Page 6 of Miss Davis and the Spare (Dazzling Debutantes #3)

Chapter Five

“You are a mere spare! Why would I waste coin on Eton for you?”

July 1805, the late Earl of Saunton to his son, Peregrine, on his tenth birthday after he requested to join his older brother away at school.

* * *

E mma had composed herself by the time the hawkish butler ushered them into a grand bedchamber. Servants were moving briskly about the space, carrying steaming pitchers and setting out fresh towels. The air held the fragrant scent of lavender soap and beeswax polish.

“This is your room, Miss Davis,” the butler informed her with an efficient nod. “We are preparing the one next door for your sister, but we thought you might wish to refresh after your long journey, so I trust you are amenable to sharing for an hour or two?”

She inclined her head politely. “Of course. Thank you, Mr. Radcliffe.”

The butler gave a smile so faint it might have passed unnoticed if she had not been watching him closely. His eyes crinkled with subtle amusement. “You are welcome, Miss Davis. I do not wish to be presumptuous, but Lord Saunton asked that I assist you in becoming acquainted with the customs of high society. It is customary to address a butler by his surname only.”

“Oh! Is that not what I did?”

“Just Radcliffe, no Mister.”

Emma blinked. “Truly? Why?”

He offered a slight shrug. “I could not say. Tradition, I suppose.”

“I see. Thank you … Radcliffe.”

“My pleasure, Miss Davis. We are all very pleased to host you. Master Ethan will be most excited when he learns you are here.”

Her heart lifted. “Is he expecting me?”

“No, my lady. His lordship wished to surprise him. Once you and Miss Jane are ready, I shall show you to his lordship’s study, where Master Ethan will be brought down.”

Emma’s face lit with a genuine smile at the thought. She longed to see the boy again, to hold him close and hear his clever chatter.

“If that is all, I shall leave you to it. We have set out tea and light refreshment on the table there.” He gestured toward a delicate round table near the hearth, set with a polished silver tea service that gleamed in the afternoon light. A small vase of white roses added a touch of elegance.

The silver teapot rested beside a matching cream jug and sugar bowl, flanked by fine porcelain cups edged in gold. On a separate dish, there were lemon slices, dainty currant scones, finger sandwiches with cucumber and watercress, and a selection of small, iced cakes, each one more delicate than the last.

“My apologies again for the temporary inconvenience of sharing,” Radcliffe added with a courteous bow.

He then stationed himself at the door, waiting with the gravity of a palace guard until the last of the servants had quietly exited. Once all was in order, he departed the room, leaving the sisters in privacy with a maid ready to assist them in changing and tidying themselves.

Emma walked farther into the bedroom, which was as large as the drawing room of Rose Ash Manor. The ceilings soared overhead, adorned with ornate plasterwork and a central medallion from which hung an elegant crystal chandelier. The pale green walls were accented with gold filigree, and two tall windows framed in ivory damask drapes overlooked a leafy courtyard below.

She ran her hand along a polished walnut dressing table with a beveled mirror, where delicate glass perfume bottles and silver-backed brushes gleamed in orderly rows. Across from it, a canopied bed dominated the room, dressed in layers of ivory and pale green silk, its carved headboard an elaborate masterpiece of acanthus leaves and laurel branches. A pair of high-backed chairs flanked the hearth, which was empty beneath the marble mantel.

“This is rather stately, is it not, Jane?” Emma said, blinking around her in awe.

But Jane was speechless, her attention fixed on a large armoire carved with birds and trailing vines. “This is as large as our gardening shed!” she exclaimed. “His lordship must have given you one of his most luxurious guest rooms!”

A discreet cough drew their attention. The maid who had accompanied them offered a modest correction. “It is a family room, miss.”

Jane turned wide eyes to her sister. “A family room! We are in the family wing in the townhouse of the Earl of Saunton. He has practically declared us to be his relations, Emma! What an honor!”

“Miss, may I assist you to undress while the water is still warm?” the maid offered with gentle urgency, gesturing toward the two gleaming copper bathtubs that had been placed in front of the fireplace, each steaming gently and surrounded by towels and scented soaps.

Within thirty minutes, both sisters stood freshly bathed, hair still damp and dressed in clean chemises, admiring the crackling fire that warmed the enormous room.

