Page 54 of Three Scandals for the Wild Duke

CHAPTER 22

Emma was nestled among the shelves of the library, lost in the pages of a novel, when the butler’s discreet cough announced his presence. She instinctively snapped the book shut and straightened her posture on the plush chaise lounge.

“Miss, you have a caller,” the butler informed her, his tone formal yet infused with a hint of curiosity.

Was George back in town? The thought sparked an unexpected flutter of anticipation in her chest.

“The Duchess of Preston and the Marchioness of Gillingham await you in the drawing room,” he added, pulling her from her brief reverie.

“Oh,” Emma murmured, a note of surprise escaping her lips. It was her friends who had come to visit, not George. A peculiar sensation tugged at her heart, one she hesitated to name asdisappointment. After all, she was genuinely pleased to see her friends.

Recalling Agnes’s recent letter, Emma chided herself for not having responded yet, caught up as she had been in the whirl of events since her return to Town.

She rose gracefully, her gown whispering against the floor as she made her way to the drawing room. Upon entering, she was immediately enveloped in a warm, eager embrace from both Agnes and Frances.

“Oh, how we’ve missed you, dear,” Agnes exclaimed, tightening her hold.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were back in town, Emma?” Frances inquired, her voice a mixture of mock annoyance and genuine affection.

Agnes chimed in, her eyes twinkling with mischief, “I heard the news from My Lady’s maid, in fact. She said she heard it from one of your footmen.”

“I was going to…” Emma began, her words trailing off as she searched for an excuse that wouldn’t come, her cheeks warming under their expectant gazes.

The truth was, Emma wasn’t inclined for any sort of company; her disposition had soured considerably since their return from the countryside. Her parents, ensnared in their own discord, hadhardly spoken to her. Her mother, ever the matron of blame, pointed fingers at Emma for every misfortune, while her father, a shadow in their home, seemed to be plotting silently—never one to let grievances lie dormant.

“Emma?” The echo of her name, voiced by her friends, snatched her from the dark spirals of her thoughts.

She blinked, refocusing on the worried expressions of Agnes and Frances. “Something is wrong,” Agnes noted astutely, her brows furrowed in concern.

“Do tell us, dear. Are you all right? What has happened?” Frances pressed, her voice laced with worry.

With a heavy sigh, Emma unfolded the events of the house party, detailing the strained interactions and the mounting tensions within her family. She omitted, however, the stolen kiss with George—a secret too tender to expose to even her closest confidants.

“I’ve never met a more aggravating man. The Duke is intolerable!” she exclaimed, her frustration reaching its peak.

Her friends absorbed her tirade in silence, exchanging knowing looks before their faces softened into identical, mischievous smiles. “Are you falling in love, Emma?” Agnes ventured with a teasing tone.

“What?” Emma gasped, taken aback by the suggestion. Her heart fluttered traitorously, but she quickly quashed the sensation.

“I am not interested in Firman in that manner. He is a very good friend, whom I admire greatly and feel honored to know, but I harbor no deeper sentiments for him,” she declared firmly, hoping her words sounded more convincing to her friends than they did to herself.

“Oh, we do not speak of the Earl, Emma,” Frannie declared, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she leaned closer, a conspiratorial smile playing at her lips.

“We’re talking about the Duke. Seymore,” Agnes clarified with a knowing nod, her tone filled with implication. “It seems to us you are developing quite the affection for him,” she added, her eyes narrowing playfully.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Emma retorted sharply, a flush creeping up her cheeks. The very idea was preposterous. She couldn’t possibly harbor any romantic feelings for George. Such a thing was utterly impossible.

Is it, though?That annoying little voice in her head dared to question. Emma squashed it mercilessly.

“Oh, but loveisridiculous, Emma,” Frannie continued, her voice lilting with amusement. “It robs us of all reason until we surrender to its enchantment. And what a splendid enchantment it is,” she finished with a dreamy sigh.

Agnes chimed in, her gaze softening, “I believe that ‘ridiculous’ love has indeed cast its spell on you too, dear Emma.”

“I amnotin love,” Emma protested again, more forcefully this time, the words sharp in her throat.

Frannie and Aggie shared a glance, a silent communication passing between them before they both looked back at Emma, smiles broadening. “Oh, but we recognize that look, Emma dear. Because we’ve all been there,” Frannie said gently.

“I just told you two that the man is insufferable! What part of the words ‘insufferable’ and ‘intolerable’ do you not understand?” Emma’s voice rose in exasperation, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. Yet, despite her protestations, a seed of doubt took root, leaving her inexplicably unsettled.

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