Page 2 of Miss Davis and the Spare (Dazzling Debutantes #3)

Chapter One

“A real gentleman is always perfectly presented. Dirt on the collar is a sign of low breeding and will repel the ladies.”

July 1801, the late Earl of Saunton to his son, Peregrine, on his sixth birthday after finding him playing with his tin soldiers in the gardens of Saunton Park.

* * *

“E mma, Emma! We have news from London. It is about Ethan!”

Emma tipped back her head in dismay, one hand gripping the back of her bonnet. Her ribbons were twisted—again—and she was doing her best not to throttle herself by accident.

“News of Ethan?” she called back, straightening up. The rose garden at the Davis family home in Somerset was in full bloom, filling the air with the sweet, heady scent of damask and tea roses. The neatly arranged beds overflowed with blossoms in varying shades of blush pink, creamy white, and deep crimson, their delicate petals catching the golden sunlight of a warm June afternoon. Bees hummed lazily from flower to flower, while a gentle breeze stirred the leaves, carrying the fragrance through the walled garden.

Beyond the low stone wall, rolling green fields stretched toward the horizon, dotted with grazing sheep beneath a sky so blue it seemed endless. The warmth of the early summer sun settled comfortably on Emma’s shoulders, but the occasional cloud drifting past offered momentary relief from its brightness. The hedgerows bordering the garden rustled softly with the movement of nesting birds, and a blackbird trilled a bright, cheerful tune from a nearby branch.

It was the sort of afternoon that begged for idleness, for quiet strolls along the pathways or leisurely hours spent reading beneath the shade of an old oak. But for Emma, the peaceful day was now interrupted by the news from London—news that sent a tangle of unease through her heart, despite the perfection of the summer around her.

Jane swung her head to find her, squinting against the sun that shone directly behind Emma’s back. She hurried over, her expression perplexed. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I am attempting to trim these roses without hanging myself on these wretched ribbons.” She gestured with the shears, causing Jane to wince as the sharp tip waved too close for comfort.

“I see. Perhaps I should take those from you before you put an eye out.”

Emma sighed and handed over the pruning shears. She was not known for her grace, but she had yet to do herself a serious injury, and she intended to keep it that way. With her hands free, she straightened her ribbons and retied them before looking back at her younger sister.

“What is this about Ethan? Is he well?” she demanded.

“Our little cousin is now the son of an earl, living in a grand London townhouse! Of course he is well!”

Emma’s lips pressed into a firm line. “Our little cousin is the illegitimate son of an earl we have never met. There is no of course . The arrogant jackanapes did not even have the grace to meet us before he snatched Ethan from our home!”

“By jackanapes , you are referring to the father and not the son?” Jane teased.

“Ha ha! Yes, the father.”

“The father who gave our father this fine estate in Somerset, elevating our income and status in gratitude for raising his son?”

“The same man who forced us to leave our very nice farm in Derbyshire for this strange county, where we have none of our friends and neighbors!”

“And who provided us with a fine library, generously filled with books, which has kept you too occupied to mourn your lost friends and neighbors?”

Emma huffed in disgust but could not deny the truth. “It is a very fine library,” she mumbled.

“Yes, it is. And if you were honest, you would admit you care for our new library far more than for any of your long-forgotten friends and neighbors. You love your family best, and we are all here with you!” Jane swept her arms wide, encompassing their home and gardens.

“Except for Ethan!”

Jane cocked her head before conceding the point. “Except for Ethan. But Ethan is with his father, where he belongs. The earl will provide him with the education and opportunities befitting a young gentleman of his birthright.”

Emma did not venerate this unknown Lord Saunton, but even she had to admit she had lost no relationships that could rival the library he had gifted their family as part of their new estate. Still, she resented the man for stealing Ethan away and missed the little boy fiercely. His abrupt departure had left a hole in her heart.

If she were being truly honest, she would acknowledge that her little cousin now had far greater opportunities to learn and nurture his talents than their limited means could have ever provided.

But she did not want to be honest. She wanted to be resentful.

Lord Saunton had not even troubled himself to collect his own child, sending a carriage and a man of business in his stead. Arrogant brute!

“Now come inside and hear the news! It is quite exciting,” Jane effused, grabbing hold of Emma’s arm and pulling her along.

