Emma smiled. “That’s quite all right. I’ve done my share of foolish things.”
“As have I, Emma, but seeing how you and Blackbourne seem so perfect for each other, it does make one wonder if a man will come along for whom I’m fated.”
“I’m sure one will,” Emma replied, distracted suddenly by her father coming out of the dining room. He looked more disheveled than usual and had dark smudges under his eyes.
“Emma, I wish to speak to you alone in my study.” Papa sounded very serious, and that was quite unlike him. Had their mother finally succeeded in swaying Papa’s good opinion of her?
Emma sucked in a worried breath and her stomach turned as she nodded and gave Mary a parting glance before following Papa to his study.
Once the door was closed and he was seated behind his desk, he spoke. “Emma, your mother has agreed to let Blackbourne court you without fuss.”
She let out a surprised and relieved breath. “However did you do it, Papa?”
“I reminded her of the young woman I fell in love with.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t,” he said with a weary voice. He stood, circled his desk, and came to lean against the arm of the chair she was occupying. He took her hand in his and patted it. “I’m going to tell you something you’re not going to believe, and it’s something I should have told you long ago, but for selfish reasons, I didn’t.”
Emma nodded encouragingly.
“You’re exactly as your mother used to be.”
She took a breath to object but promptly stopped herself at Papa’s warning look. “You are,” he said with a stern voice. “And I do believe I know better than you what your mother was like when she was your age. I was with her, after all, and you were not even born.”
Well, she certainly couldn’t argue with that.
“Your mother was full of life. She was fun and carefree, and the things she persuaded me to do…” He chuckled, and all Emma could do was stare at him in disbelief. “Somehow I made her fall in love with me and persuaded her to marry me, and then Emma, I changed her.”
“No, Papa.”
“Yes,” he said in tone that brooked no argument. “I’d inherited a good deal of money and land from my father, and though I appreciated the money because it allowed me to tinker and dream and do as I wished, I never appreciated that it might run out if the land wasn’t properly managed. And I could never bring myself to bother with that. I found it boring and mundane, and I fancied myself a scholar of life.
“Slowly, your mother took control of the management and all the worries, and I let her. Our relationship has been strained for some time now, and until recently, I didn’t clearly see that she treats you as she does because she envies you. You remind her of the young woman she used to be, and I think she’s not only worried for you but also fearful that you’ll marry wiser than she did.”
Emma swallowed the painful knot that had lodged in her throat. She could scarcely believe her father’s revelations. “What should I do?”
“Give her time. She’ll come around. She already has begun to or she’d not have relented to Blackbourne’s request to court you.”
At that moment, the butler knocked and announced Lucian’s arrival. Emma’s heart leaped with joy, and a smile spread across her face.
She sobered quickly as worry filled her once more. She glanced at Papa. “Should I go see her?”
“Why don’t we go together?” he suggested. “And you can spend some time with Blackbourne.”
But as they made their way to the sitting room, she heard the distinct sound of her mother’s laughter. When Emma entered the room, she stared in shock at her mother sitting by Lucian with a smile on her face.
Emma’s jaw fell open, and Mother frowned. “Close your mouth, dear. It’s unseemly.” Emma snapped her jaw shut, and her mother nodded approvingly. “His Grace was just telling me that he came to take you on a carriage ride, but I persuaded him to stay here and let you show him your paintings. He confessed that he too loves to paint.”
Emma glanced at Lucian with surprise, but his face showed nothing but polite interest. He tilted his head toward the easel she’d forgotten by the window with one of her unfinished paintings. “I inquired as to who was painting the lovely picture.”
Emma’s mother beamed at him, and Emma had to bite her cheek to keep from snorting. Mother smiled. “We can set your paints out for you to create something new today, if you wish?”
Emma was so shocked she barely managed to nod her head. Her mother rarely acknowledged the fact that Emma enjoyed painting, let alone told anyone of it. This was clearly because of Lucian’s confession and interest in her painting.
Not long later, Emma stood outside in the sunshine beside Lucian. She set out her paints and then started to set some out for him.
“What are you doing?” he asked with a laugh.
“Aren’t you going to paint?”
He shook his head. “I’ll watch you.”
“Don’t tell me that dukes don’t really paint,” she teased.
He gave her a very serious expression, ruined by the twitch of his lips. “Of course we don’t.”
“Take off your jacket and roll up your sleeves,” she ordered.
“Emma, how very scandalous of you,” he said in feigned astonishment.
She burst out laughing as she waved her paintbrush at him. “If you’re going to fib and say you love to paint, you need to know how to paint.”
“But—”
“I refuse to take no for an answer.”
He looked at the brush, the paints, and the paper with a distinctly uncomfortable look. He had probably never done anything so leisurely in his life. “Please,” she cajoled. “Grant me this wish.”
Lucian laughed. “I’ve always said that no good deed goes unpunished.”
She gave him a mock scowl and watched as he reluctantly did as she bid, but when she held the brush out to him, he shook his head. “If I’m going to grant you your heart’s desire, then you must promise that one day you’ll grant me mine.”
Her breath caught in her chest as heat pooled in her belly. “I promise,” she whispered.
