Page 11 of Only a Fortnight with the Duke

CHAPTER 11

W hen Emmeline awoke the next day, she felt the ache of having had a busy day prior pleasantly throughout her body. It had been a while since she rode Onyx, and a while longer since she and her father had ventured out of the house after dinner but for a party at a friend’s home or a ball now that the season was in full swing. She called for Sarah to bring in her breakfast, but received no response.

Lady Clark sat up in her bed, and instead of Sarah, saw her housemaid entering her room to begin to prepare for the day. She was an older woman who had worked at Clark Manor only a short three years, and while she did well enough, she had never once acted as Lady Clark’s maid.

“Wilson,” Emmeline said, her voice low and quiet, “where is my lady’s maid this morning? And…for that matter, my breakfast. It is quiet later than I am typically roused.”

The house maid turned and faced her mistress with a polite bow, which chagrinned Emmeline. She didn’t care much for formality between herself and her household staff, a habit she inherited from her father. She would prefer to be answered than to be regarded.

“My Lady, Miss Sarah fell quite ill last night. I saw it myself in the kitchen. The young fellow who is often here brought her into town to see the doctor.”

“What young fellow?”

The housemaid shrank away from the questioning. “I am not sure, my Lady. I know that I have seen him often of late. I was not made an introduction.”

Emmeline almost smiled at the quiet quip, but sat up in her bed instead with a sigh. “Very well. I will inquire of her condition with my father. Did it seem quite serious, Wilson? You said you witnessed it.”

“She was able to stand, but seemed wobbly on her feet. It seemed to me like an ailment of the heart.”

“Of the heart!” Emmeline’s hand rose to her chest. “What could it be?”

The maid shrugged, seemingly bored now by Emmeline, and returned to her work. “It is only my speculation, my Lady. I do not pretend to know what goes on in the lives of young people such as yourself or Miss Anderson. I apologize–shall I go down and get your breakfast now, or do you prefer to dress and go downstairs?”

“Please fetch my breakfast.”

Emmeline ate and dressed, and all the while she wondered what would possess the Duke to display such kindness to her lady’s maid when Emmeline herself was not there to witness it. It seemed, to her, that this was the least of the genuine gestures he had made before. It did not feel earnest of him to do so. She knew very few people who treated their staff the way that she and her father did–it was a modern way of thinking that had not yet taken to trend in even the youngest, most progressive households.

What could he be thinking?

After breakfast–whic was late, cold, and not at all tasty–Emmeline came downstairs to the drawing room to wait for her friends to call upon her for tea and found her father already there. He looked up at her warmly, and she went to him and sat across from his card game laid out on a small wooden table. Sunlight streamed in through the windows and cast them both in flattering light.

“Papa, what has happened to Sarah?”

“Ah, yes. I suppose I should have spoken to you of this before now, but you were well and done last night after the opera.” He smiled proudly. “You had a grand time with the Duke of Blackwood and his friends. I saw the two of you engaged in conversation for most of the night and–”

“Papa!”

“Right. Your young lady’s maid. She was ill last night, and I’ve recieved a letter from the doctor in the city that she is on the mend and shall return to work tomorrow afternoon. I hope that’s alright, dear. I’ve made arrangements with the rest of the staff for the time being.”

“That’s quite alright, Papa. I only inquire to know that she is well. She was perfectly well before we left. I wonder how it came upon her so quickly.”

“It happens often to me when I am working hard that I do not feel illness coming on until it is too late. Perhaps it was the case with her.”

“Perhaps,” Emmeline murmured, though her last conversation with Sarah weighed heavily on her mind after what the housemaid told her. Had she fallen victim to stress? Was Emmeline the cause of her ailment?

“Lady Clark. Lord Clark. A caller has arrived for the both of you.”

Emmeline did not look away from her father, but tilted her head curiously as Anthony turned with surprise to the steward, who brought him the tray with a calling card he did not immediately recognize. “Who would be calling at this hour?” he murmured, taking it in his hands carefully, then, grinning as if the steward had arrived with a birthday cake.

“Bring him in, then, and have some tea started!”

“Papa, who is it.”

“Why, Emmeline, who else?”

“Lord and Lady Clark, the Duke of Blackwood has arrived.”