Once inside, Emma attempted to make her way upstairs to wash, but Jane mercilessly tugged her toward the drawing room, too eager to let her go.

“What have you dragged me in here for? Could you not have imparted the news of Ethan and Lord Arrogant, who stole him from us , while I cleaned up?” Emma demanded, before noticing the alarmed expression on her sister’s face.

Then she saw her mother seated on the settee, the family’s finest tea service arranged before her. Just beyond the wing chair facing the settee, a pair of expensive black riding boots came into view.

Emma’s stomach dropped.

A tall gentleman unfolded himself from the chair, turning to face her. His silky, sable curls framed a strong, striking face, and his forest green cutaway coat was a perfect match for his piercing emerald eyes. He was, quite simply, an adult version of Ethan. One day, her little cousin would likely share the same broad shoulders, narrow hips, and chiseled jawline that—unfortunately—made her heart give an erratic little quiver. But with any luck, Ethan would not inherit the indolent, sulky airs of this stranger standing before her.

Wincing, Emma sank into a curtsy. “My lord … um … welcome to our home.”

His gaze drifted downward, pausing at her feet. A sense of foreboding crept up her spine. Looking down, she discovered to her horror that the hem of her muslin gown was streaked with mud and grass stains from her work in the garden.

Tilting her chin back up, she caught a fleeting sneer of disdain before he smoothed his features into polite indifference.

Belatedly, he inclined his head in a brief bow. “Not Lord Arrogant , I am afraid. Just a mere spare. Mr. Peregrine Balfour, at your service. And you must be the famous Emma?”

* * *

Emma was not what Perry had expected.

From his conversations with Richard and their man of business, Johnson, he knew the Davis family had Welsh ancestry, which perhaps accounted for the wild mass of black curls escaping from beneath her enormous straw bonnet. The hat itself was trimmed with an excessive number of tangled ribbons, as if she had attempted to tame the unruly thing and failed spectacularly.

Dark, almost black eyes peered up at him from beneath the absurd headpiece, filled with a mix of wariness and defiance. Unlike the younger sister who had collected her from the garden—a tall, graceful young lady—this girl was smaller, her frame boyish and slight.

Yet there was an undeniable energy about her.

She was all sharp angles and restless movement, as if she had been caught mid-flight rather than simply stepping into the drawing room. The state of her attire certainly supported the idea—her muslin gown bore clear evidence of a recent tussle with the garden, streaked with grass stains and smudges of earth along the hem. A stubborn dirt mark marred one cheek, though she seemed entirely unaware of it.

Perry resisted the urge to shake his head in astonishment. He had never met a young lady who looked quite so …untamed. Yet there was something compelling about her—a brightness in her eyes, a liveliness in her every gesture that hinted at a mind as quick as her tongue likely was.

And this was the girl his young nephew adored? The one who kept Ethan awake at night with homesickness?

He supposed he would have to solve that particular mystery himself.

Blazes! Perry could have throttled Richard for sending him on this ridiculous errand to rural Somerset. He strongly suspected Sophia’s influence in the matter—his sister-in-law was forever insisting that he needed a project, whatever that meant—but this journey unsettled him. It stirred memories best left buried, of his father and of … her. The woman from the village. A past he had no wish to revisit.

Had it been up to him, he would have turned back in Wiltshire and returned to London without a second thought. But Richard had been adamant—Perry must see this through. And, to his great dismay, he found he wanted to succeed. He wanted his brother to be pleased with his results.

Which was how he found himself standing in the farthest reaches of Somerset, facing a little hoyden with an indignant tilt to her chin and a streak of dirt on her cheek. Heaven help me.

His gaze flickered briefly to her ill-fitting gown, stained from the garden, with a bodice which hinted at feminine curves concealed beneath, before he forced himself to focus on her eyes—dark, sharp, and wary. A lesser woman might have wilted under his scrutiny, but this one stood her ground, staring at him expectantly. He realized, belatedly, that she had spoken, and he had failed to respond—too lost in his own thoughts.

Clearing his throat, he adopted an air of indolent amusement. “I apologize. I missed what you said because I was distracted by my handsome surroundings.”

With a pointed glance at the grass-streaked hem of her gown, he offered a facetious smile, one visible only to her now that her willowy sister and mother stood behind him.

