Page 60 of The Heiress Gets a Duke
Emily Dickinson
The rain did not let up that day or the next. It continued in a steady drizzle that turned the world to gray and eventually exposed the cracks and flaws of Charrington Manor. Everyone pretended not to notice that the water stain in the corner of the drawing room had begun to ooze. The pitter-patter of drips was frequently disguised with vigorous piano playing and shrieks of laughter as the twins participated in one game or another. To combat the drafts and cold that seeped in through the stone walls, every hearth roared with the heat of a robust fire.
It was very nearly an idyllic getaway from the city and the endless rounds of meetings and entertaining that had kept August busy since their arrival at the beginning of the month. She was coming to find, rather surprisingly, that she enjoyed it here. For certain the house could use modernizing, but when seated before a fireplace with a lap blanket and a cup of tea, it really was bearable. It helped that she had the memory of the duke’s kisses to warm her, as did the memory of how he had clung to her as he had cried for his brother.Real tears.
Although she had only seen one male cry—Max when he had broken his arm at fifteen—she had long suspected that they were as capable of tears of sadness as any woman. That was no surprise. The surprise was that Evan had allowed her to see them, and that he had embraced her instead of pushing her away. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, or him, ever since.
After the library, at tea and then again at dinner, he had gazed at her with those same warm eyes. He did not treat her with the kind of benign courtesy with which he would regard any guest; there was more there now. The tenderness hinted at a secret fire simply waiting to be released. She shivered as the imagined flames of that fire moved over her in ribbons of heat.
“Do you need another blanket, dear?” Violet smiled at her from behind her teacup.
August had shared with her what happened in the library—the kissing part, not the tears. That seemed too special to share. Violet had been staring at her with that knowing smile ever since. More than once she thought back to the conversation she’d had with her sister. If she were ready for marriage, she knew in her heart that she would choose him. If only choosing him didn’t require her to give up everything she held dear.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Are you certain? You seem to be brooding for a particular gentleman who was called away.”
“Stop it, Violet.” August could not help but laugh. “I am not brooding. Besides, he was merely called into town. He will return soon.”
Violet shrugged and set the cup and saucer down. “Well, something has you looking out that window every two minutes.”
August knew Violet was right, because she had caught herself doing it. She was saved from arguing by determined footsteps approaching and the rustle of fabric as Mother stepped into the room.
“Good afternoon, Mother. I thought you were resting. Would you care for some tea?”
Mother shook her head, her expression drawn and firm. “No, thank you. If you are finished, your father and I would like a word.”
Unease moved through her, but August managed to keep a smile on her face even though her mother’s scowl indicated an unpleasant conversation was ahead.
“Certainly.” She exchanged an uneasy glance with her sister, before following her mother from the room.
As they reached the stairs, a commotion from the entry hall had them both turning. Evan hurried inside, handing his dripping hat and coat to a footman. He had left when there had been a pause in the rain, but it had not lasted long. Her heart gave a little thump at the sight of him. He was soaked through, which molded his clothing to him like a second skin, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and his trim waist. When his gaze met hers, it was as if an arc of electrical current moved between them. It was only tamped out when he registered that her mother stood beside her.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” Mother said. She waited only long enough for his polite greeting before taking August’s arm and leading her upstairs to the sitting room she and Papa shared.
Papa was nowhere to be seen. Mother closed the door and then sat in a chair near the fire, so August followed her lead. “I wanted to talk to you before dinner.”
“Yes?” August feigned a benign interest, but her heart was already beginning to pound.
Mother took an audible breath as if finding her courage. August stopped breathing.
“There has been no sign of a betrothal announcement.”
“Mother—”
She held up a hand in a call for silence. “I understand your reticence in this, August. Truly, I do. I was not persuaded in any way to marry your father. He charmed me from the beginning, so I am certain that I cannot speak to how it must feel to have your husband chosen for you.”
“No, I am certain you cannot.” August regretted the bitter tone in her voice, but it was beyond her control.
Her mother blinked. “Nevertheless, it has been done for generations of women. I know you think you are different, and perhaps you are, but in this your father and I know best. We have chosen this man for you, and we want you to accept him.”
August tightened her hands into fists on her lap. “I will not be forced into this.”
Mother’s expression was as firm as her voice. “That is why we must discuss things.”
“Discuss? Discuss?” August could feel the anger flaming to life inside her like a brush fire, and she tried to control it, but it wasn’t easy. “This isn’t a discussion. You want to tell me what to do and have me agree.”
Her mother inclined her head, conceding the point. “You are a bright girl, and I do understand your need for justification. I know how you value your facts and statistics, so here are the facts of the matter. You will have no marriage prospects at home. Your stunts, which were written about in the papers here, will be gossiped about at home.”