Evidently having been too impatient to wait in the foyer, the Duke had followed the steward and waited outside the drawing room for permission to enter. Two sets of green eyes found each other across the room even as the Earl stood to greet his guest.

“We will grow too fond of your visits, Your Grace, and be sick with despair when you take your leave to work again after the summer,” the Earl’s voice boomed. Emmeline, in her seat behind him, covered her mouth and stifled a giggle, wondering if it might not be her Papa that the Duke was courting, such was his success in charming Anthony Clark.

“Please, have a seat. We are waiting on some tea to appear.”

“Thank you, Lord Clark,” the Duke said warmly, following him to the table where Emmeline still sat. “But I have come to ask Lady Clark if she might join me today at the market in town for some shopping.”

“Emmeline, dear?”

“Thank you, Your Grace. That is an intriguing offer, indeed, but I am expecting callers later today–at the proper hour for young ladies to call upon another young lady. Perhaps if you had come at the proper hour for a gentleman–”

“Am I your gentleman caller or the man who is courting you, Lady Emmeline?”

“Well, I suppose–”

“Then forgive me if I might be so forward, but I hope that you find it appropriate for me to call at any hour. I sometimes find myself longing for your company, and I cannot think of a cure for it but to seek you out.”

Anthony Clark almost looked uncomfortable, as if he should not be in the room, and cleared his throat as he strode across it to the pianoforte and sat there, playing a poor, unpracticed rendition of what might have been a Rossini song.

Simon took the seat that Lord Clark had occupied prior, and moved it closer to Emmeline, his gaze intense even as she seemed to shrink away from him. “That is very well,” she said, quietly. “But I am still obligated to remain at home so that my friends should not call and find me away.”

“That is better–they may come along with us to town. I have pockets enough to indulge you all. I magine there will be three of you.”

“That is a generous offer, Your Grace, but I–”

“Lady Browning and Lady Creassey might hope that you consider them before you answer,” he teased, the sunlight highlighting the specks of gold floating in his iris and the twinkle of mischief sparkling there.

“You are accustomed to getting what you want,” she huffed, as if he were being terribly tiresome, though she herself had intended only to tease him for a short while before proposing the same. “I will inquire of them when they arrive. What shall you do in the meantime? Should we set a time to meet again–after tea?”

“I can not think of a reason why we should need to. I shall be here.”

“Here?”

“Yes, Lady Emmeline. Here to spend time with you and your father.”

“Haven’t you any work to be done?”

“There is very little for me to do during the summer. Any clients I might have had are busy enjoying their leisure time, as I am, and parliament is not in session. I am needed nowhere, but perhaps I am not wanted here, either?”

“You twist my words.”

“And you my arm!”

From across the room, the pair heard Lord Clark chuckling over the din of his piano playing. Lady Emmeline rose and walked to him. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, causing him to stop and look up to her.

“Papa, let me have a turn.”

“You need not ask twice, Emmeline. There is no worse pinaoforte player in all of England than I.” He chuckled again, moving from the bench and joining Simon, who had followed Emmeline, to stand and watch her. She played a selection of Pleyel from sheet music that had come with the pianoforte when it was purchased anew two short years before.

“The pianoforte which Emmeline learned to play on was lost to us some time ago in a fire,” Lord Clark explained. “It was a small one which happened while we were away, and the damage was minimal, really, but it did claim the pianoforte. She begged and begged me for a new one for months, all the while I’d commissioned one be made for her.” Anthony Clark chuckled at his own cleverness and reached out to touch the carvings that adorned the front of the instrument.

“It is a beautiful piece,” the Duke agreed, though whether he meant the instrument, the music, or the lady, no one could be sure.

The three of them passed the morning in good spirits, and in the afternoon, Lydia and Margaret arrived and were not at all surprised to find the Duke there. After tea, the group set out to the market. It was a temporary fixture in town where sellers from all over Europe were peddling art, jewelry, clothing, and intriguing snacks.

“Lady Mary told me about this yesterday,” Emmeline said, her eyes taking it all in in wonder. “We must look for the journals she mentioned wanting and give them to her this weekend.”

“Oh, Emmeline, that is so sweet of you,” Margaret chirped. “I have known Lady Mary for a long time now, and she is the easiest young woman to spoil.”