He reached out slowly and took the brush, his fingers lingering over hers for a long, delicious moment. Emma caught a glimpse of her mother strolling by and scowling at her, so she pulled her hand away and motioned to the brushes.
“Hold your brush like so,” she quickly instructed.
She spent the next hour showing Lucian how to make strokes to achieve one’s desired effect.
“Do you think you have it?” she asked.
He nodded and started painting. “Dukes master everything right away.”
Emma frowned as she painted. He’d said it lightheartedly, yet one glance showed her that he had a faraway look in his eyes. “Is that what was expected of you growing up?”
He nodded. “No room to be anything but the best and master everything quickly.”
Her heart squeezed that he felt that way, for she could see he still did. “It must be difficult to live with such pressure.”
He stilled, stepped back, and observed his canvas, which she couldn’t see. “I suppose. It’s all I’ve ever known.” He glanced her way and studied her, as if he was trying to figure out something. “Perhaps it’s part of the reason I seek peace, but maybe what I really need is to allow…” His words trailed off to silence.
Emma couldn’t resist filling the void. “Perhaps you need to allow yourself to be human.”
He chuckled and tilted his canvas toward her. “I believe I have a good start. What do you think?”
“Is it water by your home?” she asked, scrutinizing the painting.
“No. It’s the Serpentine.” He pointed to a white blob with black streaks around it. “That’s you.”
Emma’s heart tugged that he’d tried to paint her, however disastrous it was. Lucian may present a cold facade to the world, but she was positive
his heart was warm. “What will you title it?”
He reached out, took her hand in his, and interlaced their fingers. “My Snow Fairy.”
Her heart thumped as she stared at the picture, savoring the feel of his large hand holding hers. His Snow Fairy. Lucian was stealing her heart, she realized with a start. She hoped very much that she had a piece of his, too.
Lucian called on her almost every day for the next couple of weeks. They painted, took carriage rides, read poetry, and he even showed her around his home and explained how different parts of his estate were run. When he brought her back home from that last visit, her mother asked to see her in her sitting room.
Since the talk with her father, Mother had not said much about Lucian’s courting Emma, nor had she really seemed overly changed, still regularly criticizing Emma’s hair, her dress, her too loud laugh.
“Has His Grace mentioned a future between the two of you yet?”
Emma’s stomach tightened. “Not yet.”
Her mother frowned. “We leave for London for the Season tomorrow. I would think if he wanted to make an announcement, he would have spoken to your father by now. Have you done something to muck it up?”
Emma gritted her teeth. “No, Mother, I don’t believe so.”
Her mother sighed. “Perhaps you were simply a diversion for him to pass the time.”
The breath whooshed from Emma at that suggestion. She didn’t understand her mother at all. She didn’t want Emma to have the sort of husband she had, and since Lucian was very different from her father, her mother should be glad. Yet she seemed jealous almost, as if she might be glad if Emma were rejected by Lucian.
Emma tried not to be too hurt, as she knew the reason why now, thanks to Papa. “Perhaps he’ll speak to Papa in London?” she offered, trying not to reveal in her tone how much she wanted that.
“We cannot waste the Season on hope, Emma. If His Grace does not make an offer for you within the first fortnight, then we’ll entertain other offers for you.”
Emma bit back a negative retort. It would do no good anyway. Besides, if she had captured Lucian’s heart as he’d captured hers, surely he would make his intentions known.
Eleven
Emma normally dreaded the start of the Season, but this year was different. This year there was Lucian, and she looked forward to dancing with him and spending more time with him in London. The last several weeks in the country had been a dream, but that was the problem, she realized as the carriage rumbled down the street, carrying her to the first ball of the Season. Her mother had planted doubt in her mind of Lucian’s intentions, of the ability for such dreams to last, and Emma was eagerly hoping he’d soon extinguish her doubt.
She knew he’d be here tonight, as he’d told her before they’d left for London that he would. As she entered the ballroom, she found herself looking for him, and she found him right away dancing among the other guests. Lucian was twirling Lady Francine around the ballroom, and they were both laughing. He looked completely and utterly at ease, and Lady Francine looked every inch the beautiful, composed lady that would make a grand duchess. Emma suddenly felt very unsure of herself, and wondered if perhaps Lucian would prefer a wife like Lady Francine who had perfect manners, and would likely never speak her mind or cause him a moment’s unease.
She frowned, but immediately looked away as her mother came to stand beside her.
“I see His Grace is here…and dancing,” Mother said in an acerbic tone.
Emma groaned inwardly and dragged her gaze back to the ballroom floor.
“Do you see him?” her mother demanded.
“Do you see whom?” a smooth voice asked from directly behind Emma.
She let out a little gasp as warm breath tickled her neck, and she swirled around to find Nathan staring down at her.
“Good evening.” He offered them both a quick bow, and as he rose, his gaze bore into Emma. “You look breathtaking, Lady Emmaline. May I have the next dance?”
Emma couldn’t very well be rude and say no, and she suspected by the way his gaze had darted to her card that he knew very well it was empty. She nodded her agreement.
