Chapter Five
“I don’t believe you.”
John leveled Brydges with a beleaguered glance from across the breakfast table. “Then it appears you are in agreement with my betrothed,” he said, listening to how his words echoed in a room far too cavernous to be simply a breakfast room. Worley House had seemed…smaller…before.
“Why the devil would you want to marry a woman who despises you?” Brydges asked, allowing his silver to clang to his plate.
Why did everyone fail to understand? “I’ve given myself very little time to marry an appropriate woman. I am currently affianced to one. It is the most expedient solution.” He placed his own fork gently. “She is still smarting from my abandonment, but I am sure that will pass once she has time to consider my reasons. After all, I am here to make good on the commitment, am I not?”
Brydges sat back in his chair and considered his friend. “It is clear you have not spent the past four years in London ballrooms. You underestimate the capability of a scorned woman to hold a grudge.”
“I’m sure she will she see reason. I am only expecting that she be amicable, not that she fall madly in love with me. Lord, no one wants that.”
John certainly didn’t want that. In truth, he couldn’t even risk it.
“I think you are one who will not see reason,” Brydges claimed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Currently, she hates you. If she comes round now anytime soon, it will most likely be to grasp at the chance to become a duchess.”
“She is hardly a social climber,” John pointed out. “She is the daughter of an earl.” He shook his head. He was not asking Brydges to marry the girl.
“Yes, but you very nearly ruined her. Don’t forget her most likely prospect before you arrived was hardly a peer of the realm.” Clearly recovered from the initial shock of John’s revelation, Brydges turned back to the table and recovered his fork. “She may very likely choose to become a duchess over becoming nursemaid to a brood of someone else’s children, but that does not necessarily mean she will be an ally to you or your sister.” He leaned in more closely and leveled John with one of his rare, serious gazes. “If she is the sort to allow a title to sway her, then she is the sort to be offended by your sister’s common life in Boston.”
John considered this logic. He picked up his tea cup and swirled the liquid in it before drinking it and setting it with deliberately finality on the table. The man’s point was valid. Hell, even Brydges didn’t fully understand just how common Charlotte’s life had been in Boston. But Charlotte would arrive soon. There was no time for second guessing.
“If Lady Emmaline is the type to be concerned about titles and such,” he said, “then she is the type to be concerned with protecting family reputations and avoiding scandal. Regardless of her purpose, our desired outcomes shall be the same.”
“Your desired outcome for Lady Charlotte?” Brydges asked.
“Yes.”
“And what of yourself? Marriage is a long business.”
John hesitated. He and Brydges had been friends for years and discussed a great many things, but love and marriage were not typically among them.
“I prefer a wife with whom I will be amicable. Any man would. I do not expect—or even desire—a grand love affair.”
To what positive end would that take him? Ceding common sense to passion had proven disastrous for his father’s family. It had turned his father into a fool.
No. Not a fool. Fools were ridiculous but benign. His father had become something else entirely. Hateful. Destructive. Obsessive. Unseeing.
Loving a woman beyond sense had ruined his father and, in turn, ruined the woman and her children. No. John had no desire for a passionate affair of the heart. His purpose was to make recompense for this father’s failings, not repeat them.
“I can’t help but feel you are making too great a sacrifice. Surely Lady Charlotte, the daughter of a duke, can make her entrée into society without your marital martyrdom.”
“You will not sway me, Brydges.”
“What does Lady Charlotte think of all this? Is she truly that concerned with her ‘place’ as you say? She should know better than anyone that titles are no way to identify worthy men. Your father wasn’t worthy of any of you.”
“The debt owed to Charlotte has nothing to do with titles. It has everything to do with the life she should have led-- a life of ease and abundance, with parties and dresses and the petty cares of young girls who have never known true hunger or toil. Instead she…” John pushed his chair abruptly back from the table and stood, feeling every inch of his resolve as though it were an iron frame over which his body was formed. “The success of Charlotte’s debut and acceptance in society will begin the restoration of years of neglect and it will impact her far longer than this first season. There will never be a question again of Charlotte’s legitimacy. She will be launched into society by her own family—by none other than my own wife. And that shall be Lady Emmaline Shaw.”
