Page 15 of Miss Davis and the Spare (Dazzling Debutantes #3)

Chapter Fourteen

“Your turn to buy a round of drinks, Balfour.”

July 1814, Lord Julius Trafford to Peregrine, aged nineteen.

* * *

E mma could not sleep. Not a wink. Close to sunrise, she rose and opened her door to the family hall so she might listen for the earl’s early movements.

At the first light of dawn, she heard footsteps in the corridor. Darting out, she caught sight of Richard striding away in his riding attire.

“My lord, may I speak with you?”

Richard turned back. “My lord?”

“I apologize. I am anxious, Richard. It slipped out.”

He compressed his lips, concern tightening his features—as if he already guessed what their conversation would entail.

“Shall we go to my study?”

“Betty has not come up yet. Will it be all right if …” She gestured at her robe.

“Yes. Come downstairs. I shall send for tea and biscuits.”

Emma joined him, descending the stairs together. They crossed the vestibule and entered the earl’s study. She settled into one of the ivory armchairs, perching on the edge, wringing her hands in her lap while her mind spun with how to begin.

“Is this about Perry?”

Her lips quivered at the unexpected question. She kept her eyes downcast, dabbing at the corner of one eye with a fingertip. “I must return home this morning.”

The earl sighed heavily. “May I speak candidly? I heard about the scene with Perry. I … know the two of you were forming a bond. Halmesbury mentioned something. Did I do you a disservice by inviting you to London?”

Emma’s shoulders eased. Clearly, the entire household had guessed the truth.

“You have been most generous, and I hold no complaint. I am grateful for the invitation—and for seeing Ethan so happy.”

Richard exhaled in relief. “Perry is a good man. But our father … well, he was not kind. Halmesbury believes I must speak to Perry about it—about the past. I should have done so long ago. I fear your departure might be the only thing to bring him to his senses.”

Emma had nothing to offer to that. Her mind was already set. “I only wished to inform you and ask that you continue to take care of Jane. I do not wish to stand in her way.”

“Of course. I owe you everything, Emma. I will protect your sister with my life and ensure she meets only the best of men.”

She nodded. “May I beg the use of a carriage?”

“You shall have two. There is that new wardrobe to return with, and I shall send footmen to ensure your safety. Naturally, Betty will accompany you to Somerset.”

“That is unnecessary?—”

Richard cut her off with the practiced authority of a man well accustomed to being obeyed. “You require a chaperon, and Betty is your maid. I shall hire someone else for Jane.”

Emma snorted. “A lady’s maid at Rose Ash Manor? You jest.”

Richard’s expression turned positively paternal. “I do not. I will pay her wages. Someone must care for your new gowns—and you. Betty was hired to serve you, and she shall continue in her post.”

“But it seems far too extravagant.”

“It is employment,” he said flatly. “And I know you understand economics. Would you truly wish to deny another young woman the opportunity to serve Jane?”

Emma’s mouth closed with a click. Her mother’s words echoed in her memory—not all girls had the blessings they did. For someone like Betty, this was security. Independence. And for a new maid, a chance to build a future.

“I apologize. I had not thought of it in that light.”

Richard smiled. “Good. I shall inform Betty and have your trunks prepared.”

“Thank you, Richard. For everything. I did enjoy my visit, despite … everything.”

He hesitated. “I suspect I shall see you again soon. If I do not, my brother does not deserve you. In which case, you may return for another Season whenever you wish.”

Emma rose.

“Emma?”

She turned.

“If there are any … consequences … you must inform me. I shall command Perry up to scratch, if necessary.”

Emma blinked. “Consequences?”

Richard’s gaze darted away. “Yes. You are to inform me immediately if there are any consequences to your stay in this house.”

“I … I suppose.” She tilted her head, still puzzled.

“You promise?”

“I promise,” she echoed, uncertain but sincere.

He gave a firm nod. Emma took it as the conclusion of their conversation and left.

Before she departed the household, she sought out Ethan in the nursery to say her farewells. To her relief, he took the news well. He was settled, secure. The troubles that had plagued him seemed distant now. They parted cheerfully, with Emma promising to show him around Rose Ash Manor during a future visit.

