by Ava Stone
Emma wasn’t at all certain if it would help to nod or not. She caught Mary’s eye, and Mary gave her a barely perceptible shake of her head before putting her arm around Mother, who was now sniffling.
“Come, Mother. You need to lie down.”
Mother nodded as Mary led her out the door. “Yes, but just for a bit. We must pack to leave for the country. We must take ourselves away from here so perhaps people will not think so much on the incident if we’re gone.”
Mother’s voice faded as Mary led her away from the bedchamber. Emma flopped back onto the bed and glared up at the ceiling. It hardly seemed fair that one should be ruined for simply falling through ice. If she was going to be ruined, she should have at least been kissed by Nathaniel—or rather Nathan, as he’d told her to call him. If she was going be ruined—she jerked up to a sitting position—and sent away to America, she should at the very least go see Nathan before she was sent away and thank him for saving her. She was more certain than ever that they would suit, and who knew what might happen if she went to see him. Maybe he was certain they would suit, as well.
Her heart raced and her pulse hammered as his beautiful face flashed in her mind. She could still see the concern in his light-brown eyes when she’d opened hers after being pulled out of the Serpentine. He’d risked himself to save her. She cold clearly feel him scooping her into his arms and carrying her off the ice. Her heart fluttered thinking upon it as she stood, marched to her wardrobe, and rummaged around for her most suitable walking slippers.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, Lady Emmaline,” her lady’s maid, Beatrice, said. “If your mother finds out—”
Emma stopped her rushed pace and turned to Beatrice, who had been walking behind her. Beatrice’s brown curls had come out of her white cap and her cheeks were red from Emma’s rushing them to the Duke of Blackbourne’s townhome, where she was certain Nathan would be. Emma would slow down, only she wasn’t sure how long Mary could keep Mother in her room. And waiting to see Nathan was out of the question. Mary had calmed Mother, so the worry of being sent to America to live with Mother’s cousin was gone, but they were leaving for the country in the morning. Who knew when Emma would see Nathan again? Mother may not let her out of the house for the rest of her life.
Emma cleared her throat as Beatrice stared at her. “Please don’t tell me you feel obliged to confess our outing to my mother?”
“Heavens no!” Beatrice exclaimed. “I’m just worried, my lady. Your mother does frighten me. I’d hate for her to dismiss me if she were to find out.”
“You need not worry about that. All her anger is directed at me right now. Besides, if she did find out, I’d simply tell her that I lied to you and told you I had permission. She’d not let you go if she thought that were the case,” Emma replied and then spun on her heel and continued toward the Duke of Blackbourne’s home.
She stopped in front of the imposing gray structure, the largest house in Mayfair as far as the eye could see, and glanced up at the front door. “Wait here,” she instructed Beatrice, who had come to stand beside her, and then Emma made her way up the few stairs to the front door.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her hand to knock, but the door swung open and out came the Duke of Blackbourne himself. She was so surprised by his sudden appearance that it didn’t register in her mind that he didn’t see her until he ran directly into her. She started to stumble backward, but he dropped the letter he’d been reading, reached out, and yanked her close to steady her.
She staggered forward at his powerful tug and instinctively threw her palms up, which landed against the duke’s surprisingly hard chest. She blinked as she stared straight ahead at his fine kerseymere coat, and when she tilted her head up to apologize, she found him gazing at her with narrowed, speculative gray eyes that matched the color of his coat. His gaze flicked past her to where Emma knew Beatrice was standing and then returned to Emma. He took a step back and released her.
“Your Grace!” a silver-haired man in full livery exclaimed as he rushed out the door. “I’m terribly sorry! I didn’t know we had a visitor. Should I—”
The Duke of Blackbourne held up his hand. “You should go inside. Lady Emmaline is here to see me.”
Emma took a breath to explain who she was really here to call upon, but he gave her a quelling look that only a dull-witted fool wouldn’t recognize as a command for silence. Very well, she’d keep quiet for a moment.
The butler nodded as he disappeared inside the house and shut the door.
