by Laura Beers
“I have,” Emmeline replied. “I do so love talking about the weather, the state of the gardens, and my many accomplishments.”
“That pleases me immensely to hear,” the duke said. “My previous wives expected me to converse with them over dinner.”
“How horrifying,” Emmeline declared, bringing a hand up to her chest to feign outrage.
“I see we share a similar mindset,” the duke remarked. “Generally, I prefer to retreat to my own thoughts when I eat.”
Emmeline started eating the tart that was placed before her and wondered how she was going to get herself out of this unfortunate situation. She couldn’t marry this man, no matter that he was a duke.
“Do you ride, Miss Lockhart?” the duke asked.
“I do.”
“Then we shall have to acquire you a horse.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Emmeline revealed as she placed her fork on the plate. “I already own a horse.”
“You must be an accomplished rider then.”
She nodded. “I am.”
“That is a fine pastime for a young woman to have,” the duke praised.
Her uncle placed his napkin onto his plate and shared, “My niece spends hours riding around our country estate. I daresay she would prefer to ride over anything else.”
“Is that so?” the duke asked.
“It is,” Emmeline confirmed. “I find riding to be incredibly gratifying.”
The duke eyed her with approval. “You shall be able to ride on our lands, assuming you take two grooms along with you.”
“That won’t be necessary—” she attempted.
He cut her off, his voice curt. “You will be a duchess, and it is not appropriate for you to travel anywhere without an escort.”
Emmeline lowered her gaze to her hands in her lap.
“Dear heavens, that was poorly done of me,” the duke said. “I apologize for being so sharp with you.”
She brought her gaze back up to meet his. “Consider it forgotten, Your Grace.”
The duke smiled again, drawing her attention back to the food stuck in his teeth. “As long as you are mindful to remember your place, we shall have a happy union.”
“My place?” she found herself questioning.
The duke’s smile dimmed. “I am marrying you, without a dowry,” he explained. “I must say that it is rather generous of me.”
Lady Taylor interjected, “It is most generous of you, Your Grace.”
“In exchange, I expect you to be an obedient wife,” the duke continued. “I was assured by Lord and Lady Taylor that wouldn’t be an issue.”
Emmeline frowned as she saw her aunt and uncle glaring at her from across the table. She knew what was expected of her, but she truly didn’t want to go along with this marriage. She had no doubt that it would be a disaster, for everyone involved. It was better if the duke discovered now that they didn’t suit rather than wait until after the wedding.
As she opened her mouth to speak, her uncle interrupted her. “Emmeline is still tired from our long journey to Town. I have no doubt when she is rested, she will be back to her charming self.”
Turning his attention towards her uncle, the duke remarked, “Long carriage rides can be quite taxing for a lady’s delicate constitution.”
“That they can be,” Lord Taylor agreed.
The duke pushed back his chair and slowly rose. “Perhaps we can adjourn to my study for some port while the ladies enjoy some tea in the drawing room.”
“What a splendid idea,” Lady Taylor said, rising.
While Emmeline rose, she noticed the duke lewdly perusing the length of her, his eyes sparking in approval.
“You are looking especially lovely this evening, Miss Lockhart,” the duke said as his eyes remained fixed on the round neckline of her white muslin gown.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she muttered as she resisted the urge to flee from his presence.
Her aunt came around the table to stand next to her. In a hushed voice, she ordered, “Behave, Emmeline.”
The duke stepped closer to her, and he finally brought his gaze up to meet hers. “I hope to hear you play the pianoforte this evening.”
“I would be honored,” she replied.
He extended his wrinkled hand and gave her an expectant look. Emmeline stared at his hand for a moment before she tentatively placed hers in his.
His crooked fingers closed around her hand and he brought it up to his lips. As he pressed his wet, slimy lips against her bare knuckles, she felt the bile rise up in her throat. She didn’t know how much longer she could go along with this engagement.
Fortunately, he released her hand with a self-satisfied smile. “I must admit that I am looking forward to our wedding night.”
Unsure of how to reply, Emmeline remained quiet, hoping he would step back and adjourn to his study.
“You are speechless,” the duke said, amused. “That is an admirable quality for a young woman to have.”
Emmeline’s lips parted in surprise at the duke’s remarks, but before she could release her sharp tongue on him, he left the room without a parting glance at her.
“Well, I have never been so embarrassed,” her aunt mumbled under her breath. “Your behavior was atrocious.”
“My behavior?” Emmeline questioned.
Lady Taylor gave her a disbelieving look. “We shall discuss this later,” she said before departing from the room.
Emmeline stared at her aunt’s retreating figure, wondering if anyone would truly miss her if she climbed out of the window and ran far, far away.
The coach door had barely closed when her dark-haired, petite aunt turned a heated gaze towards her. “Your behavior this evening was horrendous, Emmeline.”
“Was it?” Emmeline questioned.
“Yes, it was,” Betty replied. “Frankly, it was embarrassing.”
Emmeline glanced out the window as the coach jerked forward. “You are working yourself into a frenzy for nothing because I don’t think the duke heard half of what I said.”
