The Shy Duchess Part 10

She had no memory of coming home, only her family's happy chatter in the carriage. The chatter continued at breakfast, until she knew she had to escape, and ran away to Mrs G.o.ddard's. No one there knew yet about her engagement, so she didn't have to smile and seem happy. But she couldn't stay at Mrs G.o.ddard's for ever.

"Emily!" her mother called again. "Whatever are you doing out there?"

"You must choose the fabric for your gown," Amy added. "These silks are all quite delicious."

At least someone took pleasure in the events, Emily thought. She was quite sure Nicholas did not, despite his great gallantry last night. He had done her such an enormous kindness. How could she repay him by shackling him to a wife he did not love, who he could not be content with?

And yet how could she not? They were both trapped.

"Here I am," she said, hurrying into the drawing room. "It looks like you two have been busy today."

"Somebody had to be, once the bride herself disappeared," said Amy. One of the merchants unfurled a bolt of yellow muslin for her inspection.

"I had some errands," Emily said. "Has the duke called?"

"No, but he sent a message," said her mother, comparing two shades of blue feathers. "He will call on your father this afternoon, but he will take the liberty of procuring a special licence as soon as may be."

"So you can marry before the end of the Season!" Amy cried. "Isn't that delightful?"

"Delightful," Emily whispered.

"The duke has offered Manning House for the wedding, which would be grand," said her mother, with a touch of regret. "But it is not at all the thing to have the ceremony at the bridegroom's home. We must have it here, even if there is much less s.p.a.ce."

"That will make the guest list smaller, which is surely very desirable," said Amy. "More exclusive."

"And not so much food for the wedding breakfast," said her mother. "Now, Emily, which do you like for your gown? The pink or the blue? Or maybe this lovely sea-green? You do look nice in green."

Emily had barely begun to examine all the many fabrics and trims when the butler announced another caller.

"Mr George Rayburn to see Lady Emily, my lady," he announced, holding out the card on his silver tray.

"What, now?" her mother cried, frowning fiercely. "We are much too occupied at present for callers."

Emily lowered the pair of slippers Amy was showing her to her lap, her stomach twisting. Mr Rayburn had looked so shocked and angry when she glimpsed him at the ball. She would not have expected that; she had never given him encouragement or at least she did not think she had. But perhaps he had expected something from her anyway?

Whatever the case might be, she didn't want to hurt anyone. Yet it seemed she caused harm every time she turned around, to Mr Rayburn, to herself-and to the duke.

"It is quite all right," she said. "I will speak to Mr Rayburn."

George Rayburn came into the room and bowed to her mother and Amy, commenting politely on the wares spread before them, as correct and charming as ever. But his smile definitely looked strained.

Emily knew how he felt. She felt stretched and strained herself, so brittle she feared she might snap. She led him to a quiet corner near the windows, away from her family's avid ears. She stared down at the street below, at the pa.s.sers-by so blithely going about their business in the pretty sunlit day.

"Have you come to offer your good wishes, too, Mr Rayburn?" she said. "That is very kind of you."

"I can do that if it's what you want, Lady Emily," he said. "But is it, really?"

There was a tone to his voice Emily had never heard before, intense and dark-edged. Surprised, she spun around to stare at him.

He leaned closer, so close she could feel the heat of his body. He seemed to press her in against him even as he did not really touch her. It filled her with a primitive urge to run.

She braced her hands on the window sill behind her, feeling faint. Her mother was nearby, she told herself; she was not alone, not really in danger. Yet she couldn't shake that feeling away.

"I'm not sure what you mean," she said.

"I mean-do you really want to marry him? Or is it something they are forcing you into?"

"You really should not speak to me like this, Mr Rayburn. It is not proper."

"I am through being proper!" he said, and leaned even closer, pressing her against the window. "You did not look happy last night when your betrothal was announced."

Emily struggled to maintain her dignity. If she was to be a d.u.c.h.ess, as it seemed she must, she would have to learn to be perfectly dignified even under duress. She might as well start now.

"I was merely surprised by the manner of the announcement," she said.

"So you want to marry him?" His voice softened. "Lady Emily. I have long intended to offer for you myself. My admiration for you is so great I hardly know how to express it. I could not say anything until now, because of-certain matters, but now I see I must. You cannot marry him."

"Mr Rayburn, please!" Emily said desperately. "Please, do not say any more, I beg you. I have said I will marry the duke, and I can't go back on my word."

Not now, anyway. Any vague hope she had of wriggling out of this ridiculous engagement was gone when she saw the overly bright light in Mr Rayburn's eyes as she stared at her now. No man had ever looked at her like that, with raw possession, and it was frightening. Not exciting-frightening, as when Nicholas looked at her, but just...

