Page 12 of A Duke to Undo her
“Miss Peckford’s father is Sir Richard Miller and her maternal grandfather is the Earl of Pelchester,” Duchess Nerissa added, making another attempt to capture her elder son’s attention. “I believe you know Lord Pelchester, don’t you Cassius?”
“Of course,” he returned rather mechanically. “There has been a great deal of talk in the Lords about Lord Pelchester’s various investments in steam power, boats, trains, factories and more. He is quite the visionary, I believe.”
“Yes, I knew there was some connection. You ought to talk to Miss Peckford after dinner and…”
Josephine now fought back an urge to laugh as she realized Duchess Nerissa’s agenda in bringing Miss Peckford to the duke’s attention. Margaret Peckford was exactly the kind of wife Josephine had imagined for Cassius Emerton: quiet, submissive and softly-spoken, never likely to contradict or criticize. How dull their lives would be together and how it would serve him right.
“Are you really going to eat your soup with that implement, Lady Josephine?” the Duke of Ashbourne inquired of her rather than attending to his mother or Miss Peckford.
With embarrassment, Josephine realized that in helping herself to the soup proffered by the footman beside her, she had inadvertently taken the ladle from the tureen and placed it in her own bowl. So much for being the perfect lady tonight, in front of Mr. Emerton’s mother.
Red-faced and mortified, she immediately returned the implement to the patiently-waiting footman but Cassius Emerton’s remark had already made sure that half the party had witnessed her error.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she instead replied through gritted teeth, all too conscious of the titters from around the table. “You really are too kind.”
Josephine kicked herself for being quite so distracted in her gloating over the idea of Cassius Emerton being landed with a pious, whey-faced bride. It was hard to behave like demure and proper Madeline when she couldn’t think like her. Frankly, right now, she only wished to hit the Duke of Ashbourne over the head with that soup-covered ladle.
“Don’t worry,” said Benedict Emerton beside her, sensing her distress, his voice and eyes both kindly. “Do you know, at the very first adult dinner party Cassius allowed me to join, I disgraced myself by trying to wipe my hands on a lace napkinwhich turned out to be the trailing sleeve of the very elderly Dowager Duchess of Cambermore?”
Despite her discomfiture, Josephine had to smile at this silly story. Benedict Emerton was a man she could relate to on so many levels and was so easy in his manner.
“Is that why he still insists on accompanying you around the ton Mr. Emerton?” she asked. “He believes that you still cannot tell table linen from the clothing of your fellow guests?”
“Oh, that and a thousand other misdemeanors, I expect. Or maybe it’s only because he wrongly believes he can run my life for me, although that is a far less entertaining topic of conversation with which I won’t bore you. Let me tell you instead of what once happened with the ice-swan at the Countess of Garforth’s winter ball…”
With his repertoire of scrapes and adventures, all of which he had escaped through charm or good fortune, Benedict Emerton disarmed and soothed Josephine’s nerves and kept her entertained throughout the rest of the dinner. Neither of them talked more to the guests on their other side than politeness decreed.
Nor did Josephine again look across the table to the Duke of Ashbourne although she imagined she could still feel his eyes burning into her.
Chapter Six
“Are you well, Josephine?” Vera asked as they returned to the drawing room with the other ladies after dinner, the gentlemen remaining to sit over their port. “You look a little drawn.”
Josephine took in her sister’s concerned expression and smiled, guessing that Vera was among those who had witnessed her embarrassing incident with the ladle.
“I’m only tired, Vera. There is no need to worry. Mr. Emerton looked after me very well at dinner, you know.”
“Mr. Emerton is a nice young man,” Vera commented approvingly. “His mother seems a very good sort of woman too. Have you met her yet? I can introduce you now, if you wish. Norman and I spoke with her at dinner.”
Josephine shook her head, shrinking from the thought of meeting Nerissa Emerton in the aftermath of the ladle incident, even though she knew she should take the opportunity.
“Not yet, I’m going to the retiring room,” she said quickly. “Maybe when I come back.”
She hoped that a few minutes alone would fortify her for such an intimidating conversation and allow her to renew her best intentions towards ladylike behavior.
While remembering perfectly well where the retiring room had been pointed out to her earlier, Josephine rather found herself attracted to the darkness and peace of an unlit corridor nearby. She often needed to take these moments for herself in company, enjoying the fun of a gathering, but quickly becoming tired and overwhelmed if she found no time or space for solitary reflection.
Picking a spot beside what seemed to be a bronze statue of a shepherd boy, Josephine sighed and leaned back against the wall, trying to empty her head of the evening’s annoyances and stress. She wanted to daydream of Benedict Emerton, his perfect dress, his clear blue eyes and his smooth blond hair…
Briefly she recalled the day they met and the golden halo that had seemed to surround his head. With the noble black horse also behind him, he had truly seemed like an illustration from abook of some magical knight or prince, come to rescue a damsel from a dragon and carry her back to his castle.
As Josephine tried to hold the image in her head however, and to think of Mr. Emerton in other aesthetically pleasing places and poses, another less welcome visage intruded itself in her mind. Whatever memory or fantasy Josephine tried to construct around the fair younger brother after this, the glowering face of the elder appeared there too, its presence more intense than the other.
How dare Cassius Emerton intrude even in her own head?!
The sound of heavy male footfall nearby made Josephine abandon her frustrated daydreams and stand up straight, wondering whether to hide in the shadows or go directly to the retiring room. Was it a servant or perhaps Lord Kemp? She didn’t want to be caught sneaking around when her behavior had already been marked as odd.
“What in the world are you doing lurking behind that statue?” demanded the stern voice of Cassius Emerton, as though he had been conjured up by the mere act of Josephine thinking about him, even if against her will.