* * *
The afternoon following the Fairhaven ball, Emma sat in the drawing room reading a book while Aunt Agatha embroidered a cushion. It was a quiet, domestic scene and, quite possibly, the first truly awkward moment Emma had ever shared with her aunt. Their respective occupational ruses aside, there was no doubt as to the true purpose for finding themselves in the drawing room at that time of day. Nor was there any doubt as to the reason why Aunt Agatha had clearly taken extra effort with her appearance since the morning.
Even Emma could not deny there had been care behind the selection of her dress and the arrangement of her hair. Her aim had been to appear appropriately—but not enthusiastically—dressed. She felt she had achieved the desired effect, though she had in a moment of vanity chosen the most flattering from among the appropriate options.
They were, of course, awaiting the arrival of a caller. Emma found herself unable to focus on her book, anticipating instead the inevitable confrontation when the Duke of Worley arrived with his grandmother’s ring. No doubt he would arrogantly expect her to slide it right onto her hand and bless her good luck for having gotten it.
She was almost relieved when the expectant silence was interrupted by the entrance of the butler. With measured calm, she closed her book and laid it aside while Jenkins presented her aunt with a calling card.
At Aunt Agatha’s nod, Jenkins left the room.
Smoothing her skirt and straightening her posture, Emma took a deep breath to counteract the involuntary quickening of her pulse. She lifted her chin and faced the door with a careful mask of serenity as Jenkins returned.
“Lady Blythe and Lady Markwood.”
The tension drained from Emma’s shoulders. She chided herself for her anxiety. She had no reason to be anxious over the arrival of the duke anyway. He would come when he came and she would see the matter resolved.
Aunt Agatha’s friends were shown into the drawing room, with Lady Markwood sweeping in first to greet Agatha and then Emma. She gripped Emma’s hands and peered into her face. “How are you managing, my dear?”
“I’m fine, truly. Thank you for your concern.” She knew the ladies’ interest was rooted in kindness, but she felt no obligation to provide details.
Lady Blythe was much more direct in her approach. “Well, has he spoken to you?” she asked after taking one of Emma’s hands in hers for a brief squeeze.
“He has, actually.”
When Emma said nothing further, Lady Blythe looked to Aunt Agatha who in turn looked to Emma to expound, but Emma remained silent.
Lady Blythe’s expression darkened. “Well, then.”
Both she and Lady Markwood shared the look of uncomfortable gravity one expects to witness at a funeral. Emma felt as though she were attending the theatrical final moments of her reputation and future prospects.
Still, she was not of a mind to clear up any misconceptions despite the look she intercepted from Aunt Agatha. Doing so would only result in further debate, as the opinions of Lady Blythe and Lady Markwood would most assuredly mirror her aunt’s.
“Please, be seated, ladies.” Emma certainly needed to sit.
Lady Markwood perched at the edge of a chair. “I feel I should warn you, Emma, that you have garnered some interest among the gossips.”
Emma graced her aunt’s well-meaning friends with a reassuring smile. “I appreciate your concern, but I believe that was perfectly clear to me last evening. I find it interesting, though,” Emma added, with only moderate success in keeping the sharp edge from her tone, “that the duke’s return has reminded everyone of my existence. It’s as though I only truly exist in relation to him. I am not Lady Emmaline Shaw, but rather the Duke of Worley’s infamously rejected fiancée.”
Emma’s outspoken comment garnered no initial response beyond silence and awkwardness from the three elder ladies.
“Nonetheless,” Lady Markwood continued eventually. “The vultures are circling.”
Aunt Agatha rested a hand on Emma’s arm. “Perhaps, since we are among friends, you could share more of your visit with the duke, Emma.”
Emma was saved from responding by another intrusion from Jenkins.
“Lady Bosworth and Mrs. Woodley, my lady.”
An almost imperceptible flash of annoyance crossed Jenkins habitually placid features as the two women pushed past him into the room. Jenkins had been a fixture in this house all of Emma’s life and she could guess the depths of his disdain for these two ladies who must have rudely insisted upon being immediately announced.
