“In Yorkshire. Will only arrive for the ball.”
“Rose?”
The duchess grinned. “She ish with child. Will only arrive for the ball.”
Clara was stunned. “What? I thought she could not—”
“Clara!”
The duchess cackled. “So did we all. God had other plans. Which ish why I need assh—damn it!—help.”
Clara looked down, biting her lip, unsure whether to laugh or cry. The duchess’s frustration with her infirmity was both sad and charming, but spoke clearly of her determination.
Honora let out a sigh. “Your Grace—”
“Emalyn.”
“Em—Em—alyn.” Honora stumbled over the word, clearly uncertain about referring to a duchess by her Christian name. “Our situation is somewhat precarious.”
“No more sho than my two youngesh shons. Your preshench will bear no ill on our housh. And if that folly of a shon of yoursh objects, I will shend the duke to shpeak with him.”
The image of her cowardly brother facing off with the massive presence of the Duke of Kennet made Clara snort a laugh, and she covered her mouth with her hand as Honora glared at her.
The duchess chuckled. “It does create a vision, no?”
Clara nodded.
“Mother?”
Clara’s heart stopped as her dreaded fear materialized. She closed her eyes.
“Come in, Lord Michael.”
Clara’s hands clutched her skirts.
The duchess continued calmly, as if one of her guests was not sitting there wrapped in a blanket of horror. “These are my guesh. The Dowager Countessh of Beckcott, Lady Durham, and her daughter, Lady Clara Durham.”
She heard his heels click. “My ladies. It is my pleasure.”
“Likewise, my lord,” Honora said.
Clara kept her eyes closed.I cannot do this!
“Clara!”
Honora’s voice was sharp, but the one that followed was seductively mellow, the baritone that had once awakened her soul—and scorched her heart.
“Please forgive her, my lady. The last time I was in Lady Clara’s company, I was an unforgivable arse. It is understandable she would be reluctant to see me again.”
Clara’s eyes snapped open, and she glowered at him. “How dare you—”
Michael dropped to one knee in front of her. Mortified, Clara jerked back against the settee, drawing her hands up to her neck as he reached for them. “What are you doing?”
“Begging.”
Clara’s throat tightened, her voice squeaking. “What?”
Beside her, Honora had gone stark white.
