Emma crossed the room to sit in one of a cluster of leather armchairs facing the sofa. She tried not to gawk at Syd, but she must have failed, because, the moment she sat down, he let loose a loud guffaw.
“I know,” he said, with a self-deprecating grin. “Hey, a big-time operator like me, I should know what’s what in fashion, right? Wrong. Me, I’m a nice boy from Brooklyn. What I know is business. So I leave the glamour to Suzie and she leaves the bottom line to me. It works. You met Kate Cole yet?” He winked at Kate. “She’s the duke’s generalissimo. Great gal. If she had six inches more leg, she coulda been a contender.”
Midway through Syd’s speech, Hallard had come to stand beside Emma’s chair, carrying a glass of sherry on a silver tray. He remained there, staring myopically at Syd, long after Syd had fallen silent.
“Hallard,” Kate Cole said softly.
“Mmmm?” Hallard replied in a faraway voice.
“I believe Miss Porter would like her drink now.”
“Ah.” Hallard looked down at the tray, as though surprised to find it in his possession, then bent to offer the sherry to Emma. He retreated to his place at the drinks cabinet, blinking slowly and murmuring to himself, “... coulda been a contendah, coulda been a contendah ...”
“What that guy needs is a long vacation,” Syd muttered.
“Kate,” Emma said, “I meant to ask you earlier—Mattie mentioned that she was working with a Nanny Cole. Are you related?”
There was a snort from across the room as Susannah glanced in Kate’s direction. Kate colored, but replied calmly, “Nanny Cole is my mother. She’s been at Penford Hall most of her life. I suppose you could say that Grayson and I grew up together.”
Again, Susannah interrupted her monologue with Derek. “Weren’t you and your dear mother sent into exile, darling?”
Kate’s lips tightened. “We lived in Bournemouth for a short time,” she acknowledged.
“Ten years seems on the long side to me,” Susannah commented, and this time Kate bridled.
Emma spoke up quickly, hoping to defuse a potential argument. “Penford Hall must have been a wonderful place to grow up in.”
“You said a mouthful, little lady,” said Syd. “I was just tellin’ Kate, a classy joint like this’ud make a helluva set for a shoot. Whaddya think?”
Emma let her gaze travel slowly around the dark-paneled, high-ceilinged library. A thick Persian carpet covered the floor, and a pair of Chinese vases flanked the marble fireplace, where a fire blazed. Above the mantelpiece hung a portrait of an imperious, white-haired woman in a floor-length silver gown. Adorned with square-cut emeralds, she was seated beside a harp very like the one in the corner.
A mahogany staircase led to a broad gallery that ran the length of one wall. Arched floor-to-ceiling windows pierced the gallery’s walls, and the glass-enclosed shelves on both levels held thousands of volumes. Here and there, a book’s title, inscribed in gold leaf on a dark leather binding, gleamed in the firelight.
“So? Whaddya think? Am I right or am I right?”
Before Emma could answer, the hall door flew open and the duke rushed in. “Sorry, all,” he said breezily. “Beastly rude of me to totter in so late, do forgive me. Will you listen to that downpour? Makes one glad to be indoors, what? Syd, how kind of you to dress for dinner.” The duke, Emma noted, was wearing a tasteful but decidedly informal pair of flannel trousers and a fawn-colored cashmere turtleneck. “Emma, you are a vision in blue, and your hair! Your hair is like a soft mist rolling in off the sea.” Gesturing toward the portrait over the mantelpiece, he added, “My grandmother. As you can see, her interests were musical as well as horticultural. She played the harp beautifully.”
Syd’s voice rang out. “Those are some emeralds your grandma’s got on.”
“Her wedding jewels,” the duke explained. “My grandfather had a great fondness for emeralds.” He turned to the bay windows. “Susannah, you look ravishing. And treating Derek to a talk about—which diet deity is it this week? Never mind, I’m sure it’s a jolly fascinating one. Dreadfully sorry to interrupt the fun, but a higher power has informed me that our presence is required in the dining room.”
“Hey, Duke,” Syd said, rising to his feet, “I was just tellin’ Emma how you could make a bucket rentin’ this joint to the right people.”
“How enterprising you are, Syd,” the duke said easily.
“I got a card—”
“I believe we’ve accumulated quite a collection of your cards, Syd,” the duke broke in. “So generous ... Not one member of the staff has been overlooked. Emma, my dear, would you allow me the honor?”
With a shy smile, Emma placed her sherry glass on the table at her knee and crossed the room to take the duke’s arm. Syd offered his to Kate, Susannah latched on to Derek’s, and the three couples made their way up the hall to the dining room, Syd’s voice booming, Susannah murmuring, and Emma raising a hand to rub her temple. It was shaping up to be an exceptionally long evening.
7