“Mr. Boch, I am afraid that I shall not be able to see you again,” Emily said decisively. “While I greatly enjoyed the ball—” She broke off. “I am responsible for my small household, which now includes Phoebe. I am most grateful to you for inviting me to Lady Fester’s ball. But I must not make a habit of such pleasures.”

Lucien shook his head. “Can you not think of it in the way of business?” he said, hoping that there wasn’t a plea in his voice. “I was under the impression that attending social events could only help your writing.”

Emily twisted her gloves in her lap.

“Did you not enjoy it?” he added—and he knew that there was desperation in his voice.

At that Emily looked up quickly. “Oh, I did! It was more…more lovely than I would have dreamed. But I cannot do it again, Mr. Boch. I do not belong in that world. I am a working person.”

“As I said, could you not—”

“Absolutely not,” Emily said with quiet certitude.

Lucien opened his mouth, but she raised her hand. “Mr. Boch, I will be frank with you. I cannot afford to live as a woman of the ton. My sister and I sewed late every night last week to make the gown I wore.”

“It was exquisite,” he said promptly. “I was accompanied by the most elegant woman in the room.”

Emily colored but shook her head. “I do not belong in that world, nor can I afford to masquerade in it. I have Phoebe to care for, as well as my sister. Even my evening gloves were beyond our means.” She rose.

Lucien perforce rose as well. He walked behind her to the door, suppressing an angry wish to complain. But what could he say? He could hardly offer to buy her a ball gown. It would be a grossly impertinent breach of etiquette.

“May I call on you in the future?”

Emily had the most open, candid eyes he had seen in his life. “I shall not be at home if you call,” she replied gently, disengaging her hand from his.

Lucien bowed once more, his heart a leaden stone in his chest. “I much regret your decision.”

Only Louise knew how much Emily regretted her own decisiveness; she came down the stairs to find her sister brushing away tears.

“Did you send him away?” she asked.

Emily nodded, her chin wobbling in an undignified fashion.

Louise sighed. “Why, Emily? Why should you begrudge yourself a few evenings of pleasure? You have most certainly earned them.”

“He has no serious intentions…. And I have no time for frivolity. I have Phoebe to care for,” Emily said.

“Pooh!” Louise replied.

“I am too fond of him,” Emily said.

“Is that such a problem?”

“I do not wish to become a kept woman.”