Page 3 of A Spinster for the Rakish Duke
Alistair’s groan of frustration became a grunt of dismay. “Dear heavens, Donovan. Must you turn every social outing into a disaster to nurse your ego? Can you not let this be just once?”
“Is the solving of our parent’s murders a disaster in your mind, brother?” Donovan asked with derision.
“Donovan, our parents weren’t…” He let out another sigh of exasperation. “Fine. Do as you will; but please; once you are done playing investigator, will you try and enjoy yourself?” his brother snapped as he followed him from the library and back into the relative chaos of the ball.
Chapter Three
Emma was more thankful that exact moment that she was antisocial than she had ever been before. It was this exact reflexive habit that helped her avoid Mr. Joseph Dole for the majority of the ball.
Her brother, Benjamin, had explained more during the long carriage ride. Though Mr. Dole was one of Benjamin’s colleagues, a fellow solicitor of some repute, the betrothal had been arranged by their Aunt Barbara.
Despite the uncomfortable swirl of emotions that sat in Emma’s stomach for the entirety of the carriage ride, she did not try to dispute the arrangement. She knew that, with her age, her Aunt had done a great kindness in finding a man of good repute who would be willing to marry a woman like her.
Aunt Barbara had left a note with her brother detailing that she had already left to meet Mr. Dole, and that she had left a dress on Emma’s bed for her to change into.
Emma didn’t even have time to assess if she liked the dress before she put it on with Benjamin insisting that he would wait down in the carriage for the sake of brevity. This made Emma feel much more pressure to hurry which frustrated her all the more.
Her aunt, being a woman of limited means, didn’t have a full-length mirror for Emma to use, but she could tell from the vanity that this dress was not something she would have chosen for herself. The bright vibrant blue was far too bold of a color and drew too much attention to her for her own liking. Though, and she was reluctant to admit it, it did make her eyes stand out quite beautifully.
Emma did not know the hosts of the ball, a Lord and Lady Whinnen, so the introductions took up a good amount of time. This was partially a relief and partially more dreadful since it only delayed the inevitable. It didn’t help that from where she stood, she could see her aunt with a man standing next to her, though the man stood at an angle that made him difficult to see, further adding to Emma’s distress.
“Emma, darling, you are finally here,” her aunt said with a surprising amount of warmth. Usually, her aunt was a little more standoffish, but Emma assumed she was trying to create an appealing atmosphere for the introduction she needed to make. As if to prove her point, her aunt immediately followed up with, “There is someone here I’d like you to meet.”
Joseph Dole was an older man, closer to the age of Barbara or Emma’s father. He may have been a strong, barrel-chested manin his youth, but the decades of deskwork as a solicitor had worn on him. Emma could still see a touch of that strength though, as well as something a little... slipperier, wilder… Something that she wasn’t able to yet name.
She greeted him quietly, and he returned her humble curtsey with a smile and a bow. “It is delightful getting to see you. Unfortunately, I find the present atmosphere suboptimal for getting to know one’s betrothed. Soon, we will have to have a more personal engagement, no?” He stated this with surprising certainty. A statement, not a question.
She was most uncomfortable with the idea of marrying a man she had just met as well as him having the mentality to assert the absolute certainty of it. And thus, the idea of being trapped at a ball with him, locked within the social confines of Mr. Dole, her aunt, and the ball itself, was utterly torturous. Thankfully, Emma had an old standby to fall back on, and that was to retreat to the cool night air of the gardens.
Emma learned long ago that men would rarely follow women out into the garden; the risk of social misperception was too great. Men, in turn, would also very rarely venture out to the garden on their own because they tended not to flee social interaction in Emma’s experience. Which was why she was so surprised to find a man already standing out on the garden terrace.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Emma said quietly and turned to leave, trying to think of where else she could hide. Perhaps the library?
“You don’t need to go,” the man said flatly. “I’m just out here admiring the view.” He gestured to the fading light of dusk setting in behind the house.
“Ah yes, I do suppose the view of the gardens is nice,” she said non-committedly as she settled into her own section of the terrace. She was hoping he would not try to continue to engage her.
“Actually, I was admiring the view in the distance. It doesn’t happen often, but those hills contain large deposits of mica, and if the sun is just right, the lighting is spectacular.” He turned with a slight sigh, “Unfortunately, I was not so lucky tonight.”
This subject piqued Emma’s interest, and she was the one to continue the conversation despite her better judgment. “Do you think those hills are big enough to catch the sun correctly? I wouldn’t think the angle is severe enough,” she observed with curiosity.
“Certainly, they are no Scafell Pike, but I had heard from some reliable source that it could be seen in such a way on a clear evening,” the man assured her.
“And what source would that be?” she asked.
“Thaddius Torton’s published journal from his 1817 expedition. He said the hills in this area were lovely,” the man said, clearly unperturbed that this woman had come from nowhere, accepted his invitation, then proceeded to interrogate him.
Emma knew she was being rude, but she could not help but let slip a judgmental exhale from her nose. “Torton is a blowhard who wouldn’t know how to manage a compass let alone chart a valley correctly,” Emma said with a passion that she rarely spoke with for other matters.
“That’s funny,” the man remarked. “A friend of mine said something very similar about his capabilities.”
“That man once had the poor skill to chart the mountain of Skiddaw as less than a league from my home, and I only wish I were so lucky,” Emma emphasized the statement with a huff.
The anger Emma was feeling towards the foolish academic dissipated suddenly when the man gave her a curious look before saying, “Emma?”
“I’m sorry,” she said hesitantly, adjusting the position between the man and herself in her discomfort. “Do I know you?”
The man laughed lightly, “Unfortunately we have yet to have the honor of meeting in person.” He stepped back to give them more room and bowed deeply. “Mr. Donovan Connor, at your service.”
