Just Like Her

Chapter 59

Emma

It was surprisingly warm for September, but not even the higher-than-normal temperature could melt the smug grin off my lips. Noticing it, Tom rolled his eyes.

Somehow, it had gotten out into the press that I had attended the Royal family dinner-Tom's guess was that it was Cynthia who leaked the story, but I had my money on Eliza-and what I had thought to be a non-story had been spun into such a frenzy there were now crews of paparazzi stationed in the street outside our flat 24/7.

It had been decided that my attending family-sponsored events should commence immediately, starting with a high tea-and high society-fundraiser that had the coincidental good fortune of being both of good cause and thorough coverage by the major print media outlets.

This being my first appearance since the increased media attention, Tom had insisted Trisha find me a new dress for the occasion. But since this would be a charity event, I had insisted I wear a dress I already owned and Tom instead donate whatever preposterous amount of money he would have spent on the dress to the charity's fundraiser.

"Really, Emma," he droned with faux-condescension. "We're here for the children. It doesn't matter what you're wearing."

I smiled wider. It was ridiculous, I knew, possibly childish to feel so delighted for getting my way. But I also knew that there would be so few arguments when it came to future public appearances that I would win that I cherished every moment of this minuscule victory.

"We're here for your mother to show me off," I countered dryly.

Tom snorted and then placed his hand at the small of my back just as I registered movement in the peripherals of my vision.

"And now for round two..." Tom grumbled.

Margaret waved affably as she and her husband approached. I lifted my hand to return the gesture and immediately regretted it. One could think Margaret was born into royalty herself with the gracefulness she radiated with every minute movement. I, by comparison, looked like a spastic buffoon.

Robert, for his part, didn't even so much as smile.

"You're doing what's right," I whispered in a rush to Tom. "Whatever he or your uncle says, you're absolutely on the right side of this. Remember that."

Tom stroked his thumb along the column of my spine in silent response.

"Thomas," Margaret beamed as the couple stepped in front of us. "And Emma, lovely to see you again."

"You look lovely," I practically gushed.

And she did. She really did.

Margaret was naturally pretty with full-lips and a petite nose, a perfect complexion, and soft golden hair that would have made the Grace Kelly jealous. Her dress, too, likely would have caught the eye of the Princess of Monaco: tiffany-blue in color with cap sleeves and ruching that subtly accentuated every one of her perfectly toned curves and ended with a modest flair over her knees. On her head, she wore a large, white ruffled sunhat crafted to resemble a large-petaled flower.

She sent me a polite grin. "Thank you, your dress is quite fetching."

I fought the blush I could feel brewing beneath my skin and for a brief, vain moment wished I had let Trisha dress me.

I had picked out an old favorite of my closet, a sleeveless dress with a dark-navy pattern and what I considered to be a flattering A-line fit. Typically I paired it with comfortable leather sandals, but this morning had instead opted for sensible black pumps. The only item I had allowed Trisha to acquire was a matching navy fascinator.