A series of meaningful glances were exchanged among the ladies already present. Emma was acquainted with Lady Bosworth and Mrs. Woodley but, by design, she was not well acquainted. One as tall as the other round, the equally ill-mannered pair were usually found together and were notorious gossips. They had never, to Emma’s recollection, called upon either the present or prior Countess of Ridgley before today.
Aunt Agatha rose to greet the newcomers. “How kind of you to call.” She said it through an expression of such sincerity, Emma wondered if perhaps her aunt could have been called to the stage under different circumstances.
“We’ve been meaning to for so long,” Lady Bosworth insisted, “but you know…things.” She gave a limp wave of her hand as though to say, I’ve no intention of providing the rest of my thought, so go find it over there.
“Yes, it has been an age, hasn’t it,” Mrs. Woodley added, her brow furrowed as though she strained to recall their last visit.
“I suppose.”
Aunt Agatha was more kind than Emma would have been in her place. Of course it had been an age. It had been the ridiculous woman’s entire age.
“But we were fortuitously nearby this afternoon, so naturally I insisted we call,” explained Lady Bosworth.
Aunt Agatha patted Lady Bosworth’s hand. “A happy fortune, indeed.”
Truly, Aunt Agatha was a saint.
False excuses thus disbursed, the new arrivals turned to study Emma with unveiled curiosity. So intense was their examination, if Emma’s manners had been only slightly lower, she would have made a face at the peering matrons.
“And how are you, dear?” Lady Bosworth asked.
“I am well. Thank you for inquiring.”
Lady Bosworth pursed her lips skeptically.
It appeared the vultures were not only circling, but had flown in for a closer inspection. Everyone wanted to know if she’d been jilted yet and, if so, how she was tolerating it. They wanted the honor of relaying the final destruction of her reputation—in all its gruesome detail—to their circle of acquaintances. How would the women react if she claimed to be perfectly grand, awaiting the duke’s return with her betrothal ring? The thought only occurred out of pettiness and she tamped it down.
All eyes turned collectively as Jenkins once more entered the room. He had recovered his dignified expression as he once more handed Aunt Agatha a pair of calling cards.
After a brief glance at the cards, Aunt Agatha responded with a bemused nod. “Perhaps you could bring extra chairs from the earl’s study once you’ve shown the ladies in. Thank you, Jenkins.”
More ladies? At this point, it seemed the only distraction saving Emma from answering to the amassed spectators was the arrival of more spectators. She almost—almost—would have preferred the arrival of the duke.
Emma stiffened when Jenkins announced the additions to their party. She was tempted to glare when Lady Grantham and Lady Wolfe strolled into the room as though they were welcome and wanted, the latter dragging her reluctant daughter. Georgiana Wolfe appeared so uncomfortable when introduced that Emma decided the girl may actually possess some common sense. She could not say the same for the elder ladies, considering the complete lack of pride it must have taken for them to visit and feign cordiality. They knew full well Emma had overheard every hurtful, gossiping word the previous evening.
While the newly arrived ladies eyed Emma and were eyed in turn by Lady Bosworth and Mrs. Woodley for poaching on their gossip-hunting ground, Jenkins and a footman carried in first one and then another high-backed chair from the earl’s study, arranging them to create a conversational circle. Though muted with age, the scarlet brocade upholstery still looked garishly out of place against the delicate gold and sage of the drawing room.
Others must have agreed, for as soon as Jenkins and the footman departed, a shuffling commenced. All the ladies sought to find a seat, studiously avoiding the red chairs as though they might themselves appear garish sitting upon them. The matter was finally resolved with some tactful direction from Aunt Agatha.
Emma, who had remained seated throughout the debacle in what was likely an unforgivable lack of manners, found herself joined on the settee by the Ladies Markwood and Blythe. Lady Bosworth and Lady Grantham occupied the room’s two sedately colored armchairs, while Lady Wolfe and her daughter sat upon two wooden-backed chairs pulled from the card table in the corner. Mrs. Woodley, as the lowest ranking woman in the room, and Aunt Agatha, as the gracious hostess, were relegated to the boldly colored transplanted chairs.
Thus arranged, the ladies conversed on trivial subjects. There was a discussion of the fine selection of food at the Fairhaven ball and the wonderful music at a prior event hosted by Lord and Lady Gilchrest. Several polite questions were directed to Georgiana, who responded with equal politeness and the appropriate deference of a well-trained daughter.
