Page 6 of Only a Fortnight with the Duke
CHAPTER 6
T he Earl of Stanton sat his desk, papers strewn across the surface, and a cup of tea held aloft midway through its journey to his lips. Before him stood his daughter, Emmeline, with a firm but polite expression on her face.
“Emmeline Clark,” he said at last. “In what time, between his arrival the night of the ball and this day at noon, have you had the time to fall in love with a stranger? You do not know this man. You have not been properly introduced. What is the meaning of this?”
Emmeline bit her lip, but she did not let the conviction disappear from her face. The better part of a week had passed since her argument with Reginald, and her consequent arrangement with the Duke. In that time, Emmeline and Simon had been able to meet many times while she carefully avoided her supposed betrothed. Lord Bancroft, she supposed, a flush rising on her cheeks out of anger as she recalled his behavior at the park, was content to give her some space after his outburst.
She rushed to her father’s side and perched beside him on the leather bench near his window. “Papa,” she insisted. “He is not at all like any man of society I have met before. He is well-read, and he takes my opinion into account, and he remembers the things that I tell him about myself and–”
From her skirts, Emmeline produced a pretty stone. It was small and smooth, foggy with bursts of milky white. It seemed almost to glow in the palm of her hand. “He says that it is sea glass he found while he was abroad and kept because it was so pretty, but he wanted for me to have it because I spoke to him of how much mother loved the ocean.”
The Earl leaned back in his chair, regarding her with contemplative surprise. Emmeline felt a jolt of guilt as she watched what she knew were painful memories of her late mother cross her father’s eyes. She almost wished that the stone and the story of it were contrived, but it was the truth. In fact, all that she’d said about the Duke was true.
It was as if after their initial agreement, he had turned over a coin and become a different man altogether. He had been as sharp and witty as ever, but his words were gentler with her–his eyes softer, sometimes a mirror of her own when they discovered a shared love for another piece of literature or culture. Lady Clark really did find him a pleasant conversationalist, though she knew that their lack of disagreements of late were evidence that he was merely competitive.
There was naught left for her to do for it but to play her part in kind.
“You are sure that this is what you want? I have no mind for the political ramifications this may have if the Viscount becomes sour over this. So be at peace that you can make this decision confidently with concern only for your heart, my love.”
“This is what I want, Papa.”
“And your heart is true? You are not running from Reginald Bancroft into the first set of open arms awaiting you?”
“No, Papa. If I had not met and fallen in love with His Grace, Duke of Blackwood, I would have come around to marrying Lord Bancroft. We are good friends, as you know. I detested the manner in which the engagement was made, but I understand where your hearts were. It will hurt me a great deal to think that I might cause any upset to him in breaking the engagement. You must know, then, that I do not ask this of you with a light heart.”
“I see,” the Earl breathed, his eyes wide. He studied her, once more, looking for any trace of confusion in his daughter. Finding none, he conceded. “Then, Emmeline, if this is what you want, I will make the proper preparations. You must promise me one thing, though, my dear girl.”
“What is it, Papa? Anything.”
“If I am to break off the engagement to Lord Bancrotf for a courtship with no guarantee of marriage, I want you to promise me that you will see a counter-offer from the Duke by the end of the season.”
“Oh, but Papa–”
“And if, for whatever reason, he does not ask for your hand, then you and I will work together to see you married before the start of the next.”
With careful control and quick thinking, Emmeline smiled and nodded her head. “Of course, Papa. I promise you. I am confident in my affection for the Duke, and his for me.” She was surprised to find that these words came out more easily than they should have. Her father beamed at her, then shooed her out of his office so he might work. She shut the door to his study and leaned back against it, a thoughtful frown muddying her pretty features.
“Lady Clark.”
Emmeline’s green eyes widened and looked up to her father’s steward. He presented her a tray with two calling cards that she need not read to know who was visiting her. “Bring them out to the garden. We will have tea there,” she instructed, leaving very little space for a response before she was off to find the perfect seat outside to entertain her dearest friends.
“Lady Browning and Lady Creassey have arrived,” the steward announced, holding open the door from the garden so that Lydia and Margaret might enter. Emmeline went to them, propelled by the shimmering energy of a secret joy and mischief she was want, desperately, to disclose to her two greatest friends. She embraced, then seated them, and tea was served.
“Lady Emmeline,” Margaret began. “You are the subject of a great deal of gossip of late.” Her expression was firm, but not in the least judgmental. She seemed to be concerned for her friend–perhaps hurt that she had heard some news of her that she could not confirm or deny. Lydia, beside her, raised her eyes expectantly to Emmeline.
“And what is it that you heard?”
“That you are betrothed?”
“I am not.”
“That there was some sort of an upsetting scene between you and your friend the Viscount?”
Lydia interjected, then, before Emmeline had a chance to. “No one has been able to say that they saw it happen, and we are certain that it cannot be true. My mother said that she was able to trace the rumors back to that terrible Miss Norcliffe.”
“We did have an argument at promenade the day after the ball,” Emmeline answered evenly.
