Page 14 of A Duke Reformed
"Miss Lockhart, wait," she heard him say.
If it wasn't for the fact that her face was entirely flushed red and she couldn't think properly, Emma would have turned around. But she couldn't. She was too embarrassed to do that. It was obvious that she had made a grave mistake. But it was too late to change anything.
CHAPTER SIX
What on earth have I done?
Emma groaned for the umpteenth time that day. It had been difficult to sleep for the past couple of days. Each time she closed her eyes, an image of Solomon invaded her thoughts, unbidden and relentless. Sometimes it was his smirk, that infuriating half-smile that made her stomach twist in knots. Other times, it was the way he had looked at her, as if he could see straight through her carefully constructed composure.
Then there were the dreams. In one, he had called her "Ducky" in that low, gravelly voice of his, and she had actuallysmiledat him, as if it were the most endearing thing in the world, when in reality, the word irked her. In another, he had leaned in so close she could feel his breath on her skin, his eyes dark and intense, and she had woken up with her heart pounding and her cheeks flaming.
Solomon was tormenting her even in his absence. It was obvious that she had made a costly mistake. But she didn't think it was enough to be tormented for it.
"... Is that not the same gown she wore to the Haversham ball last season? I'm telling you, Cornelia, the rumors about Lord Lockhart are entirely true!"
Emma instantlysnapped out of her reverie when she overheard two women nearby, their voices carrying just enough for her to catch their words. She turned to search for where the whispers were coming from and she soon spotted two ladies stationed behind her by the roses. They stood a few feet away, their heads tilted together as they glanced in Cecilia's direction. Both women held parasols to shield themselves from the mild sun, their gowns fluttering slightly in the gentle breeze.
Lord Lockhart? Surely, they cannot be whispering about Papa.
Curious, Emma took a step back in a bid to hear them clearly.
The other woman let out a delicate laugh and let out a dramatic sigh. "I'm starting to see what you're talking about, Martha. It's sad."
"Pathetic, you mean," the first lady said in response. "I suppose not everyone can afford to keep up with the latest fashions. Still, one would think they would at least try to be discreet about it. I don't think it's a good look that Cecilia is wearing the same dress she wore last season."
"Discreet?" her companion replied, raising an eyebrow. "My dear, there's no discreet way to wear a gown twice to gatherings like this. It's practically a declaration of... well, you know."
"Indeed," the first woman said, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Though I must say, it's rather brave of her to show her face here at all. If I were in her position, I'd be too embarrassed to leave the house."
"My mama would rather hide me under the covers than let me leave my room," she answered and giggled. "She'd throw a fit if it ever got to that. It's utterly embarrassing. You're right. It's quite pathetic."
Emma's stomach twisted, her hands clenching at her sides. She forced herself to keep her expression neutral, but the sting of their words burned. Cecilia, standing a few paces away near a fountain, seemed oblivious to the conversation, but Emma could see the tension in her shoulders... the way her fingers fidgeted with the fabric of her skirt. She could tell that there were eyes on her, and it was making her uncomfortable.
Emma took a deep breath, trying to steel herself. She should have known better. She should have realized that morning before they left for the party that Cecilia's dress was last season's. She had worn the few dresses they had bought for this season, and all that was left for Cecilia were the older ones, carefully mended but unmistakably out of fashion. Emma had been so preoccupied with thoughts of Solomon and the missed opportunity, so desperate to maintain the illusion oftheir family's stability, that she hadn't stopped to consider the repercussion that would come from the gossips of theton.
"What are you thinking about?"
Cecilia's voice broke through Emma's thoughts. She turned to find her sister standing beside her... her brow furrowed as she studied Emma's face.
"What?" Emma answered, still taken aback that Cecilia was now standing in front of her.
"You look even more tense than usual," Cecilia said and crossed her arms. "Are you thinking about Papa? I worry too. He just sold the last of your jewelries and we still cannot account for the money he got when he sold the last ones."
"I'm not thinking about Papa," Emma answered and straightened her back. "You shouldn't be standing here with me Cecilia. Go. Mingle. Frolic. Stop keeping to yourself."
"I won't go until you tell me what worries you," Cecilia insisted.
"Nothing worries me," Emma insisted too.
Cecilia didn't look convinced. She tilted her head, her gaze narrowing slightly. "Sister, you are a terrible liar. I watched you. For the last five minutes, you have been staring at that rosebush like it's personally offended you. What is wrong?"
Emma hesitated, her mind racing for an excuse. She couldn't tell Cecilia the truth...not about the women's comments, not about her own guilt, and certainly not about the dreams that had been haunting her. "Really, it's nothing," she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Just... a lot on my mind. You know how it is."
"I don't," Cecilia said in response. "You never tell me ‘How it is'. I don't always know what you are thinking. I find it strange. You keep too much to yourself, Emma."
"Cecilia, go and mingle," Emma said sternly, pointing at the gathering of people. "How are you going to find a match this season if all you do is stand by my side?"
Cecilia crossed her arms and shook her head. "A match," she repeated, staring at the crowd. "Is that all there is to it? Mingling at parties, smiling at strangers, and hoping one of them decides I'm worth pursuing?"
