“Oh,” Bella said with a deep sigh. “I rather hoped it was just me he flirted with.”
“Bella,” Amelia said, putting her arm around her sister. “I never realized you had feelings for Myles. He would make an excellent choice as a husband. Have you told Thomas of your interest?”
A look crossed Bella’s face, making Emma think she had not discussed it with the duke.
“I would never tell our brother.” Bella gasped. “He would probably make Myles stay away. Besides, did not Emma just say he flirted with her? I must have mistaken his attentions toward me.”
Now Emma hugged her. “I’m sorry. Quite possibly he does have feelings for you. I have not known him nearly as long as you. What about this Lord Amesbury, the other friend of the duke’s? Who is he?”
“Oh, Edward Worthington, the Marquess of Amesbury,” Amelia said with a deep languid sigh. “He is betrothed to Lady Beth since last season. They are to wed when this season is over. Beth is as lovely as a porcelain doll, beautiful, delicate, and shy. So very shy; I do not know what Amesbury was thinking when he proposed. I can’t imagine she would ever touch his—”
All three of them burst out laughing.
The noise brought Her Grace into Emma’s room. “Amelia, Isabella, time to let Emma sleep. She must be positively exhausted from her travels.” The dowager clapped her hands. “Come, come; time for bed, girls.”
Sleep did not come easily to Emma, though she was tired. Thoughts of her conversations with Penelope from school, and with Amelia and Bella from that evening, brought to mind images of men’s hard pizzles. Then her images changed and the duke appeared standing in her bedchamber, naked with his pizzle pointing at her.
“Oh,” she groaned as she rolled over onto her stomach. Emma should not think of His Grace in such an indecent manner. He had never shown any interest in her. Actually, he avoided her whenever he possibly could––as if she carried the plague.
***
Sitting at her dressing table waiting for Rosie to finish her elaborate hairstyle, Emma tried to settle her nerves. Tonight she would be introduced into London Society at the first ball of the season, to be held at the Duke and Duchess Caulfield’s. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought this would ever happen––though her papa had promised it would.
Her papa… Her heart pained over the loss of him. She missed him terribly and hoped she made him proud. Emma whispered a prayer. Tonight her life would change forever. She would officially be on the block, at least looking for a future husband. But unless she found the right one, she had other plans than marriage.
Her expectations, the requirements for her future husband, were not many. He had to be somewhat handsome. She could not imagine spending the rest of her life staring at a face that repulsed her. However, the most important attribute she insisted on was kindness. He must be kind as well as attractive. Emma could not envision herself married to a moody, brooding man who expected everyone around him to snap to attention at his every whim…
The duke, in all his handsomeness and broody moods, flashed through her mind.
Obviously, he would never do. Her stomach knotted up tight. “Please, God, don’t let me embarrass myself tonight. And please keep me from dreaming about the duke.”
“Pardon me, Miss Emma, did you say something?” Rosie asked this as she tucked white roses into Emma’s upswept hair.
“Oh, no, Rosie; I was thinking aloud.”
“Miss Emma, His Grace gave me these for you.” Rosie held open a cream satin- lined box that Emma recognized instantly as belonging to her mother. Inside the box rested her mama’s pearl necklace and earrings that her papa had given Mama on their wedding night. Once again, she knew the duke was responsible for this. She was elated to have her mama’s precious pearls, but her stomach twitched with guilt that she had not even thanked the duke for the portrait. Her manners were appalling, and that must be addressed.
“Let me help you up and stand you in front of the full-length mirror so you can get a good look at yourself.”
At first Emma was afraid to look, afraid of what she might see…or not see. She opened her eyes a slit and then more, and more…until she stared wide-eyed in disbelief, her hand at her throat.
“Oh, Rosie, that cannot be me?”
Her maid smiled. “Miss Emma, you will be the loveliest lady at the ball.”
“But Amelia and Bella will be lovelier. I’m quite sure of it.”
“All three of you will be the loveliest and the envy of all the other debutantes. And the gentlemen will be tripping over each other, vying for your attentions.”