by Laura Beers
Emmeline sighed. “There must be another option for me.”
“Frankly, there is not,” George said. “The duke is gracious enough to marry you without a dowry. Need I remind you that your dowry went to help pay your father’s debts after his untimely death?”
“No, you don’t,” Emmeline muttered.
“The duke’s solicitor approached us after he saw you at the opera,” George reminded her. “If it wasn’t for that, we would not be in this equally beneficial situation.”
“It doesn’t seem beneficial,” she said. “I feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter.”
Betty frowned. “No marriage is perfect, but if you can just bide your time until the duke dies, you will be free to live however you see fit.”
“What if he lives to be a hundred?” she asked.
“That would be most unfortunate,” Betty remarked, “but it is quite unlikely.”
George adjusted his white cravat. “The duke is already halfway in the grave. He just requires an heir.”
“What if I am unable to produce a son?”
Betty gasped. “You must,” she declared. “Your entire future depends on it.”
“I don’t think that is something one can plan on,” Emmeline pointed out.
“The duke has sired boys before with his mistresses, so we know that he is capable of producing an heir,” George said.
Emmeline pressed her lips together. “How grand.”
“You are looking at this the wrong way,” Betty pressed. “Marrying the duke will open doors to you that were previously closed. You will be welcomed at every ball, soirée, and social gathering the ton offers.”
“I care little about that,” Emmeline admitted.
Betty let out an annoyed sigh. “What is it that you do want, Emmeline?”
“I want to fall in love and marry a man of my choosing.”
“What the duke is offering you is better than love,” Betty asserted. “He is offering you a chance at living comfortably for the rest of your days. I must say that security is more important than love.”
George spoke up. “As for marrying a man of your choosing,” he began, “what man would marry you without a dowry?”
Emmeline remained quiet, knowing her aunt and uncle had made valid points.
“If you don’t marry the duke, then you will be forced to take a position as a companion or governess,” Betty said, her tone hardening. “And your parents would not have wanted that life for you.”
“I don’t want to become a governess,” Emmeline admitted.
“I should say not,” Betty declared. “You are the daughter of a viscount, and you deserve much better.”
“But I don’t think I can marry the duke.”
George and Betty exchanged a look before her uncle spoke. “The duke intends to marry you on your twenty-first birthday. I suppose you shall have until then to decide your fate.”
“The banns have been posted,” Betty reminded her. “Furthermore, the whole ton knows of your pending nuptials. If you decide not to go through with the wedding, then your reputation will be in tatters.”
“We can’t force you to marry the duke, but we truly hope you do,” George pressed. “He can give you a life that we can only dream of.”
Betty bobbed her head in agreement. “Just imagine, you would be dressed in the finest gowns, draped in jewels, and live in elaborate estates.”
“But the duke doesn’t retire to the countryside,” Emmeline pointed out.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t,” Betty said. “After you produce an heir, you will have the freedom to do as you please.”
George offered her a sad smile. “Your parents would have wanted this for you,” he stated. “I have no doubt of that.”
“But my parents were a love match,” she pressed. “Wouldn’t they rather have me marry for love?”
“Love is such a fickle thing,” Betty scoffed.
“It is true,” George agreed. “I have known many people that started off as love matches, but they grew cold and despondent towards one another later in life.”
“Love is a gamble, and it usually doesn’t pay off,” Betty expressed. “Besides, you are still young. You may even find love after you marry the duke.”
Thinking she’d misheard her aunt, Emmeline asked in a hushed voice, “Are you insinuating that I should take a lover after I am married to the duke?”
Betty shrugged. “It wouldn’t be unheard of, assuming you have already produced an heir.”
Emmeline stared at her aunt, unsure of what she should say to that ridiculous comment.
“Don’t be so prudish, my dear,” Betty said. “It is very unbecoming of you.”
The coach came to a stop outside of their three-level whitewashed townhouse. It dipped to the side as the footman stepped off his perch and came around to place the step down. Once it was extended, he opened the door and offered his hand in assistance.
After they exited the coach, the footman rushed forward to open the iron gate. They approached the door, which was opened by their stodgy butler. He had a long, narrow face and curly blond hair.
“Welcome home,” Drew greeted in a stiff tone, opening the door wide. “May I ask how the dinner party went?”
“It went well,” Betty replied as she removed her long white gloves.
“That is wonderful,” Drew said as he closed the door behind them.
Betty extended her gloves towards the butler. “I require a long soak this evening,” she stated. “Will you ensure the water is heated up to my liking?”
Drew tipped his head. “Yes, milady,” he responded as he went to do her bidding.
“If anyone needs me, I will be in my bedchamber.” Betty walked over to the stairs that ran along the length of the far wall and started up them.
Finding herself alone with her uncle, she asked, “Why are you so insistent on me marrying the duke?”
George gave her a compassionate look as he gently placed his hand on her right shoulder. “No one is guaranteed a good life, but we can increase our odds of one by making good choices,” he said. “Betty and I just want what’s best for you, especially since we won’t always be around.”
