Page 33 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
“And besides, have you considered the cost of all your plans?” Emma added.
It is not my place to share the precarious state of Papa’s finances with them, and I would not dishonor him. It is not his fault. He is a good man. I will protect his dignity above all.
Therefore, she would not tell them of the work she had personally done and continued to do so that they would not discover these facts. Emma had given up her innocence a long time ago and had not been protected from it because her father so desperately needed her pragmatic mind.
I wish I could tell them the truth and rein in their decadent tastes, but I promised Papa I would not.
“We are not so naive as that, Emma,” Josie waved a hand. “We know that these things are expensive, but what else is money for? Papa will have been preparing for years for our marriages. Do not worry that your dream wedding will not pass because of something as tawdry as money. Papa is an Earl, after all.”
They reached a bright blue front door with a brighter brass knocker. Josie took it up with a degree of familiarity and greeted the servant who answered the door by name. They stepped into a cool hallway with a modestly high ceiling and a well-cared-for, highly polished wood floor. Damien stood halfway along the foyer, admiring a painting. He looked back as the ladies entered the room.
“Ah, good afternoon to you all! Your father told me briefly that you were walking about the park before joining us. I believe he and Sir Thomas are in the billiards room. Emma, may I have a moment with you in private?”
Emma could feel the cogs whirring in her sister's minds. This was confirmation, if needed, that the Duke intended to ask for her hand in marriage. She was both thrilled and appalled at the idea that her father had agreed to such a thing.
She felt the sudden urge for physical action. The idea of remaining, standing, or sitting in one place was anathema to her. She needed to be walking for what she feared was about to come.Emma led the way from the foyer as Rosie and Josie giggled and curtsied to the Duke.
As they crossed the hallway, she glimpsed the billiard room, where her father was speaking about his skill at the game before Sir Thomas, who listened intently. Silas Sutherland stood nearby, looking bored. His eyes met Emma’s as she passed the door. Emma hurried on before he could engage them in conversation.
“Where did you have in mind?” the Duke asked.
“Have you seen the stables?” Emma replied, knowing that he had not. It is something of a source of pride for Sir Thomas. And it is such a lovely day; better to be out of doors.”
“Quite. Lead the way. You know this house.”
“I have visited many times. Sir Thomas will not mind.”
“May I ask why Sutherland seems to be everywhere your father is?” Damien suddenly asked, “he was at dinner. Behaving obnoxiously. Now he is here.”
“I’m sure I have no idea,” Emma commented, feigning distraction.
“Is your father beholden to him?”
They walked along a hallway carpeted in deep burgundy and decorated with oil paintings of horses and livestock. Windows looked out over a bed of climbing roses. Emma rounded on him there.
“What does that mean? What are you suggesting about my family?” she demanded, trying to deflect attention through pretend outrage.
“Only that your family is struggling financially, and I suspect Montrose Hall actually belongs to Sutherland,” Damien replied calmly. “I do not judge. Only a fool judges a man on his wealth. There are few people in my experience who combine good character and a healthy bank book. Typically, the two are mutually exclusive.”
Emma licked her lips and turned to lead the way once more.
“How veryegalitarianof you,” she responded.
“You say that as though it is an insult,” Damien remarked.
“Does our society not regard such a word as a dangerous and radical concept?” she continued.
“It does. Which is why I have a healthy contempt for society and its rules.”
Emma scoffed. “Simple to say when you have the wealth and power to do as you please.”
But I pick a fight with him because I do not think I should be agreeing. Actually, what he is saying is what I believe. But I cannot bring myself to openly align myself with a man trying to force himself upon me.
She led them out of a small door and into a cobbled stable yard. It was quiet, with the horses settled and the stable hands at other work. A mare with a coal-black coat put her nose over the door of her stall as they approached and Emma stroked it gently. Damien made to do the same.
“Be careful. She has the temperament of a stallion with people she does not know. She will bite,” Emma warned.
To Emma's amazement, Damien whispered wordless noises and reached out a hand, palm down, towards Willow. She sniffed, ears twitching, then licked the back of his hand. Damien stepped closer, still whispering, and moved his hand to stroke behind Willow's ears.