As expected, her eyes narrowed, darkening with suspicion. The other inhabitants of the room would detect nothing amiss in his polite words, but Emma had clearly recognized the subtle slight to her appearance.

Perry barely suppressed a grin. At least she is quick.

“Well, if you will excuse me, I shall just go freshen up.”

“Not necessary. Let us enjoy an invigorating cup of tea together, now that I have come all this way to visit.” Perry was uncertain why he was baiting the girl, but he found himself thoroughly entertained by the way her nostrils flared as she attempted to squash her ire.

“I must look a fright. I can return for tea in ten minutes.”

“Not at all. The pleasure of your company is far preferable to your departure. Please …” He held up his arm in a gentlemanly gesture, inviting her to take a seat.

A low growl rumbled in her throat as she complied, and Perry had to bite back a grin. A trapped creature, this one, he mused, watching her settle stiffly into a chair across from him. Had they been alone, he had no doubt she would have told him precisely where he could take his invigorating tea.

She fairly vibrated with repressed energy, and he was helplessly intrigued. How far could he push her before she exploded?

This afternoon’s visit to Rose Ash Manor was turning out to be far more entertaining than he had expected.

Emma removed her gardening gloves, then reached up to unfasten her enormous bonnet. Setting it on a nearby table, she made a valiant attempt to smooth her disheveled hair. She failed abysmally. A few rebellious strands stuck straight up, defying her every effort.

Perry repressed a chuckle. He wished he could be present when she finally caught sight of herself in a mirror and realized how utterly ridiculous she had looked, sitting there sipping tea with the brother of Lord Arrogant.

Or, if she preferred, mere Mr. Arrogant himself.

Mrs. Davis poured a cup of tea and handed it to her eldest daughter before preparing another for their guest. The tea service was of delicate porcelain, patterned with blue forget-me-nots along the edges, a design that spoke more of sentiment than fashion. The silver spoons, though polished, were slightly worn, suggesting years of careful use rather than careless indulgence. A plate of dainty biscuits rested on a floral saucer at the center of the table, their golden edges crisp and inviting.

Perry took a sip of his tea and withheld a grimace. Ever since his brother had wed a couple of months ago, he had found himself drinking tea and nibbling biscuits far too frequently. Just more evidence that marriage wrecked a gentleman.

Emma watched him from the corner of her eye, suspicion still evident in her posture. It would seem she did not favor the aristocracy—though, to be fair, he had deliberately goaded her. She flung an accusing look at her younger sister across the table, and in his peripheral vision, Perry caught the girl mouthing something as he turned to smile at Mrs. Davis.

“I am sorry,” was his best guess as to the covert communication between the two sisters.

Emma relaxed perceptibly into her chair. Interesting. He filed it away while considering how best to proceed, now that he knew the object of his mission was unlikely to be receptive to his invitation.

The drawing room, though modest, was warm and well kept. Sunlight streamed in through lace-draped windows, casting intricate patterns onto the floral carpet. The furnishings, though not of the first stare, were arranged with care—rosewood chairs with embroidered cushions, a walnut writing desk against the far wall, and a pianoforte in one corner, its lid closed as if awaiting an evening’s entertainment. The room spoke of a home built on comfort rather than grandeur.

“I was just explaining to your hospitable mother that Ethan has been settling into his new life at Balfour Terrace like a champion,” Perry said, taking another reluctant sip of tea. “The earl has hired a governess to help him continue the education that you began, and my nephew has convinced every member of our household to play a daily game of chess.” He coughed lightly into his hand. “At least, on the days I am in residence.”

He did not miss the faint grimace Emma tried to suppress. He could practically hear the tirade forming in her mind—something about idle gentlemen and their useless days spent in the pursuit of pleasure.

“A governess?” Mrs. Davis asked, her voice carrying a note of surprise.

“Yes, Lord Saunton hired a governess rather than the conventional tutor. The theory was that it would assist Ethan’s transition if we emulated your daughter’s presence as closely as possible.”

Mrs. Davis appeared impressed with the strategy. “That was thoughtful of the earl. Ethan spent most of his day with the women of the household.”

Perry smiled, then broached the reason for his visit. “There has been one … minor issue since he joined us.”