Emmeline’s eyes ran over her uncle’s dark hair and saw white strands poking out in his sideburns and along his temples.
He continued. “Just think about what we said,” he encouraged. “We trust that you will make the right decision.”
“And if I don’t?”
George lowered his hand to his side and sighed. “Then I would be sued for breach of contract.”
“Do you think the duke would be that petty?”
“I am not entirely sure, but I hope it won’t come to that,” her uncle replied. “Now, off with you. I need to get some work done before my meetings tomorrow.”
As Emmeline walked across the tiled entry hall, she found herself deep in thought. Could she truly give up all her hopes and dreams to marry the Duke of Billingham? But what choice did she truly have? If she called off the wedding, her reputation would be ruined, and she would be an outcast amongst the ton.
She opened her door and stepped into her bedchamber. A crackling fire was in the hearth, providing light to her darkened room. What am I going to do, she thought. Her aunt and uncle kept saying it was her choice, but she had no doubt that they would try to force her hand. They always somehow managed to get their way. It had been that way since she had come to live with them.
Walking over to her window, she stared out at the full moon. How she wished her parents were still alive. And not for the first time. She missed them dreadfully. It had been two years since they died at the hands of highwaymen.
Emmeline leaned her head against the windowsill and allowed herself to cry. She felt so alone. Her heart had yet to heal from her parents’ deaths, and her pain was still raw. At times, her unrelenting grief seemed unbearable.
The door to her room opened, and her raven-haired lady’s maid stepped into the room. Her h
air was tied back at the nape of her neck. “Are you ready to undress?” she asked as she closed the door.
Not bothering to spare her a glance, Emmeline replied, “I suppose I am.”
“You sound reluctant.” Mary came to stand next to her and asked, “Are you thinking about your parents again?”
Emmeline nodded, seeing no reason to deny it. “I am.”
“That is to be expected, especially since you are facing such a difficult choice,” Mary reasoned.
Meeting her lady’s maid’s gaze, she asked, “What should I do?”
“What is your heart telling you to do?”
Emmeline huffed. “If only it was that simple.”
“It can be.”
“My aunt and uncle would be furious if I don’t marry the duke.”
Placing a hand on her sleeve, Mary asked, “But could you live with yourself if you did?”
“I don’t know.”
Mary removed her hand, then remarked, “I cannot advise you one way or the other, but I can tell you that your mother would most assuredly want you to be happy with your choice.”
Emmeline gave her a timid smile. “I appreciate you staying on as my lady’s maid after my mother passed away,” she said.
“There is no place I would rather be,” Mary replied as she returned Emmeline’s smile.
“I know what I want to do, but I don’t know if I am strong enough,” Emmeline admitted.
“Just be true to yourself, and everything will work out.”
Emmeline shook her head. “My aunt and uncle will no doubt ask me to leave their townhouse, and I shall have to seek out employment.”
“Do you believe that they’d truly be so unfeeling that they would do such a thing?” Mary asked. “After all, this is your home.”
“It became their home when my father died,” she pointed out. “As my aunt has stated on multiple occasions, I am just a guest here.”
“That is terrible of her to say such a thing.”
“They are just words.”
“Words can still hurt deeply,” Mary expressed, compassion in her voice.
“I suppose I am growing accustomed to my aunt’s criticism,” Emmeline admitted as she turned away from the window.
“That is a shame.”
Emmeline sat down on the settee at the foot of her bed. “I shall turn twenty-one in a week, and I will finally reach my majority. I will be able to access the inheritance of three thousand pounds that my grandmother left for me.”
“That is a tidy sum.”
“It is not enough to live on for the rest of my days, though,” Emmeline said dejectedly.
Mary bobbed her head. “That may be true, but it is a start.”
Emmeline frowned. “What is it a start of?”
“Whatever you decide your future to be.”
“You are not the least bit helpful,” Emmeline remarked with a shake of her head.
Mary grinned. “I am sure you will come to the correct decision on your own.”
“You have entirely too much faith in me.”
“Perhaps you don’t have enough in yourself,” Mary countered. “You may just need a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, you will see things more clearly.”
Emmeline rose and said, “I surely hope that is true.”
Chapter Two
Lord Oliver Radcliff was utterly miserable. He reached for his glass on the table and took a small sip. He had to give the appearance that he was drinking, but he had no desire to become inebriated. He needed to be alert to everything that was going on around him. Not that anyone suspected that he was anything more than a rakehell. No. He was sure of that.
He had been working as an agent for the Crown for nearly six years, and he was weary of using the same blasted cover. His unique position allowed him to report back to the agency about any member of Society who had radical views. There had to be more to his life than just babysitting schoolboys.
There were ten round tables in the gambling hell, and he was attempting to listen to what was being said at nearly every table. Most of the conversations he overheard were the same usual debates he’d heard at every gambling hell: the skirmish with America, Napoleon being exiled, and the Prince Regent’s outlandish spending habits.
