Page 31 of The Duke's Inconvenient Bride
When she could hear the rise and fall of voices outside, Emma knew they must be near the opera house. Her parents stopped talking. Her chest tightened, and her stomach rolled sickeningly. They shouldn’t be here. They would not be welcome, and she knew it.
Yet she had to watch as her parents exited the carriage and follow behind, her feet leaden as she forced herself into what was sure to be a disaster.
The massive doors stood ajar, and as they entered the foyer, silence fell. Emma curled her fingers into her palms, trying to warm them. The air seemed as cold as the eyes that watched their every move.
Emma stared down at the rich red carpet as her mother guided them farther into the foyer, presumably toward an acquaintance.
“Lady Talbot,” her mother said. “How lovely to see you.”
Emma raised her eyes just in time to see Lady Talbot turn away, giving them the cut. Her companions followed her example, presenting their backs to the Carlisles.
Lady Carlisle gasped.
“Come.” Lord Carlisle ushered her through the assembly and into the stairwell, where they climbed to their box.
Emma was numb. She hardly noticed the golden walls or the stunning paintings of English landscapes that she usually couldn’t take her eyes off. Despite the gathering of people down below and the dozens in other boxes lining the walls of the theater, she’d never felt so alone.
“We are ruined,” Lady Carlisle whispered, as if the full depth of their situation had only just sunk in.
Desperate to distract herself, Emma glanced into the box opposite theirs. She stood straighter as she recognized the tall figure of Mr. Marcus Adair next to his brothers and their father, Lord Marwick.
She met his eyes, and he sent her a kind smile. Perhaps all was not lost. But in the next instant, he turned away too.
CHAPTER 8
The tensionat the breakfast table made Emma uncomfortable. Forks clinked against plates, knives scraped over bread, and no one said a word.
Lord Carlisle buttered a piece of toast, and the rasp was magnified ten times over by the awful silence of his breakfast companions.
Emma sipped her tea. Her cup was nearly empty, but her throat was still dry. She’d tried to eat scrambled eggs, but they sat like a lump in her stomach, and now most of her meal was slowly congealing on her plate.
Lady Carlisle reached for a strip of bacon, cut a tiny piece off, and declared, “I have thought of a solution to our dilemma.”
Emma poked at her rubbery eggs, too scared to ask what she meant.
“Do tell,” Lord Carlisle said, folding up the newspaper that was positioned on the far side of his plate.
Lady Carlisle busied herself dissecting her strip of bacon. “Emma must marry the duke.”
Everyone stopped and stared.
Emma drew in a shaky breath. “I beg your pardon?”
Lady Carlisle lowered her cutlery and met Emma’s eyes. “You can see how it makes sense.”
“How?” Emma demanded. Her head spun, and she placed her hands on her lap beneath the table so no one could see them trembling.
“Well.” Lady Carlisle moistened her lips. “The duke wants a suitable wife. Violet is no longer a viable option, but you are.”
Emma opened her mouth, but her mother gestured for her to let her continue.
“You are sisters, so you are similar enough that if he was satisfied with Violet, he will surely find you to be an adequate bride.”
Adequate?
Emma wanted to cry at the prospect. She’d always hoped her future husband would consider her more than adequate.
“But most importantly, if you become a duchess, nobody will dare cut us again, and our status will be restored.” Lady Carlisle smiled as if she had not just threatened to destroy the only future Emma had dreamed of.