Emma participated very little, noting with detached interest that an uninformed outsider would have seen nothing more than a group of ladies engaged in a pleasant afternoon visit. He would likely have failed to notice the large number of curious peeks at Emma and would have had no reason to be suspicious of subtly probing questions regarding her plans for staying in London or attending certain events.
Emma provided direct answers when she could and did not elaborate, frustrating them all in their quest for information. As an unfortunate consequence, everyone seemed loath to leave, lingering long past the brief stay dictated by etiquette.
As Emma had no intention of sharing the status of her engagement—which was, frankly, uncertain—she could only take comfort in the knowledge that polite topics of conversation would eventually become sparse.
When Jenkins entered the room with yet another card, Emma considered feigning an ailment. Only loyalty to her aunt kept her in her seat while he left to show the caller up.
“The Duke of Worley.”
That man would appear at this moment. Could he not detect from the number of carriages lingering nearby that she and her aunt were occupied hosting a meeting of the Gossiping Ladies’ Society?
As every head turned toward the door, he sauntered past Jenkins and into the fray, hesitating only a moment to digest the numbers in attendance.
He greeted Aunt Agatha first then worked his way around the circle, greeting each woman with the same charming attention he’d displayed the past evening. In return, the ladies fawned over him as though he bore no responsibility at all for the scandalous abandonment of his young fiancée or for failing to appear at his father’s sickbed. He was, after all, a young, unmarried duke of significant fortune. Thus, he could be forgiven any transgression. Emma sat rigidly in her chair while he finished the circuit with a murmured remark that managed to inspire a blush in both Wolfe ladies.
Then he faced Emma. His azure eyes twinkled with amusement as he addressed her. “Here I was worried you might be without company. It appears you have no shortage of social connections.”
He was calling her a liar for claiming she lacked social clout, yet he knew as well as she, most of these women were not visiting out of friendship.
Aware of her audience, she regarded him with a polite smile. “We are particularly well attended today, Your Grace. I was only just wondering to myself what the cause may be.”
“Have you no theories?” he asked.
“None that occur to me.”
All the ladies listened unashamedly with the exception of Georgiana Wolfe, who listened but had the decency to squirm. Was it too much to hope that he would leave and return when they would not be performing for an audience?
“I would invite you to sit,” Emma said, “but I’m afraid I have no seat to offer.”
“A problem easily solved,” he said. “Shall we have our walk as we planned?”
A clever maneuver on his part. They had not planned a walk, but he had to know she wasn’t likely to argue the point. She would need a more private moment with the duke to reiterate her earlier position on their engagement, but a walk in the park at the most crowded time of the afternoon would not afford much privacy.
“Thank you, Your Grace, but as you can see, my aunt has visitors. As she is not available to accompany us, I fear we shall have to delay our walk to some other time.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Wolfe interjected, practically leaping from her chair as she shoved her daughter forward. “Georgiana would love to take some fresh air. She’d be happy to round out your numbers for a walk in the park.”
Emma judged by Georgiana’s appalled look that her earlier assessment had been correct, and the girl was indeed a rare jewel of rationality despite her mother’s best efforts.
As chaperones went, a young, unmarried girl to protect the virtue of another was not ideal, but no one could really suggest to Lady Wolfe’s face that her daughter may not be a fit chaperone—a fact which Lady Wolfe surely realized. She looked quite pleased with herself and her coup. Not only would she have every reason to stay and observe the aftermath of the outing, but she had also created an opportunity to place her very unmarried daughter in the immediate company of a duke who, in everyone’s expectation, would be equally unspoken for by the time the outing was done.
As a triumphant Duke of Worley led two scowling ladies from the drawing room, Emma wondered how many of the gathered spectators would have the gumption to remain until they returned.
* * *
John had maneuvered the walk in order to escape Lady Ridgely’s overpopulated drawing room, but once they arrived, he realized the inadvertent brilliance of the decision. It seemed the whole of fashionable society had come out that afternoon in a carriage, on a horse, or on foot. It was the perfect day for it—warm, but not uncomfortably so—yet John suspected the determined crowd would have reliably appeared even if the weather had not been quite so favorable. They came for the choreographed dance of nods and greetings, the purpose of which was to notice and to be noticed and, above all, with and by whom one was noticed.
