Page 22 of A Bluestocking for the Wicked Duke
Emma had much more attires than double the amount Joane had. She always bought clothes in the different countries she went. She had Hijabs and Abayas from the Middle East, French-designed gowns, traditional wears of Indians and many other outfits she couldn’t even remember.
“I am still wondering why you would buy Hijabs when you aren’t even muslim,” Joane said.
“I saw, I liked and I told Papa. You will find that to be the method I came to acquire most of my clothing,” Emma answered.
Joane laughed at her friend’s funny response. Emma was very close to her father, Ambrose Montague. Her mother was a ‘backwater wench’, the exact terms Emma described her with. That was the only thing Joane knew about her mother, Emma never talked about her. She and her father were very close, going everywhere together and Emma had sacrificed a lot of her formal education for the form of education her travels with her father offered her. The man was in China now, on a business trip. Joane looked at her friend who now had a forlorn look on her face; Joane knew that Emma missed her father. Joane wished she had that kind of relationship with her father.
The Duke loved his daughter most, of all his children, sometimes saying out loud that he saw her as replacement for his dead wife. He showed his affection expressly but Joane had started rejecting his overtures. Her father was not a good man in any sense. He partook in backhand deals as long as a made a profit and was not averse to cheating a man out of his earnings. Joane had witnessed him use royal fiat to lay claim to another man’s herd of cattle only to sell them for personal gain.
She spoke to him about it, many times, but bad habits die hard. His conduct in the duel with William was just another reason for Joane to keep her distance from the man. He had made known his plan from the beginning which discouraged Joane from attending the duel. When he came back celebrating his win, Joane wished he had lost.
“I hear William Marlow will be at the ball tomorrow,” Emma said, budging Joane out of her thoughts.
“I heard too. I thought he was gravely injured,” Joane replied.
Her stomach rumbled; she was hungry. Joane walked to the door and opened it. Emma looked queerly at her.
“Where are you going?” Emma asked her.
“I need to get to the kitchen. I am hungry, aren’t you?” Joane replied.
“I am too but I am keeping my stomach empty till tomorrow. I hear the sight of William, the son of the Duke of Wellington, is enough to fill a woman for two days. I wouldn’t want to be too filled after consuming such a sumptuous sight,” Emma replied.
Joane turned back to her friend in surprise. Then she smiled, she doubted if Emma would learn the mannerisms of an English woman.
“Where are you manners Emma? Do not say this when we aren’t alone, I’ll relieve myself of your friendship immediately,” Joane replied.
“And regardless, I do not need a man to fill my stomach. I want a man for whom my heart will beat, a man that will take my breath away with a single word. I have heard that William Marlow is especially popular with the female folk. He would have romantic airs of some sort to be that good with women.”
Emma guffawed on hearing her friend. She threw both her hands around Joane’s neck and squeezed.
“No need to be so modest Joane, you aren’t in court. And life is not one big romance story Joane, get your head out of the clouds,” Emma said.
Joane dragged her friend’s hands off her neck and walked away.
“I don’t know all what you are saying. I do know that I am hungry and need to eat to fill my rumbling belly.”
“Maybe I can scrape by some sandwiches in your measly kitchen,” Emma said, feigning disgust with the image of the kitchen.
“You’ll wish you did not say that. Better pray William comes looking as ravishing as you predict because he has to be enough to fill your belly. You will meet no satisfaction in the Hardwater kitchen,” Joane said and walked away swiftly in mock anger.
“I know you are joking. Do not walk so fast,” her friend said, running after her.
Chapter 7
First Impressions
William woke up that morning with an eagerness to train his fencing. He washed up and walked to the garden. Simulating a duel with an armed opponent, William feinted and threw slices; he cut through air with exaggerated force. He worked on his footwork, the foot trip that the Duke used to take him down bore down on his mind. He was totally immersed in his training and was surprised when his mother’s voice took him out of his imaginations.
“William,” she said.
“Good morning mother, to what do I owe this early attendance?” William asked still swinging his sword in endless arches.
“I came to remind you of our pact, your debt and your promise,” she replied.
William paused to understand what she meant. It was at that moment he remembered there was a ball to be hosted that evening by the Viscount of Air, Viscount Patrick. Viscount Patrick’s balls were always attended by many because the man made no political enemies and so his balls were a meeting ground for the entire aristocracy. Both Joane Hardwater and Esther, the daughter of the Earl of Norfolk would be there. William intended to make himself known to both of them but he had to be smart about it, women would not take it likely that a man makes conversation with both of them in such a public place. He had hatched out a plan, he would stick to that.
“I will avail myself to Esther and start up a relationship. Mother, I will not marry the girl. Do not expect that no matter how intimate the relationship might look,” William replied.