“Then…then, is it true that you have been seen out with the Duke of Blackwood? It is…Well, Emmeline, I don’t mean to scare you, but I have heard from my brother that there is speculation among the young men of the Duke’s company that he somehow compromised you and has taken you up as a–”
“Do you wish to continue spouting the silly nonsense you’ve heard from the ton, or would you like to learn the truth from the source?” Emmeline smiled with sweet patience at her friends. The gossip they spoke of was dreadful, but she had already raised this concern to the Duke. His answer had been succinct and honest–they need only make an appearance together in public in such a manner that their courtship was undeniable. It would quiet the ton merely because of his status and wealth.
“Of course. Get on with it then,” Lydia goaded.
“Lord Bancroft and my father–” Emmeline lifted her head and turned it, looking up at the windows for any sign that he might be listening– “got together and made arrangements for our marriage the morning of the ball.”
“Your marriage?” Margaret gasped.
“The morning of the ball!” Lydia looked appalled. “But you told us nothing all night!”
“I did not know.”
“When were you made aware?” Margaret’s gentle voice cut through the sounds of appalled shock that Lydia made.
“Not until the next morning, and that was when we must have been spotted out at promenade. I was cross with him. I still am.”
“Have you spoken to him since then?”
“I have not. He has made himself scarce, and I am thankful for it.”
“But, Emmeline, you said that you are not betrothed.”
“I am not. The Duke was also at promenade that afternoon and…happened upon my argument with Lord Bancroft.”
“The Duke of Blackwood?” Lydia was incredulous, her mouth agape.
“The Duke of Blackwood, yes.”
Emmeline shared the truth of the matter with her friends, from the Viscount’s atrocious behavior to the Duke’s proposal. They listened to her hushed tones in raptured silence, and when it was all over, the three of them sat in silence for several minutes together over their tea.
“Emmeline,” Margaret started, at length, her voice as even as ever. “I know that you are not the sort to make a hasty decision. However, you are quite strong of will. Are you positive that you have thought this through in its entirety? We are happy to support you no matter what, but…does Lord Bancroft not strike you as a more predictable prospect than the Duke?”
Emmeline sighed wistfully, leaning against her fist, propped up on the table by an elbow. “Would that I could look at this entire situation in a more practical light. To marry Lord Bancroft, even if he had done me the courtesy of speaking with me before my father, would betray my heart. If I can not love and be loved in my marriage, then I do not wish to be married. I know that true love exists outside of the pages of a novel for I have seen it. It is what shaped me as a girl. To give up on that–”
“Would not be you,” Lydia finished, her smile easy but her brows still drawn together with concern. “How will you guard your heart, then?”
Emmeline laughed breezily, covering her mouth with her hand for a moment. “Easily. The Duke is every bit the man I thought he was when he walked into the ball.”
“Then, what will you do when it is over?” Margaret inquired.
“I will have the rest of the season to fall in love,” Emmeline admitted, the heaviness of her heart evident in the sag of her shoulders. “This will buy me some time, but only a little. I just need to trust that this opportunity did not come to me without reason.”
“And if you end your courtship with the Duke only for Lord Bancroft to ask again for your hand?”
Emmeline smiled slyly. “I shared this concern with you before your arrival, Margaret. But if the ton has as much to say about me as you have said, then, surely, he will save himself the shame and scandal.”
The three ladies continued to discuss the matter for a bit until Margaret and Lydia were satisfied that Emmeline’s mind was made up once and for all. Then, eventually, the conversation turned to more trivial, enjoyable matters. They passed the afternoon together in high spirits, and Emmeline saw her friends off just before dinner. When her maid fetched her to eat, Emmeline was surprised to see a third table setting.
“Good evening, Papa,” she greeted him, warily, an eyebrow quirked. His expression was proud–almost smug. “Who will be joining us tonight?”
The Earl did not answer her at first. Instead, his gaze drifted from her eyes to just past her shoulder. Before she could turn to see what he saw, she heard the steward’s voice.
“His Grace, the Duke of Blackwood, has arrived.”
“Your Grace,” Lord Clark echoed with a booming voice and a gentle chuckle. “We are quite pleased that you were able to dine with us on such short notice tonight.” The place set for the Duke was at Lord Clark’s left side, across from where Emmeline sat. She stared at it, then at her father, before finally turning to see Simon. It was bizarre to see him standing there in the doorway of her own dining room–almost too intimate for her tastes. When she saw him, she smiled and called a flush to her cheeks, but only because she felt her competitive spirit strike upon seeing his expression.
His green eyes were locked on her, as if he meant to burn her appearance into his memory. Before either of them could speak, Lord Clark made a quick introduction of Emmeline to the Duke.
“It is a wonderful surprise and a great honor to have you here to dine with us tonight, Your Grace,” she breathed, bowing her head slightly to him. She could feel her father watching her, and when she picked her gaze back up she mirrored the longing in his.
“It is a pleasure indeed, Lady Clark.” Laboriously, he turned his attention to the Earl as if it pained him to rip his gaze away from his beloved. “I was thrilled to receive the invitation.”
“Come in! Sit,” insisted the Earl. “The two of you.”
Emmeline and Simon took their places, and the Earl carried on the conversation for most of dinner. Emmeline seethed silently but carried her part of the act well. It would not have been difficult for him to come up with an excuse to decline her erratic father’s spur-of-the-moment invitation. He had seen it as an opportunity to catch her unawares, she was sure, and this information was deeply unsettling.
It set a precedent for the rest of the game.