John tilted his face up to the sun and breathed deeply of the flower-scented air. He didn’t generally enjoy crowds, but a stroll with his fiancée would certainly quell the current expectation that the betrothal had ended. She was quite becoming, after all, in a pale green day dress.
Why hadn’t she gotten married to someone else in all this time? Where had the suitors been in four years? John supposed poor judgment on the part of other gentlemen wasn’t entirely surprising and, as it benefitted him now, he could not object to it.
“Shall we walk toward the Serpentine?” he proposed
Lady Emmaline stared at him as though he had suggested they stand in the middle of Rotten Row and flag down carriages. Miss Georgiana Wolfe, who seemed determined to walk several paces behind in the manner of a lady’s maid or governess, did not respond.
“It may be crowded near the lake,” Lady Emmaline said.
“For good reason. It’s the most scenic spot.”
Lady Emmaline’s lips pursed. Her amber eyes regarded him coolly for another moment. Just when John felt certain she would voice her objection and insist upon hiding in some out-of-the-way locale, she gave an acquiescent dip of her chin. With no opinion contributed by Miss Wolfe, their group walked in the direction of the Serpentine.
“How have you enjoyed the season, Miss Wolfe?” Lady Emmaline asked over her shoulder in an unveiled attempt to coax the girl forward. “Have you had an opportunity to attend the theater?”
“I like London very much. And I particularly enjoy the theater.” Her answer was polite, but she did not yield the buffer of her position.
When silence followed, John gave Lady Emmaline a cheerful smile. “It is remarkably warm today, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, but it is not unpleasant,” she responded. “I rather enjoy the outdoors.” She turned to call over her shoulder again. “Do you enjoy the outdoors, Miss Wolfe?” She paused in her stride, a maneuver that forced the girl to step alongside her. John halted as well, lest he find himself well ahead of the ladies.
“I enjoy taking some air occasionally.” Miss Wolfe glanced nervously at John before she admitted, “I’m not much of a horsewoman, though.”
“Not all can be.” Lady Emmaline said kindly, with a reassuring hand upon the girl’s arm. “You’re fortunate enough to be lovely and will, I’m sure, be forgiven almost any other failing.”
Miss Wolfe’s cheeks took on a soft blush at Emma’s compliment. She shot another uncertain glance at John.
Lady Emmaline saw to it that conversation continued between the two women, posing questions to Miss Wolfe with enough frequency that the young lady could not possibly withdraw again. The inquiries became impossibly mundane, but John admired Lady Emmaline’s fortitude in continuing to generate them. She asked where Miss Wolfe had acquired the ribbon that adorned her bonnet and conducted a complete survey of which instruments the girl might have learned to play. When she inquired as to the list of any novels Miss Wolfe may have recently enjoyed, John knew without question the woman would go to any length to prevent him from addressing the true purpose of his visit. Clearly, she was no more favorably disposed to the situation after a night to think on it. His fingers closed around the small ring that weighted his pocket. She would exhaust herself of idle conversation eventually. He suspected she already found the conversation as painful as he did.
John was saved from concocting an interruption by feminine calls of “Georgiana! Georgiana!”
“Oh, it’s Elena Westbrook. And Caroline Dunford,” Miss Wolfe said as they approached a group of young ladies waving animatedly.
John did not recognize the girls, of course, but he easily recognized the desperate relief in Miss Wolfe’s expression as she spotted her saviors. The girl hurried away at such a pace, John suspected she would have grasped at any passing acquaintance for whom she could remember a name.
“You should consider Georgiana Wolfe,” Lady Emmaline said, turning back to John after watching the girl join her friends.
He eyed her and could not help the upward tug at the corners of his mouth. “Do you mean to suggest I propose marriage to the girl who just fled from my company as though she happened upon an escape route from inside Newgate?”
Lady Emmaline’s eyes rolled skyward at his dramatics but, in all fairness, the girl had run away.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “She only did so because she has enough sensitivity to understand the present awkward situation—one she knows full well was engineered by her mother, not by you. She seems a reasonable, intelligent girl.”
