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Bloody damn, the woman was a natural, he smiled to himself, recalling how she had drawn Lord Caney from a conversation with another gentleman across the ballroom with just a shy glance.
Or how she had conquered that horse-mad idiot, Lord Marchman, so much so that he was asking to pay her a call in the next few days.
Or how she had sent young Mr. Caraway into a string of unintelligible speech when she gently touched his arm while looking into his eyes.
Last night, Emily Montgomery had proven to the rest of the Ton that even a wallflower in a ridiculously ugly gown was not to be underestimated. He noted with satisfaction that in the succeeding balls, the other young ladies looking for a suitable match would be stepping up their efforts.
“Tell her I will be there at precisely four,” he instructed his secretary.
It would seem that Emily was eager for more instruction, and Daniel was enjoying turning the rest of his peers on their heads—and he was just as eager to see if she could do just that.
His excitement was short-lived, however, when his student received him in the salon in a godawful pale blue chiffon concoction that floated about her lush figure like a frothy cloud of disappointment.
“What the hell are you wearing?” he asked her softly as she poured him a cup of tea.
Her reply was a sharply quelling look that melted into despair. “It is rather awful, is it not?”
The pale blue might have been suitable for a young miss with fair coloring, but with her vivid hair color and her warm brown eyes, the thrice damned dress only made her appear like she was trying hard to be a dainty butterfly—and failing dramatically at it.
“I do not have any other clothes,” she murmured despondently. “The rest are just as awful, if not more so.”
“Has your father never complained what your stepmother does with his money?” he asked her, raising a dark eyebrow as he surveyed her.
Emily’s shoulders drooped along with her self-esteem. “Father knows very little about fashions, and Lady Rutbridge has convinced him this is the best for me.”
Daniel cursed the Marchioness of Rutbridge to hell and back in his mind as he sat back and closed his eyes. The damned woman had a titian-haired nymph in her hands, and she was hellbent on transforming her into a pitiful wildflower.
It was a travesty.
“Is this how you entertained the Viscount of Chaney earlier?” he asked her.
“Lady Rutbridge has refused all callers for today. She said that she needed to prepare the house more.”
In his opinion, the Marchioness should have been prepared sincelastyearif marrying Emily off truly was her goal.
“He did send flowers,” Emily quickly supplied.
Oh, he did, didn’t he?
His eyes narrowed at that. Amongst the men, Gregory Pratt was considered a rake, although his methods were far more subtle than he let on.
“My dear Emily,” Daniel asked her. “What was our first lesson?”
“That the perfect gentleman didn’t exist?”
“Quite right, my dear.”
“So…these flowers…” she frowned.
“You can accept them,” the Duke smoothly interjected. “In fact, you may encourage such acts. Thank them for their wonderful gifts. Show how much you appreciate them. But let them know that you are keeping your options open for the time being.”
Emily scrunched up her forehead. “Will that not deter the Viscount? I know I would turn back if—”
“A man likes nothing more than a good chase, my dear,” he told her. “So, lesson number two—make yourself available but nottooavailable.”
“How in the world do I do that?”
“By applying all that I have taught you but not just to one man. Let him know that you are considering his suit—and that of his peers.”
