Page 32 of Healing the Duke's Desires
Emily frowned. She didn’t remember speaking to this lady in particular, but perhaps she was among one of the women at the Ravenswood Manor garden party that Emily had spoken to?
“I do not remember the lady, Mother,” Emily admitted.
“Oh, nonsense!” Her mother waved her hand dismissively, as if this was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard and she would never be convinced otherwise. “Surely you do! You just cannot remember her right now. But when you see her, you will, for we must go to that tea party.”
To be quite honest, Emily was in no mood for another tea party, especially one Alexander would not be present for. One look at her mother, however, and she could see that her mother considered this a rare and coveted opportunity.
She always considered such invitations the pinnacle of high society, especially if they came on the part of someone esteemed in society, and the lady in question was obviously one of those. Emily cared much less about their status in society than her parents did, and she was scolded when she showed such disregard, ever since she had been a little girl.
“Why don’t you and Sarah go?” Emily tried to suggest an alternative that would leave her out of the intricacies of social interactions that were proving to be too bothersome for her. Everyone always had to behave in a certain manner, while Emily was a firm believer in behaving how one’s emotions stated. If everyone followed that simple rule, the world would have been a much simpler and nicer place.
“Absolutely not!” Her mother refused to negotiate on this one. “You are mentioned in the letter.”
“And I do not know why,” Emily repeated with as much helplessness as before.
Her mother shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. Now, I know this might seem a little nerve-racking, to be in the company of such esteemed ladies, but you will have to navigate through these paths on a daily basis when you marry the marquess, my dear.”
At the mention of the man, Emily felt sick to her stomach. She swallowed heavily, hoping her mother would not see her disgust. Nothing about this man or marriage to him appealed to Emily, and it seemed that the more time passed, the more reluctant she was to go along with it. Fortunately, her mother had already started to flutter about the room like the social butterfly that she was or thought herself to be.
“We have to think of what to wear, goodness me!” her mother exclaimed, fanning herself with her hand. “We have no time to purchase new gowns. No, no. I suppose some of the old ones will have to do. Maybe some new jewelry, though, to accentuate the occasion. And the coiffure, something elegant but at the same time…”
Emily wasn’t even listening to her any longer. Amidst the flurry of her own emotions, a great hesitation lingered inside of her. She still couldn’t connect a name to a face. She didn’t know who the Duchess of Montpelier was, but obviously, she would find out very soon—and for some reason, that knowledge brought uneasiness with it.
***
Alexander inhaled deeply. The chamber was still locked. He had kept it that way for years now, not thinking that he would ever have the need to find that old key and let himself in again. It seemed an impossible wish. Yet, here he was. Just as he was about to take that same key out of his pocket, he heard oncoming footsteps. Hesitant, he turned in the direction of the intrusion. As always, it was Mr. Stirling, knowing exactly when to appear.
Alexander smiled with relief. “You are like a genie in a lamp, old boy.”
“What do you mean, Your Grace?” Mr. Stirling wondered, the corner of his lip dancing in a half-smile at the comparison.
“That story,” Alexander clarified, clearing his throat a little as he spoke. “You appear always when I need you the most.”
Mr. Stirling showed him a pile of letters, but that smile was still there. “I was actually on my way to Your Grace’s study to leave the morning’s mail.”
“And you found me here,” Alexander said, turning to the locked door, his hand still in his pocket hiding not only the key but also his intentions.
But Mr. Stirling knew the importance these doors held for his master.
“This is where you need to be, Your Grace. I am absolutely certain of it.” The butler’s words held not a single doubt.
“Well… that makes one of us.” Alexander sighed heavily, raking his fingers through his hair.
“You hold the key,” Mr. Stirling reminded him. “Remember that.”
With those wise words, he disappeared down the hallway, leaving Alexander amidst the storm of his own thoughts and emotions. Alexander lingered there for a few moments, then he extracted the key from his pocket. It felt unusually heavy. He slid it into the keyhole with some difficulty, almost as if the door refused to open that easily. The door gave in, almost as if it had been waiting for this very moment. The inside of the room was eerily still.
Alexander’s gaze swept over the portraits that adorned the walls—captured moments frozen in time, each stroke of his brush a testament to his artistic prowess. The room seemed to hold echoes of his past, memories intertwined with hues and pigments that danced in harmonious beauty.
Amelia’s unwavering encouragement had been the catalyst that allowed him to pursue his passion, despite the lingering echoes of his father’s disapproval, for it had been his father’s opinion that painting wasn’t a manly pursuit. Her belief in his talent had been a lifeline, a guiding light that led him through the labyrinth of doubt and expectation. And now, as he stood amidst his creations, he found himself grappling with the weight of his own choices.
His conversation with Emily lingered in his thoughts, the memory of their shared moments leaving a trail of unspoken desires that tugged at his heart.
The emotions he had suppressed for so long now surged to the surface, a current that threatened to pull him into uncharted waters. As his fingers brushed over the canvas of a half-finished painting, he wondered if it was time to explore what could be, to step beyond the boundaries of convention and embrace the unknown.
Whether he wanted to admit that or not, Emily was with him everywhere he went, for she was inside his mind. Her image would surface in the middle of night, preventing him from sleeping.
Her smile would remind him of sunny afternoons, and the taste of her lips awakened deeply lumbering desires inside of him, which reminded him that despite everything, he was still a man made of flesh and blood, a man who could feel. Maybe it was time to truly start feeling again.
