Page 26 of Lady Emily’s Matchmaking Mishap (Merry Spinsters, Charming Rogues #5)

Chapter Thirteen

This evening was agony.

Would it never end?

They were playing speculation, a card game that involved gambling. Sitting at a small table with the Duke’s three aunts and Chippendale, Emily could swear that Lady Mabel was cheating. Since her mind wasn’t on the game, she’d already lost heavily, which she couldn’t afford. She hoped that the aunts wouldn’t call in their winnings, for if they did, she would find herself in dire straits.

At another table sat the Duke, surrounded by the remaining ladies who were fawning over him. Emily supposed that they were playing speculation as well; however, the ladies seemed to be focusing more on the game of flirtation than on anything else. Miss Cowley brushed his arm with her hand, no doubt quite accidentally, but the Duke was clearly an unwilling participant, for he scowled more than he smiled. This made the ladies work even harder. It would have been amusing if Emily hadn’t been in so much turmoil to enjoy his discomfort.

She and the Duke, however, seemed to be playing another game entirely; one that was only known between the two. Emily called it the ‘catch me looking at you’ game, and it went like this: one person would stare across the room at the other when they thought the other person wasn’t looking. When they were caught as the other person turned their head to meet their gaze, they would quickly look away, pretending it was a mere accident. And it went round and round. Every time their eyes met, quite by chance, a shock of lighting seemed to go through her entire system, leaving her shaken to the core.

It was most disconcerting.

“There, I have won.” Lady Jane threw down her cards. “Lady Poppy. If you please?”

Look how he squirmed away from Miss Pastel Pink’s touch, as she placed a hand on his other arm. Emily gripped the cards so tightly that they bent.

“Lady Poppy?”

Emily snapped to attention. “Yes, Lady Jane?”

She tore her eyes away and turned to the older lady, who was watching her with a slight ironic smile playing on her lips.

“I see that Wolferton needs another cup of tea, but is quite unable to extricate himself from his current situation. Would you be so kind as to pour him a cup and take it to him? The poor man must be parched.”

“Why yes, of course.” She stood up, glad to be able to do something, not noticing the three aunts exchanging speaking glances.

“He takes it strong, with a good dollop of milk and three lumps of sugar,” Lady Dalrymple added.

The tea tray was set on the sideboard, with the teapot on a silver-plated heating element that kept the water warm. Emily lifted the teapot and poured the liquid into one of the porcelain cups. She lifted a small lump of sugar with silver tongs, but hesitated before adding it to the cup. Her gaze wandered to the crystal salt cellar that stood next to a tray of savoury refreshments. Quickly, without thinking, she put the tweezers down. Her finger slid into the salt cellar, took a pinch and dropped it into the Duke’s tea. For good measure, she added three more. And a fourth, a big one. Then she added a dollop of milk and stirred with a silver spoon.

There. Done.

She must have lost her mind completely.

No question, it was childish and stupid. It wasn’t even a proper revenge.Her only defence was that her fingers had done it of their own free will; there was no other logical explanation she could offer for what she had done. But oh, the feeling of satisfaction!

A grin crossed her face. She took the teacup and carried it over to His Grace.

Dear me, the rumours were not exaggerated when they said he was constantly plagued by women. He looked up, a pained expression on his face. Miss Cowley was almost sitting on his lap, and her parents both seemed to be looking at them with approval. Emily clucked her tongue.

“Some tea, Your Grace, would be good for your fortitude,” Emily murmured.

“Thank you.” Their fingers brushed lightly, sending another tingle up her arm and down her spine. Their eyes met for a split second and Emily looked away, flushed. Rubbing her hand, she returned to the table with the three aunts, who had been watching the entire exchange with Argus eyes. Once again, the three aunts shared speaking glances.

Araminta snorted and said, “The poor boy does not seem to get a minute’s peace.”

Emily watched as ’the poor boy’ lifted the cup and took a big gulp of his tea. His eyes widened. He spluttered and coughed.

Emily folded her hands serenely and savoured the sense of petty triumph that washed over her.

“Wolferton.” Araminta spoke with some alarm, when the wheezing wouldn’t cease. “I trust you are well?”