“That is beside the point,” Betty continued, “you mustn’t anger the duke.”
“Why?” Emmeline asked, bringing her aunt’s gaze back to meet hers. “With any luck, he will call off the wedding.”
Betty stared at her with a dumbfounded expression. “Don’t you want to be the Duchess of Billingham?”
“No,” she replied. “I never have.”
“That is just foolish talk,” Betty said. “Your uncle worked hard to negotiate this advantageous marriage between you and the duke.”
“Without my permission, I might add,” Emmeline remarked.
Betty stiffened. “Do I truly need to remind you that you have no dowry?”
“I am well aware of that fact.”
Turning her gaze towards her husband, Betty asked, “Will you try to talk some sense into this obstinate girl, George?”
Her uncle gave her a pointed look. “You must understand the advantages of marrying the Duke of Billingham,” he started. “You will become a duchess, and your station will become elevated.”
“But the duke is nearly eighty years old,” Emmeline complained.
Betty interjected, “Which means he won’t live much longer, and you will be a rich widow. Just think of the freedom you will possess.”
George nodded. “It’s true,” he responded. “We spoke at great length about your jointure, and I ensured that you will be well taken care of upon his death.”
Emmeline sighed. “There must be another option for me.”
“Frankly, there is not,” George said. “The duke is gracious enough to marry you without a dowry. Need I remind you that your dowry went to help pay your father’s debts after his untimely death?”
“No, you don’t,” Emmeline muttered.
“The duke’s solicitor approached us after he saw you at the opera,” George reminded her. “If it wasn’t for that, we would not be in this equally beneficial situation.”
“It d
oesn’t seem beneficial,” she said. “I feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter.”
Betty frowned. “No marriage is perfect, but if you can just bide your time until the duke dies, you will be free to live however you see fit.”
“What if he lives to be a hundred?” she asked.
“That would be most unfortunate,” Betty remarked, “but it is quite unlikely.”
George adjusted his white cravat. “The duke is already halfway in the grave. He just requires an heir.”
“What if I am unable to produce a son?”
Betty gasped. “You must,” she declared. “Your entire future depends on it.”
“I don’t think that is something one can plan on,” Emmeline pointed out.
“The duke has sired boys before with his mistresses, so we know that he is capable of producing an heir,” George said.
Emmeline pressed her lips together. “How grand.”
“You are looking at this the wrong way,” Betty pressed. “Marrying the duke will open doors to you that were previously closed. You will be welcomed at every ball, soirée, and social gathering the ton offers.”
“I care little about that,” Emmeline admitted.
Betty let out an annoyed sigh. “What is it that you do want, Emmeline?”
“I want to fall in love and marry a man of my choosing.”
“What the duke is offering you is better than love,” Betty asserted. “He is offering you a chance at living comfortably for the rest of your days. I must say that security is more important than love.”
George spoke up. “As for marrying a man of your choosing,” he began, “what man would marry you without a dowry?”
Emmeline remained quiet, knowing her aunt and uncle had made valid points.
“If you don’t marry the duke, then you will be forced to take a position as a companion or governess,” Betty said, her tone hardening. “And your parents would not have wanted that life for you.”
“I don’t want to become a governess,” Emmeline admitted.
“I should say not,” Betty declared. “You are the daughter of a viscount, and you deserve much better.”
“But I don’t think I can marry the duke.”
George and Betty exchanged a look before her uncle spoke. “The duke intends to marry you on your twenty-first birthday. I suppose you shall have until then to decide your fate.”
“The banns have been posted,” Betty reminded her. “Furthermore, the whole ton knows of your pending nuptials. If you decide not to go through with the wedding, then your reputation will be in tatters.”
“We can’t force you to marry the duke, but we truly hope you do,” George pressed. “He can give you a life that we can only dream of.”
Betty bobbed her head in agreement. “Just imagine, you would be dressed in the finest gowns, draped in jewels, and live in elaborate estates.”
“But the duke doesn’t retire to the countryside,” Emmeline pointed out.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t,” Betty said. “After you produce an heir, you will have the freedom to do as you please.”
George offered her a sad smile. “Your parents would have wanted this for you,” he stated. “I have no doubt of that.”
“But my parents were a love match,” she pressed. “Wouldn’t they rather have me marry for love?”
“Love is such a fickle thing,” Betty scoffed.
“It is true,” George agreed. “I have known many people that started off as love matches, but they grew cold and despondent towards one another later in life.”
“Love is a gamble, and it usually doesn’t pay off,” Betty expressed. “Besides, you are still young. You may even find love after you marry the duke.”
Thinking she’d misheard her aunt, Emmeline asked in a hushed voice, “Are you insinuating that I should take a lover after I am married to the duke?”
Betty shrugged. “It wouldn’t be unheard of, assuming you have already produced an heir.”
Emmeline stared at her aunt, unsure of what she should say to that ridiculous comment.
“Don’t be so prudish, my dear,” Betty said. “It is very unbecoming of you.”
