Page 17 of A Duke Reformed (Icy Dukes #3)

Andrew walked over to him, unwrapping the linen from his hand. "I should be the one apologizing," he said, examining the bloodied knuckles where he'd clipped Solomon's face. "I hit you harder than I expected."

Solomon shrugged. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing. You're usually impossible to hit." Andrew tossed the wrappings aside. He assessed the side of Solomon's face and winced. "And now I've marked your face."

"Andrew, it's nothing to worry about. I've endured pains far greater than this one," Solomon assured him. "I barely feel it."

"You don't need to feel it. I can see it and it looks horrid," Andrew said. "My goodness, how do we explain this?"

Solomon shook his head. "Nobody cares."

"The ton will care," Andrew answered.

Solomon groaned, unwrapping the linen from his hands too. "Christ, not this again."

"Appearances matter, Solomon. The last thing you want is them thinking you got into a fight and making up scenarios in their heads."

Solomon didn't bother responding. He'd had enough of the rules, the expectations, the way every damn thing in London came with invisible strings.So, he got out of the ring and began to collect his belongings.

"Where are you going?" Andrew asked him, leaning on the ropes.

"Home. To work," he answered. "Maybe we spar another time. For whatever reason, I'm in no mood for social activities today."

"When are you ever in the mood for social activities?" Andrew teased him.

"I'll let you know when I figure it out," Solomon said and smiled faintly at him before leaving the room.

Solomon pressed his fingers to his bruised cheek, feeling the mild, but steady pain.

He was starting to wonder if the stress was all worth it.

The endless meetings, the need to tread cautiously, the careful words swallowed before they could offend some delicate lordling's sensibilities.

.. all to uphold a title he had never prepared for.

His father's reputation had been solid as stone, built over decades. His was different. He had built his reputation and name far from the titled world of London. But one wrong move and the whole ton would spread word that he was out to ruin his father's reputation.

One he had been forced to carry in the first place.

"Just smile, Cecilia. Hopefully, he leaves soon."

One thing Emma had come to realize was that Lord Pearlton was an unrelenting old man.

Lord Pearlton was at least fifty, his breath always thick with the sour tang of port, and his touch lingering just a moment too long whenever he took any lady's hand.

And now, for the third Thursday in a row, he had 'coincidentally' appeared during their visiting hours.

"Emma, do not leave me alone with this man," Cecilia whispered to Emma, watching their father welcome Lord Pearlton into their home. "I don't like the subjects he talks about and he always forces me to contribute."

"Of course I won't leave you alone with him," Emma said. "I'll chaperone."

"We have to speak to Papa again," Cecilia said. "He has to do something about it."

Emma sighed and shook her head. "I'm afraid there's nothing to do. I'm sorry to say this, but... technically he has not done anything wrong and the more interest he shows in you, the better your chances of finding a match."

Cecilia turned her head to face Emma. "So you agree with Papa?" she rasped.

"I don't agree," she answered. "But there is some truth in his words.

I understand where you're coming from Cecilia and I hear you.

Believe me, I have held a conversation with Lord Pearlton and I know how uncomfortable his words, and actions can be.

But in the eye of society, he has not done anything inappropriate.

Just... smile and be on your best behavior.

Hopefully, you find a better match soon. "

"Come on, Emma. We both know that isn't happening soon."

"Don't say that," Emma cautioned her. "You just need to put more effort into acting like the other ladies of the ton . Learn how they charm the gentlemen. We can have lessons."

Cecilia gave her a knowing look. "Like the lessons you are having with the duke? I don't need lesson's Emma."

"You need friends too," Emma continued. "When Lord Pearlton leaves, you and I will have a talk, Cecilia. I have noticed that you have no friends. At least during my time, I was a wallflower but I still had friends. Two good friends."

"He's coming, he's coming!" Cecilia whispered harshly.

Emma turned her attention forward, noting that her father was leaving the room, and Lord Pearlton was approaching them. She curtsied and stepped to the side, making her way to the corner of the room to sit and observe.

"Miss Cecilia," Lord Pearlton greeted, taking Cecilia's hand.

They took their seats. Emma sat by the window, close enough to eavesdrop, but far enough to give them space to talk.

"Did I ever mention that you have your mother's figure,"he remarked, gesturing vaguely toward her waist."Narrow through the hips, just like my sister too.