A firm knock came at the door, and before Emma could call out, it opened to reveal a graceful woman with red-blonde hair pinned in a crown of curls, her carriage elegant yet warm. Behind her stood the lady’s maid who had accompanied them on their journey.

“Emma, Jane—I am so pleased to finally meet you. I am Sophia, the earl’s wife.”

Both young women sank into curtsies, though Emma felt a touch absurd to be bowing in little more than her shift. “My lady,” they chorused, polite but hesitant.

“Nonsense!” Sophia said with a light laugh, her sapphire eyes gleaming. “You are to call me Sophia . We are practically family. I am ever so grateful that you are here to help with Ethan, and there shall be no ceremony within the walls of our home.”

Emma hesitated, struck by how young and vibrant the countess appeared—perhaps only a few years older than herself. She had a glowing complexion and a natural grace that made Emma feel all the more self-conscious. But there was something genuine about her smile, and the warmth in her voice seemed to cast away formality like sunlight chasing shadows.

Emma dipped her chin in a nod. “We appreciate the offer of sponsorship … Sophia . ”

The countess beamed. “Wonderful. I have brought Miss Adèle Toussaint to assist you to dress, so that we may go downstairs and meet the earl properly.” She turned and gestured to the elegant brunette lady’s maid behind her, who curtsied in greeting. “Miss Toussaint is the most skilled lady’s maid in all of London. We shall be providing you each with your own abigail for the rest of the Season, but I asked Miss Toussaint to lend her expert eye today.”

Emma’s breath caught at the notion of being dressed by such a consummate professional in matters of fashion.

“Now,” the countess continued with a grin, “which one of you is Emma?”

* * *

Emma and Jane followed the countess down the grand staircase and into the entry hall, both attired in their best gowns. Emma marveled at how Miss Toussaint had managed to tame her unruly curls with some sort of miraculous French hair tonic. Her hair now framed her face in perfectly shaped ringlets—light and bouncy and utterly transformed. The effect gave her a much-needed boost in confidence after the nerve-racking arrival earlier, when she had misstepped before both the earl and Perry. The latter had avoided her entirely, which she could not help but take to heart.

She had only just arrived in London and already felt herself failing at this visit to high society.

Still, her spirits lifted with each step as her curls bounced about her shoulders. Her gown, though plain in comparison to the countess’s wardrobe, had never looked so well. Feeling just the smallest bit proud, she paused in the hall, her gaze rising in wonder.

It was a revelation.

The black-and-white checkered marble floor gleamed beneath the light of two immense chandeliers. Italian frescoes adorned the high ceiling—depictions of Greek gods cavorting on Mount Olympus, their limbs graceful and animated with a sense of divine mischief. The walls were lined with dark walnut paneling, rich and lustrous, and set with carved chairs and antique console tables adorned with porcelain and ormolu clocks. The air smelled faintly of lemon oil and lavender.

Emma bit her lip, awe curling into doubt. This was a world far above anything she had ever known. The entry hall alone was worth more than the entirety of Rose Ash Manor and its surrounding lands. How could she possibly belong in such a place?

Jane, with her graceful bearing and natural beauty, looked entirely at home. But she—Emma—was simply herself. Loyal. Bookish. A touch clumsy. And, now, far too aware that she had likely offended the only gentleman in this city who had looked at her with something other than indifference.

She quickened her step, trying to catch up as Sophia and Jane passed into a corridor beyond the hall. Her shorter stride made it difficult, and she arrived behind them slightly out of breath.

The countess paused at a door and rapped her knuckles against it. Emma inhaled deeply, willing her pulse to slow and her expression to remain serene. From within, the earl’s voice called for them to enter.

Sophia swept into the room first, followed by Jane. Emma stepped in last—and halted in her tracks.

Perry sat by the hearth, one leg crossed over the other, his expression unreadable. The moment he noticed her, he averted his gaze and rose from his seat as though to take his leave. The movement pierced her with a sensation not unlike a blade to the chest.

He is still offended. He cannot even bear to look at me.

Her eyes stung with the prickle of unshed tears. A hot flush rose over her cheeks, leaving her feeling foolish and out of place all over again.

“Perry, wait a moment, please,” the earl’s voice rang with quiet authority.

Perry stilled at the door, his shoulders stiff.

“Miss Jane, would you accompany my brother to the drawing room? Ethan will join us there shortly. I should like a word with Miss Davis.”

