Page 3 of A Spinster for the Rakish Duke (Notorious Sisters of London #3)

Chapter Three

E mma was more thankful that exact moment that she was antisocial than she had ever been before. It was this exact reflexive habit that helped her avoid Mr. Joseph Dole for the majority of the ball.

Her brother, Benjamin, had explained more during the long carriage ride. Though Mr. Dole was one of Benjamin’s colleagues, a fellow solicitor of some repute, the betrothal had been arranged by their Aunt Barbara.

Despite the uncomfortable swirl of emotions that sat in Emma’s stomach for the entirety of the carriage ride, she did not try to dispute the arrangement. She knew that, with her age, her Aunt had done a great kindness in finding a man of good repute who would be willing to marry a woman like her.

Aunt Barbara had left a note with her brother detailing that she had already left to meet Mr. Dole, and that she had left a dress on Emma’s bed for her to change into.

Emma didn’t even have time to assess if she liked the dress before she put it on with Benjamin insisting that he would wait down in the carriage for the sake of brevity. This made Emma feel much more pressure to hurry which frustrated her all the more.

Her aunt, being a woman of limited means, didn’t have a full-length mirror for Emma to use, but she could tell from the vanity that this dress was not something she would have chosen for herself.

The bright vibrant blue was far too bold of a color and drew too much attention to her for her own liking.

Though, and she was reluctant to admit it, it did make her eyes stand out quite beautifully.

Emma did not know the hosts of the ball, a Lord and Lady Whinnen, so the introductions took up a good amount of time.

This was partially a relief and partially more dreadful since it only delayed the inevitable.

It didn’t help that from where she stood, she could see her aunt with a man standing next to her, though the man stood at an angle that made him difficult to see, further adding to Emma’s distress.

“Emma, darling, you are finally here,” her aunt said with a surprising amount of warmth.

Usually, her aunt was a little more standoffish, but Emma assumed she was trying to create an appealing atmosphere for the introduction she needed to make.

As if to prove her point, her aunt immediately followed up with, “There is someone here I’d like you to meet. ”

Joseph Dole was an older man, closer to the age of Barbara or Emma’s father.

He may have been a strong, barrel-chested man in his youth, but the decades of deskwork as a solicitor had worn on him.

Emma could still see a touch of that strength though, as well as something a little.

.. slipperier, wilder… Something that she wasn’t able to yet name.

She greeted him quietly, and he returned her humble curtsey with a smile and a bow.

“It is delightful getting to see you. Unfortunately, I find the present atmosphere suboptimal for getting to know one’s betrothed.

Soon, we will have to have a more personal engagement, no?

” He stated this with surprising certainty. A statement, not a question.

She was most uncomfortable with the idea of marrying a man she had just met as well as him having the mentality to assert the absolute certainty of it.

And thus, the idea of being trapped at a ball with him, locked within the social confines of Mr. Dole, her aunt, and the ball itself, was utterly torturous.

Thankfully, Emma had an old standby to fall back on, and that was to retreat to the cool night air of the gardens.

Emma learned long ago that men would rarely follow women out into the garden; the risk of social misperception was too great.

Men, in turn, would also very rarely venture out to the garden on their own because they tended not to flee social interaction in Emma’s experience.

Which was why she was so surprised to find a man already standing out on the garden terrace.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Emma said quietly and turned to leave, trying to think of where else she could hide. Perhaps the library?

“You don’t need to go,” the man said flatly. “I’m just out here admiring the view.” He gestured to the fading light of dusk setting in behind the house.

“Ah yes, I do suppose the view of the gardens is nice,” she said non-committedly as she settled into her own section of the terrace. She was hoping he would not try to continue to engage her.

“Actually, I was admiring the view in the distance. It doesn’t happen often, but those hills contain large deposits of mica, and if the sun is just right, the lighting is spectacular.” He turned with a slight sigh, “Unfortunately, I was not so lucky tonight.”

This subject piqued Emma’s interest, and she was the one to continue the conversation despite her better judgment. “Do you think those hills are big enough to catch the sun correctly? I wouldn’t think the angle is severe enough,” she observed with curiosity.

“Certainly, they are no Scafell Pike, but I had heard from some reliable source that it could be seen in such a way on a clear evening,” the man assured her.

“And what source would that be?” she asked.

“Thaddius Torton’s published journal from his 1817 expedition. He said the hills in this area were lovely,” the man said, clearly unperturbed that this woman had come from nowhere, accepted his invitation, then proceeded to interrogate him.

Emma knew she was being rude, but she could not help but let slip a judgmental exhale from her nose. “Torton is a blowhard who wouldn’t know how to manage a compass let alone chart a valley correctly,” Emma said with a passion that she rarely spoke with for other matters.

“That’s funny,” the man remarked. “A friend of mine said something very similar about his capabilities.”

“That man once had the poor skill to chart the mountain of Skiddaw as less than a league from my home, and I only wish I were so lucky,” Emma emphasized the statement with a huff.

The anger Emma was feeling towards the foolish academic dissipated suddenly when the man gave her a curious look before saying, “Emma?”

“I’m sorry,” she said hesitantly, adjusting the position between the man and herself in her discomfort. “Do I know you?”

The man laughed lightly, “Unfortunately we have yet to have the honor of meeting in person.” He stepped back to give them more room and bowed deeply. “Mr. Donovan Connor, at your service.”

Emma’s eyes lit up, and she had to stop herself from exclaiming in a most improper fashion.

Still, her excitement was quite noticeable when she stood straight up.