“A glass of water, if you please,” he managed. A footman leapt forward to serve him a glass of water, which he drank thirstily.

“Thank you for the most excellent tea, although it tasted as if half the contents of the salt cellar had been poured into it. Quite by accident, no doubt.” He glared at her.

“Dear me. I was sure I put three lumps of sugar in it, as your aunt requested.” Emily replied serenely.

“A word with you, Lady Poppy,” he said in a stern tone.

Emily looked up in alarm. Oh no, he wanted to talk to her privately, to scold her for almost poisoning him with salt. She had no desire whatsoever to find herself alone in his company.

She looked to Cissy for help, but she was busy playing another round of speculation with Lady Mabel.

“I have a strong appetite for some bubble and squeak,” Emily announced loudly.

“Really? After such a sumptuous dinner?” said Lady Blakely with a raised eyebrow.

“For the life of me, I can’t bring myself to even try that dish.” Lady Willowthorpe shuddered.

But Cissy didn’t hear.

The Duke rose from his chair.

“Really, bubble and squeak must be the best dish under the sun,” Emily babbled wildly.

“Why is it called bubble and squeak, I wonder?” Chippendale asked. “It's a most peculiar name for a dish.”

“Because when you stir the potatoes and cabbage in the pot, it squeaks,” explained Miss Ingleton.

“I confess I haven’t tried it yet,” Lord Hamish put in.

“A formless substance made of potatoes and cabbages is neither very aesthetic nor pleasing to the senses,” mused Lady Willowthorpe. “Especially if one does not like cabbage. What about you, Your Grace?”

The Duke, who had started to make his way across the room to their table, paused.

“Do you like cabbage?” Miss Ingleton insisted.

“Not particularly,” he replied. Then he continued on his way towards her.

Emily panicked.

Araminta unwittingly came to her aid. “What do you think, Lady Lydia? Do you like bubble and squeak?”

Cissy dropped her cards and turned her head sharply towards Emily, who had also risen from her chair.

“Absolutely, she adores bubble and squeak.” Emily was sweating by now.

“Quite right.” Cissy rose. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I will have to escort my sister to her room.”

She took Emily by the arm and, with a charming smile, walked past the Duke, who’d come to a halt. “Your Grace.” She curtsied, then led Emily out of the room.

She could feel the Duke’s gaze pierce her shoulder blades.

“What’s the matter, Emily? You look rather pale.”

“You knew about the Duke and Chippendale.” Emily’s voice sounded accusing. “Why on earth didn’t you warn me?”

“I tried to tell you earlier, but there wasn’t an opportunity.”

“A warning or a sign would have been welcome. Anything, really.” Emily sat down heavily in the chair by the bed. “Good heavens, what an evening.” The strain of the evening had taken hold of her and she felt exhausted to the marrow.

“I’m sorry, Emily. It must have been a shock. But you were gone most of the afternoon, and then the three aunts requested my company, and then I was introduced to the guests, and one thing led to another, and there was no time for a private conversation with you.”

“How did you find out?”

“Chippendale told me this afternoon when you sent him to bring me a book. He confessed everything—said he’d only played along out of loyalty to the Duke, but he’d got tired of it and decided to come clean. I was pleased with his honesty. He’s a good man.” She thought for a moment, a frown creasing her forehead. “And he seems convinced that the Duke is too, for they have been friends since Eton.”

Emily rubbed her forehead. “Is that what this is? A schoolboy prank? Has he explained why they did it?”

“Apparently the Duke loathes being relentlessly pursued by every female, as Chippendale put it. This charade allows him to avoid unwanted attention, and Chippendale doesn’t mind the pretence.”

Emily groaned. “So what do we do now?”

“He doesn’t know who we really are,” Cissy said in a calm voice. “He doesn’t know that we are Miss Cecily and Emily White, his former tenants, whom he evicted. That is to our advantage.”

Emily squirmed uncomfortably. “I actually told him,” she muttered, avoiding her eyes.

Cissy stared. “You did what?”

Emily cleared her throat. “I may have told him. Accidentally.”

“What?” Cissy shrieked. “You told him?”

