Emma swallowed. “As am I.”
“Then why do you both look like you’re ready to jump over a cliff and smash yourselves onto the rocks below?”
“Not at all,” he said, concealing the sudden bubble of amusement that threatened to come out as a maniacal laugh. He was fairly certain Emma didn’t find this the least bit funny. He thought of a quick excuse. “It’s just . . . there’s so much to be done. I’ll . . . need to arrange a wedding trip.”
Emma’s gaze stayed with him, as if holding onto a lifeline. “There are so many things to consider. After all, I haven’t even thought about a dress, or my maids of honor, or the flowers. Perhaps more time—”
“The dress!” His grandmother exclaimed, taking her pearl handled cane from the arm of the chair. “My dears, we must call upon Lady Valmont this instant. Her
modiste
makes the most remarkable gowns. Truly, Valmont wouldn’t be half the rage she is if not for the way her clothes make her look. Abominable posture, you know.”
His mother stood and rang for a carriage. He made the mistake of looking at her and seeing a true and genuine smile. His mother was happy about this wedding. Happier than he’d seen her in years. She lifted her gaze to his, and he saw her eyes glisten with unshed tears. In that moment, he knew he was doomed.
Only a fool would let her down.
As his mother and grandmother made their way to the door, Emma stood. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she implored in a whisper.
He nodded by way of reassuring her. Yet, to himself he added, “So do I.”
The esteemed Dowager Duchess of Heathcoat announces a much anticipated and happy union . . .
E
mma stared at the morning’s
Post
, and looked for any sign that this was indeed a mock betrothal. Unfortunately, it seemed far too real. After all, betrothal announcements rarely made it into the newspaper. No doubt, this would cause quite a stir. Not only was it staring baldly back at her, but it was worded in a way that gave every impression that the dowager had designed the match herself.
Now Her Grace’s reputation was on the line as much as Emma’s.
Briefly, she wondered if her parents would feel an ounce of guilt upon reading this. After all, they were part of the ruse and should—
The door to the morning room opened. Emma hastily tucked the copy between the cushions of the mauve loveseat. She’d managed to swipe it from Parker before he ironed it, hoping no one else had seen it first. She didn’t want the servants to know what a liar she was. After all, they knew Rathburn came over only to visit Rafe. His sudden interest in her must seem highly suspect.
Lucy placed a tray with a steaming pot of tea, a cut glass dish of biscuits and buttered scones, and a stack of flowered plates, along with several cups. Before she left, she bobbed. “Mrs. Newman expected you might have callers, Miss, considering the announcement in the
Post
and all. She also wanted me to offer congratulations from the entire staff.”
Emma studied her expression, but surprisingly didn’t find even a hint of astonishment. Hmm . . . Perhaps the servants weren’t as observant as she’d always assumed.
“Thank you, Lucy,” Emma said, and questioned why she’d even bothered to hide the paper. The moment the door closed, she snatched it up, smoothing out the wrinkles and read it again.
She drew in a breath, hoping a gulp of air would chase away her sudden lightheadedness. What she wanted to do was go back to bed, close her eyes, and see if the next four weeks could pass quickly so this entire affair would be nothing but a memory. Unfortunately, she possessed enough sense to know avoidance wasn’t a solution.
No sooner had she heard a knock on the door and tucked the paper beneath the cushion once more than the door opened. Penelope, Merribeth, and Delaney filed into the room. Without a word, they sat amongst the overstuffed chairs opposite the loveseat.
Oh, dear.
One look at her friends told her that she wasn’t the only one who awoke early and read the society pages. Though their expressions were carefully reserved—no doubt, a chastisement for not hearing the news firsthand—their eyes were bright and brimming with unfounded excitement.
“Good morning,” she said, affecting a cheerful smile.
Merribeth withdrew a cutout from her reticule and placed it in the middle of the table. Emma knew without looking that it was the announcement of her engagement to Rathburn.
Her head went hazy again. What would she tell them? The entire truth was out of the question, since it pertained to Rathburn and his personal financial matter. Yet, she didn’t want to lie to them either.