“I’m glad to see you fully recovered,” the duke said, “but I find it very unwise that you would sneak away from your home and come here.”
Emma’s jaw dropped open. “What makes you think—”
“Not think, Lady Emmaline, know,” he interrupted. “I’m sure your mother, having successfully navigated within the ton for so many years, is astute enough to realize it’s not wise for you to be anywhere near my brother right now. Your presence here, if noted by any of the gossipmongers, will fan their flaming tongues and they’ll scorch you with cruel words and destroy your future. Do you want your future destroyed?”
“It depends on what that future holds,” she retorted, annoyed by his chiding tone. Yet the minute she thought upon her retort, her stomach clenched in horror. Blast! She could not fathom what had possessed her to say such a thing to the Duke of Blackbourne, one of the most influential men in the ton. Given the way his mouth parted and he tugged a hand through his thick, black hair, she suspected he couldn’t imagine what had come over her, either.
An errant giggle escaped her lips. Wonderful! Her nervous problem was starting. She quirked her mouth, but it was no use. As the duke stared at her and slowly raised his eyebrows, her giggles grew until she felt her nostrils flare in a desperate attempt to control herself. She took a deep breath and managed to choke out, “I simply came to thank Nathan—”
His Grace’s eyebrows shot high.
Emma’s cheeks burned at her blunder. “Er, your brother, Lord Nathaniel, for rescuing me.”
“Rescuing you?” The duke sounded incredulous. That was odd.
She cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s generally what one calls it, I do believe, when one is pulled out of icy water by another. If it weren’t for your brother, I’d be dead.”
The duke’s face grew dark, cloudy, and rather angry looking. Honestly, he was handsome with his powerful build, strong jaw, and full lips, but even with his title, money, and beauty, she could not fathom why any lady with sense would try to catch him for a husband. He was so stern and cold. But, apparently, since he was so sought after, most ladies were senseless. His dark eyebrows drew together. “If it weren’t for my brother, you never would have nearly drowned.”
That was true. Nathan had talked her into skating onto the thinner ice, yet she could have said no, so she couldn’t very well blame him. She didn’t think the duke would appreciate her viewpoint, however. “May I see him please?”
“No.” The word was not cold, but it was not warm, either. It was breezy, as if he was struggling to contain his anger.
She tilted her head. “No?”
Dark eyelashes swept down to hide his piercing gaze. Suddenly, he bent to retrieve the letter he’d dropped. “Nathaniel is gone,” he offered as he stood.
“When will he return, Your Grace?”
“That depends on Nathaniel, Lady Emmaline. He rarely tells me his schedule. Now, I really must go, and so should you.”
Disappointment filled her, but she nodded. “Will you tell him—” She bit her lower lip. What did she want to tell Nathan? She certainly couldn’t say she thought he was grand and that her heart tugged when she thought about him. Nor could she say she thought they might suit and she dearly wished he’d court her so they could ascertain if they truly did. He was so full of life, and he seemed so bold and fun. He was the opposite of the sort of gentleman her mother surely wanted her to marry. Nathan was perfect.
“Lady Emmalin
e?” the duke prodded, his voice surprisingly gentle.
“I’m terribly sorry. Please tell him thank you for a fun day.” Despite the accident, it had been enjoyable. He’d told her she was beautiful and an enchanting snow fairy. And she hadn’t felt like she had to pretend to be someone she was not when she had been with Nathan.
The duke’s eyelashes flew upward to reveal eyes filled with irritation. “I’ll relay your message.” With that, the Duke of Blackbourne turned on his heel and went back into his home, though he’d pointedly told Emma he had to depart.
She stared at the door for a long moment. Whatever had she done to irritate him? She supposed he found it too improper that she had come to thank his brother. With a snort, she decided that the man was most definitely rude.
Chapter 3
Two weeks later
Ainthorpe, Yorkshire, England
Albersey Estate
As Emma descended the stairs and came to a stop beside her sister in the foyer, her mother gave her the look. The one that always preceded the tsk, which was followed directly by a criticism. Emma got one fortifying breath in before the ritual began.
“Tsk, tsk, Emmaline. Look at you!”
