Page 38 of Three Scandals for the Wild Duke

“The Marquess is also desperate enough that he’s agreed to pay for me too,” Emma continued, her voice growing colder with each word.

“If I fail here, Antoinetta, I am going to be sold to him,” she finished dejectedly.

“You are not going to fail,” Antoinetta said, gripping Emma’s hand with a firmness that conveyed not just comfort but conviction.

“I’m afraid I do not have as much faith,” Emma admitted, feeling a lone tear escape and trace a path down her cheek.

“Oh please don’t say that, Emma,” Antoinetta implored, pulling her into a comforting embrace. “Every breath we take is a chance, Emma. And so long as you believe it, nothing is impossible,” she murmured into her hair. “Promise me you will not give up. Promise me that you will go out there before this party ends, and make the most of it,” she added, pulling back to look Emma squarely in the eyes.

Emma wiped away her tears, moved by Antoinetta’s unwavering support. Her lady’s maid was right; every breath was indeed a chance.

And this party wouldn’t last forever. If she did not seize the opportunity now, the regret might shadow her for the rest of her life. She had to try, for her own sake, if not to defy the dire predictions that seemed to loom over her future.

She would set aside her weeping for another day and leave no room for regrets. Emma straightened up, a new resolve hardening within her. “Help me get ready for the day, please,” she asked Antoinetta, her voice steadier than it had been moments before.

“That’s the spirit,” her lady’s maid beamed, her face alight with approval and pride.

Fortified by this small but significant rally of spirit, Emma descended to the morning room, hoping to find Alexander and perhaps a chance to alter her course. However, upon entry, she found not Alexander but George, sitting alone, nursing a cup of coffee. The room was otherwise empty.

When he looked up and met her gaze, the expression in his eyes startled her—it was cold, almost venomous. For a moment, George seemed like a complete stranger to her. A chill ran through her as she stood there, perplexed and somewhat frightened.

What was wrong? She wondered, her heart sinking further. What had caused such a drastic change in him overnight?

CHAPTER 16

Oh, do not think the worst, Emma!

She must be imagining things, she reasoned. Perhaps the stress of the recent events was making her see shadows where there were none. George’s demeanor was likely no different from any other day; it was her perception that had altered under the weight of her anxieties.Yes, this had to be it!

With a deep breath to steady her nerves, Emma approached him. “A lovely morning is it not, Your Grace?” she greeted, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace.

“Is it?” he asked in a tone that was clipped and cold. This only served to heighten her worries, confirming that something was certainly amiss.

Without another word, she turned away and made her way to the sideboard. Her movements were mechanical as she abstractedlyserved herself, her mind swirling with a torrent of thoughts about George’s uncharacteristic behavior.

Choosing a seat as far from him as possible, Emma sat down quietly. It was only after a footman served her some orange juice and she glanced down at her plate did she realize what she had absentmindedly gathered from the sideboard—a solitary slice of toast.

They sat in silence, the seconds stretching into what felt like an eternity. Emma bit into her toast, the bread dry and difficult to swallow. She couldn’t decide what was choking her more: her meager meal or the palpable tension that filled the room.

Seeking any distraction to ease the discomfort, she reached for the marmalade and began to spread it thickly over the bitten toast. It was then she felt the weight of George’s gaze on her. Lifting her eyes, she found him staring at her, his look one of accusation.

Emma was more confused than ever. What could possibly be going through his mind to look at her so? Was it something she had done, or was there something else troubling him?

She didn’t know why George was acting this way, or what it was she might have done. Especially after their dance last night, all had seemed well when they’d parted. A part of her wanted to bridge the gap, to take her meal and move closer to him so she could quietly ask what was wrong. But the other part, the more sensible one, reminded her of the pressing matters awaiting herattention, matters far greater than deciphering the moods of George.

Thus, with a sense of resignation, she continued to eat her toast, though each bite seemed more laborious than the last. Quickly finishing her meal, she left the room, her thoughts already shifting to the tasks ahead. She needed to find Alexander; there were plans to set in motion, plans that couldn’t wait for the resolution of whatever storm brewed within George.

“Just the lady I was looking for,” a cheerful voice called out in the hallway just then, pulling her from her reverie. Emma turned and saw Olivia approaching, her face alight with excitement. Before Emma could respond, Olivia looped her arm through hers and led her down the hallway.

“Some paintings just arrived. Fancy catching the first glimpse?” Olivia proposed with an enthusiastic tug, not pausing to wait for an answer before pulling Emma along with her.

They made their way to the gallery, where footmen were just finishing up hanging one of the newly arrived pieces. The servants bowed politely and excused themselves as Olivia and Emma approached the new addition to the collection.

“It’s magnificent, is it not?” Olivia said, stopping before a dramatic painting of a ship caught in a tempest, the dark swirling clouds and churning sea rendered with breathtaking intensity.

“This is the other one,” Olivia pointed to the painting adjacent to the tempestuous sea, drawing Emma’s attention to a cheerier scene. It depicted a grand castle standing tall under the bright sun of a summer day, its majesty undeniable, resembling Firman Castle in its regal stature and serene setting.

Emma’s gaze, however, drifted back to the painting of the ship caught in the storm. Both artworks struck a chord with her, unsettling her as she compared them to the current turmoil in her life. She felt akin to the ship, battered by relentless waves, yearning for the safety and stability represented by the castle. Yet, as she looked on, the castle seemed more unattainable than ever, a distant dream not meant for someone like her.

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