Jane inclined her head with graceful ease. “With pleasure, my lord.”

“My wife has suggested we set aside formalities,” the earl added with a kind smile. “Ethan is my son, and you are Ethan’s kin. For all intents and purposes, we are extended family. Please—call me Richard.”

Jane curtsied with a delighted smile. “Then I ask you do me the same honor. Jane is far simpler, I think.”

His eyes warmed at her ease. “It will be my honor, Jane.” He offered her a brief bow, and Emma could not help but notice the gentle affection in his manner.

She watched, heart in her throat, as Jane and Perry departed the room together, his arm offered politely. Perry did not look back.

Richard gestured toward the armchairs arranged before the fire, and Emma followed him numbly. Sophia settled with effortless grace onto the edge of a plump ivory chair embroidered in red, gold, and green, her indigo day gown immaculate. Her posture was elegance itself, and she looked lovely, framed by the bottle-green silk of the study walls.

Emma, aware of her every movement, fidgeted awkwardly as she perched beside her, adjusting her skirts and folding her hands tightly into her lap in an effort to emulate the countess’s poise.

She could not recall the last time she had felt so entirely out of place.

“I am ever so grateful that you have come, Emma.”

The earl’s voice was warm, his tone sincere. Emma blinked, realizing he was addressing her directly. She turned to face him and did her best to set aside the gnawing ache in her chest. Perry’s sudden disaffection was inconsequential, she told herself sternly. She had come here for Ethan. That was what mattered.

“It is my pleasure to assist … Richard,” she said, managing a polite smile.

“Not Lord Arrogant, then?”

Emma choked, her breath catching mid-sentence. Her eyes widened in alarm. Had she truly said that aloud?

Sophia’s hand flew to her mouth to cover a laugh that she valiantly tried to suppress.

Richard, for his part, grinned with unconcealed amusement. “My brother has informed me that you did not wish to visit,” he said, eyes sparkling. “He also mentioned your sobriquet for me, which I rather expect my wife will now use for the remainder of our marriage. I suppose I have earned it.”

Emma stared at him in horror. Her cheeks flamed, her thoughts a chaotic tangle of humiliation. Lord Arrogant. She had only ever used the name in jest—and only to Perry. That he had repeated it to his brother felt like a betrayal of something private, something shared.

She had grown to rather treasure their verbal sparring, their challenging conversations. But to hear that he had passed her words along so casually—so humorously—tore at her composure.

The earl continued, seemingly unaware of her distress. “Still, I hope we shall cooperate to help Ethan settle in better here in our home. I know we may not have much time, of course, as such lovely ladies as yourself and your sister will be snapped up by the discerning gentlemen of London in no time.”

Lovely ladies. Snapped up. Was he mocking her?

Emma blinked rapidly. Her vision blurred, and the lump in her throat grew to the size of a fist. She could not speak. Could not breathe. Had Perry laughed about her with his brother? Was Richard now treating her like some country dullard to be humored and gently teased?

She tried to swallow her feelings, but they had built too high, too fast. Before she could stop herself, tears spilled over her cheeks. A soft, gasping sob escaped her lips, and she lifted a trembling hand to cover her mouth, horrified that her carefully constructed composure had shattered so swiftly.

* * *

Perry strode back down the hallway to find Richard leaning against the closed door of his study, arms folded, his gaze fixed on the floor with a scowl of bemused frustration.

“What is this?” Perry asked, slowing to a halt. “I thought you were speaking with Emma about how to handle Ethan’s transition, so we could tell him she is here?”

Richard glanced up, his expression equal parts bewildered and guilty. “I made her cry.”

Perry stiffened. “What did you do?”

The sharpness of his tone made Richard blink. Perry never barked. But if his brother had upset Emma—hurt her in some way—he would set the matter straight, even if it meant using his fists.

Richard looked genuinely taken aback. “I honestly do not know. One moment I was welcoming her, thanking her for coming. The next—tears. Sophia took charge and shooed me out. I have been exiled from my own study, loitering like a useless footman. Just more proof that I have no skill in managing family matters.”

Perry exhaled, rolling his neck to ease the tension that had gripped him since hearing Emma was upset. “You did just fine by me when I needed you,” he said, quieter now. “It has been a long journey, and Emma never wanted to come to London in the first place. Now tell me—exactly—what you said.”

