Page 9 of A Duke Reformed (Icy Dukes #3)

CHAPTER SIX

W hat on earth have I done?

Emma groaned for the umpteenth time that day.

It had been difficult to sleep for the past couple of days.

Each time she closed her eyes, an image of Solomon invaded her thoughts, unbidden and relentless.

Sometimes it was his smirk, that infuriating half-smile that made her stomach twist in knots.

Other times, it was the way he had looked at her, as if he could see straight through her carefully constructed composure.

Then there were the dreams. In one, he had called her "Ducky" in that low, gravelly voice of his, and she had actuallysmiledat him, as if it were the most endearing thing in the world, when in reality, the word irked her.

In another, he had leaned in so close she could feel his breath on her skin, his eyes dark and intense, and she had woken up with her heart pounding and her cheeks flaming.

Solomon was tormenting her even in his absence. It was obvious that she had made a costly mistake. But she didn't think it was enough to be tormented for it.

"... Is that not the same gown she wore to the Haversham ball last season? I'm telling you, Cornelia, the rumors about Lord Lockhart are entirely true!"

Emma instantlysnapped out of her reverie when she overheard two women nearby, their voices carrying just enough for her to catch their words.

She turned to search for where the whispers were coming from and she soon spotted two ladies stationed behind her by the roses.

They stood a few feet away, their heads tilted together as they glanced in Cecilia's direction.

Both women held parasols to shield themselves from the mild sun, their gowns fluttering slightly in the gentle breeze.

Lord Lockhart? Surely, they cannot be whispering about Papa.

Curious, Emma took a step back in a bid to hear them clearly.

The other woman let out a delicate laugh and let out a dramatic sigh. "I'm starting to see what you're talking about, Martha. It's sad."

"Pathetic, you mean," the first lady said in response. "I suppose not everyone can afford to keep up with the latest fashions. Still, one would think they would at least try to be discreet about it. I don't think it's a good look that Cecilia is wearing the same dress she wore last season."

"Discreet?" her companion replied, raising an eyebrow. "My dear, there's no discreet way to wear a gown twice to gatherings like this. It's practically a declaration of... well, you know."

"Indeed," the first woman said, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Though I must say, it's rather brave of her to show her face here at all. If I were in her position, I'd be too embarrassed to leave the house."

"My mama would rather hide me under the covers than let me leave my room," she answered and giggled. "She'd throw a fit if it ever got to that. It's utterly embarrassing. You're right. It's quite pathetic."

Emma's stomach twisted, her hands clenching at her sides.

She forced herself to keep her expression neutral, but the sting of their words burned.

Cecilia, standing a few paces away near a fountain, seemed oblivious to the conversation, but Emma could see the tension in her shoulders.

.. the way her fingers fidgeted with the fabric of her skirt.

She could tell that there were eyes on her, and it was making her uncomfortable.

Emma took a deep breath, trying to steel herself.

She should have known better. She should have realized that morning before they left for the party that Cecilia's dress was last season's.

She had worn the few dresses they had bought for this season, and all that was left for Cecilia were the older ones, carefully mended but unmistakably out of fashion.

Emma had been so preoccupied with thoughts of Solomon and the missed opportunity, so desperate to maintain the illusion of their family's stability, that she hadn't stopped to consider the repercussion that would come from the gossips of the ton .

"What are you thinking about?"

Cecilia's voice broke through Emma's thoughts. She turned to find her sister standing beside her... her brow furrowed as she studied Emma's face.

"What?" Emma answered, still taken aback that Cecilia was now standing in front of her.

"You look even more tense than usual," Cecilia said and crossed her arms. "Are you thinking about Papa? I worry too. He just sold the last of your jewelries and we still cannot account for the money he got when he sold the last ones."

"I'm not thinking about Papa," Emma answered and straightened her back. "You shouldn't be standing here with me Cecilia. Go. Mingle. Frolic. Stop keeping to yourself."

"I won't go until you tell me what worries you," Cecilia insisted.

"Nothing worries me," Emma insisted too.

Cecilia didn't look convinced. She tilted her head, her gaze narrowing slightly. "Sister, you are a terrible liar. I watched you. For the last five minutes, you have been staring at that rosebush like it's personally offended you. What is wrong?"

