Page 36 of A Duke Reformed
"The duke has never struck me as a polite man," Cecilia said. "He is an intimidating, strange man. Besides, polite men send flowers. They do not send gowns finer than anything in a lady's trousseau."
"So you do admit that the dress is exquisite?" Emma beamed.
"I do," she answered.
Emma pressed her lips together, as she began folding the dress carefully. "He's just being polite, Cecilia. I'm glad he finds my lessons helpful enough to get me a gift. He already pays so well."
"Hmm." Cecilia tapped her chin, her knowing smile not quite fading. "If you say so."
Emma ignored her and smoothed her palm over the fabric once more. She did love the dress. The color, the feel of it. She figured that since Solomon had sent it, then she could honor the gesture in the best way possible.
"I think I shall wear it to the next ball," she decided. "It's only a few days away and it's a big one."
At the mention of a ball, Cecilia froze. The teasing light in her eyes almost instantly dimmed, and she clasped her hands together. Slowly, she turned around and walked over to the sofa to sit.
Emma, who had been admiring the dress, immediately noticed. "Cecilia? What is it?" she asked, frowning. Once she had put the dress back into its box, she walked to the sofa and sat with Cecilia. "Speak."
Cecilia stole glances at her and then sighed. "You know how Lady Agatha chaperoned me at the last ball that you couldn't attend?"
"Yes?" Emma answered.
Cecilia bit her lip, hesitating. "Lord Pearlton was there."
Emma's shoulders slumped. "That man again?"
Cecilia nodded. "Emma, it has gotten worse. He is always by my side. You don't quite understand. I cannot possibly get any other suitors when he scares them away.
Emma's brow furrowed. "What do you mean he scares them away?"
Cecilia sighed in frustration. "Whenever another gentleman so much as looks in my direction, he appears as if summoned. He watches them with that smug, possessive air, making it clear that he considers me spoken for. He fills my dance cards, and hovers."
Emma's expression hardened. "Has he done anything inappropriate?"
"No," Cecilia admitted. "Not yet. But I am tired of waiting for him to finally do something inappropriate. Because then what happens? Papa challenges him to a duel, or forces him to marry me? I wouldn't win."
"I do not know what to do," she continued. "I cannot avoid every event, but I also cannot stand another evening of being cornered by him."
Emma tightened her grip on Cecilia's hand, offering silent reassurance. "Then we shall put a stop to it."
Cecilia let out a weary sigh. "Emma, I'm tired of hearing that."
"For now, you should stay away from the next few events of the Season. I think that would be best."
Cecilia shook her head. "Emma, he comes by at least once a week. Every Thursday. It's not just the balls. He's everywhere."
"Then we will always be at the modiste, or at the park every Thursday when he calls."
"What if he starts visiting every single day?" Cecilia asked. "What do we do then?"
Emma's jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists in her lap. One man. One insufferable man was making her family so uncomfortable that they were considering hiding from society just to avoid him. The very thought made her stomach churn with fury.
No. She could not allow it. She refused to let Cecilia shrink away from society because of Lord Pearlton's unwelcome advances. She knew what it was like to miss one's chance at finding a good match, and Lord Pearlton was making it difficult for Cecilia to fully blossom. If he thought he could frighten her sister into submission, then he was about to learn a harsh lesson.
Emma lifted her chin. "We don't hide," she said firmly.
Cecilia hesitated. "Then what–"
"We attend every single event," Emma interrupted, her resolve strengthening with every word. "And I will accompany you to all of them. If Lord Pearlton insisted on being relentless, then he would find that I too can come on very strong."