“Donovan? It’s you! Oh my, I wish I had been prepared for this.

I feel like I have come close to embarrassing myself already,” she admitted.

“I was only able to realize it was you because you talk in the exact way I imagined from your letters,” he laughed. “Though I assure you that is a good thing.”

“I wasn’t doubtful until you made a point of reassuring me,” she laughed a bit nervously and cursed herself on the inside.

“I must admit a slight embarrassment, Miss Bradford. Take the pen from my hand, and I will certainly embarrass myself without any sort of filter,” he admitted, coming off a tad nervous himself but still comfortable enough.

“Though I must admit, I was surprised at the openness of your last letter, considering that we have discussed little with one another outside of our academic interests. Though, I guess if we are meeting now as planned, then that must just be serendipity,” he said with a bit of a chuckle, trying to read her reaction.

“Ah, yes, the last letter. Well…” She thought for a moment and searched for an answer.

She was so caught up in the excitement of meeting Donovan for the first time that she had completely forgotten about the letter that her sister had sent in her name.

How could she admit to what happened? To his face?

That might be just embarrassing enough to kill her outright.

But was that less embarrassing than pretending that she had written those things to him?

“I suppose we do know relatively little about each other,” Emma said, hoping to change course. “Perhaps, I was a bit forward.”

“Forward? I don’t know if I would say that,” he offered delicately.

“No, no, I don’t even know what you do for a living,” she inserted. “What is it? You do, that is,” she amended.

This gave Donovan pause. He didn’t want to lie to Emma, but he realized he wasn’t comfortable revealing his title to her.

He had always signed his published papers and letters without it, wanting his words to speak on their own merit.

Admittedly, he didn’t think she was the type of woman to take advantage of him, but what if he lost the only person he could talk to who didn’t see him as a Duke? He couldn’t stand the thought of that.

“I’m an investigator by trade,” he told her, not sure what else he could suggest.

“An investigator. My, what an interesting and intriguing profession to end up in,” she said, meaning it genuinely.

“Well, I suppose so. My brother is the Duke of Lowe, and since I didn’t inherit the title but had the chance at an education, I was able to go into what I thought I would be skilled in.” Why was he adding to this lie? He certainly wasn’t trying to impress her. What did he have to gain?

“Oh?” she said thoughtfully. “That’s so interesting. I mostly had to care for my family from a young age, circumstances as they were, so I never had time to consider marriage, honestly.”

Something we have in common , Donovan thought to himself. “And you found yourself studying the field of geology in your free time?” he asked, wishing to satiate his own curiosity about his dear friend.

She nodded. “As my siblings grew older, I found I had more and more time to myself. I enjoyed reading so much, I am afraid I ended up becoming more than a bit of a bluestocking,” she laughed with a touch of lingering embarrassment.

“That was another thing that surprised me about your letter. You mentioned you were unmarried. I presumed a woman your age and interests would be either married or a widow. Instead, the letter you sent definitely suggests your interests lay elsewhere.”

“Well, that is a rather complicated subject,” she admitted, uncertain about what to say next.

“Isn’t it always,” he admitted. “Do you want to know something, Emma? I rather liked it, the letter,” he admitted, his voice softer, and he stepped closer, so she could hear him speak.

“You did?” she asked, unable to mask the disbelief.

After all the hours of rhetoric they had exchanged, she rarely imagined her friend as a flesh and blood man.

If anything, it was a thought she avoided.

If Donovan was a man, there were underlying implications she had to consider.

Men were complicated creatures that confused her, so she had thought of Donovan more removed from his person, a friend she spoke with and nothing more. Physicality was messy.

“I did. It was very interesting. Planted some rather surprising ideas, if you were curious,” he said slipping even closer.

He leaned in as if he was about to whisper in her ear.

The idea of him so close thrilled and terrified Emma.

He didn’t whisper though. Instead, he planted his lips on hers in a delicate kiss.

The kiss was gentle, but passionate, his hand tracing along her cheek and jaw to embrace her. Emma had never been touched like this in her life, and it made her burn with a need she didn’t know was there until it ignited.

Emma folded, surprised at how much she wanted to embrace that moment. She wanted to keep kissing him more than anything, but she felt herself breaking away.

“I-I-I- I can’t,” she said weakly. Very weakly. She didn’t want to stop. More than anything she wanted more.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed. I must have misread the intentions of the letter,” he was quick to apologize.

“Yes! Wait, no! It is… very complicated. The letter... that isn’t why I can’t,” Emma found herself hesitating to reveal the truth, but not out of embarrassment. She didn’t want him to think she didn’t write the letter now. Why? She was so confused. The kiss mixed up everything.

“We can’t because I am engaged,” Emma confessed, turning away from Donovan, not wanting to see the anger that statement would bring. “It’s improper. It would make both of us look quite bad if anyone were to find out. Even if you didn’t know better,” she said, trying to soften the blow.

But there was no anger on Donovan’s face, only confusion. “Engaged? But... but your letter…?”

“That letter was written before my engagement came to be. My aunt arranged it, and it is something that I must honor. I’m sorry if this was.

.. disappointing to you,” she said before taking a few steps away.

“I wish our first meeting had been a bit more pleasant, Donovan. I’m sorry that wasn’t the case,” she said quietly before slipping back to the party, leaving Donovan standing alone in the quiet dark evening.

What both of them failed to notice, since they were so caught up in the exuberance and disappointment of their unexpected and ill-fated meeting, was the person standing in the shadows on the balcony above them, who had seen and heard much more than Emma and Donovan would ever have wanted.