He had opinions on the matters, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t dare reveal his allegiance to the Crown. Instead, he would listen to the pompous gentlemen spout off their views, regardless of whether they even knew what they were speaking of. And, frankly, many of them did not. Their radical speech betrayed the ideals of the nation.
How he looked forward to an assignment that didn’t revolve around spying on his comrades.
“Are you with us, mate?” Mr. Philip Booth asked as he gestured to the cards in his hand.
Oliver placed his glass back on the table. “I am, but I am rather bored with this game.”
Mr. Samuel Follett chuckled next to him. “You are being rather cocky for a man who has lost the last five hands,” he said. “I almost feel bad for taking your money.”
“Even if I lost another ten hands, it still wouldn’t come close to the amount I have collected from you over the last few nights,” Oliver joked.
Mr. Paul Haskett shook his head in amusement. “You have been rather preoccupied the last few nights, Radcliff,” he said. “Whatever is the matter with you?”
“Do you ever tire of this life?” Oliver asked.
His three friends stared back at him with blank expressions.
“No, I don’t suppose you do,” Oliver said, answering his own question.
Booth put his cards down. “What is wrong with this life?” he questioned. “We eat, drink, and enjoy the company of lovely ladies.”
“Why do you wish to deny the ladies our attention?” Follett asked good-naturedly.
Oliver tossed his cards into the center of the table. “What is our purpose?”
“Our purpose is to have fun,” Haskett replied with a knitted brow. “What else would we do with our time?”
“My apologies, but we aren’t truly making a difference in anyone’s lives,” Oliver said.
“Why would that matter?” Booth asked. “We are young and have an allowance.”
Oliver leaned forward in his chair. “What would you do if your father cut off your allowance?” he inquired.
“He wouldn’t dare,” Haskett declared.
“We all went to university,” Oliver pressed. “Don’t you think we are destined for more than we have become?”
Booth waved over a woman serving drinks. “Can you bring my friend another drink?” he asked. “And keep them coming.”
Oliver didn’t know why he even bothered to have a serious conversation with his friends when they were sober, much less when they were inebriated. They only grew philosophical when they were deep into their cups.
“I know what would cheer you up,” Follett said.
“What’s that?” Oliver asked.
“We could race our horses through the streets,” Follett suggested. “It is late enough that they should be empty.”
“That sounds like a rather foolhardy thing to do,” Oliver remarked.
“What if we went to Hyde Park?” Haskett questioned.
Oliver shook his head. “I would prefer to do something that wouldn’t result in us or our horses being injured.”
Booth smirked. “We could go to Lady Haight’s soirée.”
“I wasn’t invited,” Follett said.
“Neither was I,” Booth responded. “But when has that stopped us before?”
The serving woman placed a glass of brandy down in front of Oliver and winked at him before she left.
Oliver reached for the glass and pretended to take a sip. As he brought the glass down, he said, “We’d better not. My brother and his new wife will be in attendance, and I would hate to make a scene.”
“Since when?” Booth questioned.
“Since my brother controls my allowance,” Oliver answered.
&n
bsp; Follett nodded his understanding. “How is it having your brother home after all these years?”
“It has been an adjustment, but I am pleased that he finally came home,” Oliver replied.
Glancing over his shoulder, Haskett asked in a hushed voice, “Did he tell you why he disappeared for three years?”
“He did,” Oliver responded. “He was running from his responsibilities after my father died and went to reside in our Scottish manor.” That was the partial truth, but his friends didn’t need to know the real reason why his brother had left.
“Wouldn’t that be grand to just leave Town for a while, shirking all your responsibilities?” Booth asked.
“What responsibilities?” Follett joked before he tossed back the rest of his drink. “You are the second son of a wealthy viscount.”
Booth chuckled. “I am required to help manage our family’s vast holdings.”
“That must be exhausting,” Follett said, his words slurred.
“I can assure you that it is,” Booth remarked as he reached for his glass, “especially since I know my insipid older brother will inherit all of it after my father dies.”
Haskett spoke up. “You both are lucky idiots,” he declared. “The last time I spoke to my father, he wanted me to become a vicar.”
“A vicar?” Oliver asked.
“He feels that it might bring a purpose to my life,” Haskett revealed, “but I informed him that I have no interest in becoming a vicar.”
Booth gulped down his drink. “I should say not. I doubt you could get the much-needed testimonial from Oxford vouching of your fitness for ordination.”
“I didn’t leave Oxford on the best terms,” Haskett confessed sheepishly.
Oliver grinned. “No, you did not. That is generally what happens when you break the rules.”
“Rules are made to be broken,” Haskett joked.
“I disagree,” Follett replied, leaning into Haskett. “Rules are required for us to have a polite Society.”
“Finally, someone is making a lick of sense,” Oliver declared.
Haskett laughed as he shoved Follet away from him. “Follett is just drunk.”