“And you’re not?”
“I am perfectly reasonable. I am simply uninterested in becoming your duchess.”
John cocked his head to one side and studied her. “And why is that precisely?” he asked. “Why would a perfectly reasonable young lady choose to be the wife of an aging widower with little income and a brood of children when she might be a duchess instead?”
She cast an assessing glance around them before stepping forward to John and lifting her gaze unflinchingly to his. “Why should I supply an explanation for my actions when you’ve failed to provide a satisfactory one for yours?”
It was not an informative response. “Have you developed an affection for this Greystoke fellow?” he pressed.
Lady Emmaline’s eyes fell to her hands. “He is a perfectly amiable gentleman,” She said. Her voice was gentle but firm.
“So you have not.”
She looked up sharply and was no longer gentle in responding. “My feelings toward Mr. Greystoke are none of your concern.”
“Particularly as we’ve already established you have none.” He watched her, daring her to dispute it.
She remained silent, and they both knew she was unwilling to voice the lie.
“Which leaves us the question,” he continued, “of why you object to marrying me when it is the best course for us both.”
“The best course for me?” She hissed, her widening eyes taking in the sun like amber flashes of lightening. “How can you know the best course for me?”
“You’ve already conceded your consideration of a match predicated on security rather than a deep affection,” he explained in a cautious tone, lest he further stoke her ire. “If you are seeking to secure your future—as we all must do, Lady Emmaline—surely marriage to me can provide greater comfort and security than that which may be offered by almost any other.”
She did not respond with an immediate objection and John was hopeful she had seen the sense in his rationale. As she continued to study his face in silence, an unreadable expression upon her face, his confidence waned.
She turned away to view the lake and presented her profile before responding. “You presume too much in knowing the sort of life in which I might take comfort.” The slight breeze caused her skirts to ripple, a fluid motion at odds with the erectness of her posture as she gazed out onto the idyllic beauty of the park reflected in the water of the Serpentine. She was quite lovely and, though the strength of her resolve was in conflict with his present agenda, he admired her for it.
“It may be that we get on well together,” he suggested. “We could be… friends. Even affectionate friends.”
She turned then to peer incredulously at him. “Friends?” she echoed, her voice elevating nearly an octave. “Affectionate friends? You cannot be serious. Before our engagement, I was virtually unknown. You put my name on everyone’s lips as the most infamously rejected fiancée in living memory. My family were humiliated.” She paused in her tirade to notice passersby looking their way and lowered her voice to an angry hiss. “Did you truly believe I would leap at the chance to marry you now?”
“I understand the offense I have given to you and your family, Lady Emmaline, and I am sorry for it. I urge you not to allow injured pride, no matter how justified, to overrule good sense.”
She lifted her chin. “A certain amount of pride is necessary to maintain one’s dignity.”
John sighed. It seemed he was hurting his case rather than helping it. “What of the fact that the gossip was untrue?” he tried.
She squared her shoulders but the strength of her posture did not extend to her expression. She did not meet his eyes when she responded, “As you and I well know, society rarely bothers with anything so trivial as the truth.”
In that moment, it occurred to John that the woman he had offended, the woman who had been harmed by his abrupt and mysterious departure was not the person who stood before him now exhibiting quiet determination. She had been a young girl, barely grown, and though he had known her even less at seventeen than he knew her now, he could guess she had not yet had this woman’s strength. Perhaps the iron of her will had been forged from the very predicament in which he had placed her. He reached out to take her gloved hands in his.
“I am very sorry, Emmaline, to have been the cause of suffering for you and your family.”
Wide, golden eyes looked up at him in what he could only count as alarm. Because he had addressed her too familiarly? Because he held her hands? He could not know, because though she opened her mouth to raise what he could only assume was an objection, she never gave voice to it. Instead, her attention fell to where her hands sat limply in his and she stared a moment as though assimilating this contact before finally pulling them away.
After a pause, she said, “I still think you’d do better to consider Miss Wolfe. Her connections are very good and you’d gain an ally among the most determined gossips.” She had recovered her matter-of-fact tone, but he believed the color on her cheeks was a bit brighter than it had been a few minutes before.