All three women straightened in alarm at the announcement. What was it about his young nephew that elicited such single-minded concern, not only from every member of his own household, but from this one as well? When Perry had been a boy, barely anyone had taken notice of him—except, of course, when his father had decided to tutor him, those excruciating sessions where Perry had wished to be anywhere but near the late earl.

“It is nothing serious,” he assured the ladies. “It is just that he has trouble sleeping. He prowls the halls at night and wakes my brother every night.”

Emma frowned, the expression deepening the shadow of concern in her dark eyes. “Why? He has never done that before,” she demanded, her tone heavy with censure.

Mrs. Davis, a cheerful woman with golden-blonde hair tucked neatly beneath a lace-trimmed cap, shot a reproving glance at her daughter. She was dressed in a pale yellow morning gown with delicate embroidery at the cuffs, her appearance tidy and composed, in contrast to her eldest daughter.

Emma, for her part, flushed and adjusted the sleeves of her faded blue muslin gown, which bore signs of wear along the seams. Though the color suited her dark hair and striking eyes, the dress itself was unimpressive—practical rather than fashionable. Perry could not decide if she simply had no interest in fashion or if she deliberately rejected such concerns.

She cleared her throat. “I mean … What is keeping him up? Ethan always slept very well at our home in Derby.”

“I am afraid it is all your fault, Miss Davis.” Perry leaned back in his chair, watching as her frown deepened. “The boy misses you and worries after you.”

Emma seemed to deflate, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I … see.” Her voice was quieter now. “We were very close. I have raised him since the day of his birth. His mother … she did not survive.”

Perry nodded, noting the way her fingers curled into her lap as though holding onto something unseen. “Most commendable. The earl is very grateful for all you have done for his son. He is impressed with the lad’s manners and intelligence.”

A pleased smile flickered across her lips before vanishing, her expression returning to its previously rigid lines. The young woman was clearly unhappy about his presence—and resented, quite openly, the method in which his brother had taken Ethan from her life.

“Which is why the earl would like you to visit.”

* * *

She froze with her cup halfway to her lips. Carefully, Emma lowered it back onto its saucer, then placed both onto the table, willing her fingers not to tremble.

She missed Ethan terribly. For the whole of his young life, they had been inseparable, their days filled with lessons, games, and quiet moments that had knitted them together like siblings rather than cousins. His sudden departure to London, to live with a father he had never known, had left a hollow ache in her heart—one she had not yet learned to quiet.

It was no secret that the boy was a by-blow, but the revelation that he was the natural-born son of a powerful earl had stunned her family. In gratitude for their care, the Earl of Saunton had gifted them Rose Ash Manor, elevating the Davises from respectable country folk to newly landed gentry. A generous gesture, to be sure.

But the arrogant lord had not even deigned to visit them. Instead, his man of business had handled the negotiations, speaking with her parents as if the matter were nothing more than a simple transaction. Papers had been signed, arrangements made, and Ethan had been whisked away in a waiting carriage.

Now, rather than calling upon them himself, the earl had sent his younger brother to Somerset as an errand boy to fetch her.

Emma folded her hands in her lap, pressing them together to still their restless energy. It seemed the great Lord Saunton was content to issue commands from a distance, without ever troubling himself to meet the family who had loved and raised his son.

She lifted her chin, her dark eyes settling on Mr. Peregrine Balfour.

I would love to see Ethan.

Emma’s hand slipped into the small pocket of her muslin dress, her fingers closing around the cool, familiar shape of a miniature tin monkey. Ethan had cherished the little toy, endlessly making it dance across tabletops and along the arms of chairs. But in the final moments before he had boarded the earl’s carriage, he had thrust it into her hand, his small fingers curling over hers in quiet insistence.

"You keep it, Emma."

She had been too overwhelmed to argue, too consumed with holding back the storm of tears that threatened to spill. She had wanted to insist that it was his favorite toy, that he must keep it close. But the words had caught in her throat, and then—he was gone.

The carriage had pulled away, wheels churning up pebbles and dust, leaving her standing there with the tiny figure pressed between her palms while Ethan waved from the back window, his small face framed with anxious excitement.

Now, she carried the little tin monkey wherever she went—a silent token of the boy she had raised, a reminder of the laughter and late-night stories, of the countless hours spent teaching him his letters, and of the warmth of his small hand tucked into hers.