Richard frowned in concentration. “I thanked her for coming to help with Ethan, told her how grateful we are … then I mentioned we would work together to help him settle in.”

“And?”

“And then … I think I said she likely would not be with us long. That such a lovely young lady would surely be married off quickly.”

Perry closed his eyes and leaned back against the opposite wall with a groan. “She believes herself plain. Unattractive. Between that, the journey, and my relentless teasing, she likely thought you were mocking her.”

Richard looked stunned. He opened his mouth to respond, hesitated, and then closed it again, clearly sorting through several thoughts. At last, he said, “I have so many questions.”

“As do I,” Perry muttered. “But for now, I expect you to fix this. Make her feel welcome. Make her feel safe.”

Richard nodded slowly. “She does not look plain to me. That ebony hair, those eyes. Her skin is …” He trailed off.

“Flawless,” Perry finished quietly. “And those fierce black eyes—they could stop a man mid-breath.”

At that, Richard turned his head sharply to study his brother. Perry looked away.

He had not fully recovered from the earlier madness of wanting to kiss her when she had stuck out her tongue like a mischievous child. Her playful defiance had nearly undone him. And then, when she entered the study—without that dreadful carriage dress, her curls artfully tamed, her eyes searching—he had fled. Left her alone.

He had promised she would be cared for, and then he had abandoned her on the threshold of Balfour Terrace like a footman shirking his duty. Perry straightened. “I left Jane alone. I should go check on her.”

Richard gave him a long look. “Perry?”

He paused at the door. “She is not difficult to understand. She is direct. Honest. Intelligent. But … unguarded.” He stopped, not knowing how to describe what made Emma so utterly unlike anyone he had ever met. Emma was … Emma.

And heaven help anyone—family or not—who made her feel small.

Still, Perry could admit one thing without shame.

“The clothing must go,” he muttered.

* * *

Sophia was seated on the low table between the armchairs, her elegant hand covering Emma’s as she struggled to regain her equanimity.

“I assure you, the earl was not mocking your appearance, Emma. You are utterly lovely. The matters you mentioned are easily solved—with the right modiste and a skilled abigail to tame your curls. You cannot possibly think my appearance is effortless? Without Adèle to dress my hair, I am quite helpless. Truly, while she was away, I barely left the townhouse! I do not know how to style my hair in the latest fashions. I simply point at a fashion plate, and she performs her magic.”

Emma gave a watery laugh. “I would not even know which fashion plate to point at. Jane is artful with such things. But I … I have no knack for this.”

“Emma, it is simply a matter of practice. I suspect Jane has spent time studying publications, trying styles, observing what suits her. While you, my dear, were busy teaching our little Ethan to read and play chess. That takes patience and devotion. Now that you have the chance to focus on yourself, I promise you will gain the skill you seek.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.”

Emma gave a hiccup as the last of her tears dried. “I thought … I was certain the earl was mocking me. Just as Perry used to do.”

Sophia tilted her head slightly, one arched brow lifting in question. “Used to?”

Emma nodded, lips pressing together in dismay. “Until I upset him. Now he will no longer even look at me.”

Sophia was silent for a moment, thoughtful. “This has been a sudden and rather dramatic change of circumstance, has it not?”

“It has. I am quite out of sorts,” Emma admitted. “I do not belong here. The idea of a Season is laughable. Jane is beauty and elegance. I came for her sake. But there will be no eligible gentlemen for me.”

“Why would you say that?”

“I have not been courted in Derby, as a tenant farmer’s daughter, nor in Somerset, after we became landowners thanks to the earl’s generous gift. If I did not succeed in those modest circles, why would I turn heads in London? My lack of polish will be glaring in the company of true society.”

Sophia looked down and idly smoothed the folds of her gown, a delicate blush creeping into her cheeks. “Emma, I shall confide something to you. I partook in three full Seasons without being courted. I had begun my fourth when the earl staked his claim and swept me away two months ago.”

Emma blinked in astonishment. “Your fourth?”

Sophia nodded with a soft smile.

“And the earl was the first gentleman to show you genuine interest?”

“He was.”

Emma stared down at her clasped hands. “And you truly believe he is the right gentleman for you?”

“Without question. He is perfection. But only for me. You see, it is not about turning heads or dazzling drawing rooms. It is about discovering the right partner—the one who complements your spirit and meets you where you are. My advice? Do not worry about what society thinks. Search instead for the gentleman who understands you—and whom you can trust with your heart.”