Emma glanced down at her peach-colored gown. She thought she looked passably acceptable. She smoothed a hand over the silk. Had Beatrice missed a wrinkle?
Her mother’s disapproving brown gaze started at Emma’s hands—which Emma had made sure to glove before coming downstairs so Mother wouldn’t comment on the unladylike tinge she vowed Emma’s painting left on her skin. Mother’s gaze climbed to Emma’s hair, and she fought the urge to raise her hand to pat it down. “Why,” her mother demanded, “would you fail to have Beatrice dress your hair and sweep it up as is proper for a dinner? Have you forgotten we are here in the country because of the incident?”
That was hardly possible given that Mother reminded her every other minute, but Emma knew better than to say that. “No, Mother.”
Her mother nodded approvingly. “Look at your sister’s lovely coiffure.”
Emma forced herself to do so in order to avoid their departure to the Duke of Blackbourne’s country home for dinner being delayed by her mother’s temper. Emma still could hardly believe they’d even been invited to Nathan’s birthday dinner. Gooseflesh appeared on her arms just thinking about seeing him tonight. Perhaps Nathan had requested her presence? Her stomach tightened with the possibility. “It’s lovely,” she murmured, meaning it, hoping that would quell her mother’s rising tempest.
Mother wrinkled her nose as she stared at Emma. “With your hair down like that you look more suited to be a mistress than the wife of a peer.”
Mary snorted her amusement, but with one dark glare from Mother, she quickly replaced the smile with a blank look. When Mother turned back to Emma, Mary shot Emma an apologetic expression. Emma tilted her head in acknowledgment, glad for Mary’s silent support, which was a vast deal more than she used to have.
“Mary, pinch your cheeks.” Mother ordered.
Emma watched as Mary dutifully obliged, and their mother nodded approvingly. “You look lovely, dearest. Now,” Mother said in a serious tone, “I have decided that tonight you will catch the duke’s eye.”
Emma’s mouth parted in shock. She looked quickly at her sister and noted the ticking in Mary’s jaw. Emma slid her glance to Mother to see if she’d taken note of Mary’s irritation, but Mother didn’t seem to see the tick. It occurred to Emma that she’d been as bad as Mother in noticing how Mary truly felt about things. All this time she’d thought Mary wanted exactly what Mother wanted for her, to marry a man with a the greatest possible title, yet Emma was almost certain that wasn’t true. Mary had simply been hiding her feelings for a very long time.
Mother nodded again as she studied Mary. “The blue looks splendid with your pale hair and porcelain skin. The Duke of Blackbourne will be instantly enamored of you. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if he asks to call on you tomorrow if we play our cards just right. Soon you’ll be a duchess just as I’ve always planned for you.”
Mary’s neck flushed. “Mother, I hardly—”
“Pish posh!” Mother said, as she pulled on her gloves. Papa walked into the foyer, but she continued without a glance at him. “The Duke of Blackbourne is the most eligible bachelor on the marriage mart, and we’re dining with him tonight. It’s fate, I tell you!” she added shrilly, as if any of them had not heard her. Mother turned toward Papa then and took his outstretched arm. “Tell your daughters, Walter, how tonight must be fate.”
Bless Papa’s soul, he looked utterly baffled as he closed the book he’d been reading. “Fate?”
“Walter!” Mother screeched. “Do you ever pay attention to anything I say?”
Emma watched Papa. He didn’t even pretend to try to answer. He knew, they all knew, Mother didn’t really want him to do so. “It can only be fate that sent Blackbourne and his family to the country directly after we left for the country when the Season still hasn’t begun.”
“Or,” Papa said, “perhaps His Grace wished to get away from the incident much as you did.”
Emma burst into laughter at Papa’s surprising imitation of Mother’s ludicrous whispering and soon Mary was laughing as well. Mother smacked Papa on the arm with her fan. “Don’t be ridiculous. Blackbourne would never run from scandal. Scandal cannot touch a gentleman as powerful as he is. Besides, my most trusted friends in Town have assured me that no gossip ever really took hold regarding Emmaline and Lord Nathaniel, despite what Lady Peabody told me. That bit of good fortune must be attributed to divine intervention!” Mother declared.
