Page 60

“It’s just a question, Mama.”

“Hm. Well, I do recall that he had an older brother. That boy ought to have been the duke, of course, but he died young. It was a tragic accident, I believe. He drowned.”

Emily bit her lip. “Oh. Oh, that is sad. And he has no other siblings?”

“None.”

Silence fell over the table again. Octavia picked up a piece of toast and began munching on it.

Emily flinched when the door opened and the butler strode in, carrying letters on a silver platter.

“Ah, the post,” Octavia said, setting aside her toast.

“Anything for me?” Emily asked, hating how hope surged inside her.

Do I want to hear from him? Yes, I suppose I do.

“No, Miss Belmont,” the butler replied, regret in his voice.

Emily swallowed. So,hehadn’t sent her a message that morning. Would he send her a message at all?

Did last night mean anything to him? I can’t recall how he acted on the ride back home. Distant, I think. A little clipped. As if he were angry with himself for going far. And, of course, I never did anything for… for himin return.

Ought I have done so? Oh, I don’t know.

She rose to her feet before she knew what she was doing.

Octavia arched her eyebrows. “What’s the matter, dear?”

“Nothing, I… I had just better get to work, that’s all,” Emily replied, feeling a little deflated.

Disappointed, that was the word.

She was silly to hang her hopes on the duke. Yes, silly.

“I have five paintings to do. The first one will be easy—it will be the Prince’s birth. I’ll make it a fine, elaborate scene, with lots of color and lots of pretty midwives and whatnot. He’ll like that.”

Octavia nodded slowly, her gaze still fixed on her daughter. “Yes, I daresay he will.”

Emily turned and hurried out of the room.

She was not pleased with her own feelings. What she and the duke had done had been a… an accident, surely. Nothing else. He was not the sort of man anybody ought to get close to. Developing feelings for him was most certainly a bad idea—the worst idea in the world.

Once upstairs, Emily took out her sketchbook, turning quickly past the half-finished sketch of Cassian from last night.

She began to draw as if her life depended on it.

CHAPTER19

Rawdon House, London

“Many happy returns, Frances!” Cassian laughed, wrapping an arm around his niece’s shoulders. “Go on, open your present.”

Frances beamed up at him. “Thank you, Uncle! I’ve had so many presents today, I don’t know what to do with them all!”

“Well, you deserve them.”

Frances descended on Cassian’s present. It was a large, muslin-wrapped box tied with a pink ribbon. She was always so careful with her presents. If they were wrapped in muslin or gauze, she carefully undid the wrappings, smoothing out the fabric. If they were wrapped in paper, she took care not to tear it.