“Lady Creassey, I did not know that you were so familiar with the Honeyfields.” Lady Margaret looked away, abashed, at Simon’s statement. “You will have a good time this weekend, indeed, then.”

“Lady Margaret has a good time wherever she is,” Lydia added. “She is quite easy to please–she enjoys good tea and art, whether to create it or to look upon it does not matter.”

“It is true, Your Grace. Our Lady Margaret is quite the accomplished painter,” Emmeline added, teasingly, as she reached out for Margaret’s arm. “Let us go and see if we can’t find you some new paints. I thought I saw them in a stall nearby. There!”

Simon followed the girls around and took note of what he learned about Emmeline and her friends. To him, it appeared that Margaret was doted upon by both Lydia and Emmeline, though Lydia was the younger. They all seemed to operate around Emmeline, who was the least sensible but the most brazen, and could haggle with a shop owner of even the least likable disposition. He was grateful for this–it saved his pocket a pretty penny.

Then there was the matter of Lydia, whose personality was, in a way, not as loud as Emmeline’s or Margaret’s. She was not as easy for him to figure out, but he could tell that she and Emmeline shared a special bond, almost like sisters, and he understood it better when he found out that Lydia, too, was an only child.

“It must have been so odious to grow up with so many brothers,” she commented, idly, after Margaret remarked that she had never been able to spend so much time shopping because of James and William.

“Not always,” Lady Margaret laughed. “Though I suppose it would seem that way if you are not accustomed to sharing space with any siblings at all. Have you been to visit your cousins recently? It is a lot like you describe that being.”

“Then it is odious indeed,” Lydia answered solemnly. Simon had surmised earlier that her dramatic way of speaking was all in jest. “I wonder about this sort of thing when Mama talks about marriage. Would I want to have many children, since she had only one?”

“Let us not bore His Grace with talk of marriage and children,” Emmeline cut in pleasantly with a giggle.

“On the contrary, Lady Emmeline. I am quite interested to know what women think of the matter.”

“Why is that? Do men seldom speak of it at all, as we have all guessed?” Lydia asked, her wits sharp about her.

“We speak of it, but a fine gentleman is reserved to the wants of his future wife, and I only keep the company of fine gentleman.”

The girls giggled in chorus, and Simon turned his head so they would not see the proud little smile that emerged on his face. “In that case, you will be of no use in this conversation, and we should move on as Lady Emmeline suggests. We should not like to disclude you from the day’s festivities.”

“It is, after all, getting late. It will be dark soon, and we ought to make our way back to Clark Manor before then. A carriage ride at night is no bother, but walking will be dangerous.”

“Of course. Lady Emmeline, did you find the journals you wanted for Lady Mary?”

“I did,” she said gently, her gaze turning up to meet his. “Let us be on our way.”

Back at Clark Manor, Lord Clark invited them all to stay for dinner. Margaret and Simon agreed, but Lydia had to return home to her parents. He sat at the head of the table, with Lady Emmeline and the Duke on either side of him, and Margarte next to Emmeline, and he beamed at them all.

“I have always wanted to have a large family,” he admitted. “It is fine with me that, instead, I am so blessed with my daughter and her many friends.”

“There are only two here tonight, Papa!”

“Two more than we usually have!” he protested.

Simon was quiet for most of dinner, entertained instead by Lady Margaret and Lady Emmeline’s conversatoin with Lord Clark. It struck him that the Clarks, indeed, behaved like a family of ten times the size. They had so much love to give that it was almost a shame they only had one another to give it to. He wondered if Emmeline wanted many children, and he found, with surprise, that he would be happy to give her as many as she liked, despite his reservations in the past. Lord Clark deserved many grandchildren, and Lady Emmeline, he knew, would make a wonderful mother to any number of offspring.

When the night was over, she accompanied him outside to wait for his carriage to be drawn. They stood in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the night air together.

“I quite enjoyed our outing with your friends today.”

“Yes,” Emmeline smiled warmly. “It bodes well for what this weekend will bring.”

“I think so, too. I know that you have already met them, but I do think that you will make fast friends with both George and Mary.”

“His Grace does seem quite pleasant and level of mind. I have wondered since we met how the two of you managed to become friends. You are quite different of disposition.”

