Her father let out a sound so close to relieved prayer that it nearly undid her, then at once began speaking his blessing over them both, thanking the Duke in a rush of gratitude that embarrassed and moved her in equal measure. The Duke only inclined his head, solemn as ever, though something in his face eased by a fraction.
“I will see the matter resolved with full propriety,” he said. “The wedding expenses will be mine.”
Lord Weston straightened. “Now, Your Grace, that is too much—appearances must be observed, and I cannot?—”
“I insist.” Rowan’s voice remained calm.
Her father, who had spent years learning the limits of his means, seemed almost relieved to surrender at once. “Then… I thank you.”
“We should go to London soon,” the Duke continued. “Most of my business keeps me there, and it will be easier to manage the social aspect of this matter from the city than from the country.We will announce the engagement there, and the wedding may take place there as well.”
Emmeline nodded. “That seems sensible.”
His eyes shifted to her again. “In three days’ time, if it pleases you, you and your father will dine with me at Ironford House. You should meet Aaron before anything else progresses.”
At that, something like genuine warmth rose in her despite herself. “I should like that very much.”
He gave one short nod, and for some reason, the approval in it touched her more than any easier smile from another man might have done.
Then he rose.
The movement changed the room at once. The audience was ending. The decision had been made. The man she had just agreed to marry rose before her, broad-shouldered and grave, and Emmeline felt the strange certainty that the life awaiting her had just taken visible form.
She stood too.
Her curtsy was proper, her posture as composed as she could make it, yet she felt the strange heaviness of the moment all the same.
“Lady Emmeline.”
“Your Grace.”
He bowed.
Then, before turning away, he looked at her once more.
The look lingered only a moment, no more than a breath, but it held long enough to send that same unexpected shiver through her, the sort that felt less like fear than anticipation of something she had no business anticipating.
Then he was gone.
He was gone, leaving only the fading fresh scent and the heavy silence of a finished deal. Emmeline stood rooted to the floor, her skin still prickling with the ghost of his presence. The room felt strangely empty, and terrifyingly warm.
Chapter Six
“Do try not to look so delighted by your own scheme,” Frederick said as he drew his horse alongside Rowan’s in Hyde Park. “It will make me jealous.”
Rowan kept his eyes fixed between his horse’s ears. The morning was clear and blindingly bright, possessing that polished, irritating London sheen where every carriage wheel seemed to spark, and every passerby looked curated for a portrait.
Half the scandal sheets in London had spent the last two days wringing every drop they could from Juliet’s disappearance, though now, thanks to a substantial amount of money passed into the proper hands, many of them had abruptly decided that Lady Juliet Huntley’s wedding had merely been postponed due to a sudden illness.
“I haven’t schemed,” he said.
“No. You’ve merely brooded on horseback and bribed the press successfully.” Frederick gave a soft laugh. “Quite quick of you, I must say. I had not realized you kept such intimate relations with the nation’s worst liars.”
“I keep intimate relations with no one.”
“That, my dear Rowan, is precisely your problem.”
Rowan turned his head then, slow enough that Frederick lifted a hand in surrender, though the grin remained.
