by Laura Beers
“Good heavens, it is warm this evening.” Mrs. Jackson reached into her reticule and pulled out a fan and began fanning her face. “Aren’t you warm, dear?”
“I am not,” Emmeline replied.
“Then it is just me… again,” Mrs. Jackson muttered.
They entered through the main door and followed the line of people towards the ballroom. When they stepped into the rectangular room, they were immediately greeted by their hostess, Mrs. Linfield. The tall, brown-haired woman smiled kindly at her.
“Miss Emmeline Lockhart,” Mrs. Linfield said, “what a pleasure it is to see you again.”
“Thank you for inviting me to your ball.”
Mrs. Linfield waved her hand in front of her. “You are always welcome in my home,” she declared. “Where is your aunt, Lady Taylor?”
“I am afraid she was not up to attending this evening,” Emmeline replied.
“That is a shame,” Mrs. Linfield remarked. “You must bring her to call before your wedding, and we shall have some tea.”
Emmeline stiffened. “I shall do just that.”
“Wonderful,” Mrs. Linfield declared, clasping her hands together. “Now, go and enjoy yourself.”
As Emmeline walked further into the room, she couldn’t help but notice the stares from the other guests. She kept her head high as she walked towards the back of the ballroom and picked up a glass of champagne from a table.
Mrs. Jackson came to stand next to her. “You may have one glass of champagne,” she ordered. “We wouldn’t want you to become inebriated, now would we?”
“Have you noticed how everyone is staring at me?” Emmeline questioned, glancing down at her glass.
Her companion’s eyes scanned the room. “They are just jealous of you,” she said. “Soon, you will be the Duchess of Billingham.”
“It doesn’t appear as if they are jealous,” she admitted. “I almost sense that they are pitying me.”
“Why would they pity you?”
“The duke is eighty years old, and I am turning twenty-one in less than a week.”
Mrs. Jackson hesitated for moment before saying, “So there is a slight age difference.”
“Slight age difference?” Emmeline repeated in disbelief. “He is old enough to be my grandfather.”
“But he is a duke,” her companion reminded her, “and he can give you a life that most people can only dream of.”
“What if it is a life that I don’t want?”
“Surely, you don’t mean that.”
Emmeline forced a smile to her lips. “I suppose it is just nerves that I am feeling.”
“I am glad to hear that,” Mrs. Jackson huffed. “If your aunt and uncle heard you talking like this, they would lock you in your room until your wedding.”
Bringing the glass up to her lips, Emmeline sipped her drink as she tried to pretend that the stares weren’t bothering her. Why did I even agree to come to this ball, she wondered.
The familiar face of Lady Jane broke through the crowd as she quickly approached her. “Emmeline!” she greeted as she kissed her on the cheek. “I am so glad to see you here.”
“You have no idea how pleased I am to see you,” Emmeline admitted.
Jane stepped back and asked, “Why is that?”
“Everyone is staring at me,” Emmeline replied as she placed her empty glass onto the tray of a servant passing by.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Jane said. “After all, gentlemen have been placing bets at White’s about how long you will survive as the Duchess of Billingham.”
Emmeline gasped. “That is terrible.”
“The duke has had four wives and a profusion of mistresses,” Jane said. “It is any wonder that he ever gets out of bed.”
“Jane!”
Jane pressed her lips together as she slowly turned around. “Yes, Mother?”
The Dowager Marchioness of Hawthorne gave her daughter a stern look. “That was rather crass of you to say.”
“It makes it no less true,” Jane pointed out.
“Dear heavens, child,” Lady Hawthorne said. “You must think through your words carefully. Once said, words can never be taken back.”
Jane turned back to face Emmeline. In an unconvincing tone, she remarked, “I am sorry that I insulted your fiancé, and I feel quite badly for doing so. I am sure the duke has numerous reasons to get out of bed each morning.”
Emmeline giggled and brought her hand up to cover her mouth.
Lady Hawthorne sighed. “We must work on your apologies—again.” She turned her attention away from her daughter. “How are you faring, Emmeline?”
“I am well,” she replied.
“Truly?”
Emmeline lowered her hand to her side. “I have had better days,” she confessed.
Lady Hawthorne gave her a look filled with compassion, making her feel slightly nostalgic about her late mother. “I can only imagine,” she said. “If you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
“I think it is time that you started calling me Harriet.”
Emmeline felt a genuine smile form on her lips. “I would like that.”
Jane looped arms with her and asked, “Are you really going to marry the old bloke?”
“Jane!” Harriet exclaimed, glancing over her shoulder. “That ‘old bloke’ is a duke and deserves our respect.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have much choice,” Emmeline admitted. “It is either marry him or seek employment.”
“You could come be my companion,” Jane declared.
A rich, baritone voice came from behind her. “You do not want to become my sister’s companion,” he warned.
Emmeline turned around to come face to face with Lord Oliver. The handsome lord had dark brown hair, a chiseled jaw, and broad shoulders. His blue eyes were so intense that she couldn’t decide if she wanted to look away or keep staring.
