Page 32 of A Duke to Steal Her
“Oh yes. Ava has been telling me about your talent for languages. How many do you speak?”
“Five fluently,” Emily replied, grateful for the change of subject. “Though my Latin is probably the most useful in certain social situations.”
The Duchess’s eyes sparked with understanding. “I imagine it provides excellent vocabulary for difficult moments.”
“Remarkably specific vocabulary,” Emily agreed, a real smile tugging at her lips.
“I must learn some myself. For purely academic purposes, of course.”
“Of course.” Emily’s smile widened. “Though I find Greek equally educational for expanding one’s expressive range.”
The Duchess laughed, a sound that drew approving glances from several other ladies. “I can see we’re going to be great friends, Lady Emily.”
From the corner of her eye, Emily noticed Lady Bramwell’s sour expression as the conversation moved away from uncomfortable speculation to Emily’s accomplishments. The older woman clearly hadn’t achieved the reaction she’d hoped for.
“I certainly hope so,” Emily replied, feeling some of the stiffness in her shoulders finally melt away.
Ava stepped in with a bright smile. “Christine has just had her second child, you know. Little Eleanor. She’s the loveliest little thing, all dark curls and indignation.”
“Congratulations,” Emily said warmly, turning to the Duchess. “I’d heard of her arrival, though I confess I was surprised. From Georgina’s letters, I’d rather thought you had your hands full already with Isabella and Beatrice.”
Christine’s eyes lit with pleased surprise. “You know the girls?”
“Only through Georgina’s letters,” Emily admitted. “She adores them. She’s been telling me all about them—well, as much as any fifteen-year-old manages without lapsing into complaints about needlework.”
Christine laughed. “That sounds like them. Isabella, especially. Beatrice has been slowly developing a knack for embroidery, though she prefers stitching little animals instead of the usual roses and vines.”
“I’ve seen one,” Emily said with a grin. “A rather startled-looking fox, if I recall correctly. Georgina tucked it into one of her letters.”
Christine groaned fondly. “Yes, the fox. It lives in a drawer somewhere, but she insists it’s her masterpiece.”
“It’s quite expressive,” Emily offered diplomatically.
“Well, I suppose every generation needs its rebel,” Christine said, her smile warm. “And if she chooses foxes over forget-me-nots, I suppose I can’t complain.”
“Georgina will be delighted to know she’s not alone in that preference,” Emily said with a fond smile. “Though she insists her embroidery is more a test of patience than artistry.”
“Smart girl,” Christine murmured. “She’ll make a formidable debutante. Though heaven help the first man who underestimates her.”
“I second that,” Ava said with a giggle.
Christine’s eyes sparkled. “Lady Emily, I would love nothing more than to host you, Ava, and your little Georgina at Ironstone. Whenever you wish to visit. I am sure the twins would love to meet you as well.”
Emily’s smile deepened, touched by the sincerity in the Duchess’s voice.
“I’d like that,” she said softly—and meant it.
As their conversation continued, Emily felt the first genuine enjoyment she’d experienced since returning to London. Ava’s friend was clearly intelligent, witty, and possessed a subtle sense of humor that made Emily feel less alone in navigating society’s treacherous waters.
For the first time in weeks, she wasn’t thinking about green eyes and strong hands. Instead, she was simply being herself—sharp, educated, and unashamed of either quality.
It was, she realized, almost as liberating as those stolen moments at Nightfell when she’d been allowed to speak freely without fear of judgment.
Almost.
“Enter.” Ambrose forced his tone to be neutral.
Simmons appeared in the doorway, carrying a silver tray with the morning’s correspondence. “The post has arrived, Your Grace. Including an urgent communication that arrived by special courier.”