But life moves on.

Ethan had a new home, a new life, and she had no wish to visit London. Truth be told, she was beginning to love their new home in Somerset. There was much to do. She and her father were learning the responsibilities of estate management, transitioning from hardworking tenant farmers to landowners. It was a great challenge, one that required her full attention.

She would see Ethan when he visited over the holidays. That would be enough.

Would it not?

“That sounds lovely, but I am afraid I must decline, Lord Ar—Mr . Balfour.”

Emma took great satisfaction in thwarting the gentleman. He might be as handsome as a Greek god, with his broad shoulders, striking green eyes, and an effortless grace that made his every movement draw the eye. And, yes, his powerful thighs were certainly well displayed in those finely tailored buckskins—though she would never admit to noticing.

But he was also more arrogant than she had envisioned the earl to be. Perhaps being the spare had left him with a chip on his shoulder, one that only added to the general air of entitlement that clung to him.

“Miss Davis, I do not think you understand.” Mr. Balfour’s voice was smooth. “The earl is offering to sponsor you for a London Season. He will purchase you a new wardrobe and provide a dowry of one thousand pounds.”

Emma barely had time to react before her mother and Jane gasped at the news. It was a profoundly generous offer, the kind that would change the course of any young lady’s future. But Emma did not want a Season. She had no interest in society’s tedious expectations, no desire to waltz in glittering ballrooms or parade before landed gentlemen in search of a suitable match.

Wealth had its uses, of course, but she was quite content with their current circumstances. Eventually, she would meet a respectable, honorable man here in Rose Ash—perhaps someone in trade, someone unconcerned with all the new rules and expectations that came with being part of the gentry.

She met Mr. Balfour’s gaze with steady resolve. “I am afraid I must decline. Please enjoy your journey back to London.”

With that, she made to stand.

“Mr. Balfour, how remiss I have been!” Mrs. Davis interjected smoothly, her warm smile as unshaken as ever. “You have been on the road for days, and all we have offered you is tea and biscuits. I shall have the housekeeper arrange sandwiches immediately.” She turned to Emma with a pointed look. “Emma, dear, do you care to attend me?”

Emma’s heart sank. She recognized the forced brightness in her mother’s voice—never a good sign. A lecture in the hall was surely forthcoming. Pasting on a smile, she rose and followed Mrs. Davis from the drawing room.

The moment they reached the corridor, her mother spun to face her, grasping her hands with gentle urgency.

“Emma, it is a generous offer, and I implore you to consider it.”

“I do not wish to go to London,” Emma insisted. “It is noisy, overcrowded, and stifling. I have no desire to marry a gentleman of the ton —nor even the gentry!”

Mrs. Davis’s usually warm, round face was drawn with concern. She tucked an errant blonde curl behind her ear, her ice-blue eyes serious. “I shall not force you, but you burn your bridges every time you open your mouth. It would not hurt to learn a little diplomacy, Emma. The world is a lonely, brutal place, and we are fortunate to have such a large, loving family.”

Her voice softened as sorrow flickered across her expression. “Look at what happened to my niece. Kitty was in respectable service until the earl ruined her and left her with child.” She paused, her hands tightening around Emma’s. “She was fortunate that your father agreed to provide her with a home, despite the disgrace. Many husbands would not have been so accommodating, but your father is a good man. For my sake, he weathered the scandal of it all. He deserved this estate after the sacrifices he made.” A deep sigh escaped her lips. “Even now, Ethan could be in a foundling home, raised by impersonal strangers.”

Emma swallowed, guilt settling uncomfortably in her chest. “I am sorry, Mama, but I do not wish to have a Season. It would be a disaster. I cannot dance, despite Jane’s best efforts, and we both know that I am woefully unskilled in polite conversation. It would all be a horrendous failure. I wish to stay at home.”

Mrs. Davis studied her daughter carefully, her expression unreadable. “Emma, I only want you to find a young gentleman of your own. So that one day, you may know the joy of raising your own children. Watching you with Ethan … You would make such a wonderful mother, my dear.”

Emma dropped her gaze to her shoes, where the muddy hem of her skirt mocked her with its unladylike evidence of her earlier gardening.