Emma was inclined to agree with that outlook, though it was a tad dramatic. She could not fathom why people seemed to think she got debilitating megrims or that she’d had one that day on the Serpentine, but she would take the reprieve from scandal no matter how it had come to be.
Mother motioned them all to proceed out the door, which the butler immediately scrambled to open. They made their way outside and then settled into the carriage. Mother sat with Papa opposite Emma and Mary. Mother’s gaze landed firmly on Emma, and she resisted the urge to squirm.
“I have to admit,” Mother continued, “I was simply shocked when I encountered the duchess at the modiste last week and she invited us to her younger son’s birthday dinner. After the incident I was sure we had no hope of ever seeing the inside of Blackbourne Mansion. Yet look at us now! And to think I was worried when Mary failed to secure a marriage proposal from the Duke of Darlington last season.” Mother laughed. “He’s a paltry duke compared to Blackbourne!”
Emma felt herself relax as her mother looked away, but it was as if Mother sensed her relief because her sharp gaze swung back to Emma and impaled her against the plush green cushion. “Emmaline, if you so much as utter a word about the incident I vow I’ll marry you off to Lord Smitherson, do you understand me?”
Emma nodded while cringing.
“Don’t think I’ve failed to notice the way he looks at you with utter adoration. The only reason I have not pressed the matter is that I wish for you to do better. But with your behavior, Emmaline, we may very well have to settle for an earl.” Distaste filled the last word and made it roll with a thud off her mother’s tongue.
Emma’s breath caught in her throat as she prayed Papa had not truly been listening, but slowly, he lowered the book in which he’d had his nose buried and cut his gaze to Mother.
“I am sorry, my dear, that you think your daughter being married to an earl, as you are, would be such a lowly thing.” With that one sentence, Papa raised his book in front of his face once more.
Mother harrumphed as the carriage rambled down the road. “Don’t be so sensitive, Walter. It’s not unusual for a mother to want better for her daughters than she had herself.”
Papa brought down his book with a sigh. “No, I daresay it’s not. Pity that.”
Mary inhaled sharply, and Emma bit her lip in concern. Papa rarely bothered to comment
on Mother’s babblings, and two comments in one night was unheard of. She must have truly hurt him. Emma longed to reach out and pat his hand, but that would only make matters worse.
“You cannot fault me for wanting to see the girls better settled than I am,” Mother snapped, her words distinctly peevish. “The things I want for! I’m the only one I know who has to share a lady’s maid with my daughters!”
“The utter travesty,” Papa said, shifting his book upward once again but not before Emma saw him roll his eyes. “If you think your life is so hard, Esther, you should try getting out, dearest, and visiting the streets of London sometime. I’ll take you, if you wish it. Many people have nothing.” The distinct sound of a page being turned filled the sudden silence.
“They were born to nothing,” Mother replied. “Therefore, I’m sure they expect nothing. I was born to a marquess; therefore, I expected certain things.”
“I know, my dear, and I understand I failed you.”
Mother sniffed loudly but fell quiet, which was very unusual for her. It lasted all of a minute before she took another deep breath and spoke again. “Emmaline, just remember to act like a proper lady. And whatever you do, don’t mention the incident. I don’t think the duke would appreciate it at all.”
Emma shivered slightly at the memory of the Duke of Blackbourne’s piercing gray eyes and the way he’d fairly commanded her to leave his Mayfair home. She imagined him referring to her near-drowning as the incident as her mother did and giggled.
“I see nothing amusing about the night to come,” Mother chided. “Emmaline, honestly, you laugh at the most inappropriate times.”
For once, her mother was absolutely correct. Uncontrolled laughter really was a dreadful flaw, yet she could not seem to correct it. She laughed when she was nervous, or tense, or sometimes, like just now, when something struck her as funny in her mind. All three prompts were problematic, and often the last was the most challenging to explain when asked, as she was certain most people would find her sense of humor wholly inappropriate.