The coach came to a stop outside of their three-level whitewashed townhouse. It dipped to the side as the footman stepped off his perch and came around to place the step down. Once it was extended, he opened the door and offered his hand in assistance.
After they exited the coach, the footman rushed forward to open the iron gate. They approached the door, which was opened by their stodgy butler. He had a long, narrow face and curly blond hair.
“Welcome home,” Drew greeted in a stiff tone, opening the door wide. “May I ask how the dinner party went?”
“It went well,” Betty replied as she removed her long white gloves.
“That is wonderful,” Drew said as he closed the door behind them.
Betty extended her gloves towards the butler. “I require a long soak this evening,” she stated. “Will you ensure the water is heated up to my liking?”
Drew tipped his head. “Yes, milady,” he responded as he went to do her bidding.
“If anyone needs me, I will be in my bedchamber.” Betty walked over to the stairs that ran along the length of the far wall and started up them.
Finding herself alone with her uncle, she asked, “Why are you so insistent on me marrying the duke?”
George gave her a compassionate look as he gently placed his hand on her right shoulder. “No one is guaranteed a good life, but we can increase our odds of one by making good choices,” he said. “Betty and I just want what’s best for you, especially since we won’t always be around.”
Emmeline’s eyes ran over her uncle’s dark hair and saw white strands poking out in his sideburns and along his temples.
He continued. “Just think about what we said,” he encouraged. “We trust that you will make the right decision.”
“And if I don’t?”
George lowered his hand to his side and sighed. “Then I would be sued for breach of contract.”
“Do you think the duke would be that petty?”
“I am not entirely sure, but I hope it won’t come to that,” her uncle replied. “Now, off with you. I need to get some work done before my meetings tomorrow.”
As Emmeline walked across the tiled entry hall, she found herself deep in thought. Could she truly give up all her hopes and dreams to marry the Duke of Billingham? But what choice did she truly have? If she called off the wedding, her reputation would be ruined, and she would be an outcast amongst the ton.
She opened her door and stepped into her bedchamber. A crackling fire was in the hearth, providing light to her darkened room. What am I going to do, she thought. Her aunt and uncle kept saying it was her choice, but she had no doubt that they would try to force her hand. They always somehow managed to get their way. It had been that way since she had come to live with them.
Walking over to her window, she stared out at the full moon. How she wished her parents were still alive. And not for the first time. She missed them dreadfully. It had been two years since they died at the hands of highwaymen.
Emmeline leaned her head against the windowsill and allowed herself to cry. She felt so alone. Her heart had yet to heal from her parents’ deaths, and her pain was still raw. At times, her unrelenting grief seemed unbearable.
The door to her room opened, and her raven-haired lady’s maid stepped into the room. Her hair was tied back at the nape of her neck. “Are you ready to undress?” she asked as she closed the door.
Not bothering to spare her a glance, Emmeline replied, “I suppose I am.”
“You sound reluctant.” Mary came to stand next to her and asked, “Are you thinking about your parents again?”
Emmeline nodded, seeing no reason to deny it. “I am.”
“That is to be expected, especially since you are facing such a difficult choice,” Mary reasoned.
Meeting her lady’s maid’s g
aze, she asked, “What should I do?”
“What is your heart telling you to do?”
Emmeline huffed. “If only it was that simple.”
“It can be.”
“My aunt and uncle would be furious if I don’t marry the duke.”
Placing a hand on her sleeve, Mary asked, “But could you live with yourself if you did?”
“I don’t know.”
Mary removed her hand, then remarked, “I cannot advise you one way or the other, but I can tell you that your mother would most assuredly want you to be happy with your choice.”
Emmeline gave her a timid smile. “I appreciate you staying on as my lady’s maid after my mother passed away,” she said.
“There is no place I would rather be,” Mary replied as she returned Emmeline’s smile.
“I know what I want to do, but I don’t know if I am strong enough,” Emmeline admitted.
“Just be true to yourself, and everything will work out.”
Emmeline shook her head. “My aunt and uncle will no doubt ask me to leave their townhouse, and I shall have to seek out employment.”
“Do you believe that they’d truly be so unfeeling that they would do such a thing?” Mary asked. “After all, this is your home.”
“It became their home when my father died,” she pointed out. “As my aunt has stated on multiple occasions, I am just a guest here.”
“That is terrible of her to say such a thing.”
“They are just words.”
“Words can still hurt deeply,” Mary expressed, compassion in her voice.
“I suppose I am growing accustomed to my aunt’s criticism,” Emmeline admitted as she turned away from the window.
“That is a shame.”
Emmeline sat down on the settee at the foot of her bed. “I shall turn twenty-one in a week, and I will finally reach my majority. I will be able to access the inheritance of three thousand pounds that my grandmother left for me.”
“That is a tidy sum.”
“It is not enough to live on for the rest of my days, though,” Emmeline said dejectedly.
Mary bobbed her head. “That may be true, but it is a start.”
Emmeline frowned. “What is it a start of?”
“Whatever you decide your future to be.”