Page 10 of A Duke Reformed (Icy Dukes #3)

"Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Lady Martha," Emma said to her and clasped her hands in front of her, earnestly hoping that Martha got her message.

Reluctantly, Martha strutted away, occasionally glancing back as if to see if her words had the effect she was hoping for.

Cecilia's breathing grew shallow. "Emma, people are looking," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Is that all they see? The fact that I wore a dress made only a year ago? It's a dress, I don't–"

"Cecilia," Emma interrupted firmly. She placed a hand on her sister's arm, her grip reassuring. "Look at me."

Cecilia's wide, panicked eyes met hers, and Emma forced a calm smile. "This will not happen again," Emma said to her. "I will fix it. You will never be in this position ever again."

"How can you say that?" Cecilia whispered. "We have balls to attend, Emma and all I have are these dresses."

"We will get new dresses."

"We don't have the money for new dresses."

"We will get new dresses," Emma said firmly.

"Leave that to me.For now, keep your head high, and if anyone asks again, just say you did not realize it was last season's.

Trust me, they wouldn't have reason to bring it up after today because I'll make sure that you don't wear last season's dresses, ever again. "

Cecilia steadied her breathing and nodded. "All right. I'm going to the refreshments table to get a drink. Perhaps I'll... mingle as well."

"Good," Emma said and smile. "Don't let Lady Martha's words get to you."

As Cecilia walked away, Emma's smile faded, replaced by a determined frown.

She watched her sister weave through the crowd, her heart heavy with guilt and frustration.

Lady Martha's cruel remarks had struck a nerve, not just with Cecilia but with Emma as well.

She had failed to protect her sister, failed to anticipate how harshly society would judge them for something so trivial. And now, Cecilia was paying the price.

She needed to do something...something more than just offering empty reassurances.

But the thought of returning to Solomon, of swallowing her pride and asking for the job back, loomed in her mind like a dark cloud.

She hated the idea of groveling, of giving him the satisfaction of seeing her desperate.

But what choice did she have?

No. There has to be something else. Another way. I'll figure out another way.

Willing the thoughts to disappear, Emma shook her head vigorously, trying to pay attention at the garden party and keep her smile on her face so people didn't see her struggling.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to concentrate.

In an attempt to distract herself from her own mind, she scanned the sea of perfectly coiffed heads and impeccably tailored coats, trying to see if there were any eligible bachelors at the party for Cecilia.

There was Lord Banning, who was far too old for Cecilia but had a charming smile.

And over on the other side was Lord Hastings, who was rumored to have a fortune but was also rumored to have a temper. And then there was–

Her thoughts screeched to a halt as her gaze landed on Solomon.

Just the man she wanted to see, and also... the man she wanted to avoid. The man that was the newly found bane of her existence, but also her only hope.

Of course, he was here. He stood near the refreshment table, looking unfairly handsome but quite underdressed for the event. If only he had an etiquette's teacher to tell him how to appropriately dress for such events.

Emma felt a pang of guilt as the thought crossed her mind.

She had been that teacher, or at least, she was supposed to be.

But she had walked away, let her pride get the better of her, and now here he was, standing in the middle of a garden party looking like he didn't care a whit about the rules of society.

Should I go? Swallow my pride? Beg him?

She quickly looked away, pretending to be deeply interested in a nearby rosebush. But it was too late. He had seen her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him turn his head, his gaze locking with hers across the garden.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the noise and chatter of the party fading into the background.

Emma's breath caught, her heart skipping a beat as she held his gaze.

A part of her wanted him to approach her.

.. wished that he forgot her demeanor during their last lesson.

But another part of her, the part that still felt too proud to put up with his insolence wanted him to stay right where he was and pretend she did not exist.

But slowly, he began to approach.

Emma's eyes widened. She wanted to turn and walk away, to put as much distance between herself and the duke as possible. But her feet seemed rooted to the spot, her body refusing to obey her mind's desperate commands.

"Miss Lockhart," he said on reaching her. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Your Grace." She curtsied.

"I took your advice," he said, standing by her side with his arms locked together behind him. "I had a talk with a Viscount earlier on. No politics. No controversial topics. Just polite conversation. I even managed to hold a discussion with him for a full ten minutes. A record, I believe."