“You said nothing the other day. Not an inkling. Bree knew before I did,” Delaney grumbled and reached forward to snatch a biscuit from the tray. “She came bounding into breakfast waving the paper madly. It thrilled her to no end to see the surprise on my face.”
Emma felt ashamed. “I should have sent word to each of you. However, if it makes any difference, it surprised me, too. In fact, I’m still trying to decide how I feel about it.”
“I don’t know why any of you were surprised,” Penelope added, grinning mysteriously as if she held the answer to the Sphinx’s riddle. “It’s been clear for ages how they feel about each other.”
Emma stared at her friend as if she’d grown two heads. The only thing that could have been
clear for ages
regarding Rathburn was how much he strove to irritate her. She knew for a fact that she never said flattering things to her friends about him. She’d been careful not to make slightest mention of how his inappropriate flirting stirred her imagination. After all, he was a notorious rake—or at least he
had
been—and any sensible woman knew not to lose her head over a smooth-tongued devil.
“You’re joking,” Delaney said, taking the words out of Emma’s mouth. “I didn’t have a clue, and I don’t feel like a dunderhead admitting it either. I always thought Emma disapproved of Rathburn and his reputation.”
She nodded, opening her mouth to respond, but Merribeth spoke first while brushing the crumbs from her lap. “Of course, he’s vowed to change all that. He must have, otherwise Emma would never have accepted him. It’s quite romantic if you think about it.”
Romantic? Hardly. But she couldn’t come out and tell them the circumstances. After all, word must never get back to the dowager or this entire charade would be for naught.
Now, they were all waiting for her to speak, gazes glued to her.
“Tell us what it was like,” Merribeth said on a wistful sigh. “Did he ask your father first?”
At least with this, she could tell the truth. “He spoke with both my parents. And then they called me into the study.”
Delaney took a biscuit. “Were you surprised?”
That was putting it mildly. “Oh, yes. For the life of me, I couldn’t fathom why they were all together, watching me carefully as if I might suddenly break out into song.”
“And then . . .” Merribeth had stars in her eyes.
Oh, if she only knew the truth
.
“Then, my father spoke and stated the reason for Rathburn’s visit.” She drew a breath, feeling her pulse rise as if it was happening all over again. “I could hardly believe it.”
Penelope tutted. “Oh, come now, you must have suspected something. Especially with the way he looks at you.”
She shrugged. “He looks at every woman that way.”
As if he were slowly peeling off the layers of their clothing with his eyes,
she thought crossly.
“Not the way he looks at you.”
Again, she stared at Penelope in complete disbelief. “He’s a terrible flirt.”
“True. He does have a way of offering a compliment that makes one feel . . . exposed.” Merribeth blushed but received a nod from Delaney.
Even Penelope laughed. “But he’s easily forgiven when it’s obvious he isn’t serious. Not like the way he is with Emma.”
Emma shook her head. Because of the announcement, they were seeing things that simply weren’t true. “He likes the game. The play of back and forth.”
“Now that I think on it, when he teases and flirts with you, his entire demeanor changes,” Merribeth said as she took a chocolate biscuit and nibbled the outer rim. “He turns serious.”
“I would say predatory,” Delaney added in a scholarly tone, as if the notion had been hers from the beginning.
“Or maybe possessive.”
“Oh, yes,” Merribeth agreed with Penelope’s statement. “That is the perfect description. After all, he kept away your other suitors last Season.”
A fact for which Emma would not soon forgive him. “That was Rafe’s fault for asking Rathburn to look after me while he was away. He simply took matters too far by hovering over me at every ball.” And glowering at every gentleman who came near.
“That’s when he introduced you to the dowager.” Delaney tapped her finger against the side of her mouth thoughtfully. “He was laying the foundation to build on later.”
“No. It was to keep me occupied and on edge so that he had the freedom to flirt with other ladies.”
She received three headshakes. “Surely, you can no longer deny it now. He must have expressed how he truly feels about you when he proposed.”
Emma hesitated. She hated lying to her friends, so the only thing she could do was focus on what actually happened. “He did say that his grandmother approves of me.”
Her friends gasped in unison. “The dowager . . .”
“Approves of you.”
