Page 21 of A Duke Reformed (Icy Dukes #3)

CHAPTER TWELVE

" E mma, come! A dress!"

Emma looked up from her book, startled by Cecilia's announcement. Cecilia stood in the doorway of the drawing room with a curious expression on her face.

"A dress?" Emma echoed, setting her book aside. She had not ordered a dress.

Cecilia nodded and stepped forward, holding up a carefully wrapped parcel.

"Lady Agatha collected it at the entrance and I took it from her to deliver it personally to you.

The modiste's seal is on it and I know you didn't order it because we have never been to this modiste.

She is far too costly. That only means someone sent this to you. "

"A dress?" Emma repeated. "From whom?"

Cecilia shrugged. "The footman didn't say. It was simply delivered."

Emma's brow furrowed as she rose to her feet. It made no sense. She had not ordered a dress, nor had she any reason to expect a gift. Skeptical, but still curious, she took the parcel from Cecilia's hands and began to open it.

"Are you certain it's not for you?" Emma asked Cecilia, inspecting the package as though it might reveal some hidden trick.

"I am certain. Your name is on it," she answered. "Come on, hurry up. I want to see."

Emma hesitated before pulling at the ribbon, her fingers working carefully, almost reluctantly. It could be a mistake, hence she did not want to mishandle the wrapping just in case she had to rewrap it.

With careful fingers, Emma peeled back the last of the wrapping and lifted the gown from its box. The moment the fabric slipped through her hands, something caught in her chest. A strange, unfamiliar fluttering.

It was exquisite.

The kind of gown she had once admired from afar but never imagined wearing. Holding it now, she felt an odd mix of disbelief and something far more dangerous, something warm, something that made her heart beat just a touch faster. It was the most beautiful emerald gown she had ever seen.

"This cannot be for me," she murmured, barely recognizing her own voice. "Who would send this?"

Cecilia bent down and plucked a small, folded note that had slipped from the package. She glanced at Emma before unfolding it, her brows lifting as she read aloud,

"From the Duke of Montclaire. Thank you," Cecilia read and then cooed. "That is so thoughtful. He must really like the lessons."

"He didn't have to."

Emma smiled, but it wavered at the corners of her mouth. She ran her fingers over the fabric once more, feeling her chest tighten even more. No one had ever done something so thoughtful for her before.

Her father had spent the last couple of months selling off her jewelry, her gowns, anything of value to fund his endless schemes and keep the family afloat. She had grown used to watching her belongings disappear, piece by piece, until there was little left to call her own.

Yet here was a man, one who owed her nothing, giving her something so exquisite. So unnecessary. So... kind. A lump formed in her throat, and she blinked rapidly, willing away the sting of tears.

"Emma, you are certain there is nothing more between you and the duke?" Cecilia asked, her voice tinged with curiosity. She tilted her head, watching Emma closely.

Emma let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "Of course not. He was simply being polite."

"The duke has never struck me as a polite man," Cecilia said. "He is an intimidating, strange man. Besides, polite men send flowers. They do not send gowns finer than anything in a lady's trousseau."

"So you do admit that the dress is exquisite?" Emma beamed.

"I do," she answered.

Emma pressed her lips together, as she began folding the dress carefully. "He's just being polite, Cecilia. I'm glad he finds my lessons helpful enough to get me a gift. He already pays so well."

"Hmm." Cecilia tapped her chin, her knowing smile not quite fading. "If you say so."

Emma ignored her and smoothed her palm over the fabric once more. She did love the dress. The color, the feel of it. She figured that since Solomon had sent it, then she could honor the gesture in the best way possible.

"I think I shall wear it to the next ball," she decided. "It's only a few days away and it's a big one."

At the mention of a ball, Cecilia froze. The teasing light in her eyes almost instantly dimmed, and she clasped her hands together. Slowly, she turned around and walked over to the sofa to sit.

Emma, who had been admiring the dress, immediately noticed. "Cecilia? What is it?" she asked, frowning. Once she had put the dress back into its box, she walked to the sofa and sat with Cecilia. "Speak."

Cecilia stole glances at her and then sighed. "You know how Lady Agatha chaperoned me at the last ball that you couldn't attend?"

"Yes?" Emma answered.

Cecilia bit her lip, hesitating. "Lord Pearlton was there."

Emma's shoulders slumped. "That man again?"

