe in and our mission for other women, that makes your contribution as meaningful as anyone else’s.” Unlike the members who’d so quickly defected because of a newer, brighter, shinier organization to come along. “Your role among our society isn’t to be understated.”
A tremulous smile formed on Cressida’s wide mouth. “Thank you,” she whispered through tears that shimmered in her pretty brown eyes.
Emma brushed the drops that fell from the younger woman’s cheeks. “Come now, none of that! This is a happy time. We are reunited, and I’ve come to share all the latest developments with you.” With that, Emma proceeded to provide her recently found friend with an enumeration of the latest developments, from the inception of Charles’s new club to the loss of their members.
By the time Emma concluded, the earlier sadness in Cressida’s eyes had been replaced with the sparkle that usually brightened them. “What do you intend to do?”
Emma lifted an eyebrow. “You assume I intend to do something?” she asked, touching a hand to her breast in pretend disbelief.
“I know you intend to do something,” the other woman said, and they joined in laughing.
When their shared amusement had settled, Emma confirmed her friend’s supposition. “I intend to confront him, of course.”
“Of course.” Cressida clapped her hands together, then sighed. “How I wish I might take part again in the society.”
“You can, and you will.”
Just like that, the light went out of the young woman’s eyes. “You don’t know my brother.”
“I have two.”
“Not like mine,” Cressida said, her words so faint Emma strained to hear, and when she did, a chill traipsed along her spine. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“But . . .”
“I’m not coming back. And I do not wish to speak further of it.” Cressida spoke with a forcefulness Emma had never recalled from the girl.
“Of course,” she said quietly. “We needn’t.”
Trudy arrived with a tray bearing three mismatched teacups and a chipped porcelain pot, which she set down before them. Instead of taking her leave, however, the woman settled onto the vacant settee, and helped herself to a cup of tea with an ease cementing that familiarity between her and Cressida.
“Trudy was our family’s all-purpose servant,” Cressida shared as she accepted the pot of tea from the old woman and poured first one cup, then another. “She is family.” She handed Emma one of the cups.
“Closer than family,” the old woman grunted, and sipped her drink.
Closer than family therefore also meant a confidante who might have a greater chance of succeeding where Emma had otherwise failed. “I was encouraging Cressida to rejoin me for the Mismatch meetings.”
“Mr. Alby won’t allow it,” Trudy said bluntly.
Cressida sneered. “Baron Newhart. Do not forget he is now a baron.”
“Don’t care what ’e is,” Trudy spat. “Always been a selfish sod. Now ’e’s just a selfish one with a title and a sense of import, and ’e won’t ever agree to the girl’s attending.” Trudy directed that last part at Emma.
“But . . .”
“’e’s not pleased she went against ’im,” Trudy went on. “Only way ’e’d likely consider it ’tis . . .”
If Cressida agreed to marry the man he wished so he could have the fortune he wanted. And even that wouldn’t secure Cressida the freedom she needed from a rotter like her brother. “You’d simply go from one prison to another,” Emma said tightly. “That will never do.”
They sipped their tea in silence.
After they’d concluded, they resumed their discourse, with Emma filling Cressida in on other details she’d missed since she’d been forced to resign her membership. When their visit was concluded, Cressida alone escorted Emma to the door. “It has been so lovely to see you,” she said wistfully.
“I shall come again, and will continue visiting until you resume your place.” Emma smiled. “And then, even after it,” she vowed. Trudy rushed forward with Emma’s cloak, and she accepted it from the older woman. “It has been a pleasure, Trudy.”
“The same,” the old servant said gruffly. “Now go on with yarself.”
Adjusting the grommets of her cloak, Emma stepped outside. The rush of sunlight, after walking the dim halls, proved briefly blinding, and she lifted a hand to shield her stare. She blinked several times in a bid