“And why is that?” she asked, attempting to be unaffected by his nearness.
“She would fill your head with fantastical nonsense and whatnot.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Emmeline bantered back. “It might take away from the humdrum of my life.”
He leaned closer and whispered, “Or it will drive you mad.”
A smirk came to her lips. “If I can handle you and Baldwin teasing me unmercifully growing up, I have no doubt that I can handle your sister.”
Oliver smiled, a devilish smile that always managed to work through her defenses. “How are you, Emme?”
Emmeline smiled at the nickname that Oliver had given her when they were children. She only allowed him to call her that.
“I am well.”
His eyes roamed over her face. “Are you?”
Fearful of what he might be seeing, Emmeline turned back towards Jane. “It would appear that your brother is concerned about me.”
“Since when?” Jane asked.
Oliver reached for her hand and brought it up to his lips. “Since Emme has turned into the most beautiful creature.”
Emmeline could feel her cheeks growing warm at Oliver’s blatant flirtation, but she knew it was just an act. Oliver was a notorious rake, and she knew he could not be trusted.
“Leave my friend alone,” Jane ordered, her voice taking on an edge. “Go flirt with the other women in the room.”
Not giving any heed to his sister, Oliver continued to hold her hand as he asked, “Would you care to dance the next set with me?”
Knowing it would be rude to refuse him, Emmeline replied, “It would be my privilege.”
“Liar,” he murmured.
“I beg your pardon?”
Oliver grinned knowingly. “It has always been easy enough to tell when you are lying.”
“How so?”
“I can’t reveal all of my secrets.” He took her hand, placed it into the crook of his arm and started leading her towards the dance floor. “I don’t believe I have ever ha
d the privilege of dancing with you before.”
“That is not entirely true, my lord,” Emmeline said. “You danced with me when the dancing master came through our village.”
“Ah,” he replied. “How could I have forgotten that?”
“Perhaps because I was only ten years old.”
“How is it that you recall that so proficiently?”
Emmeline glanced over at him as she admitted, “I was so mortified because I kept stepping on your feet during the quadrille.”
“I hope your dancing has improved since then,” he said with humor in his voice.
She smiled mischievously. “Only slightly.”
“Then I am in trouble.” Oliver led her to where the dancers were lining up and smiled. “Just follow my lead and we can get through this most admirably.”
For the next while, Emmeline danced the steps of the quadrille and did so flawlessly. She found herself genuinely enjoying Oliver as a dance partner, perhaps because he made the most interesting facial expressions during the dance that were directed only towards her. Occasionally, he would lean closer and whisper encouragement.
The music came to a stop, and Emmeline watched as Oliver approached her and offered his arm. “Would you care to take a stroll in the gardens?” he asked.
“That sounds most enjoyable,” she replied.
As they stepped out of the ballroom, Emmeline saw Mrs. Jackson discretely following behind them.
Oliver glanced over at her and said, “You dance superbly. You didn’t step on my shoes once.”
“Not for a lack of trying.”
Chuckling, Oliver remarked, “I see that you haven’t lost your wit over the years.”
“If only; it has gotten worse, my lord,” Emmeline joked. “My aunt is constantly chiding me for my unruly behavior.”
“You have always been unruly.”
“That is true, but it is not as endearing as I grow older.”
“I disagree,” Oliver said. “It is refreshing to find a woman who knows her own mind.”
Emmeline huffed. “Surely you jest.”
Clasping his hands behind his back, Oliver remarked, “I tire of the women that hide behind coy smiles and polite conversational topics.”
“Then you are in the minority, I’m afraid.”
Oliver stopped at the iron fence that ran along the back of the property and leaned up against it. His expression grew solemn. “How have you been since Charlotte died?”
“I miss my cousin dreadfully,” she breathed. “At times, I still can’t believe she is gone.”
“How long has it been?”
Emmeline sighed. “Almost a year.” She gave him a sad smile. “I was saddened that it didn’t work out between you two.”
A pained look came to Oliver’s face. “It was her choice to break our engagement.” His words sounded gruff.
“I know, but it makes it no less difficult for everyone involved.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t attend the funeral,” he said. “I just didn’t think it would be appropriate, given the circumstances.”
“My aunt wouldn’t let me attend, either. She felt it wasn’t proper for me to grieve in public.” Emmeline worked hard to keep the resentment out of her voice.
“You have had a lot of tragedy befall you at such a young age,” Oliver remarked as he watched her closely.
“I suppose I have,” she reluctantly admitted.
Oliver’s eyes scanned the gardens. “Are you truly going to marry the Duke of Billingham?” he asked.
A puff of air left her lips. “I’m afraid I don’t have a choice in the matter.”
“Everybody has a choice.”
“It is either marry the aged duke or enter a life of servitude.”
“Surely, there must be another option for you.”
Emmeline shook her head, causing the blonde curls that framed her face to sway back and forth. “I can’t think of one,” she replied. “I only have a small inheritance from my grandmother, but it isn’t enough for me to support myself.”