While Betty and the servants packed Emma’s trunks, she and Jane lingered in a tearful farewell.

“I cannot believe Perry said such cruel things to you,” Jane whispered. Emma had been forced to explain her decision to depart.

“He is reacting out of fear. Rather like when one of the barn cats is injured and lashes out when we try to help. But if he will not let me near, I cannot keep trying. I will not offer him my heart only to have it trampled. You can overpower a frightened kitten with a feed sack to give it care, but I have no bag large enough to trap Perry Balfour.”

Jane tilted her head, processing the analogy. “He is still a wounded child at heart, is he not?”

Emma nodded gravely. “The duke and the earl both alluded to a troubled youth. It appears your intuition was correct, clever Jane.”

“Are you sure about leaving? Perhaps if you gave him a little more time—he might come to his senses?”

Come to his senses. Emma’s thoughts darkened. She had spent the entire sleepless night trying not to imagine Perry sharing a bed with the alluring widow. It tormented her—the thought of him kissing another woman. While Lady Slight cooed and clung and welcomed him with all the worldly experience Emma lacked.

She swallowed the bitter taste of jealousy.

“I am not equipped for this, Jane. I have no training in heartbreak. I need to go home. I need air and clarity. I need to get away from him.”

Jane’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Your heart? You are in love with him?”

Emma’s voice broke. “I do not know. I think so. I was. Perhaps I still am. I just know I need space to breathe and mend.”

Jane’s lovely blue eyes brimmed with tears. She gripped Emma’s hands. “This is not how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to recognize what he had. You were supposed to make the first match between us.”

Emma pulled her into a tight embrace. Jane rested her cheek on her sister’s hair, hugging her fiercely.

“You are such a romantic, little Jane.”

“It is your fault. You read me Pride and Prejudice . And Sense and Sensibility . Elinor and Edward overcame everything?—”

“They are fictional characters, you ninny.”

“I know that. But the author was very persuasive. And when I saw you and Perry?—”

“You saw me with my Wickham, I am afraid. Not my Darcy.” Emma’s throat tightened. It wounded her to say it aloud.

Jane wiped at her cheeks. “So, your Darcy might still be waiting somewhere out there?”

Emma attempted a smile. Given her luck, Perry had been both her Wickham and her Darcy in one infuriating package.

“Will you be all right without me, Jane?”

The question was practical, but it meant far more.

“Do not worry. Sophia and I get along splendidly. I met several excellent young men last night. One even owns land in Somerset. Sophia says we shall depart to the country soon—to Saunton Park—for a house party. I shall be near you again before long.”

“I am so glad.”

“Thank you for this opportunity, Emma. The men at home are mostly too old or not well read. Or both.”

Emma cupped her sister’s cheek. “Oh, Jane. It was my great joy to help you. I would let my heart break a thousand times if it meant your happiness.”

They shared one last meal with Sophia, Richard, Ethan, and Jane. The morning sun shone soft and golden on the breakfast table as if trying to offer some blessing to Emma’s departure. She made her goodbyes, hugged Ethan one last time, and stepped into the waiting carriage with Betty and her trunks—her heart heavy, but her will steady.

She prayed the road home might help her forget the rogue with the glinting green eyes.

And the pain of what might have been.

* * *

When Perry finally awoke, the afternoon sun slanted across the floor in long golden bars, and his temples throbbed with an unforgiving ache. He blinked against the brightness, wincing as the sensation of gravel behind his eyelids made him groan. Dragging a hand down his face, he shifted upright—only to realize the sheets smelled faintly of roses.

Roses?

His heart stumbled in his chest.

He sat abruptly, glancing around. Silk sheets. Delicate lace at the window. A tray of refreshments on a side table. The unmistakable scent of Harriet Slight’s favored perfume. His stomach churned.

What had he done?

The weight in his chest settled like a stone. Had he truly drunk so much that he had fallen into bed with Lady Slight?

Shame, his old companion, slithered back into his gut with ruthless precision. But this—this was worse than shame. It was anguish. Deep, bone-cutting regret. Because even the idea of being with another woman now—any other woman—felt wrong. Unfathomable.

