Chapter 2
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Peering down at the letter, her mother still weeping in the bedroom, she read it over.
'Dear Madam Goodwin,
Thank you for writing back to me, and giving my blessing to court your daughter Emma.'
With pursed lips and widened outraged eyes, she glanced to the direction down the hall where the muffled weeps came from. She's already given him persmission?!
'I'll roll 'round by half-past 5 on the 16th, I trust your beautiful daughter will be as punctual as usual. You truly have a marvelous gem in her, fit for the King's crown itself.'
“I'm not some bloody ornament, you appalling prick...” she muttered, her grip on the letter tightening, wrinkling it.
“So kind of you to allow free reign of us to be out as long as we like, and as per your... em... request, I prefer a degree of confidentiality but of course if you prefer, then I shall convey any 'excess difficulties' if she should indeed attempt to instill such on me. I'd be quite shocked though, a beauty such as her, she seems as though she'd be apprehensive to swat so much as a fly. Well, perhaps if the fly were a pickelhaube-topped Hun, wot? Lord knows I would take such a swat at a little buzzing Kaizer Wilhelm if I could. Pardon my attempts at wit, Madam, have a lovely day, and in spite of your generosity in regards to time I will make every attempt to have her back at a respectable hour.
Yours in appreciation,
Declan Hughes, Third Duke of Dawsbury
“God bless.” The sarcastic words were spat at the page. Oh yes, how faithfully religious, sticking your wretchedness in whatever crevace a woman may make vulnerable. Her eyes flicked back up to the numbers; 5:30PM on the 16th? Why, the 16th is that very day, she made her way to her bedroom where a small wind-up clock slowly ticked the seconds along.
“Ohhh bollocks.” The letter was quickly put down as she took up her battle station. Sitting before the bedroom mirror she looked over herself. Hair needed brushing, blush for the cheeks, fresh lipstick... she clenched her teeth as she thought of the man. If anything she'd be all too happy to put on her worst dress, clean off any make-up she still had on, and go with her hair in a frizz, but evidently he would inform mother of such a thing. Time was short, there was much to do... perhaps she could look to be making a good attempt but through some means she could get him to lose interest in her. Hopefully a more thorough plan will come to her as she gets ready.
“Mother! If I may, I would appreciate your help!” She smoothed-out the wrinkled note to make it look less like she had attempted to strangle the life from it. Slowly, she heard a door open, a sniffle in the hallway, and she peered into her daughter's bedroom with red eyes. “Please? I haven't much time...” already she was brushing her hair.
“Bless you, child.” Quickly the woman was behind her, taking the brush from her hand as she went for the lipstick. “You'll do well...” it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself of it. “He's really not all bad, the letter was absolutely darling, have you read it all? He could have your father's debts, God rest his soul, cleared up in short order.”
“In a jiff.”
“A what?”
“Short order.”
“Yes tha-... that's what I said.” The brushing became quicker, bordering on painful, but Emma put up with it for there was still much to do.
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A loud rumble sounded from the front of the house as the young Viscountess held in her breath, sucking in, biting her lip as her mother yanked the cords behind her.
“How punctual.” The woman gave and just as her daughter opened her mouth to respond, she gave another tight yank, releasing the breath she’d been holding in instantaneously.
“God...” she wheezed as the strings were tied behind her. She felt as though she could scarcely breathe; why couldn’t she wear one of her more comfortable gowns like she’d asked? Ohhh no, mother knows best, doesn’t she? She snorted in disdain.
The final touches were put on the dress as a knock came to the door, her mother rushing to the hall so as to not make him wait as Emma regarded herself in the mirror. Her hair, the make-up, her dress; in spite of the brief time they had to prepare, the team had done a bang-up job. Yet her lips lowered in a grimace, her arms crossed, shoulders hunched as she seemed to despise the woman she looked to in the mirror. What a done-up little tulip she’d been made into, a precious flower... a slice of cake given colourful icing to entice someone to take it, to eat it, and turn it to shite. An object for someone to desire, a walking reproduction factory to be purchased with a ring, to be controlled in every regard by the factory ‘owner’ that had put down such a purpose.
“Shag that...” she muttered to herself, scowling. Still, she had to do this with some level of subtlety and tact. Sadly, she could not be the one to get rid of him, so, make it so that he gets rid of her. Her shoulders came back, her upturned upper lip came to rest gently on the lower in a less stern and more regal manner, the lowered and creased eyebrows softened, one hand rest on the other before her compressed midsection rather than being crossed before her bosom... she had looked upon herself in the mirror like a beast ready to attack, but became a beauty out of necessity so as to wage this war with the womanizing brute.