Cecilia nodded. "Emma, it has gotten worse. He is always by my side. You don't quite understand. I cannot possibly get any other suitors when he scares them away.

Emma's brow furrowed. "What do you mean he scares them away?"

Cecilia sighed in frustration. "Whenever another gentleman so much as looks in my direction, he appears as if summoned. He watches them with that smug, possessive air, making it clear that he considers me spoken for. He fills my dance cards, and hovers."

Emma's expression hardened. "Has he done anything inappropriate?"

"No," Cecilia admitted. "Not yet. But I am tired of waiting for him to finally do something inappropriate. Because then what happens? Papa challenges him to a duel, or forces him to marry me? I wouldn't win."

"I do not know what to do," she continued. "I cannot avoid every event, but I also cannot stand another evening of being cornered by him."

Emma tightened her grip on Cecilia's hand, offering silent reassurance. "Then we shall put a stop to it."

Cecilia let out a weary sigh. "Emma, I'm tired of hearing that."

"For now, you should stay away from the next few events of the Season. I think that would be best."

Cecilia shook her head. "Emma, he comes by at least once a week. Every Thursday. It's not just the balls. He's everywhere."

"Then we will always be at the modiste, or at the park every Thursday when he calls."

"What if he starts visiting every single day?" Cecilia asked. "What do we do then?"

Emma's jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists in her lap. One man. One insufferable man was making her family so uncomfortable that they were considering hiding from society just to avoid him. The very thought made her stomach churn with fury.

No. She could not allow it. She refused to let Cecilia shrink away from society because of Lord Pearlton's unwelcome advances.

She knew what it was like to miss one's chance at finding a good match, and Lord Pearlton was making it difficult for Cecilia to fully blossom.

If he thought he could frighten her sister into submission, then he was about to learn a harsh lesson.

Emma lifted her chin. "We don't hide," she said firmly.

Cecilia hesitated. "Then what–"

"We attend every single event," Emma interrupted, her resolve strengthening with every word. "And I will accompany you to all of them. If Lord Pearlton insisted on being relentless, then he would find that I too can come on very strong."

"Emma, you cannot confront him," Cecilia said. "Papa would be furious."

"We don't have any choice. I will confront him," she said. "I will tell him off, I don't care about the consequences."

Cecilia searched her face, then slowly, a small, relieved smile played at her lips. "Well," she murmured, "Then I almost feel sorry for Lord Pearlton."

Emma scoffed, rising to her feet. "Come. That reminds me. We need to visit the modiste for you. We have enough to buy you a new dress for the next ball."

Before Cecilia could respond, a sharp knock at the door interrupted them. Mr. Harris stepped inside, holding an envelope.

"A letter for you, Miss Lockhart," he announced, extending it toward her.

Emma took the letter, already certain of who it was from.

It was only Solomon that wrote her letters these days to schedule meetings for their lessons.

She opened the letter, and as she expected, Solomon had asked the same question, stating that he did not have any important engagements for the next two days.

Perhaps it was best to stop the lessons for a while.

Emma told herself this as she folded the letter, pressing her fingers over the crease as if that would suppress the flicker of hesitation within her.

She didn't want to stop, but it was necessary.

As much as she needed the money, she needed to be there for Cecilia more.

Family had always been the priority. It had been that way for as long as she could remember, and it would remain that way now.

So, she figured that for the next few weeks.

.. or at least until Lord Pearlton had disappeared from Cecilia's side, she would stay close to her sister.

She would ensure that he understood, in no uncertain terms, that Cecilia was not his to claim.

Until that happened, she wanted to give Cecilia her undivided attention.

"What is it?" Cecilia asked, noting the look on Emma's face. "Is it bad news?"

"No," she answered. "It's His Grace. I was thinking of pausing the lessons for a moment. Just until we sort of this... Lord Pearlton situation."

Cecilia exhaled. "You think that's best?"

"Yes," she answered quietly. "I should write back to him stating so."

"I'll go get you some paper and ink," Cecilia said, rising from her seat.

Emma forced a smile. She suddenly felt torn. She was torn...reluctant. She had grown accustomed to the lessons, to their bantering, and the way Solomon always questioned everything. She had enjoyed them more than she cared to admit.

But this wasn't about her.

So, she straightened her shoulders, forcing the thought away.

"You're putting a pause on our lessons?"