Page 65 of A Duke Reformed
Patricia scoffed and shook her head. "But tell me, why would he even leave London for such a thing? There are far more eligible women here in town, wealthier, better connected, and far more refined. Why go all the way to the countryside?"
Another lady across the table nodded. "Exactly. It's not as though London lacks for debutantes of breeding and beauty. If His Grace truly wanted a wife, he could have had his pick weeks ago."
Emma's grip tightened on her teacup. She tried to inhale deeply, but her breath shuddered.
Another lady, seated farther down the table and clearly straining to join the conversation, leaned in. "Well," she drawled, lowering her voice though everyone was already listening, "I heard that His Grace only went up north to handle some important business matter. But now... now the whispers say he's been seen calling at the same estate almost every single day, and the latest is that marrying the daughter of the house would... how did my cousin put it?...secure everything quite nicely."
A collective gasp followed.
"Oh, how perfectly strategic," Patricia murmured, fanning herself. "A tidy little alliance. Seal the deal and the girl. To be frank, I'm not surprised His Grace would go that far. They say he's a brutal businessman. Cold as stone when it comes to negotiation. So really, what's a little courtship if it sweetens the terms?"
The other lady, seated farther down the table leaned in again, this time, directing her comment to Patricia. "Well, it is a match to the daughter of a powerful local lord. That's the real clincher, isn't it? No wonder His Grace has been such a fixture up North. Those country alliances may lack the glamour of London, but they come with land, influence, and men who'd rather marry power than beauty."
"I daresay..." Patricia answered. "... if she's both, well, then His Grace has struck gold."
Emma shifted uncomfortably in her seat. A part of her wanted to join the conversation, to calmly dismiss the claims circling thetable. Solomon had told her, with unmistakable certainty, that he had no intention of marrying. He had spoken of it plainly, almost coldly, explaining that he didn't want children, that such a life simply wasn't for him.
It was that very conversation that had haunted her since, that had chipped away at the lightness in her laugh and the sparkle in her eyes. It had been the turning point, the moment that sealed the impossibility of them. The reason why she had withdrawn, tucked herself away so she could heal.
But the other part of her... the wounded, uncertain, and far too human part whispered doubts into her heart that she could not silence. Had he changed his mind? Or worse, had he never meant a word of what he'd said to her?
Had he truly been visiting the same estate every day? A powerful local lord's daughter? Emma didn't even know there was a powerful lord in that part of the country. She wanted to believe that it was not possible, that Solomon would never break his promise to himself simply for business.
Yet, she couldn't help but wonder if the arrangement was real. Did the lady know what she was agreeing to? Did she know he didn't want children, didn't want a family, didn't want the life most women were raised to dream of? Did she accept it? Did her father... the powerful lord accept it?
If they knew... and they still struck the arrangement anyway... then perhaps she had misjudged Solomon. Perhaps she was the only one foolish enough to think that something like promisesever meant anything to him. Did she know him well enough to be certain he wouldn't yield? Was his business far more important than his promise to himself?
"You must fix your face," Cecilia whispered. She leaned closer, her eyes darting across the table to the other ladies. "People saw you dance with the duke at Lady Farnsworth's ball."
Emma blinked, startled. She tried to force her lips to curve into a smile, but she couldn't hold it.
"If you sit here looking like you've been personally wounded, they'll think you were... hopeful," Cecilia continued. "Or worse. Heartbroken. We cannot give them that."
Emma swallowed hard, adjusting her posture and lifting her chin, though it took everything in her to do so. The last thing she wanted was to feed theton'sinsatiable appetite for drama, to become the pitiful girl pining after a man who had allegedly moved on without a second glance.
But her demeanor immediately faltered and she frowned again. To her own surprise, and mounting frustration Emma felt heated and sharp course through her body. A sudden, uninvited pang that nestled itself in her chest like a thorn.
The only word that came to mind when she tried to figure out what it was, was jealousy.
Emma shifted again in her seat. It made no sense. She had no claim to him. There had never been a promise, no understanding between them, and yet, the thought of Solomon betrothed to another woman stirred something sharp and unwelcome inside her.
"Emma!" Cecilia cautioned.
"I'm all right," Emma rasped. "No one will notice anything. Don't worry. It was just one dance. Who could possibly tie me to him after one dance? You're overreacting."
Cecilia gave her a knowing look. "London society, that's who. They need only a feather to make a whole peacock. You're moping, dear sister."
Emma exhaled, her lips pressed into a thin line. "All right. Is this better?" she asked, flashing Cecilia a smile.
Cecilia playfully rolled her eyes and nodded. "Much better," she said, putting down her teacup. "Anyway, let's talk about something far less distressing. Like the glorious fact that Lord Pearlton has finally taken the hint and backed off."
Emma blinked, momentarily distracted. "Backed off?"
Cecilia grinned, a little too pleased. "Yes! Two nights ago at the Darlington soirée, he was there, smack in the middle of the room, bothering everyone but me. I don't believe he spared meso much as a glance, and thank heavens for it. I imagine he'll be gone for the rest of the Season."
She gave a dramatic sigh of relief. "I am so pleased. Now I can attend events without constantly looking over my shoulder, dreading that he might corner me again to ramble on about the dozen children he plans for us to have, or worse, how he expects I'll give up all ‘frivolities' like books and music to raise them."
Emma let out a short giggle. "Well, that is fortunate. Now that I think of it, he hasn't called on you in a while."