Emma hesitated, her mind racing for an excuse.

She couldn't tell Cecilia the truth...not about the women's comments, not about her own guilt, and certainly not about the dreams that had been haunting her.

"Really, it's nothing," she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"Just... a lot on my mind. You know how it is. "

"I don't," Cecilia said in response. "You never tell me ‘How it is'. I don't always know what you are thinking. I find it strange. You keep too much to yourself, Emma."

"Cecilia, go and mingle," Emma said sternly, pointing at the gathering of people. "How are you going to find a match this season if all you do is stand by my side?"

Cecilia crossed her arms and shook her head. "A match," she repeated, staring at the crowd. "Is that all there is to it? Mingling at parties, smiling at strangers, and hoping one of them decides I'm worth pursuing?"

Emma blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Whatever do you mean by that, Cecilia?"

"I don't know," she said. "I just...I thought there'd be more."

"More of what?"

"I don't know," she repeated. "Perhaps love isn't for me."

"Don't say that," Emma cautioned.

"Just because Papa and Mama had a love marriage doesn't mean we're going to," she said quietly.

"I mean, Lady Victoria debuted this season with me, and she's already married to a lord who's twice Papa's age.

That's not love. It's... an arrangement.

I hate the thought that my future might just be another arrangement, void of feelings. "

"Cecilia, you've seen enough love matches to believe in it," Emma said, her voice firm but gentle. "Take Alice, for instance. Or Lavinia. They're happy and in love, aren't they?"

Cecilia shook her head, her expression thoughtful but resolute. "You're still making my point. Those were both arrangements before they happened to fall in love. They're the exception, Emma, not the norm."

Emma took a step forward. "What are you saying, Cecilia?"

Cecilia forced a smile. "I don't know. Nonsense, I guess."

"It's not nonsense. Tell me exactly what is going through your mind right now."

Cecilia exhaled softly and scanned the crowd.

"I look at all the gentlemen here...all the handsome bachelors, the crowd of eligible men and I feel.

..intimidated. No flutter in my chest like the other ladies of the ton swear they felt when a man of status as little as looked in their direction.

When do I get to feel the flutter, Emma?

Have you ever felt the flutter in your chest for a man? "

Cecilia exhaled softly and scanned the crowd.

"I look at all the gentlemen here... all the handsome bachelors, the crowd of eligible men, and I feel.

.. intimidated. No flutter in my chest like the other ladies of the ton swear they feel when a man of status so much as looks in their direction.

When do I get to feel the flutter, Emma?

Have you ever felt the flutter in your chest for a man? "

Emma opened her mouth to respond, her mind racing for the right words, but before she could speak, a sharp, familiar voice cut through the air.

"Oh, my dear Miss Cecilia," Lady Martha said, sweeping into their conversation with a too-bright smile. Her gaze swept over Cecilia's gown, her lips pursing in a way that made Emma's stomach clench.

Great heavens, what does she want? As if gossiping about my family wasn't enough. Surely, she isn't planning to speak about it openly.

"Lady Martha," Cecilia responded with a polite smile.

"I couldn't help but notice your... choice of attire this evening. Such a... unique style."

"How kind of you," Emma interjected, hoping to change the subject before Martha got the chance to spew her horrid thoughts. "A lovely party, wouldn't you say?"

"Beautiful," Martha answered. "But I must offer a bit of advice. After all, a young lady's appearance is so crucial during the season. One must always strive to present oneself in the latest fashions, don't you think... Cecilia?"

Cecilia glanced at Emma and then looked down at her gown. "I see no issue with my attire. Do you?"

"I do," Martha answered plainly. "One mustn't let...outdated choices hinder one's prospects. Surely, you can come to some arrangements with the modiste to have... fashionable yet cost-friendly dresses made, wouldn't you reckon?"

"Surely, you must have other matters to tend to," Emma responded, with a curt tone.

Her gaze darted around the garden, her stomach tightening as she noticed a few curious glances in their direction.

Martha's voice had carried farther than she'd intended, and Emma could see the subtle smirks and whispered comments beginning to ripple through the crowd.

She had to end this conversation before it drew any more attention.