Page 59 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

“I daresay you’ve outdone yourself, Emma,” Joanna remarked, fidgeting with the neckline of her uncharacteristically daring gown—a deep emerald silk that complemented her fair complexion marvelously. “I feel positively scandalous!”

Emma smiled, watching her aunt’s nervous adjustments in the carriage’s dim interior. “Nonsense. You look beautiful. And I see you’ve forgone your spectacles for the evening.”

Joanna’s hand rose unconsciously to her face. “I can manage without them,” she insisted, though her squinted eyes as she attempted to focus on the passing scenery suggested otherwise. “One cannot appear scholarly at a ball. It frightens potential dance partners.”

“I would think a man intimidated by intelligence is hardly worth dancing with,” Emma argued, smoothing the skirts of her own gown—a piece made of midnight blue silk with delicate silver embroidery that had cost far more than was sensible.

And she’d made sure to remind herself every few seconds that it did not truly matter who saw her in it.

Oh no, she did not care one whit.

Joanna smiled enigmatically. “We shan’t all be fortunate enough to captivate surly dukes, my dear.”

Emma was spared the trouble of having to formulate a response to that as their carriage pulled into the circular drive of Knightley Hall, its windows ablaze with light.

Footmen in immaculate livery assisted them down the steps and directed them toward the grand entrance, where music and laughter already spilled into the night.

The moment they crossed the threshold, Emma felt the weight of curious stares. Whispers followed their progress through the crowded reception hall, no doubt speculating on her relationship with the Duke of Westmere. The ton’s gossip mill had been working overtime since her first visit to his estate.

“Lady Cuthbert!” Lord Knightley’s cheerful voice cut through the murmurs as he approached, resplendent in a coat of midnight blue with silver buttons that glinted in the candlelight. “Miss Joanna.” His voice lowered on her aunt’s name, sounding positively scandalous. “You both look positively radiant this evening.”

Emma curtsied, noting with interest how his gaze lingered on Joanna. “Thank you for your kind invitation, Lord Knightley. Your home is magnificent.”

“Indeed, though its splendor pales in comparison to its current company,” he replied smoothly, before turning his full attention to Joanna. “Miss Joanna, you look absolutely enchanting this evening, though I find myself missing your spectacles. Have you misplaced them?”

Joanna’s cheeks flushed delicately. “I don’t always require them, My Lord. For occasions such as this, I prefer to go without.”

Lord Knightley tilted his head thoughtfully, studying her with surprising intensity. “A pity. They suit you remarkably well—much like your wit, they magnify your most admirable qualities, bringing clarity and focus to your already considerable charms.”

Emma watched in fascination as her usually composed aunt blushed to the roots of her hair. Joanna’s hand dipped into her pocket, retrieving the spectacles she had apparently carried with her, after all.

“How fortunate,” Joanna murmured, placing them on her nose with a self-conscious smile. “I’d nearly forgotten I had brought them.”

Lord Knightley’s answering smile was warm and genuine. “Much better. Now I can properly see the intelligence in your eyes when you inevitably find fault with my rather pedestrian knowledge of Greek philosophers later this evening.”

The moment stretched between them, charged with something Emma couldn’t quite name but recognized instinctively. She was positive that she would end up being a nuisance if she remained there. So, she cleared her throat delicately.

“I believe I shall seek refreshments,” she announced. “Joanna, would you care for a drink?”

“What? Oh no, thank you,” Joanna replied distractedly, still gazing up at Lord Knightley.

Emma slipped away, a smile tugging at her lips.

How delightful.

Perhaps she would tease her aunt a bit more later. After all, both Joanna and Annabelle had taken great pleasure in teasing her about the Duke these past few weeks.

As she navigated the crowd, her gaze swept across the ballroom, unconsciously searching for a particularly tall figure—the very Duke who haunted her dreams and waking hours.

She found him almost immediately, standing aloof in a corner, dressed—as always—in severe black, relieved only by a crisp white cravat.

Even from a distance, Victor’s imposing presence commanded attention, his face set in its customary stern lines.

Their eyes met briefly across the crowded room, and Emma felt a jolt of awareness race through her before she quickly looked away, focusing intently on reaching the refreshment table. She would pretend as though she was not acutely aware of his gaze drilling holes into the back of her head, pretend as though her cheeks and neck weren’t slowly flushing red from her responding emotions.

The orchestra struck a lively tune just as she reached for a glass of lemonade. Couples flooded the dance floor, moving through the intricate patterns with varying degrees of grace.

Emma spotted Joanna standing alone at the edge of the crowd, a frown marring her features as she watched Lord Knightley lead a stunning blonde through the opening steps, and her heart sank.

---