Page 46 of A Duke Reformed
Emma cradled her wrist and sat up with a wince, glaring at both of them. "Must you two always bring the chaos indoors?" she snapped, her separate frustrations merging. "Someone is going to get hurt. Again!"
She slowly rose to her feet, brushing down her gown with one hand while still cradling her sore wrist with the other. "No running in the halls. How many times must I say it before one of you listens?"
Phillip looked down, still catching his breath, but Dorothy crossed her arms, clearly still riled up and wanting to get back at Phillip.
Emma turned to her younger sister and sighed. "Dorothy, you are not a child anymore. You'll be debuting next Season. You must begin to carry yourself with more composure."
"But he–"
Emma held up a hand. "I know he provokes you, but part of becoming a lady is learning not to let people get under your skin. Especially not Phillip. You should learn by now to ignore his antics and not fall for it every single time."
Phillip puffed out his chest with misplaced pride, which only earned him another sharp look from Emma.
"Off with you both," she said, waving them away. "And this time, walk. If you must play together, then do it in the morning room, or outside."
Emma waited until they had both trudged off down the corridor, watching Phillip dragging his feet dramatically and Dorothy throwing one last glare over her shoulder before leaning back against the wall with a sigh that came from her rearfoot.
Her wrist throbbed slightly, but not nearly as much as her head.
She had already been frustrated when she left the garden, but now, after nearly being flattened in her own corridor, after having to lecture Dorothy and Phillip yet again, after landing squarely on the marble floor like a sack of potatoes, she was past the brink of patience. She decided it was best to get some sleep and tackle the day again with an even clearer head.
As Emma rounded the corner toward the main stairwell, the muffled sounds of raised voices met her ears. They were sharp, tense, and unmistakably heated. She paused mid-step, her brow furrowing, already knowing the source before she heard the names. It was Cecilia and their father.
Again.
She exhaled a long breath through her nose and her shoulders tightened. The walls of the Lockhart estate had grown far too familiar with the rhythm of their constant quarrels. It was almost a daily occurrence at this point and Emma knew she was irrevocably tired of it.
With a hand pressed lightly to her aching wrist, Emma resumed her steps, making her way to the drawing room and the voices grew louder, clearer.
"... and what explanation am I to give Lord Ventnor?" Howard's voice cracked like a whip as Emma stepped into the room. "That my daughter, after being afforded every advantage, now finds herself too grand for proper society?"
"I have told you, Papa!" Cecilia's voice, though higher, matched his for ferocity. "I don't enjoy those events. I don't wish to smile and nod and endure vacuous conversation just to secure some dreadful match. Lord Ventnor is as old as you!"
Emma watched them for a moment. Howard pacing furiously in front of the fireplace, while Cecilia stood rooted near the window, arms crossed in stubborn defense, and her chin tilted defiantly toward the ceiling.
"Please," Emma said, her voice calm but strained, stepping in between them like a reluctant shield. "Everyone can hear you both."
They didn't even flinch.
"I don't care what you enjoy, Cecilia," Howard snapped, barely sparing Emma a glance. "You are a Lockhart. You have duties, expectations. I will not have you sulking away your chances because you've taken a fancy to dramatics."
"You think it's dramatics?" Cecilia let out a short, bitter laugh, her arms folding tighter across her chest. "You think I'm refusing to attend balls and smile at gentlemen because I want attention? If you must know, that is far from the truth."
Howard shook his head. "You've become entirely too self-important. You behave as if the entire world must bend to your whims."
"And you behave as though I'm a sheep to be herded into some man's home!" she shot back. "I'm tired, Papa. Tired of pretending. I refuse to go to this function because I see no use for it."
"Cecilia, this is your third absence in a row. Tongues are already wagging."
"I don't care what they say!" Cecilia cried.
"Well I do!" he yelled. "I care what they say about my family. About my daughter. I will not have you make a fool of me because you have decided you are too clever, too particular for the rules everyone else must follow."
"Enough!" Emma's voice cracked through the room like a whip, sharper than she intended... sharp enough to draw stunned silence from both Howard and Cecilia.
Her chest rose and fell as she stepped forward, eyes blazing. Fury curled hot in her chest, thick and stifling, but she forced herself to breathe, to steady. She couldn't let the anger speak for her. Not when they clearly needed someone to think for them.
"This is what is going to happen," she started by saying, then took in a deep breath. "Father, you will need to find another suitor for Cecilia. If she says she doesn't want to speak to Lord Pearlton, then I don't think it's productive to keep forcing her to do so. I think you should find a gentleman who is not entangled in business with you, nor twice her age. I can make a list for you of eligible bachelors, appropriate in rank and reputation. You may review it and send your letters as you please."