“You refer to her mother. You are proposing that dragon of the drawing room as a social champion for my sister.”
“Georgiana is a steady, pleasant girl. You would not be unhappy with her, I think.”
He was not chiefly concerned with his own happiness.
Or was he?
Brydges was correct on one point. Marriage was a long business. Miss Georgiana Wolfe seemed to be a quiet, sweet girl who would take interest in whatever she had been instructed. John had no plans for love, but he’d prefer the companionship of a woman who knew her own mind.
He looked at Lady Emmaline. “The picture of Lady Wolfe is not a high recommendation for Miss Wolfe herself,” he pointed out.
She gave a slight shrug. “If you wish respectability and social clout for your sister, she’s better able to provide it than I am, as your scandalously rejected fiancée.”
“Ah, but if we married, you wouldn’t be rejected. Your reputation would be restored when I honor the engagement and reveal that my intentions to do so never wavered.”
She released an exasperated huff. “No one will believe that.”
“People will choose to believe it—because you’ll be a duchess.”
She did not dispute his prediction. “I still don’t understand why you don’t simply choose another. If not Miss Wolfe, then someone else.”
“Even if I disregard my increasing conviction that you are better suited than any other, seeking out and courting another fiancée would require precious time I cannot afford. Consider, Lady Emmaline, that I seek respectability for my sister. If I must marry, the most respectable choice is to marry the woman to whom I am already affianced.”
She leaned her head back and stared directly up at him. “Should I be gratified then that you finally find me convenient?”
She was determined to take exception with him, even when he applied the most reasonable logic to their circumstance. “You make it sound as though I have been guilty of reckless whim. I assure you, that is not the case. My decision to marry has been carefully considered and you cannot deny that we shall each achieve our purpose from the arrangement. You do have to marry someday, Lady Emmaline. In choosing to honor this betrothal you can secure not only your future, but the future of a girl who would otherwise be robbed of hers.”
“If this arrangement is so mutually beneficial, Your Grace, then why do I feel such a pawn in your stratagems? Perhaps I desire a marriage that is not so mercenary.”
John nearly groaned in frustration. She was debating in circles. She had already as good as conceded she was considering marriage to an old man for whom she harbored no great affection. How was that arrangement any less mercenary than this? He stepped closer and clasped both of her arms below the shoulder as though in the next breath he might pull her into an embrace. “Would you believe me if I declared a great passion for you and insisted I would have no other?”
He watched the brilliant spots of color take residence on her cheeks, but she was not cowed. She glared bravely back at him. “No. I would not. I, for one, am fully aware you have not been pining for me these past four years.”
He lowered his hands but did not retreat. “It’s true. I’ve not been pining for you all these years. I think you would not have me flatter you with false declarations.”
She did not answer, but her chin rose defiantly and he was oddly tempted to trace a finger along that firmly set jaw. “I do like you, Emmaline,” he said, keeping his hands firmly at his sides. “I very much like what I have come to know of you so far. I admire your inability to be cowed by society. By me. Your strength is rarer than you realize.” He met her gaze with honesty in his own. “And appealing.”
They stood mere inches apart for an expectant breath of a moment while John waited to see how she would respond.
For some reason he could not name, he was disappointed when she simply stepped away, gave him the briefest of polite smiles, and suggested, “Shall we continue our walk?”
John glanced to where Miss Wolfe still stood chatting with her friends. “We have lost our chaperone, but perhaps that matters not, as we are engaged to be married.”
Her hand was limp as he reached out to take it and lay it on his arm, but her response was not so compliant. “I don’t even recall agreeing to a walk in the park. I am quite sure I haven’t agreed to this engagement.”
“We are already betrothed. It’s already been agreed to.” He tilted his head toward hers and spoke softly. “Contractually agreed to.”
Her expression was a warning and he smiled at the vehemence of it. “Rest assured, I do not abduct and enslave women, Lady Emmaline. I am convinced we should be married, but I well understand my challenge is to convince you of the wisdom of it. You will not accept my ring today, but I am determined to prevail.”
Her expression shifted to wary suspicion.
“I give you fair warning,” he said cheerfully. “My will is as strong as yours.”