Just plain frightening, as when Mr Lofton had grabbed her in that dark garden so long ago. For an instant, sheer fury flashed across his face, twisting its handsome lines into something unrecognisable. He grabbed her hand hard and pulled her towards him.

"Mr Rayburn..." she squeaked, her throat closing.

"I know you have seen my regard for you-what woman could not see it, even one who pretends to innocence as you do?" he said in a low, harsh voice. "You seemed to return it. Were you just playing with me, using me to hook a bigger fish?"

Emily had no idea what he was talking about. She looked frantically across the room to where her mother prattled with the merchants. Amy caught her eye, half-rising from her chair.

The butler suddenly opened the door again and an nounced, "His Grace the Duke of Manning, my lady."

As Nicholas stepped into the room, Mr Rayburn's hand suddenly tightened on Emily's, a punishing grip she could not escape. He raised it to his lips and whispered, "This is not over-my lady."

Under cover of her skirts, Emily kicked him on the shin and drove him back away from her. She hurried as far from him as she could, her cheeks hot. She had the great urge to scrub the hand he kissed on her skirt.

"Oh, your Grace!" her mother cried. "We have been expecting you. Would you care for some tea?"

Nicholas's solemn, dark blue gaze swept over Emily and her blush, and the clutter of wedding fabrics, and Emily had the sinking sense he was thinking she had been in a lover-like embrace in the shadows even as she shopped for the nuptials. He did not smile as he bowed over her hand.

"Thank you, Lady Moreby, but I fear I am interrupting your day," he said. "Please do not go to any trouble. I see you already have a caller."

Amy shot a hard look at Mr Rayburn, who still lurked by the window. Emily could feel him watching her. "Mr Rayburn merely stopped by to give his good wishes. He was just leaving," Amy said.

"Indeed I was," Mr Rayburn said. His tone held none of the fierceness of just a moment ago-it was all smooth politeness again. "I did merely come to give Lady Emily my very best wishes, and you as well, your Grace. You deserve each other, I am sure."

With that, he at last took his leave, and Emily fancied the room filled up with fresh air again. She could finally breathe.

But Nicholas still watched her closely, unsmiling.

"There, now, we have plenty of s.p.a.ce again," her mother said. "My husband is waiting for you in the library, your Grace. Perhaps after you speak with him you will take tea? We would so like to hear your opinion of our preparations."

"Of course, Lady Moreby," Nicholas said. "I am happy to help in any way I can, though I fear I am completely useless when it comes to ribbons and feathers. Perhaps Lady Emily would show me the way to the library?"

"She would be happy to," her mother said with a delighted smile.

"It's this way, if you'll follow me, your Grace." Emily spun around and hurried out of the drawing room. Her hands still trembled, so she tucked them into the folds of her skirt as she led him up the stairs. "It's in a rather odd place, so far from the drawing room. Papa does need his quiet."

She heard the fall of his booted footsteps on the stairs behind her, the soft sound of his breath. What he must think of her, seeing Mr Rayburn holding her hand like that! She felt she should say something, explain, but what could she possibly say? She did not understand it herself. She had no words.

And theirs was not a real engagement, anyway. Not a meeting of two minds and hearts, united in one purpose in life. It was a mere mistake. Surely he did not even care if she held hands with another man! Surely he did, and would do, far more than that with other women. She knew all too well from her work at Mrs G.o.ddard's and from her own experience that that was the way of men.

Her stomach suddenly hurt at the thought of Nicholas with some other woman, someone like Sally or like the red-haired Lady Anders-Holt. There had been rumours of something between her and Nicholas last year, though Emily had seen nothing of it.

To cover her confusion, and what felt so oddly like anger, she said quickly, "The library is just up there, your Grace, the door at the end of the corridor. You may have to knock quite loudly, my father is rather hard of hearing. Or perhaps he just pretends to be, so he doesn't have to talk so often to my mother...."

"Emily." Nicholas suddenly reached for her hand and turned her to face him. His touch was cool and gentle, not like Mr Rayburn's, but it made her flinch with surprise. He immediately drew away. "Emily, do you think we could forgo the 'your Grace'? I think we are definitely past that now."

"Of course, if you like," she said. "What should I call you?"

"Nicholas, I suppose. Or Nick, as my family sometimes does."

"Nicholas," she said slowly, testing the sound in her voice. She had thought of him as that, sometimes in unguarded moments, but still it felt strange to say it aloud. "Nicholas."

At last a tiny smile touched the corner of his lips. "That was not so difficult, was it?"

She smiled, too. "Not terribly, I suppose."

"I brought something for you." He reached inside his coat and brought out two small velvet jewel cases. "I should wait until after I speak to your father, I suppose, but now seems as good a time as any."

Emily took them carefully, as if they could bite her. "For me?"

"For you-if you wish to accept them."

