A Regency Duchess's Awakening. Amanda McCabe
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she should feel quite reassured, safe with her guilty secret, but she did not. She only felt more nervous, more uncertain, than she ever had before. That little, nagging hint of disquiet simply would not leave her alone.
The front door swung open, and for a second Emily feared it was her mother, coming to urge the duke to stay for tea. But it was the butler, with no trace of any of her pesky relatives lurking behind him. They were there somewhere, though, watching. She just knew it.
“Thank you again, your Grace,” she said quickly.
“Good day.”
“Good day, Lady Emily,” he answered. He looked as if he would say something more, but Emily hurried up the steps and into the doubtful safety of the house. Only once the door was shut behind her and she heard the carriage rolling away did she relax, slumping against the nearest pier table.
“I should be happy,” she whispered. She had discovered her own strength—she could be around him without leaping on him in lust, or bursting into flames from blushing. She could keep secrets when she had to. It had all gone rather well, considering, and now she had her first meeting with the duke after their little encounter out of the way.
Why, then, did she feel like such a wretched ninny?
“Emily, dearest, there you are!” her mother sang out. Emily glanced up to find her hurrying down the stairs, all wreathed in smiles and fluttering cap ribbons. “I see I don’t have to ask if you had a good outing.”
Emily turned away from her mother to the looking glass hung over the table. Avoiding her own eyes, she untied her bonnet and stripped off her gloves. The thin kid still seemed to smell like him. “It was quite all right, I suppose, though I found nothing at the shops.”
“But you did not have to walk home, you sly girl,” her mother said, just a hair short of crowing. “I never thought I would see my daughter arrive home in a ducal carriage! I do hope Lady Verney across the street saw. She has been so boastful of her daughter’s betrothal to a mere viscount.”
“Mama, it was a ride that lasted all of ten minutes, in an open carriage covered with servants, including Mary,” Emily said. “Not a betrothal or an affair of any kind.” She spun around and hurried into the drawing room, where the maids were laying out the tea things by the fire.
Her mother followed at her heels. “Well, it is a very good sign. You should have invited him in for refreshments. Your papa is in his library, as usual, but I am sure he would have enjoyed saying hello to the duke.”
“I would have thought a dinner party would be quite enough for him,” Emily said, plumping down in her chair. “Mama, why did you not tell me we are having a dinner?”
Her mother sat down across from her, still with that maddening expression of satisfaction on her face, even as she tried to hide it by fussing with the teapot. “It was rather last minute, my dear. An impromptu way to say goodbye to our friends before we are buried in the country.”
“Impromptu when you met the duke and waylaid him outside the shops?”
“Not at all! Really, Emily, you are becoming quite cynical and suspicious. It is not becoming; it will cause wrinkles.” She reached into her sewing box and drew out a sheaf of papers. “Amy and I have been working on the menu. Do you think the duke likes lamb with mint and rosemary sauce? He did seem to enjoy something similar at Welbourne Manor last summer, but I am not sure it is quite the thing now. And we will have to bring in desserts from Gunter’s, of course. Cook is all very well with plain dishes, but not with the puddings. I’m not certain what to do about flowers. Pink roses? You do look lovely with pink, Emily, but lilies are fashionable.”
Emily sighed and poured herself a very strong cup of tea. She certainly needed every fortification she could find, as there was no stopping her mother now. Not when she started to speak about lilies. She smiled and listened to her mother’s plans, knowing that her family needed her help.
There was no doubt about it. Lady Arnold’s ball was the event of the Season.
Traditionally the final grand event before society fled London and the gathering heat of summer for country estates and the pleasures of Continental travel, everyone always went for one last chance to wear their fine clothes before they were out of fashion and hear the latest on dit before it became old news. Lady Arnold had one of the largest ballrooms in London, after Manning House, and she always filled it with the best orchestra, the most flowers and the finest guest list. Anyone who had the merest pretence of being anyone at all was there.
Even Emily, though she could find no potted palm to hide behind at all. It seemed palms were now passé. Lady Arnold instead decorated with loops of ivy intertwined with white roses and white-and-gold ribbons, draped in lacy patterns around the room. Very pretty, but useless for hiding places.
Emily sat on one of the small white brocade chairs lined up along the walls, among the chaperons and wallflowers. Perhaps, she thought, her white muslin gown would help her blend into the upholstery.
That, however, did not seem to be the case. Very few people spoke to her, especially since Jane and Amy were dancing, Mr Rayburn had not yet arrived, her father and brother were off in the card room and her mother had flitted off somewhere with her friends, but many stared and whispered. It appeared the tale of her carriage ride with the duke had spread, and along with the Park incident it all made for delicious gossip. She should have known, of course, that this would happen.
The duke would not care. He and his family had been causing far worse scandals for decades. Emily, though, was achingly uncomfortable.
She shifted on her chair, opening and closing her lace fan. She tried to watch the dancers, the swirling kaleidoscope of their bright gowns and brilliant jewels, tried to distract herself and think of other things. She glanced surreptitiously at the ornate clock against the far wall, and saw she had actually been there less than an hour. And her mother and Amy would never want to leave until one or two at the earliest.
Emily snapped open her fan again and wafted it vigorously in front of her face. Why had she not brought a book with her? She needed to get on with her lesson plans for Mrs Goddard’s, there was not much time left before she departed London and they would have to do without her for a few months.
The dance ended, and Amy’s partner left her at the empty seat next to Emily’s. “Lud, what a great crush it is tonight! I can scarcely breathe,” Amy cried. “My slippers will be in shreds by the end of the evening.”
“Where is Rob? Does he not care to dance tonight?” Emily said.
Amy snapped open her own fan. “You know how he is at these affairs, always off talking about politics somewhere, never any fun. I think he is in the card room with your father. Besides, it is not the thing for husbands to dance with their wives, at least not more than once.”
Emily plied her fan harder as more people strolled past them, still staring. Amy took her hand to hold her still.
“Emily, darling, you will quite disarrange your hair, after I took such trouble with it,” Amy said. Indeed she had spent an hour before they left the house pushing Mary out of the way and fussing with curls and ribbons herself, saying Emily should try to be more fashionable. She straightened the pink rosebuds and loops of pearls caught in Emily’s fine, blonde hair.
“It hardly matters, Amy. The one you hope to impress with my fashionableness is not even here.”
Amy scowled, not even bothering to deny it. “Where could he be? Everyone comes to Lady Arnold’s ball. It is vital to one’s social life.”
“Perhaps it is not so vital for a duke?”
“Of course it is! Why, is that not Wellington himself over there? That is why the Duke of Manning needs a duchess to help him organise