Poor creature." He sighed dramatically, shaking his head.

"She died in childbed, you know. Screamed for two days before the baby finally tore her apart. "

Emma's eyes widened and she turned to Cecilia the same time Cecilia turned to her as well. Their eyes locked in disbelief, but Emma quickly looked away, clearing her throat.

Lord Pearlton, oblivious or indifferent, dabbed at his watery eyes with a yellowed handkerchief.

"Of course, there are ways to avoid such a fate.

A daily dose of mercury, for instance keeps the womb strong.

You will need strong wombs because I want lots of babies.

And never let the midwives bleed you during labor!

That's what killed my dear Charlotte." He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a confidence.

"Don't worry. I have the means to make sure you get the best midwives when the time comes. "

"How fascinating." Cecilia adjusted where she sat, trying to put some space between them. "Might we talk about something else, my lord?" she asked. "The weather, for instance."

Emma forced a smile and tightened her fingers on the table. She continued listening to the conversations, noting how every word from Lord Pearlton's mouth was another crack in Cecilia's future.He constantly sounded like he was pricing livestock at market. It sickened Emma.

The money she had saved from Solomon's lessons, hidden in the lacquered box beneath her bed wasn't nearly enough.

Not for a dowry that could attract someone better for Cecilia.

Not for a life that would spare Cecilia from being bartered off to some lecherous old fool who saw her as nothing but a means to an heir.

The moment the door shut behind Lord Pearlton, the drawing room seemed to exhale. Cecilia's sank into the sofa and shut her eyes. She didn't move, didn't speak, just stared at the at the ceiling.

"I might need to leave London," Cecilia mumbled. "Run away. Or else I will be stuck here, forced to give Lord Pearlton thirteen children."

Emma smiled and walked over to Cecilia side to sit. "Don't be ridiculous, sister."

"Did you not hear him?" she asked. "He wants at least thirteen children, Emma. But the first must be a boy." She groaned. "As if I have control of any of that. How does he expect to get thirteen children at his age?"

"Look at me," Emma said to her. "You will never be his wife." She let the words hang, sharp as a blade between them.

Cecilia's laugh was brittle. "Father's probably already drawn up the papers."

"Then we'll burn them," Emma answered and giggled too. "I have some money. Not enough yet, but soon. Soon, you'll have your pick of gentlemen who don't reek of port."

Cecilia turned her head to Emma. "How are the lessons going? Is His Grace still insufferable?"

"He can be," Emma answered. "He's... uptight and very... stubborn. He doesn't think like most people and it's difficult to teach people like that."

"You seem fascinated by him," Cecilia noted. "There's this glint in your eyes."

"Don't be ridiculous," Emma said. "We are nothing alike. The duke and I are like water and oil. He's from a different world, he thinks differently. We can never be a match."

"Then who do you think is your match?" Cecilia asked, turning her entire body to face Emma. "What kind of man do you wish to marry?"

Emma inhaled deeply. "If I do marry... I want to marry a man that is... convenient. Someone that considers the feelings of other people. I want an easy and peaceful marriage. I just want someone... kind."

"Notice how you never mentioned love?" Cecilia asked. "That's suspicious."

"I'm not looking for love," she said to Cecilia and rose to her feet.

"What?" Cecilia asked.

Cecilia moved swiftly, blocking Emma's path with a stubborn lift of her chin. The word hung between them, weighted with disbelief. Emma could already see the wheels turning in Cecilia's mind, the assumptions she was ready to make if given the chance.

"You heard me." Emma sidestepped her, trying to make her way out of the room.

"What do you mean?" Cecilia asked, stopping her again. "I don't even know what love is and even I am looking for it. Are you telling me to give up now?"

"No, of course not. I'm not telling you anything," Emma said. "This is personal. It is more convenient for me to find an arrangement."

"An arrangement like the one Papa might make with Lord Pearlton?"

"What, no!" Emma said. "That most certainly won't be a peaceful and easy marriage."

"Emma..."

"I don't want to speak about it," Emma said to her. "Now go get dressed. We are going to the modiste. You need new dresses for the coming balls."

Cecilia was reluctant to go, but when she saw that Emma was standing her ground, she stomped her foot and left the room.

Emma smiled to herself. She knew all Cecilia wanted to do was understand, but Emma couldn't think of the best way to explain to her that she was so afraid of failing in love like their father did.