In the rush to accomplish all, she flew around her bedroom in a whirlwind of energy that spiked her pulse and sent her heart banging against her ribs. The duke would arrive within the hour, and she needed to calm herself. Emma would rather cut her hair short than admit to him the thrill and romantic anticipation drumming inside her at the thought of traveling with him to England—Jane Austen’s England.
Would she have the chance to meet Miss Austen? To profess her utter devotion to her for making the years at Miss Beauregard’s Finishing School less lonely and more interesting? To tell her that to make it tolerable, Emma had put herself in the stories and vicariously lived the lives of the heroines?
Then there was Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. Emma wrapped her arms around her waist and spun around. Could any lady read that book without falling hopelessly and completely in love with him? She did not think so. She imagined that even old ladies past their prime dreamed about him. And if they did not, then it was surely their loss.
Would she meet her Mr. Darcy in England? She sighed loudly, closed her eyes, and prayed she would. Falling in love, she imagined, would be wondrously exciting and passionately satisfying. How could it be otherwise in her romantic mind? Oh, dear, Emma would have to work hard to remind herself she did not want to marry. Or, at least, keep up that pretense while in the duke’s company.
“Oh, my,” she sighed as she tied her buttercup bonnet on her head. It matched the only day dress that fit her properly. Next, she donned her royal blue pelisse and kid gloves. She took one last look around her bedroom and gave a silent farewell to her girlhood, ignoring the slight ache in her chest. Yes, she would miss some of her time here and some of the people, but the adventure of her life, as an adult woman, lay ahead, and she could not wait to step into it.
Confident her trunk was packed and ready to be transported to the ship, she walked in the direction of Amy’s room, hoping Amy’s roommates were elsewhere so their goodbye could take place in private. She’d already said goodbye to Penelope last evening, and that was hard enough. Leaving Amy would be torturous.
“Amy, may I come in?” Emma waited until she heard Amy’s soft voice answer. The moment Amy opened the door she wrapped her arms around Emma’s waist and held on tight.
“Please don’t leave me,” Amy whispered.
“I wish I didn’t have to. But we all grow up and have to move on.” Emma rubbed Amy’s back. “Please do not cry.” But really, how could she expect Amy not to cry when she herself had tears running down her cheeks? “I have something for you.” Emma handed Amy a small piece of parchment. “This is the duke’s address in London. Write me if you ever need anything. And I promise to help. And here’s something for you now.” Emma handed her a purse full of coin. Amy protested but Emma insisted. “There’s a note within in case you get in trouble for having it and another note to my banker who will help you invest this.”
“How can I ever thank you, dear friend?”
Emma pulled out of Amy’s arms. “There is no need. You deserve it. I will write you as soon as the ship lands. I love you.”
With a heavy heart, Emma walked slowly down the stairs to await the duke in the receiving room.
With both sadness and excitement filling her mind, her manners escaped her and she rushed into the salon, nearly knocking over the duke in her exuberance. His eyes widened in shock, yet he reached out with his long arms and caught her around the waist and steadied her. Thank goodness. It would not do to start off their travels sprawled willy-nilly on the floor.
Emma’s cheeks flushed with the image of the two of them intimately entwined on the salon floor. She thrust the thought aside and tried to compose herself. The touch of his hands tingled on her skin and seemed to burn through her clothing, sending flames she did not understand licking her body.
“Your Grace,” she squeaked out as she looked up into his wide, clear blue eyes. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
“Excuse me,” Emma said, stepping back and curtsying, hoping he didn’t hear the quiver in her voice or notice her body trembling. “Please accept my sincere apology for my unladylike behavior. I had not expected anyone to be here.”
“Were you not expecting me?” the duke asked with a scowl.
“Oh, yes, but not quite so soon.” After she blurted out her apology she breathed deeply to settle her nerves. “I trust you’ve had a pleasant and productive visit here in America?”
With liquid grace the duke bowed formally, sending her pulse racing. Would she ever feel comfortable in his presence?