Page 15 of Three Scandals for the Wild Duke

“And so what, Mama?” Emma finally lost her patience. “Is it such a bad thing that I appear to have two suitors now?” She challenged, her voice rising with her burgeoning defiance.

Her mother seemed taken aback and sputtered, momentarily at a loss for words.

Emma opened her mouth to voice more of her grievances then, but her voice was drowned by her father’s, who angrily joined them. “Did I not tell you to steer clear of that Duke?” Tristan spat. “What did you think you were doing? Clinging onto him the entire afternoon?” he added, his tone accusatory and harsh.

“I did not cling onto anyone, father,” Emma defended, her voice firm yet weary from the constant battles.

“That reprehensible man will only ruin our plans,” the Baron cried indignantly. “Now you listen here, girl,” his voice lowered to a dangerous whisper. “You stay away from Seymore. And do whatever it takes to captivate Firman and make him yours,” he said. “Your clock is ticking. And I am sure the Marquess of Neads is waiting…” He added, his words hanging ominously in the air.

Emma felt even more sick at the mention of Neads. She watched her father’s lip curl smugly when he noticed how affected she was by his threats. The man derived pleasure from inflicting her pain, she concluded dejectedly.

When her parents stormed out of the room, she slumped into the chaise by the window, fighting the tears which burned at the back of her eyes. She looked out the window and saw Firman andSeymore in the gardens below. The Duke raised his head just then. And Emma found herself staring back at him as he held her gaze through the window. Something within her sank. What had she done to deserve her circumstances?

Emma felt dreadful still the next morning. “Oh no, you cannot skip breakfast, Emma!” Antoinetta cried when Emma said she had no appetite, and thus had no plans of going downstairs for breakfast. “You need some sustenance to start your day,” her lady’s maid insisted.

When Emma saw the concern in her eyes, she decided to humor her. “Very well. I will go down after finishing these letters,” she said, acquiescing more for Antoinetta’s sake than her own.

She was writing letters to her two dearest friends, Frances Hughes and Agnes Young, both of whom were happily married and rusticating in their family seats in the country with their husbands. Emma had gone to finishing school with the girls and missed them dearly—their adventures and times together. And as much as she was happy for them, she couldn’t help but envy them too. Frances had married a Duke, and Agnes had married a Marquess, and both men adored their wives to distraction.

If only she could find such love too. Alas, her own reality was different. Perhaps she even lived in a different world from her friends, she thought to herself. Hers was definitely no fairytale.

Writing the letters was an excuse she sought to delay going down for breakfast. She wanted the room emptied. She didn’t think she could countenance any company today.

“Do you promise to go down after the letters?” Antoinetta looked skeptical.

“I promise,” Emma chuckled lightly.

“And to eat a proper meal?” Her lady’s maid pressed on.

“Andto eat a proper meal,” Emma echoed, her voice light but her heart heavy, as she returned her attention to the letter she was writing Frances.

My dearest Frannie

It warms my heart to think of you nestled in your country, and I must encourage you to enjoy every moment before the start of the season—much is expected of the Duchess of Preston, after all.

I am currently attending a splendid house party in Wiltshire, hosted by the Earl of Firman and his family. The company is lively and the evenings are filled merriment. You should see the Earl’s garden—it is positively from a dream! These are just the delights and diversions an old lady such as myself needs.

Good heavens! Frannie, I sounded very unlike myself there, telling you about the splendid time I am having here while in truth I am miserable. The gentlemen are dull, and dearly I miss you and Aggie. Why am I unhappy, you ask? This house party augurs an uninteresting season. I often wonder if my parents will allow me to remain unmarried by its end.

I shudder at the thought of having to do something desperate to find a husband. Do pray for your hopeless little friend, Frannie. And give many kisses to Caspian for me. I grow fonder of him every day.

With all my love,

Emma

As she read the letter after writing, she realized that her fingers had betrayed her and given her friends some of the truth of her emotions. Sighing, she sealed it and prepared to go down for breakfast.

The breakfast room was thankfully empty when she arrived. She fetched her food and sat to eat, grateful for the peace.

Her solitude was short-lived, however, when Seymore suddenly made an appearance. A part of Emma didn’t want to see him. But another part of her couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked dressed in a dark blue coat.

She felt warmth stain her cheeks when he greeted her, and she tried not to meet his gaze. While he fetched his food, she tried to compose herself and concentrate on her own meal.

He returned and sat across from her. And she felt his gaze intent on her, practically shadowing her every move. The intensity of his attention was unsettling yet oddly thrilling, and Emma found herself caught between annoyance and a curious intrigue.

She purposefully kept quiet and refused to engage him in the conversation he no doubt sought. She filled her mouth with food and chewed slowly, focusing intently on her plate as if it held the answers to her growing disquiet.

“What, pray tell, are you sulking about on such a lovely day?” He finally broke the silence, his tone light, yet edged with a challenge that Emma knew all too well.

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