Page 75 of Three Scandals for the Wild Duke

"We merely wish for you to acknowledge what is plainly before your eyes," Olivia countered, her tone teasing yet tender.

"Infatuation?" Emma repeated, the word hanging momentarily in the air as her teacup halted in its journey to her lips.

"Oh, to be young and enamored!" Frances exclaimed.

Emma tossed a small velvet pillow at her friend. “You speak as though you are old and wise.”

“I am wise!”

“So your husband has led you to believe!” Agnes laughed.

Emma felt a pang just then, recalling the affection she had seen the Duke of Preston display to his wife. She turned to Olivia. “Where is Lady Amberton?”

"Regrettably, Aunt Jane could not accompany me today; an unexpected visitor detained her," Olivia remarked as she reached for a biscuit, the blueberry jam glistening temptingly. "Nonetheless, she sends her warmest regards and eagerly awaitsthe opportunity to offer her congratulations in person," she continued.

Emma’s response was a slight smile. "And what of the preparations for your dress and trousseau? When shall we commence the delightful task of shopping?" Agnes inquired, her eyes alight with the thrill of the occasion.

"Aggie, you would never forsake a chance to peruse the modistes' latest offerings, would you?" Frannie jested.

"Oh, why would she?" Olivia chimed, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Any excuse to embrace our nature is welcome." Her wink was mirrored by Agnes.

"I never saw a more enthusiastic duo," Frances remarked with a fond shake of her head. Turning her attention to Emma, she continued with a warm smile, "I for one cannot wait to see what dress you choose, Emma. I think you will make the most beautiful bride."

Emma could only smile and hide what she felt within. An hour later, Olivia glanced at her empty teacup and sighed. "I’m afraid I must take my leave now," she announced, a hint of reluctance in her tone as she set the delicate China down with a soft clink.

"Oh, so soon?" Emma asked.

"Yes, I must make a trip to the bookstore," Olivia explained, her enthusiasm for her errand momentarily brightening herexpression. "I’m reading a collection of books, and I need to go purchase the new volume before it becomes unavailable.”

"We should have tea again," Frances and Agnes proposed in unison.

Olivia’s face lit up with a grateful smile, and she was only too glad to accept their invitation. "You have such wonderful friends, Emma. I cannot wait to have tea again," she expressed warmly as Emma saw her out to the waiting carriage.

“They are one of my treasures, Olivia.”

“I hope to be a part of that treasure.”

“You already are.” Emma meant that, and Olivia hugged her.

Her mind wandered back to George. She’d wanted to ask Olivia about him, yet hesitated, wary of seeming too forward in her inquiries.

It is only two days, Emma. Did you expect him to write you a love letter daily or call upon you with flowers and poems?Perhaps she did—the foolish woman that she was.

"You best hurry on to the bookstore and return home in time for dinner before your brothers begin to worry," Emma said, her tone light yet purposeful, hoping to draw out some information from Olivia.

"Oh, there's only one of them at the moment," Olivia dismissed lightly with a casual wave of her hand. "George is out of town, you see," she added nonchalantly.

Emma felt a jolt of surprise but tried to keep her expression serene. "He’s gone down to one of his estates. Although I am not sure which," Olivia continued, her tone helpful yet oblivious to the storm brewing within Emma.

A wave of unease washed over Emma. Was George developing cold feet? Did he need space to reconsider his decision before the wedding? The uncertainty gnawed at her, planting seeds of doubt in her mind. What if he no longer wished to marry her?

"Oh, do not worry. He will be back in time for the wedding," Olivia reassured suddenly, as though sensing Emma's inner turmoil. Her words were meant to soothe, but they only partially succeeded.

Emma mustered a smile and bid Olivia goodbye, her thoughts a tangled web of anxiety and hope. As she walked back into the house, her steps were slow, her mind preoccupied with George's absence.

When she returned to the drawing room and retook her seat, she found her friends' eyes fixed upon her, their concern evident. Their gazes were searching, silently urging her to share what troubled her heart.

"What is wrong, Emma?" Frances asked gently, her voice a soft plea for honesty.

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