She opened them and peeked inside, and gasped in surprise. They were both emeralds, large and square-cut, surrounded by ice-like diamonds, one in a pendant and one in a ring. They were brilliant as summer leaves, flawless and glittering.

"I have never seen anything like them, your- Nicholas," she whispered. "They are wondrous."

"Do you like them? The jeweller said pearls were more the thing these days, but somehow these seemed better. They're the colour of your eyes."

Her eyes? He had noticed her eyes were green? How very unusual. "I think they are too grand for me."

"Too grand for a d.u.c.h.ess? Nonsense. They say my grandmother wore ruby tiaras to breakfast. Of course, they also say she was half-mad."

Emily bit her lip to keep from laughing. Sometimes she thought he was half-mad, too. She closed the boxes. "About this d.u.c.h.ess business..."

"What of it? I promise you don't have to follow Grandmama's example. You can wear whatever you like to breakfast."

Emily shook her head. When he teased her like that, she quite forgot the serious things she had to say. "It was most honourable of you to say we were betrothed at the ball. I would have been quite ruined otherwise."

Nicholas frowned. "Considering I was the one doing the ruining, it was the least I could do. Did you think I was the sort who would abandon a lady in such a situation?"

"I- No, of course not. That is, well, I don't know you very well, do I? Nor do you know me. It seems terribly harsh that you should be tied to me for your whole life because of a moment of forgetfulness."

"Two moments, if I am not mistaken." He reached for her hand again, the one free of the jewel cases, and this time she let him hold her. The gold signet ring he wore was cold on her skin, but his hand was warm. "Is there perchance someone else you care for, Emily?"

He meant Mr Rayburn, of course. "No! No, not at all."

"Then there is no reason why we shouldn't rub along well enough," he said. "My sisters tell me I should marry, and our families have known each other for a long time. You know all our Manning quirks and foibles. And I will try to make you happy."

Rubbing along well enough-yes, that was what marriage really meant, didn't it? Family business, compromises, things of that sort. She had been taught that all her life. Why should she feel disappointed now?

And yet she did, most unaccountably.

She heard a burst of laughter from downstairs, her mother and Amy enjoying themselves as they chose wedding clothes. Her family was so happy. She had made them happy at last. She couldn't ruin that now.

"Then, if you are sure, I will marry you," she said.

"Very sensible," he said with a grin. He took the emerald ring from the box and slid it on to her finger. It just fit, the stone heavy on her hand. Then he fastened the pendant around her neck, its green fire flashing. "I was right. They are the colour of your eyes."

Emily was so moved he had noticed the colour of her eyes, and had even matched her betrothal jewels to them. The necklace lay on her skin, warm and special, the most wonderful gift she had ever been given. He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to her fingers. Then he turned it on his palm and kissed her wrist, the pulse that pounded there just under her skin.

The bargain was well and truly struck. There was no escaping now.

She was lying.

Nicholas watched Emily as she made her way back down the stairs, until she turned at the landing and was out of his sight. She glanced back once before she went, and gave him a tentative smile.

Their betrothal was settled now, for better or worse, and their fate was sealed. She seemed resolved to make the best of it, as he was. There was no choice, not now.

Yet he had seen how close she stood to George Rayburn in the drawing room, how they looked at each other so intently as they held hands. And she had slipped away along the streets earlier-to meet with him? Was she in love with Rayburn? Had she wanted to marry him, before she was swept away by Nicholas's actions?

He had seen with his own parents what happened when two people followed their family's dictates in marriage rather than their own hearts. Scandal and sorrow were the results. He didn't want that for himself, or for Emily, either. She deserved better than a husband who had lost all his joy and lightness in life.

But if she would not confide in him and tell him the truth, he had to do the honourable thing and marry her. And hope one day they could be honest with each other.

Nicholas faced the library door with heavy resolve. Perhaps it was best Emily had not told him the truth after all, for then he would have to tell her about Valentina. And he had promised himself never to mention his wife again. She was gone, and he would never repeat his mistake. The terrible mistake of loving someone so much their loss destroyed the whole world-and of hurting them.

He would try to be friends with Emily and do his best by her. That was his resolution now.

He knocked on the door, loudly so Lord Moreby could hear. "Come in!" the man bellowed. "It's you, is it, Manning? I've been expecting you."

"I imagine you have, Lord Moreby," Nicholas almost shouted. He shut the door against any hidden ears that might be listening. If this place was anything like Manning House, he knew there would always be listeners ready to pa.s.s on what they heard.

"I have, yes," said Lord Moreby. He pushed aside tottering piles of books and papers on his cluttered desk. "But there is no need to shout, your Grace. I can hear you very well."

"Indeed, Lord Moreby? I was told you might be somewhat..."

"Deaf? Not at all. Just something I put about so I don't always have to listen to Lady Moreby. That might be something for you to remember in married life."