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“Dear brother, please close your mouth,” Emma said with a gentle smile.
“Upon my word, what have you truly done to your hair,” Aunt Beatrice gasped in her dramatic fashion. “All your glorious locks, all gone.”
Emma’s head felt lighter and freer, the angles of her cheeks seemed more angular and sensual, now that her hair went no longer than the curve of her cheeks. “I’ve also ordered a new wardrobe for the upcoming season.”
Mamma looked ready to faint.
“I intend to book passage next week to America, and I’ll sail at the end of the season. I will visit with Elizabeth for several months. I will write often, I promise,” she said softly.”
A frown snapped between her father’s brows. “I believe Anthony has mentioned I’ve given Lord Coventry’s permission—”
“Forgive the interruption, papa,” she said firmly. “I will not be marrying the earl. I am five and twenty, and I flatter myself that I can direct my life, with your guidance when I find I need. I have never been to a ball,” she whispered, her throat suddenly tight with the ache of all she had missed. “I never attended the races, even Maryann has visited the opera. I’ve been told for years, by all of you, in varied forms, I am not ready to face society. I allowed myself to believe it, to accept your guidance because I was so very afraid of pity and condescending attitudes, and spiteful remarks. I was so busy being afraid, I forgot to live. No more.”
Silence blanketed the drawing room.
“Well!” her mother said, looking frantically at her viscount.
Aunt Beatrice rustled on the chaise. “I have often remarked some indulgence of amusement should be granted to you, my dear niece, a picnic in Hyde Park would be acceptable and—”
“I’ve accepted an invitation to Lady Sterling’s ball.”
“You’ve received an invitation?” her mother gasped.
“A personally worded one,” Emma said with a smile.
“Upon my word! Lady Sterling’s ball is always held in town at her Mayfair mansion,” her mother said, looking aghast. “Emma, dear, society will not be kind to you. Your limp is—”
“Has been my albatross and it will no longer be. If you are shamed by my attending, then I do not need to stay at our town house. I will procure myself a solicitor and proceed with letting a modest but suitable establishment while I am in London. I mean to experience a few of the delights of the town before I depart to visit Elizabeth. I am sure Boston society will be just as splendid, but it would be a grave sin if I did not have any tales to tell my sister of how wonderful the season in London has been.”
Her family stared as if they could not understand her meaning, and Emma felt her heart breaking. Then Anthony stepped forward.
“We are not ashamed of you, Emma. We never have been, and we will never be.”
Only Anthony seemed inclined to remark favorably, but she would be content with that.
“If you granted me the honor, I would be pleased to escort you to Lady Sterling’s ball.”
“Thank you,” she mouthed, a film of tears blurring all their faces. Then unable to bear anymore questioning, she turned and left the room.
Lady Sterling’s ball was a crush. It seemed to Emma the polite world was crammed into the wide-open ballroom. Almost an hour had passed, and no one had asked her to dance. She stood on the fringe of the ballroom, far away from the fashionable crowd, wishing for just a moment someone would brave society’s censure and ask her to the floor. Instead, those who approached invariably withdrew after noting she stood with a walking cane.
After standing for a bit, Anthony had urged her to sit. Emma had refused, and she could feel the tension creeping into her muscles. Everyone stared. Pity and amusement shown in their gazes and the whispers rose like a swell across the ballroom. Dozens of fans flew opened, and ladies placed them in front of their mouths as if that would hide the knowledge from Emma that it was her they discussed.
What would Elliot do when he saw her? He was a duke, and appearances must be maintained. What had been his intention when he asked the hostess to send her an invitation? Dear God, what if she had misconstrued his intentions?
A sudden ripple through the crowd signaled that someone important had entered. Ladies craned their necks, and the whispering behind their fans rose. It was the duke and his grandmother. They descended the stairs and Emma stared helplessly at him. How terribly handsome he appeared dressed in dark jacket and trousers, with a golden waistcoat, a pristine white shirt, and a beautifully tied cravat. His hair had been recently trimmed, and no curls were present. In fact, he looked so austere, so ducal, and uncompromising, a little shiver of doubt went through her heart, yet the raw brilliance of his male beauty had pleasure darting through her. It then occurred to her this was the first time she observed him amongst his set.
Golden eyes scanned the crowd, and she waited, a thrill of sudden, intense excitement arrowing through her. She had taken such care with her appearance tonight. She had worn a gown of deep rose silk with an overskirt of silver gauze, white half gloves, and silver dancing slippers. Her short hair had been styled, and curls of hair puffed softly along her cheeks and forehead. Their gaze collided, and a hollowness formed in her stomach. There was no warm welcome, only cool, watchful reserve. No love shone from his gaze. She closed her eyes fleetingly as the realization struck.
Her heart thumped painfully, the urge to flee became overwhelming. Her fingernails dug stinging crescents into her palms. Uncertainty clawed at her stomach. Why had he sent gifts if he…?
As if her intentions were laid bare on her features, he extricated himself from his grandmother and prowled over to her. Several lords and ladies tried to capture his attention, but he was single mindedly concentrated in his regard. Which was definitely her.
He stopped a mere foot from he
r, if so much. “Miss Emma, will you honor me with a dance? And then perhaps allow me to escort you in for supper?”
She stared back at him with ill-concealed incredulity and wariness. “A dance?”
