Page 2 of A Duke to Steal Her
The promise of escape, however temporary, was too precious to delay.
“My class is not to be interrupted!” Miss Tindale barked with indignation. “Lady Emily! I did not dismiss you,” Miss Tindale called after her, but Emily was already halfway through the door.
In the corridor, Emily slowed her pace to match the maid’s.
“Thank you for the rescue, Mary,” she said softly.
Mary’s expression softened. “It’s no trouble, my lady. I must say, your Italian was beautiful after breakfast this morning when you thanked Cook. You make the language sound so lovely.”
Emily smiled, her first genuine expression for the past three hours. “Grazie mille, Mary. One day I shall travel the world and speak every language where it was born.”
“Oh, my lady,” Mary’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Surely news of your wedding is everywhere. Lord Peirce will have other plans for you than gallivanting across foreign lands.”
Emily’s smile didn’t falter, though a wistful longing tightened her chest. “Perhaps I shall learn to pilot an air balloon and disappear into the night,” she replied, her tone light with yearning.
Her hand glided through the air in a gentle arc, fingers outstretched as if riding invisible currents.
Her gaze followed its path, blue eyes turning distant and dreamy as they fixed on some point beyond the corridor walls.
“Though I suspect my mother would still find a way to remind me of my duties.”
Mary’s eyes widened in horror, her hand flying to her lips. For a moment, Emily feared she’d gone too far, until the maid’s shoulders began to shake with suppressed laughter.
They both dissolved into quiet giggles, a shared moment of rebellion against the rigid world that confined them both in different ways.
Emily sobered up, pressing a finger to her lips, and the maid nodded, obediently ending her giggling.
At the Headmistress’s door, Mary paused. “Your gift for languages is remarkable, my lady,” she admitted. “Our secret French lessons have been most enjoyable.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I never imagined I would learn to speak like a proper Parisienne.”
“Tu as été une excellente élève,” Emily replied warmly. “You have been an excellent student.”
Mary squeezed her hand briefly.“Bonne chance,”she whispered before departing.
As Emily took a deep breath and knocked on the imposing oak door, her thoughts drifted to the collection of maps hidden beneath her mattress—detailed renderings of Venice, Florence, and Rome she’d copied from books in the school’s library.
Someday, she would trace those streets herself and breathe the air of a place where her learning would be celebrated rather than contained.
At the muffled “enter” from inside the office, Emily pushed the door open and found Headmistress Harper behind her grand mahogany desk.
Even from where she stood, Emily could make out her mother’s broken seal on a white envelope laid out before the Headmistress.
“Lady Emily, your mother has informed me that preparations for your wedding to Lord Peirce have been accelerated.” The Headmistress adjusted her spectacles. “You are to depart Wicklow Academy this very hour. ‘There’s a carriage waiting for you outside.”
Emily felt her stomach drop, though her face remained perfectly composed.
Today? Not at term’s end?
“I see,” she replied, her voice steady despite the panic clawing at her throat.
“Lord Peirce has made a most generous donation to our school,” Headmistress Harper added, folding her hands atop the desk. “In gratitude, we naturally wish to accommodate his desire to have you returned home today.”
Of course. I’m being sold twice over, once by my family, and now by Headmistress Harper.
“Lady Emily, even though you do find it difficult to keep your nose out of those large texts, you have always been admirably obedient,” the Headmistress continued with a satisfied nod. “Such compliance will serve you well as a wife. You will bring credit to Wicklow Academy in your new role.”
“Thank you, Headmistress,” Emily replied automatically, not sure how to process the backhanded compliment.
She executed a perfect curtsy, just as she had been taught. Back straight, knees bent precisely, gaze appropriately lowered.
