Thomas’s mouth opened to interrupt his friend.
“Let me finish.” Myles raised a cautionary hand and continued, “I only suggested you would be wrapped around her little finger much like you are wrapped around Amelia’s and Isabella’s.” The gleam in Myles’s eyes and the smirk on his face contradicted everything he’d just said. Myles meant Thomas would be chasing after her skirts––and not in a brotherly way.
“Well.” Thomas glanced down at his shoulder and brushed off a piece of lint. “I have decided Miss Hamilton would benefit from spending another year at Miss Beauregard’s, and I will break the news to her tomorrow on our outing.”
His friend shook his head and grinned. It brought to Thomas’s mind the nagging question of why they were friends. Surely a gentleman’s true friend did not poke fun at him.
***
The following dawn brought bright skies and a cool breeze off the ocean. Emma fingered every dress inside her wardrobe. Nothing would do as she was still wearing black. In settlement of having nothing else suitable to wear today, she donned her black muslin from yesterday. She pulled her hair back into a tight chignon with a few wisps left out to soften her face.
To complement her dress, she wore a dove-colored bonnet and tied the wide coordinating satin ribbon beneath one ear in a perfectly formed bow. After donning her black half-boots, silver gloves, and dove pelisse––lined with dark charcoal satin to ward off the ocean breezes––she went to the receiving room to join her chaperone, Miss Beauregard’s lady’s maid.
Emma, too nervous to sit, paced around the room while waiting for her guardian to arrive.
Promptly at ten, the duke arrived with Lord Norwich. After proper greetings, Emma took the proffered arm of the duke, trying to ignore the warm, hard feel of it beneath her gloved hand. Emma decided this strange attraction to him was merely because she had spent so little time with members of the opposite sex. When she first set eyes on Lord Norwich, she had thought him handsome. She still did. And she was quite sure her hand would tingle if she were touching his arm as well.
His Grace helped her inside the hired carriage, and she took the seat facing forward, her chaperone across from her. His Grace sat opposite her and to the side while Lord Norwich sat beside her, leaving a proper amount of room between them as etiquette dictated. She held her breath as an uncomfortable silence settled around them. Emma gripped her reticule on her lap. Finally Lord Norwich spoke, and she could breathe in much-needed air.
“May I be so bold as to say, Miss Hamilton, that I find Boston a fascinating city? I never realized how rich and prosperous it had become. In England, much of what we hear about America revolves around the Native Americans that roam these parts and the wildness of the West. Now I believe the stories are to discourage Englanders from traveling to this new world, seeing the truth and setting up residence.”
“It is indeed a wonderful city,” Emma agreed. “As for the Native Americans, many are our friends. Unfortunately, some are misunderstood because their beliefs and cultures differ from ours. The further you travel west the more of them you will encounter. I often find it disturbing that they were here long before us, and yet we have forced them from their lands.”
“Interesting observation from someone so young and of the fairer sex—if you don’t mind me being so bold as to say so.” The duke’s bland tone did not sit well in the pit of her stomach. Why, he was treating Emma as one might treat an uneducated street urchin, not an educated woman of the upper class.
“Why, pray tell, would you think I would be offended by your bold words, Your Grace?” Emma raised her head to look the duke in the eye. Yes, she knew it was not proper to meet the eyes of a gentleman dead on, but if she were to be part of his family, she certainly could not go around looking at her feet all the time. “I may be of the fairer sex, as you have so politely pointed out, but I am not blind to the happenings and situations surrounding me. We receive the Boston Weekly Messenger at Miss Beauregard’s, and I find myself interested in more than the society pages––if I may be so bold.”
Lord Norwich burst out laughing beside her. It was a nice sound, deep and genuine. “Touché, Miss Hamilton.” He touched the brim of his hat. “A lady with a mind of her own, and one not afraid to share it with others. I believe you will be like a breath of fresh air when you arrive in our stuffy, antiquated London drawing rooms.”
“Myles, please, don’t encourage the girl.” His Grace scowled. “Miss Hamilton needs to hold her tongue when in polity society and in the company of others of superior standing to herself. How in God’s name am I supposed to find a suitable husband for her if she is outspoken?”