Emma blinked, caught off guard by his words. "Ten minutes?" she repeated, unable to hide her surprise. "And you did not bring up the Corn Laws?"

Solomon's lips curved into a smile. A real, genuine smile that softened the intensity in his eyes and made him look almost... boyish. It was the first time she had ever seen him smile like that, and it caught her by surprise.

"No I did not," he answered. "Not a word."

Emma's cheeks flushed and she lowered her head.

"Although I do think that the Corn Laws are not merely a matter of opinion, Your Grace.

They're a matter of survival for many. The tariffs on imported grain keep prices artificially high, and while that may benefit landowners, it's devastating for the working class. How can anyone justify that?"

He tilted his head slightly, studying her as if seeing her in a new light.

"You're right," he finally said. "Men like me profit from high grain prices while others go hungry.

It's absurd. But tell me this, Ducky, if the tariffs were lifted tomorrow, and cheap grain flooded the market, what would happen to the farmers who rely on those prices to make a living?

What happens to the men and women who work the land when their crops are no longer worth the cost of planting them? "

Emma hesitated, briefly at loss for words.

"That's a fair question, Your Grace. But surely there must be a balance.

A way to ensure that farmers can thrive without forcing the poor to choose between bread and rent.

The current system isn't working. It's creating suffering on one end and greed on the other. "

Solomon's lips curved into a faint smile. "You see? We are having a civil conversation about politics, and it hasn't turned into a heated argument. I told you it was possible."

Emma's cheeks flushed, and she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. "I suppose you're right," she admitted. "Although I must admit, I didn't think you had it in you to discuss such matters without... well, without provoking someone."

Solomon shrugged his shoulders. "I'll take that as a compliment, Miss Lockhart.

But I would say that it's easier to stay civil when I'm discussing the topic with someone who actually knows what they're talking about.

For example, the Viscount, Lord Ashdale has a peculiar fascination with swallows.

Migratory patterns, nesting habits... you name it.

I nearly nodded off when he started describing their mating rituals. "

Emma laughed, the sound escaping before she could stop it. "Swallows? You discussed swallows with the viscount for ten minutes?"

"I did. And I didn't even yawn once. Though I came close when he started describing their nesting habits."

"Their nesting habits?" Emma asked, louder than necessary and unable to control her laughter. The sound was bright and unrestrained, and it seemed to catch even her by surprise. She quickly brought her fan up to her lips, as if to stifle the outburst.

"I reckon that's the first time I've made anyone laugh since I came to London," Solomon said, staring down at her. His voice was quiet but with a note of something she couldn't quite place. Surprise, perhaps. Or maybe even relief.

Emma's laughter faded, and she slowly lowered her fan, holding his gaze.

There was something in his tone, something in the way he looked in that moment, that made her pause.

She saw past the arrogance, the sharp edges, the infuriating smirk.

She saw a man who, for all his wealth and power, might be just as out of place in London as she sometimes felt.

A man who, despite his title, might be.. . lonely.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.They simply stood there, staring at each other, the tension between them palpable.

Solomon was the first to break the silence."When is our next lesson, Miss Lockhart?"

Emma blinked, caught off guard by the question. She had been so lost in her thoughts, so caught up in the strange tension between them, that his words took a moment to register. "Our next lesson?" she repeated. "You... still want me to teach you?"

"Yes," he said simply.

Emma's cheeks flushed and all she wanted to do was leap for joy, but she quickly masked her reaction with a brisk nod. "Very well, Your Grace. If you're serious about continuing, then I suppose we can arrange another lesson."

The sheer relief that washed over her was enough to weaken her knees. She told herself it wasn't about liking it. It was about doing what was necessary. For her family. For Cecilia. For her future. For whatever this was.

"That's good to hear," Solomon said to her with a firm nod. "I will await your letter. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Lockhart."

"You too, Your Grace," she said and curtsied as he walked away.

Emma watched him go and she had to remind herself this was just business.

.. a necessary, mutually beneficial arrangement.

Her family needed the money, and she couldn't afford to let anything, not even her differences with Solomon get in the way of that.

They were so different and it was proving difficult to get past it, but she had to.

No matter how much he grated on her nerves, she couldn't let it distract her.

The stakes were too high, and she wouldn't allow her hesitance.

.. or anything else jeopardize what her family needed.