“Thank you, Lucien,” she said, blushing and curtsying. “I hope you are pleased.”
“Of course I am. And I’m very proud of you.” He hesitated for a moment. “Mama and Papa would be as well, if they were here.”
Now it was Leah’s turn for her eyes to fill with tears. “Oh, thank you, Lucien,” she murmured, and she went to him, placing her hands on his arms and kissing his cheek. Then she drew back and looked up at him. “That may be the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“You’re very welcome,” he grunted, and Emery had to hide a smile as she recognized the huskiness of emotion in his voice. “The carriage is ready, whenever you are. But first, I was wondering if I might get a moment alone with my wife?”
“Oh, of course.” Emery couldn’t see the look on Leah’s face, as she was still facing her brother, but there was something knowing in her voice that made Emery’s stomach lurch once again.What does she think she knows?“I will see you both in the carriage.”
Leah nodded to Emery, then left her bedroom, but not without shooting a mischievous glance at Emery.
Even more nervous now than before, Emery coughed and smoothed down her skirts, looking anywhere but at her husband.
“You look very beautiful tonight,” he said in a low, intoxicating voice, and she stilled herself and looked up. He was watching her with a small smile on his face.
“Thank you,” she forced herself to say. “I know this is Leah’s night, and I’m not trying to upstage her, but--”
“You look breathtaking. As you ought to.”
Emery felt her cheeks burn. “I don’t know about breathtaking,” she said quietly.
“I do,” he said firmly. “And you deserve to look as beautiful as her--as anyone--even if you are not a debutante yourself tonight.” He took a step closer to her, and she felt the heat in her cheeks grow warmer. “I know you have looked forward to tonight all your life. That you’ve been waiting for and dreaming about attending a ball during the London Season.”
Without speaking, she nodded.
“Well, I wanted you to have something.” He held out the box to her, and she crossed the room and took it from him.
“What is it?” she asked, looking curiously up at him.
“A good luck charm,” he said with a small laugh.
Slowly, she opened the box. Inside, on a bed of blue velvet, was a small comb. It was made of silver and inlaid with five pearls, each as white and pure as a snowflake. On the right side, engraved in a very fine hand, were the initials DD.
“Oh, my word,” Emery gasped, and she brought a hand to her mouth. “It is so beautiful!”
“It is yours,” Lucien said, and she glanced up to see him smiling rakishly at her. “Those initials stand for theDuchess of Dredford. My mother had it made after she married my father, and now, I want you to have it.”
“No, Lucien, I can’t,” Emery protested, holding the box out to him. “The comb was your mother’s. It belongs to Leah, or Celeste, or even Eve, but not to me.”
“It’s a comb for the Duchess of Dredford,” Lucien said, shaking his head slowly. “And believe me, she would have wanted you to have it.” When Emery hesitated he continued, “Let it be a symbol not only of your title, but how you have brought so much joy and laughter back into our family. You truly are the matron of the Grove family.”
Emery raised an eyebrow. “You still haven’t learned to pay ladies good compliments if you think I will be flattered by being called a matron. You make me sound as old as a dowager!”
Lucien laughed softly, though the sound still came out deep and rich. “My apologies. You are not a matron, nor do you look like one at all. I meant only that you are the head of this family as much as I am. And I would be proud for you to wear my mother’s comb.”
She took the comb out of the box and held it in her hands. “It really is very beautiful,” she murmured.
He stretched out a hand. “May I?”
Slowly, she handed him the comb, and he came to stand behind her. She could no longer see him, but she could feel his presence, looming and large, warm and powerful. His hands then came to her hair, and she felt him carefully push the comb into the top of her coiffure.
“There,” he murmured. “It looks beautiful.”
Then, to her surprise, he took her by the shoulders and turned her around, so that she was facing the mirror above the vanity. She could see herself fully now, thin and pale, but pretty, she thought, with her dark hair piled on top of her head in an elaborate coiffure. And there, on the right hand side, the silver comb with the mother-of-pearl, stuck elegantly into the dark curls.
And behind her, her husband, the Duke of Dredford. So tall that half his head was cut off in the vanity. He looked so formidable standing behind her like that, and she felt her heart once more begin to race.
“I think you’re ready,” he said, his voice like a purr. “Let’s get you to your first ball, Duchess.”