It was her deepest desire—to raise a family of her own. To love and nurture a child, to know the same simple, unbreakable bond she had shared with Ethan. A child who could not be taken away from her, whose unknown parent would not suddenly appear to claim them.

But a Season? The scrutiny, the rules, the endless expectation to smile and charm men who cared more for dowries than for hearts? No. She would be a disaster in high society. She knew it, and so did her mother.

“I cannot go,” she murmured. “I would be an utter failure.”

Mrs. Davis was silent for several moments, her searching gaze unreadable. Then, with another sigh, she reached out to smooth a curl behind Emma’s ear.

“I will not force you to accept the invitation,” she said at last. “Though I am disappointed to see you allowing fear of failure to make your decision. You are usually so courageous, Emma.”

Emma resolutely studied the dried mud clinging to her gown, pretending she had not heard the gentle rebuke in her mother’s voice.

Mrs. Davis reached for her daughter’s chin, tipping it up so their eyes met. “As you like. But do not be rude to the earl’s emissary. Lord Saunton has been exceedingly generous to the Davis family, and through his benevolence, we have secured a brighter future for your brothers and sisters. I expect you to summon some deportment and address the earl’s brother with respect, young lady.”

Emma nodded, pressing her lips together. She knew she had a tendency to be too forthright, too sharp with her words. It was why she had never been courted in Derbyshire or in their new Somerset town, why she had few friends outside of her family.

But quelling her tongue for the duration of Mr. Arrogant’s visit?

That, at least, was not too much to ask.

* * *

Perry sipped his tea and offered a polite smile to the younger sister while Mrs. Davis took Emma to task in the hall. Jane Davis was undeniably lovely, with refined features and a graceful manner, but Perry had long learned to avoid innocent young ladies. He had no interest in finding himself ensnared in a marriage he did not seek.

Strangely, though, it was not the elegant Jane who commanded his attention. It was her older sister—the one who had been glaring at him moments earlier, her dark eyes flashing with barely contained ire.

Emma Davis was a contradiction—brash and untidy, yet sharp-witted and fiercely loyal to the boy she had raised. The impulse to provoke her, to see how far he could push before she lost the battle with her temper, was almost overwhelming.

Perhaps it was simply exhaustion. Travel wore on a man, after all.

Perry reached for a biscuit, swallowing it in two bites. That must be it. I am merely tired and hungry from the road.

Mrs. Davis and Emma reentered the room, resuming their places at the tea table. Emma perched on the very edge of her chair, her posture stiff, as if she were moments from bolting. In contrast, Mrs. Davis sank onto the sky-blue sofa with an air of practiced ease.

Despite his general disdain for country life, Perry had to admit that the Davis drawing room had a certain charm. It was warm, lived-in—a place meant to be occupied rather than merely displayed. Books teetered in small piles on end tables, inexpensive but tasteful ornaments adorned the shelves, and cheerful landscape paintings hung upon the walls.

It felt like a home. Something Perry himself had never truly experienced but sentimentality had no place in his task. Richard had charged him with a mission, and Perry intended to succeed.

When he had protested—rather colorfully—against making this trip to Somerset, his brother had appealed to him in an uncharacteristically earnest manner.

"I need your assistance, Perry. You are a man accustomed to getting what you want. I need you to turn that charm on the Davis family and obtain their agreement to send their eldest daughter to London. I will send Sophia’s lady’s maid with you for propriety’s sake on the return journey. This is an important family matter, and I must send a relation I trust to handle it."

Why pleasing his brother gave him a sense of purpose, he did not fully understand. But when he had assisted Richard with his own difficulties back in May, after his unexpected wedding, Perry had been surprised to find himself enjoying the role.

Not that he would ever admit such a thing to Richard’s wife. Sophia had already declared that I need a project, and I will not give her the satisfaction of being correct.

Still, she might have a point.

Which was why success was imperative. Richard needed him, and Perry would not fail. His brother had been right about one thing—Perry always achieved what he set his mind to.

And so, as Emma settled back into her seat, Perry scrutinized her expressions, noting every flicker of resistance, every glimmer of defiance.

He had formed a conclusion.

She was not motivated by personal gain, nor by ambition. She did not seek elevation within society.

No, Miss Emma Davis was driven by something far stronger.

And now that she was seated once more, he intended to make her an offer she could not refuse.