“Of course she would.” Penelope leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “You could see it plainly in the announcement.”
“She doesn’t approve of anyone,” Merribeth added in an awed voice as if she’d taken a sip of the elixir of life instead of tepid tea. “That only means one thing.”
“He’s completely in love with you.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Emma said, swallowing down a sudden rise of nerves. Her friends were sure to be heartbroken once their false betrothal was over and they knew the truth.
“Has he tried to kiss you?”
Leave it to Merribeth to turn this into a romantic saga. Nonetheless, Emma blushed furiously.
“More than tried, I’d say,” Delaney snickered.
“What was it like? Was he swept away in the moment? Were you?”
“Certainly not,” she lied. “It was a mere formality to seal our bargain.”
“A woman does not kiss and tell when it comes to her husband, ladies,” Penelope added with a secret smile of her own. “Besides, whatever is between Rathburn and Emma, you’ll witness at the Dorsets’ ball.”
The three women nodded, as if the knowledge were a common fact. “Nothing will happen at the ball. I’ve more sense than that.”
“Have you danced with Rathburn?” Penelope already knew the answer. They all knew the answer, but Emma humored them with a shake of her head. Her newly married friend toyed with the fringe of her shawl. “Dancing changes everything.”
She mulled it over and made a quick decision to avoid dancing with Rathburn at all costs.
“Too bad there won’t be any dancing at the musicale this evening,” Delaney said with a wink. “Do you know what you’re going to wear?”
Emma’s nerves were still focused on what Penelope had said about dancing and didn’t give much thought to the question. “The fawn evening gown, I suppose.”
“The plain one with the brown sash?” Merribeth wrinkled her nose in distaste.
Emma considered the sash more of a russet, not that it mattered. “Then the cream one with the lace filigree at the neck and sleeves.”
“Oh, that one is lovely.” Penelope reached for the last biscuit on the plate.
“Yes, but is it enough? After all, she’s essentially making her debut as Rathburn’s viscountess.”
“Delaney is right,” Merribeth added. “What about pairing it with that beaded ivory shawl you wore at the end of last Season?”
Emma looked at her friends, grateful for the distraction from her previous thoughts. “I could wear my hair in a Grecian knot.”
“And your mother’s emeralds, to match Rathburn’s eyes.” Merribeth sighed and they all laughed.
At least with this entire courtship being make believe, she could allow herself to be immersed in the fun of it. But heaven help her if she started to prefer this lie over the truth.
R
athburn knew instantly that something was different that evening. He felt it keenly at the base of his skull, a sharp sense of awareness that made everything seem slightly foreign.
He’d been to the Sumpters’ musicale in years past, usually attending as escort to his mother. Yet, even then he couldn’t quite remember so many nods in his direction. Not to mention—
Wait
. Did his uncle, the esteemed Duke of Heathcoat, incline his head in approval?
He shook himself. Surely not.
It seemed strange that a single announcement in the
Post
could spawn this. That words printed on a page could make every expression, every sound, every scent seemed more vivid than ever before. He felt as if he were truly living in the moment, present in his skin, not focusing on the future and the list of objectives he had to complete in order to get there.
He liked this sensation even less than yesterday’s anxiety.
With Emma by his side, he stepped into the music room. The Sumpters’ musicale was a popular event, one of the first in the Season. The large room opened into the parlor through a set of pocket doors. Aside from the rows of chairs down the center of both rooms, upholstered settees and loveseats were positioned on the fringes of the room and angled toward the musicians. He was fortunate enough to procure a loveseat at the back of the parlor for himself and Emma.
Taking their seats a moment before the music began, Rathburn drew in a breath.
Instantly, he stilled. Something was definitely different.
For starters, he’d never thought a spray of tiny white flowers would bring him to his knees. Or else, he never would have sent them in the first place. Now, he couldn’t stop thinking of them, or wanting to pluck them from where they rested in Emma’s hair.
Emma glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “Is something amiss?” Her whispered words blended in with the first strains of violin and cello, but they were seated in close enough proximity that he could hear her plainly. Close enough to catch the sweet scent of jasmine perfuming the air around her.