laughed, too, a surprised chuckle. “I think you are quite right, Lady Emily. People do seem far more interested in me since my father died.”
From under the veil of her lashes, Emily studied the way the candlelight cast his handsome face in intriguing, shadowed angles. The hair that fell over his brow in unruly waves gleamed like an ancient gold coin. “Oh, I’m sure they were interested in you long before that,” she murmured.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Emily?”
“I said—why do you attend these balls, your Grace? Surely one of the advantages of being a duke should be doing what one pleases.” Unlike being an earl’s daughter, who could never do what she pleased. Unless it was in secret.
“I’m afraid being a duke means doing a great many things one would rather not,” he said, as if he read her unspoken thoughts. “There are so many expectations, obligations.”
“Including dancing at crowded London balls?”
He gave a comical sigh. “Sadly, yes, Lady Emily. I fear it was one of the duties my father failed to tell me about.”
It seemed to Emily the last duke had not been very dutiful at all, or he would not have eloped with the married Lady Linwall all those years ago! But Nicholas seemed different indeed from his father and stepmother. He wanted to do his duty the best he could—just as she did. But sometimes it was so, so hard.
Emily gave him a tentative smile. “I fear you are failing in your task then, your Grace.”
“Am I indeed?”
“Yes. For you are not dancing at all, but sitting here talking to me.”
“So I am,” he said, laughing. “And believe me, Lady Emily, it is a far more pleasant party for it. I would much rather sit somewhere in quiet conversation than be crowded into an overheated ballroom with a lot of strangers.”
“Me, too. Balls are …” Hateful things. “Most inconvenient.”
“But a necessary evil for people such as us, you were quite right about that, Lady Emily.” He rose to his feet, offering his hand to help her rise.
Emily hesitated for a moment as she studied that hand, remembering the strange, wondrous sensation of being held by him. She slowly slipped her hand into his. His fingers closed over hers, just as warm and strong as before, and she had the wild wish that they could just stand there for the rest of the night.
But they could not, of course. His touch slid away from hers. “Since I must dance, Lady Emily, would you favour me with the next set?”
“I.” Oh, how her parents would love that. Their daughter dancing with the Duke of Manning for everyone to see. But her legs still felt none too steady, and she feared that rather than inciting envy at her handsome partner and graceful movements, she would fall again and make a fool of herself.
And the last thing she wanted was for him to think her a fool. He and his family surely already thought that after last summer’s party.
“I think I need to find the ladies’ withdrawing room, your Grace,” she said. “I seem to have torn my hem when I tripped.”
He smiled at her, and bowed politely. “It is my loss, then. Perhaps we can dance at the next ball.”
And perhaps cows would take wing and fly around Berkeley Square. “That would be most pleasant.” “Shall I escort you to—?”
“Oh, no,” Emily said quickly. “No, I’m sure our hostess will be wondering where you are. I am quite well now, your Grace, thanks to your gallant rescue.”
“I hope the rest of your evening is less perilous, Lady Emily.”
Emily bobbed a hasty curtsy, and hurried away across the foyer. She knew not what direction she was going, or where. She just had to be away from him, from the way he made her head spin so confusingly, in order to think clearly again.
But she felt the warmth of his stare on the back of her neck as he watched her go.
“What a charming party last night!” Emily’s mother said as she buttered her breakfast toast.
“Mmm,” Emily murmured. That was really all the response her mother ever required to her morning chatter. Fortunately so, for Emily didn’t care for mornings—especially when she was already preoccupied with other matters.
“Lady Orman is such a fine hostess,” her mother went on. “And Robert and Amy were so admired, of course. I’m sure next year they will have their own household and can give such soirées themselves. That is so essential in building a political career.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Emily. She was sure Rob and his wife would be most happy to get out of their parents’ house, to escape. It would be wonderful beyond words to have one’s own home, a place of quiet serenity and cosy little nooks for reading and thinking in peace.
Emily almost laughed aloud at her own silliness. Rob’s house would never be in the least serene—he and Amy liked noise and action and parties. Emily dreamed of her own house, a place where she could order things to her own liking and be truly comfortable at last. She might as well dream of going to live on the moon. She couldn’t afford even the tiniest cottage in the most obscure corner of the country, and even if she could her parents would never let her leave. Her only escape would be to marry. And that seemed distant as well.
Ever since childhood she had dreamed of a place where she could be useful, where she was needed. She dreamed of children, a home. She was still searching for that, but she was sure one day she would find it. Or at least she hoped she would. It would be the best thing for all.
Emily sipped at her tea, and remembered the terrible event that had led her to this place. She had always been shy as a child, and her mother had long urged her to open up, to make friends. Emily herself longed for friends, but knowing what to say to new people was never easy. Until she made her début in London and met a certain Mr Lofton, a handsome young man who seemed to like her very much. Too much, as it turned out. She agreed to walk with him in the garden at a ball one night, and he grabbed her and attempted to force his kiss on her.
In her revulsion, she trod hard on his foot and kicked him on the leg, making her escape as he howled with pain. “Teasing whore!” he called after her as she fled in tears. And thereafter he never talked to her again, though she never forgot the terrible smothering feeling of his kiss. If that was what came of letting her guard down, she would never do it again. She retreated into herself, and did not tell her parents or brother what had happened. She only wanted to forget it.
But sometimes, like now, the memory haunted her once again.
Her mother, who noticed none of Emily’s inner turmoil, gave a deep sigh, setting the ribbons on her cap to fluttering. “But they must have a proper house, of course! One large enough for entertaining. One like Devonshire House or Manning House, really. If only they had someone to help them as they deserve.”
Someone like the Duke of Manning, owner of that grand Manning
