Page 14 of The Viscount’s Curvy Prize (Curves & Cravats)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Emmaline spun in front of the mirror, admiring her new dress. She was ensconced in a guest room at Honora’s townhouse, getting ready for her first real foray into polite society on Benedict’s arm.
Honora had taken her to a modiste and helped choose a selection of gowns, and this was the first one Emmaline had worn A breathtaking creation in gold tissue that displayed her figure to perfection, although Emmaline did feel the neckline was a little too revealing.
That was the style for eveningwear, and she trusted Honora’s taste, so Emmaline decided she would brazen it out.
Emmaline supposed she would get used to such things, she must, as she would have a lot to manage preparing herself to be a good wife to Benedict.
Lady Seton . The thought of the title resting on her shoulders was terrifying, but she also knew that with Benedict and his family at her side, it would all work itself out. Emmaline would not be alone.
Her father had not seemed surprised when Benedict returned her to their home and announced the engagement. In fact, he had been suspiciously nonplussed at the news.
She suspected that Benedict had approached him beforehand, it was the kind of honourable thing he would do, but she had not had a moment to discuss it with her father. She had been far too busy organising the packing of her paintings and planning the salon with Honora, who had been ecstatic when she heard the news that Emmaline and her brother were betrothed.
Emmaline could hear the guests milling around in the public rooms below, and she nervously smoothed her hair, examining herself carefully in the mirror and practising her smile.
There came a knock on the door, and Honora’s bright voice called out. “Emmaline, dearest, are you ready? It is time.”
“Coming,” said Emmaline, opening the door and impulsively giving Honora a hug that sent them both into giggles.
“Careful, I have already eaten far too many dainties, don’t squeeze me too tight,” laughed her friend, stepping back to inspect Emmaline’s appearance.
“You look a vision,” Honora announced, threading her arm through Emmaline’s and leading her down the hallway. “Benedict will fall at your feet when he sees you.”
The party was a crush, and Emmaline found herself drawn from one conversation to the next without a moment to catch her breath. Occasionally she found herself back at Benedict’s side, and he would catch her hand, press a discreet kiss to her gloved palm and send her back into the frenzy with a smile.
It seemed the whole of London was crammed into the Windham townhouse.
“You are a success,” declared Honora, pulling Emmaline into an alcove to catch her breath and pressing a glass of punch into her hands. Honora fanned herself briskly, cupping her belly as she lowered herself onto a bench along the wall.
“You will be inundated with commissions after this, although you need only take those that please you. You will be a viscountess, after all.”
Emmaline blinked at the idea of not having to work for an income, but purely for the joy of it. She had not thought of that at all.
“Do you think Benedict will be displeased if I continue to paint?” she asked Honora with a flash of anxiety. She did not understand the rules of the ton , and she wanted to do the proper thing.
“ La , do you think that he would have helped with arranging this party if he did not support you? Please, do not think on it another minute. You are the daughter of Mr Winters, everyone should know your talents. Just wait, before the end of the night your name will be known across London.”
“I… don’t know if I want to draw that much attention to myself…”
Honora laughed, snapping her fan closed and tapping Emmaline playfully on the arm. “You are delightful, dear Emmaline, but you are marrying Benedict Seton. That will draw attention no matter what you wish. Better to guide the ton with the story you want them to tell, than allow them to pass judgement on you. We will look after you, don’t worry.”
But Emmaline was worried. How naive she had been, she realised, blinded by love and the happiness of imagining her life with Benedict.
She left Honora to rest a bit longer, searching the crowd for Benedict. She needed his presence to steady her.
As she stood near the wall of the drawing room and looked across the crush, she overheard her name in the conversation of the men standing in front of her.
“...Yes, Miss Winters, that’s her name. And a good looking filly at that. I am sure Seton enjoys riding her hard.”
The men laughed, crass guffaws that felt like blows to her gut.
Emmaline felt herself go pale, her stomach knotting with shame. But she continued to listen, morbidly curious.
“I heard Seton take a bet on tupping her, saw him at White’s a few weeks ago. Although he didn’t have to parade his mistress in front of the ton , poor girl. Some jewellery and a townhouse would have sufficed.”
More laughter followed this sordid gem, and Emmaline faded back into the crowd. She had heard enough, far too much in fact.
Benedict had planned on seducing her? No, they had said bet .
Her virtue had been nothing but a wager to him?
Her stomach threatened to turn, and Emmaline took herself to the terrace, desperately in need of air.
She needed to leave, immediately. She needed…
To disappear, to cease to exist.
Dashing tears from her cheeks, Emmaline fought for breath. Why had she imagined that a man like Benedict could love her? She was a fool. A gullible, foolish girl who knew nothing about the world.
She fingered the ring Benedict had given her, mind racing as she tried desperately to decide what to do.