“As are you and Lady Creassey, though you and Lady Browning do have a lot in common.”

“They are honest, kind, and true. We have supported one another through everything since we were young girls. I would not trade them for all the world.”

“As well you shouldn’t.”

“You were already familiar with Lady Margaret before today, though, weren’t you?”

“I would not say so,” he admitted. ‘I am familiar with her family, but I seldom saw her. I believe we were formally introduced just a year ago when I saw her out with her brother in Scotland.”

“What were you doing in Scotland?”

Simon smirked, stepping closer to Emmeline and pointing up to the sky. “I went to see the stars.”

“There are stars here.”

“Not like there are in the Scottish countryside. You should go. You would know what I mean. Better still, do not take my word. Take Margaret’s. She will tell you, I am sure.”

“Did the two of you speak of the stars when you met?”

Simon chuckled, his gaze falling to hers, and for a moment Emmeline’s heart skipped a beat as if she were looking into the eyes of a man she had real affection for. “We hardly spoke at all. Are you inquiring because you are, perhaps, envious, my Lady?”

“If I am envious, it is of you for having been to Scotland at the same time as my dear friend Margaret. I would very much have liked to been on that trip with her and seen the stars with her at my side.”

“Perhaps you should court Lady Creassey.”

Emmeline laughed, swattingat him playfully. “Don’t be absurd.”

“My apologies. I thought it about as likely as my having any interest in any lady besides yourself.”

“Careful, Your Grace. The further you stray from the truth, the less credence your charm has to cling to.”

“But it is the truth, Lady Emmeline. George would tell you the same this weekend. I have never courted another lady, nor shown even the most ambiguous of interest in them. It was not until we met that I even considered marriage.”

Emmeline was quiet, unsure how to respond. She could not believe that this was the case, but the earnest way the Duke spoke of it made her doubt her own instincts. “Then you ought to be vying harder for my attentions,” she said, at last, a mischievous smirk sliding across her face.

“You’ve no idea what I have planned to win your affections, Lady Emmeline. I am confident that I will be successful. When a fortnight is over, you will happily accept my proposal. I know it.”

“I admire your confidence, Your Grace.”

Both of their attentions were called to the driveway before them as the clopping of hooves against brick sounded nearby. A frown wrinkled Simon’s brow, as if he was reluctant to leave. But as the carriage approached, he turned to face Emmeline and pressed something smal into her palm. She took it, and turned it over and over.

“What is this for?” she breathed, admiring the craftsmanship. It was a bracelet she had seen at the market earlier, one she had not touched nor commented on. It was made of neither gold nor jewels, but instead oval wooden beads engraved with intricate, delicate detail, showing the never-ending story of a rabbit racing a tortoise, polished and glazed with black woodstain.

“I find that the things we resign ourselves not to have are the things which we often want the most. I noticed that you liked it, and it was very pretty. So I bought it. For you to have. That is how gifts work, my Lady.”

“I am aware,” she said slowly, running her thumbs across the little rabbit and his little tortoise opponent. “Thank you, Your Grace. This was a kind gesture indeed.”

“I did not make it in kindness,” he said quietly. “I aim to show my affections.”

Emmeline looked up at him, then, an unreadable expression on her face that sent a chill through him. “You cannot show what you do not have.”

“Must affection always come in the manner of the melodramatic lovers who appear in your novels?” he answered. “I have affection for you, Lady Emmeline, and you cannot reject it merely because it is not what you always expected. What you read about may not exist, but I am here before you now, offering you my hand, and you are not taking it because it is not plated in gold and embossed with roses? Can you honestly say to me, after the days we have spent together, that there is nothing for me living in your heart?”

“Affection and love are not the same,” she said quietly.

“I did not offer you love.”

“Then I shall not accept your affection. It would be dishonest, like you said, to do so, and know that I want love.”

Simon thought better of expressing his frustration with her immovability, and nodded instead, climbing into the waiting carriage. He turned before he sat, looking at her, and swallowed around a lump in her throat. There was something melancholy etched into her features that he hated seeing. His expression softened.

“My apologies, Lady Emmeline. Please. Do not let this instance sour the memory of our day together. I meant only–”

“It is quite alright, Your Grace. It is late, and I will go inside. Have a safe trip home.”