“I didn’t know he was the Duke!” Emily jumped to her feet, wringing her hands. “It was an honest mistake. I thought he was the coachman at the inn.” She groaned as she remembered their interactions. “I trusted him. I even thought he was nice. Nice!” She gave a short, bitter laugh that ended in a half-sob. The truth was, she’d thought he was much more than nice.

Cissy groaned again and slumped back in her chair. “You’ve basically told our enemy to his face what we intend to do. That’s not good.”

Emily nodded glumly. “He knows our secrets. He knows we’re up to no good. He knows we want revenge. He knows,”—Emily took a deep breath—“that I want him to marry you.” Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I’m sorry I ruined it. I think the best course of action is that we leave immediately. There’s no point in staying.” Emily jumped to her feet, pulled the trunk from under the bed and began to pile her clothes into it.

Cissy watched her, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully. Then she said, “I can see now why he asked you that question at supper. The one about the ball. To ask you to stay for the ball. To stop you from running away.”

“No doubt he wants to retaliate with his own form of punishment.” Emily said darkly. “Heaven knows what he’ll come up with.”

“I don’t think so,” Cissy replied thoughtfully.

“I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. That arrogant way of his. The way he carries himself. No coachman walks like that. And the way he lifts his chin, like this—” she lifted her chin proudly “—and how he seems so haughty and above everybody, a loathsome man!” Emily talked herself into a rage. “And later, when we met again, he didn’t correct the misunderstanding. I blurted out that I hated the Duke; and he seemed so concerned and sincerely worried and asked why, so I just told him.” Her shoulders slumped. “Oh, Cissy! I liked him. I really did. George, I mean. The coachman. Not the Duke! I am such a fool.” She banged her head against the wooden board of the bed several times.

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Cissy mused. “For the truth to come out, I mean. The idea of being a duchess has always seemed rather... suffocating.” She tilted her head, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “It seems your matchmaking skills have gone hopelessly awry, dear sister. Even if you poured every ounce of effort into it, I don’t think you’d manage to pair me with the Duke now. He won’t go for it. Haven’t you noticed? His Grace had eyes only for you all evening.”

Emily sat up stiffer than a pole. “Nonsense. He was trying to intimidate me, nothing more.”

Cissy gave Emily a knowing smile. “It’s fascinating. I wonder... Anyway, I’ve made up my mind. I want to go to the ball.”

“How? With what dress? We have only one nice dress between us! And it certainly is not a ballgown.” Emily laughed bitterly. “Unless you wear it for the first half and I wear it for the second? We could switch halfway through the evening.” Emily gave up her frantic attempt at packing and collapsed on the bed next to Cissy.

Cissy’s smile widened. “Perhaps Miss Ingleton will help us. She seemed quite nice and talked to me all evening about fashion. She boasted that she had brought three ball gowns because she couldn’t decide which one to wear. I was able to tell her that my dress was ruined because when the maid took it out to hang, I tripped just as I was crossing the room with a cup of tea in my hand and the contents of the cup ended up on the dress. We’re about the same size.”

Emily looked at her with her head tilted. “I don’t know how you can be thinking about dresses right now. What about the Duke?” Her sigh came from the depths of her being. “He knows we’re impostors. He could ruin us at any moment. A word from him carries so much more weight than from anyone else. I dare not risk it. There is too much at stake if we stay now.”

“I don’t think he’ll do anything like that,” Cissy said with a confidence Emily didn’t feel.

“Why are you so sure he won’t?”

Cissy smiled knowingly. “Because of what I saw in his eyes when he looked at you.”

Emily shot to her feet. “There again! What on earth are you talking about? What did you see? There was nothing in his eyes at all. Nothing! Other than—” she sputtered, grasping for words “—a nasty smirk, if that!”

“He could hardly bear to tear his gaze away from you all evening. The expression in his eyes definitely changes when he turns them on you. They get all big and golden and melting, and his pupils double?—”

“Fiddlesticks!” Emily stammered, sounding like Lady Araminta Dalrymple.

Cissy burst out laughing. “Oh, Emmy! You are so charming when you are embarrassed. I’d wager you have a better chance of becoming duchess than I do. Now, let me find Miss Ingleton to ask about the dresses.”

Cissy left the room, leaving Emily behind, spluttering.