Emma was quiet, digesting that. At last, she raised her eyes to meet Sophia’s. “I would like to find someone like that.”

Sophia gave her hand a tender squeeze. “And so you shall.”

A tremulous smile spread across Emma’s lips. She still felt like a right ninny for her emotional outburst, but she was grateful for the countess’s kindness. Sophia was not at all what she had expected—and Emma liked her very much.

“I am quite embarrassed,” she admitted.

Sophia waved a hand with gentle dismissal. “Pish. We are family here. And we bear some blame for your disorientation. We dropped you into this strange new life far too suddenly.”

Emma let out a sigh of relief. The countess squeezed her hand once more, and the two sat in companionable silence while Emma’s shoulders eased and her heart calmed.

“Emma, if I may ask a question?” Sophia waited for her nod of agreement. “You said Perry used to mock you. What did you mean?”

Blushing, Emma dropped her gaze, her fingers twisting in her lap.

“We had been sparring these last couple of days, and we had just agreed that, for all intents and purposes, we are all family, so we should relax the proprieties. Then he teased me about something and I … It was deplorable behavior on my part.”

Sophia cleared her throat delicately. “I beg your pardon, but I do not understand the issue?”

Emma lifted her hand to rub her face in distress. “Well, he must have been offended by my conduct, because he has grown quite unfriendly since.”

“Emma?

She looked up, tentatively, into the countess’s kind blue eyes.

“Perry may possess the glib manners of the ton , but I assure you, he dons them like armor. From what I have seen, he plays the role to serve his own ends, but it is just that—a role. True etiquette is not deeply important to him. He is playful with family. I cannot imagine a moment of teasing, even spirited horseplay, causing him offense. Will you tell me what happened? Exactly?”

“I stuck my tongue out at him,” Emma murmured. “He stared at me most oddly, turned quite red, and seemed to have a mild apoplexy, in that he could not breathe properly. Since then, he has avoided looking at me in the most obvious way.” Her voice faltered, thickening with emotion. “I thought we had a rapport of sorts. But now he knows I am the most uncouth of women.”

Sophia pressed her lips together, clearly fighting a smile. The corners of her mouth twitched before she drew a steadying breath and said gently, “My dear Emma, I do not believe for one moment that Perry was offended. Quite the opposite. I suspect you caught him unawares—and left him thoroughly flustered. I am quite certain that he shall return to your side before long, and that the teasing will resume without delay.”

With that, Sophia stood in a graceful swoosh of skirts and made her way to the door. She appeared to be mumbling to herself as she went, but Emma caught the faint words: “And if he does not do so of his own determinism, I will meddle—because Perry has finally found himself an interest, it would seem.”

The door opened, and the earl stumbled slightly as he entered, recovering his dignity before glancing between them.

“Are we all right, then? Everything sorted? Why does Emma still appear to be upset?”

“It is nothing that a few moments of orientation will not mend,” Sophia said smoothly. “Come and finish saying your piece to Emma, so we might bring Ethan down.”

The earl returned to his seat beside his wife and gave Emma a somewhat sheepish look.

“I apologize for any insensitivity on my part, Emma.” He tugged at his cravat, visibly uncomfortable. “Perry explained my blunder, and I think I understand now. Please rest assured, I truly meant my words. I find you to be a lovely young woman, and we already have several fine gentlemen in mind to introduce to you—once you feel sufficiently prepared.”

Sophia smiled warmly. “There is no rush. Take all the time you need to settle in. In fact, I insist that Perry himself assist the young ladies, Richard.”

The earl shot her a look of mild perplexity, his green eyes so like Perry’s and Ethan’s. Yet only Perry’s gaze left Emma wanting to press her hands to his chest and breathe deeply to discover if he truly smelled of leather, clean linen, and country air.

“That is what he said,” Richard remarked. “Before he tried to retract the offer. Perry seems quite invested in what happens to Emma, for reasons I cannot quite decipher.”

Sophia turned her gaze back to Emma. “There. You see? Perry is content—more than content—to spend time in your company. All will be as it was before long, dear.”

Emma could not deny the flicker of hope that warmed her chest. As maddening as Perry’s teasing could be, she had grown to treasure their back-and-forth. How humbling it was to realize that she missed his attention. His absence had left her feeling oddly adrift.