He had held Emma in his arms. He had tasted her laughter, her trust, her fire. He had vowed, in the private recesses of his heart, that he would protect her from men like him. Had he truly betrayed her so completely?

“Well, good afternoon, Mr. Balfour,” a husky voice called across the room.

He turned.

Lady Slight stood by the tray, her golden wrapper tied loosely about her waist. She was elegance and sultriness, but her appeal, which had once stirred some weak semblance of interest, now did nothing for him.

“Would you care for some coffee?” she asked, picking up a delicate china cup.

Perry nodded mutely. Coffee might at least clear the fog of shame from his thoughts.

She handed it to him with a practiced smile, then seated herself lightly at the edge of the bed. Her presence felt suffocating. He sipped in silence, the hot liquid offering little comfort as his mind raced.

His voice rasped with uncertainty. “Harriet … did we?—?”

“Did we make mischief?” she said, one corner of her mouth lifting in amusement. The widow purred, her red hair swinging forward as she grasped the counterpane at his waist and pulled it back. “See?”

Perry looked down and saw what he had not noticed—or felt—in his groggy, wine-fogged state. He still wore his trousers.

Relief surged through him so sharply, he nearly collapsed back onto the pillows like a swooning debutante. Drawing a ragged breath, he clutched the sheet over his chest, his guilt retreating ever so slightly—just enough to breathe again.

“I ordered sustenance,” Lady Slight perched like a lioness on the edge of the bed, caging him within her rose-scented sheets. “We might rediscover pleasure this evening, Mr. Peregrine Balfour.”

But there would be no pleasure. Not here. Not with her.

Perry’s heart—he could no longer deny it—was already occupied. Entirely. By one maddening, miraculous woman from Somerset.

My heart is occupied? The realization hit with the force of cannon fire. What the devil does that mean?

“I am afraid I must dress and return home, Lady Slight.”

Harriet’s expression shifted at once. She sat back abruptly, her wrapper falling open to reveal what many men would have found wildly tempting. But not Perry. Not anymore. The sight did nothing but solidify the regret knotting his gut. This had been a terrible mistake.

“Never say you are enamored with the country mouse?” Her voice dripped disdain.

“Enamored? No,” he said, finally standing. “Hopelessly besotted. Wholly in love. Yes.”

The words freed him. His gloom evaporated like morning mist, replaced by blinding certainty.

I love Emma.

And he needed to find her. Apologize. Beg her forgiveness. Then—then he would seek Halmesbury’s counsel. The duke had guided Richard to redemption. Perhaps he could help Perry chart a course toward becoming the man Emma believed he could be.

“The little chit?” Harriet hissed, her eyes narrowing in rage. “Have you gone mad? What could you possibly see in such a dowdy, awkward creature?”

Perry met her wrath with calm resolve. “A world of possibilities. Hope. A future I never dared imagine until she came into my life.”

He threw back the counterpane. Harriet shrieked in shock and leapt from the bed as he stalked toward his wrinkled garments, grimacing. They reeked of wine and roses.

I cannot appear before Emma in this state—she would never believe I had not touched the widow.

He must change first. And then, immediately, he would go to her. He had seen the torment in Emma’s eyes after his cruel betrayal.

I need to erase that pain. Somehow.

The next two hours dragged like penance. He quarreled with the widow, pieced together the hazy details of the previous night, and attempted to soothe her injured pride—not for her sake, but to prevent her from taking vengeance upon Emma. When he finally escaped the opulent townhouse, the sun was already low in the sky.

It was nearing eight o’clock when he burst into Balfour Terrace, heart pounding with purpose.

As he strode across the marbled entry hall, Richard’s voice rang out like a whipcrack behind him.

“Peregrine Landry Balfour! I have been looking for you for days, you bounder!”

Perry halted, still facing the staircase in his haste. “I have no time, Richard. I must change, and then I must find Emma and beg her forgiveness?—”

“That is regrettable,” Richard said, his voice like stone. “Because Emma is gone.”