It was odd, Emma thought as Nathan led her onto the dance floor, that her mother didn’t want her to make the same choices she had but she had no qualms about Nathan, who reminded Emma a bit of Papa. Lucian’s brother seemed very much reluctant to take up the reins of responsibility, yet she supposed her mother had no way of knowing this.
As Nathan began to twirl her around, Emma caught sight of Lucian dancing with Lady Francine yet again. She bit down on her lip to stifle any sounds of dismay.
Two dances! Two! People would talk, and they’d assume Lucian was declaring for Lady Francine, especially if they danced a third.
As Lucian’s gaze locked on her and he narrowed his eyes, her throat constricted. Surely, he had a reason for dancing twice with Lady Francine.
“I’m heartened that your mother let you dance with me, Emma. I was concerned she would not.”
Emma dragged her gaze to Nathan’s. “Whyever would she not?”
He glanced toward his brother, then back to her. “I assumed your family knew that Lucian cut me off.”
“What?” she gasped.
Nathan’s lip curled into a sneer as his hand pressed into the small of her back. “I see he didn’t tell you. I shouldn’t be surprised. Lucian always does what he needs to in order to win.”
“Win?” she choked out, her mind whirling and the room seeming far too crowded and too hot.
“Yes, Emma,” he replied, as they twirled once more and came near the terrace doors.
“Please, Nathan,” Emma murmured. “Could we stop? I feel…I feel dizzy.”
He took her by the elbow and led her to the side of the dance floor. She gazed up at him, knowing that she had to know what he meant, yet dreading what he might say. “What is it Lucian’s trying to win?”
“You, of course,” Nathan replied. “He knew I wanted to court you, so he decided to do so, as well, just to see if he could best me. He always has to be the best. I trumped him, though. I sent him a note telling him I had decided to court Lady Francine after all, and now look at him dancing with her like a fool, thinking he’s besting me when I’ve bested him.”
Emma felt suddenly ill. She needed air. Nathan’s revelations were making her ears ring.
“Say—” he looked at her with genuine concern “—you’re very pale.”
“Please, could you fetch me some punch?” she asked, more to get him away than a desire for a drink.
When he nodded and hurried off, she turned to make her way outside. She took only a few steps before someone grabbed her arm. She knew, without turning around, that it was Lucian. The feel of his fingers curving gently around her arm had been scorched into her memory and her heart.
She turned slowly toward him, and her heart dipped at the sight he presented. He was dressed head to toe in black with a perfectly tied emerald cravat. His gaze held hers and appeared filled with worry, yet she didn’t think she could believe it was true. She felt adrift and foolish. “Please release my arm, Your Grace.”
“Emma.” His voiced throbbed with distress, whether for her or due to fear of losing whatever silly competition he was in with his brother, she didn’t know. “What did Nathaniel say to you?”
She shook her head at him. She just couldn’t have this conversation. Not here and now. She was holding on to her composure by a fine thread. “Please, let me go. I beg you.”
He released her, and she didn’t hesitate to flee. She turned and darted through the crowd to make her way out the terrace doors. When the cool night air enveloped her, she gulped in greedy breaths, yet her nerves did not calm. She trembled where she stood and listened to the tap of Lucian’s footsteps as he approached. He stopped behind her, not too close but a perfectly proper distance. She clenched her jaw.
But of course! They weren’t alone, and he’d never do anything so foolish as to stand too near.
Ever the composed duke!
“Emma, what’s this about? Is it because I was dancing with Lady Francine? I can explain that.”
She swung around and faced him, her heart beating so furiously that her blood was roaring in her ears. “Did you pursue me to thwart your brother’s plans to do so?”
His expression was that of complete, undeniable guilt. Her breath quickened, and her cheeks became warm with humiliation. “How could you?” she asked hoarsely. She was as big of a fool as her mother had always worried she’d be.
“Emma, let me explain.”
Humiliation blessedly gave way to anger. “Please do,” she clipped.
“I knew you weren’t right for him,” he growled.
“Is that so?” she snapped. “Why do you think you have the right to decide that? Because you’re a duke? Is that another one of those nonsensical beliefs you live by?”
“You must see what a poor match the two of you would make. He’s foolish and you’re…you’re…”
She crossed her arms over her chest, fury bursting through her. “I’m what? Not afraid to live my life as I wish and not following every dictate Society thrusts upon me?”
“Well, yes,” he clipped even as his face softened. Emma felt as if all her anger had suddenly been yanked out of her. She’d ignored the truth because she’d fallen in love with Lucian.
“I’ve been a fool,” she murmured.
“No, Emma. I’m not explaining myself properly. At first my actions were simply to thwart my brother, but almost right away you piqued my interest. And then we shared our first kiss and I was more than intrigued, I was enchanted.”
“That kiss,” she muttered. She would have likely never given him a second thought if it hadn’t been for that kiss. It had stolen her senses and opened a door to a thousand wonderful possibilities of falling in love. “I wish I’d never allowed you to kiss me!”
Heads swiveled in their direction, but she was too angry to care.
“Don’t say that, Emma,” Lucian replied in a low, pleading voice.
It's In The Duke's Kiss: A Danby Regency Novella Page 11