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Her matriarch was giving a modest little feminine chuckle in response to his own deep one, a gentle joke spurring an amused but thoroughly sensible response. She’d had a bead of sweat forming at her brow, half fearing to hear a door slam shut and lock, which would thereby slam the door shut on her ability to avoid living in squalor as well as her daughter’s. Still, the gentle clacking of heeled feet echoed softly through the hall as they heard her approach, and both turned to greet her.
“Ah, there she is.” She commented with an underlying tone of relief.
“Yeeeees, indeed.” The woman glanced over amusedly at the man and his deep and silky response, clearly liking what he seen. In a perfect world, her daughter would have gotten with a more modest man, one with a slightly more refined social reputation. Even a man with not quite as much money would be fine, but one who did not have quite so much ‘fun’ with quite so many ladies... but alas, it was not a perfect world. She watched as he did; her daughter holding perfect posture, her hands gently held before her, each step bringing a sway to her gown and her luxurious hair. Alas, it was not a perfect world... if it were, she not only would have someone a bit more sexually tame, but also she herself would not be into her 20s. A good late-teens girl, in love with a boy or young man, living on the cushion of high society as they bestow upon the lonely widow a plethora of grandkids to dote over. Well, she lost that opportunity. Even if this charming Duke were two or three decades older than her rather than nearly one, desperation was setting in and she had to take up her duty in her position of nobility, and in her position as the only present heir to their title.
“You look radiant, dear Emma.” The man complimented her splendidly as he stood by her mother’s side.
“You look quite... fetching yourself, Duke.” She’d been tempted to say something different, in fact on two accounts. There are so many words that sound like ‘Duke’, but she maintained pleasantness while her mother was present, who’s heart had dropped for a moment during that brief gap in her sentence.
“Indeed, quite handsome.”
“You’re too kind, ma’am.” He turned to the mother, before regarding Emma once more. “Both of you.” His vision lingered on her face, his smile kept on his face nicely, but within that momentary pause she could see his anticipation. He suspected this was indeed all a show, and the bugger couldn’t be more right, but still the game remained in play and the mother, who didn’t see the entire look he had given, suspected nothing.
“Well, shall we be off?” His ‘date’ asked gently with a smile.
“Oh my, quite excited for a fun night, are we? Hmm-hmm-hmm.” Her mother jested with a light chuckle, and Emma inwardly cringed, her smile faltering a moment but maintaining through brute force, her cheeks flexing as she clenched her teeth. Power through it.
“Heh heh, don’t worry ma’am, I’ll have her back home by, oh,” he pulled out a time piece casually, “would three in the morning be sufficient?”
“Ho ho ho!” Emma’s mum chuckled, her head tilting back slightly. Such a vulgar joke, and it toyed with any sense of authority the mother may possibly hold, but he had no reason to fret. She’d already told him that it would be ok if she spent the night. His ‘date’ could only continue to clench her teeth and keep her plastered grin on as she looked from one to the other, resisting the urge to shake her mother and to outright slap him. “Careful with this one, dear. He’s a wild one.”
“Mmm, indeed...” he gave lowly, his voice growing deep and gravelly, far more than is proper with her mother nearby as he looked over the young spinster. Her eyelids parted ever so slightly as she stared at him, and a second bead accompanied the first on her mother’s brow as the signs of anger were beginning to materialize in the icy stare and false smile. His smile, on the other hand, looked upon her confidently and genuinely; he had the power and he knew it.
“Well enjoy your evening, you two, okay?” She stressed at her daughter slightly, but none the less maintained her civilized look and demeanor even in the face of Emma’s failing one.
“Yes...” she said through her clenched grin, “mother.” Tensions were running high, and he was rather enjoying it.
“Thank you, ma’am. Enjoy your day, it’s lovely weather out.” The younger two made their way to the front door as the mother waved them off. Once the door shut, the woman held her hands before her, feeling some subtle nervousness that her headstrong little girl would do something to ruin her chances. Gracefully, a window was approached, peering to the backyard where the stable stood.
“Lovely weather indeed...” with no small supply of purpose, she turned in her dress towards the hallway, striding along, intent on putting on her riding garb. Jolly good day for a canter. An oddly cheeky grin went to her previously worried face as she followed the thought up with a private utterance to herself. “Or a gallop...”