“Your aunt and uncle truly wouldn’t be as unfeeling as to force you into a marriage with the duke.”
“My uncle negotiated the terms of the contract,” she shared. “They both believe it to be a brilliant match.”
Oliver crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s a terrible match.”
“I agree, but I am just a woman. What choice do I have?” she asked earnestly. “My future is dependent upon marrying well.”
Oliver was silent for a long moment. “What if you did have another choice?” he finally asked.
“What do you mean?”
He uncrossed his arms and straightened from the fence. “What if you could marry another?”
“Who?” she asked. “The duke intends to marry me when I turn twenty-one, and that is only six days away.”
Uncertainty crossed his features as he replied, “Me.”
“You?”
He nodded. “Yes. You could marry me.”
She laughed lightly. “Surely you jest, my lord.”
His eyes were fixed on her as he responded, “I’m in earnest.”
“But…”
Oliver took a step closer to her, causing her words to still. “We would suit much more than the duke.”
“That is true, but—”
He cut her off. “I am only the second son of a marquess, but I do have a sizeable fortune. I could provide for you, not in the way the duke could, but you would be comfortable.”
“That is not the issue.”
“Then what is?”
She pursed her lips together as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I cannot ask you in good conscience to enter a marriage of convenience with me.”
“If I married, then the crafty matchmakers would leave me alone,” he pressed.
“My aunt and uncle would never consent to this marriage, and we would be forced to elope to Gretna Green, since I haven’t reached my majority yet.”
“So be it.”
Emmeline stared at Lord Oliver in disbelief. What he was offering was inconceivable to her. He was willing to throw away his own happiness to help her, and that was something she wasn’t willing to allow. She couldn’t do that to him, even though it was truly tempting.
As she opened her mouth to inform him of her decision, a beautiful, blonde young lady sauntered up to Oliver. “Will you be returning to the ball soon?” she asked, a pout on her lips.
Emmeline saw Oliver hesitate for only a moment before his lips curved into a flirtatious smile. “Only if you will save me a dance.”
The young lady smiled victoriously. “I shall be looking forward to it,” she said before turning on her heel.
When she was gone, Oliver turned his attention back to Emmeline and gave her an apologetic look.
“I do apologize for the interruption,” he began, “you were about to say something.”
Emmeline’s lips parted in disbelief. “We would never suit, you and I,” she said, gesturing between them. “You are a rake, and I don’t think that would stop after we were wed.”
“If you are worried about me being faithful to you, that won’t be an issue.”
“You just flirted with another lady while you were offering for me,” Emmeline pointed out.
Oliver winced slightly. “That may have been poorly done on my part, but…”
Speaking over him, Emmeline said, “I thank you for the kind offer, but I refuse to force you into a marriage of convenience.”
Oliver blinked. “You are turning me down?”
“I am.”
“Do you take issue with my lowly status as a second son?”
“No, that has nothing to do with my decision.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Am I not wealthy enough for you?”
“No,” she replied. “You must understand that I am doing this for you.”
“For me?” he asked, taking a step back.
Emmeline gave him a timid smile. “I don’t t
hink you are ready to be wed.”
“Because I am a rake.”
“Yes,” she replied, seeing no reason to deny it.
Oliver performed an exaggerated bow. “Good night, Emme. I hope you enjoy your life as a duchess,” he remarked dryly before walking off.
Emmeline watched Oliver’s retreating figure, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she had made the right decision.
As Oliver walked purposefully away from Emmeline, he kept muttering curse words under his breath and wondering what in the blazes he had been thinking. Why had he offered for her? It had been sheer madness on his part.
He should be relieved that she had refused his offer, but he found himself hurt and disappointed. Which was ludicrous. He had always viewed Emmeline as a friend, and nothing more. She was the cousin of his one true love. So why did he feel as if he had been punched in the gut by her rejection?
Oliver stepped into the ballroom, ignoring the ladies that were vying for his attention. Frankly, he wasn’t in the mood to bother with niceties. He searched the crowd and saw his brother standing next to his wife and conversing with Lord and Lady Hutchings.
He walked over and said, “I need to speak to you.”
Baldwin gave him a curious look. “Now?”
Oliver nodded.
The silver-haired Lady Hutchings smiled kindly at him. “I hope everything is all right, Lord Oliver.”
Realizing he was being rude, he offered her a slight bow and replied, “I assure you that all is well.”
“That is good to hear,” Lady Hutchings said.
Lord Hutchings spoke up. “We were just complimenting your brother on what a fine choice he made for his selection of a bride.”
“That he did,” Oliver agreed, glancing over at his sister-in-law. “Madalene has made a fine addition to our family.”
Madalene smiled. “You are being too kind.”
“I am indeed a lucky man,” Baldwin said, puffing out his chest in pride. “I practically had to beg Madalene to marry me.”
“Is that so?” Lady Hutchings asked.
Madalene shook her head. “That is not entirely true. It was not love at first sight, mind you, but I found myself besotted by Baldwin rather quickly.”
