Chapter 3

Chapter Three

" Y ou most certainly will end the evening with an engagement."

Emily bit her lip, hoping to stave off the heat rising in her cheeks. She had only invited her two friends for tea because it had been over a week since their regular visit. But now, Daphne Wilson and Georgiana Harris were grinning at her over their teacups, and much to her dismay, the conversation had turned to focus entirely on Emily.

"We cannot know for sure," she mumbled.

"Of course we can." Georgiana moved to set down her tea, stray strands of red hair falling across her excited eyes. "You said his words indicated as much after he left the dinner."

"No need to be so bashful," Daphne teased. Her heart-shaped face glowed in delight. "I shall look forward to the day when we celebrate your wedding."

"Mr. Evans said he would petition a moment with the duke, yes. But that does not mean the duke will agree." Emily's fingers twisted together in her lap, the tea before her long forgotten. "Over the years, His Grace has found ample opportunity to dissect each possible suitor and disapproved with a list of their flaws, leaving me without much room to hope."

"But the duke knows you care for Mr. Evans. This situation is different, is it not?"

Emily nodded fervently. "It is different." She had never felt so attached to a gentleman before the way she was with Mr. Evans. Oh, what would she do if the duke refused? "Perhaps we should speak of something else. The nerves will eat at me until the ball."

"Well, I can tell you of the latest gossip that even Lady Whetstone wouldn't know yet." Georgiana leaned forward conspiratorially. "Mrs. Pembroke is going to host a ball this season."

"Indeed?" Emily asked. "Has she never hosted one before?"

Georgiana shook her head. "Not since her husband died. But I believe it will be an attempt to marry off her youngest son. And that means she's requiring all her other children to be present as well."

"How dreadful," Daphne grumbled. "Didn't you say her daughters were awful?"

"Yes, they've already married and settled elsewhere with their husbands, yet they always sneer and smirk at my presence. Even though their mother intentionally hired me as her companion. If she did not want me there, she would send me away. They have no say in the matter."

"But the son is not as terrible, correct?" Emily asked with a purposeful smile.

"Oh, he is plenty kind, quite the outlier in his family, to be sure. But I know his mother has lofty expectations of him in marriage, I've not thought of him for myself."

"Well, never mind him, then," Emily said with a wave of her hand. "Once I am married, I will scour the country to find a perfect match for both of you. That way, you'll never have to lift a finger again."

"Don't hold your breath on my account," Daphne shook her head. "The chances of marrying off a governess in my situation are near impossible."

"Even so," Emily responded. "I will not settle; I will use all resources accessible to me on your behalf."

Emily knew that their current positions couldn't last forever. Mrs. Pembroke may have been a longtime friend to the dowager duchess, but the old woman couldn't live forever. And a governess position was the most volatile situation for a young woman. Emily only hoped that finding suitable gentlemen for her friends would be as easy as finding them employment.

The clock struck the hour, and Emily's stomach stirred with nerves. "Oh, dear. I suppose it is time to prepare for the ball."

Daphne squealed with delight, moving to squeeze Emily in a hug.

"Then we will not keep you," Georgiana said, standing from her seat. "We will want to hear all about the ball and the proposal."

"You must recount every detail in a letter, and once you have confirmed the engagement, then we will return for our debrief in person."

Emily laughed, releasing some tension in her shoulders. "Thank heaven for the two of you."

They stood side by side in the parlor doorway, and Emily noted what an odd pair they made. Georgiana with her freckles and unruly red hair, stood a head taller than Daphne, the shorter brunette with a heart-shaped face. But they were the two dearest people in the world to Emily, and she would do anything for them. Both were older than Emily herself, and they had taken her under their wing when in school at Mrs. Euphemia's Boarding School for Underprivileged Ladies. They had become accomplished young ladies and already gone off to their new positions by the time the duke had come to the school and found Emily there. She had become his ward and never thought to see her friends again, only to be happily reunited in London the same year. How lucky she was to have them in her life again.

Emily saw them to the door, and let out a sigh in the front foyer. Then she hurried to her bedchambers where her maid was waiting.

She would take great care in her appearance, knowing she would see Mr. Evans again. She and her maid had picked a blue dress that would match her eyes best. It boasted a square neckline with detailed trimming around the bodice, and a sheer overlay protecting her muslin skirts. Her blonde curls had been set to perfection with flowers and golden pins, and only the slightest of rouge to touch up her facial features. With one final glimpse in the mirror, Emily made her way downstairs where the duke and duchess were waiting.

"How divine you look!" Isabel said brightly, reaching for Emily's hand as she took the final step of the staircase.

"Indeed." The duke agreed with a nod, which was a rare occurrence. "Shall we be off?"

Isabel took Emily's hand in the crook of her arm and led her out to the carriage. She talked of one thing or another, but Emily could hardly focus on what was being said, for her nerves seemed to block her mind and bind her tongue.

The sun had already descended when they arrived at Lady Hartfield's estate in London. She entered Lady Hartfield's ballroom alongside the duke and duchess, a whirlwind of butterflies taking flight in her stomach. There was no sight of Mr. Evans yet, but she would be ready when he decided to show himself.

The thought made her bite her lip, attempting to refrain from showing too much enthusiasm. She needed to keep her head on straight, her chin lifted, her shoulders square, everything the duchess had taught her. Emily might have finally found the man of her dreams, the one who would rescue her from future marriage marts or life resigned as a spinster, but she would not do anything to besmirch the Barrington name, nor did she want to draw any ire that would keep Mr. Evans from offering for her. Everything about the night needed to go perfectly.

"Now my love," Isabel said with a smile, wrapping her other hand into the crook of her husband's arm. "Do try to refrain from any unseemly glowering this evening, hmm? We do not want to scare off anyone who might ask Miss Clay for a dance."

The Duke of Norland rolled his eyes, responding with a brief nod.

Emily remembered hearing over their last dinner that the duke's two friends would not be in attendance, for the Godwin's had returned to their country house with their new baby, and Mr. Ramsbury was caring for his wife who was ill. And despite his nearly thirty years, when James Barrington was forced out into society without them, it left him looking like a young boy who had just lost his toy horse.

He had done the gentlemanly thing and found them seats amongst all the busyness, for which she was grateful. The seats at the head of the room provided her with a clear view of everything. She glanced over the sea of people, of which some were dancing, some were talking, some were eating, and others took advantage of the shadowed corners where the candlelight did not quite reach.

"Are you searching for someone?" he asked .

Emily hesitated. "Yes, for Mr. Evans. He said he would be here."

When the duke did not respond right away, she looked up at him. He was effortlessly regal with his dark hair and stern features, looking down at her with blue eyes full of concern. Eyes that were surprisingly similar to her own.

"So Mr. Evans is the one who has caught your attention?"

Emily's heart thumped hard in her chest, and she turned her gaze to Isabel, who gave her a swift, encouraging nod.

"Yes. I do enjoy his company and I have yet to find fault with him."

The duke let out a deep breath. "Nor have I, but not for lack of trying."

She was about to ask him what he meant by that, when her eyes settled across the ballroom, catching a sight that made her gasp. Mr. Evans had indeed arrived, dressed in a dashing green coat, making him easy to identify. He spoke to another gentleman, but must have sensed her gaze, for he turned his head ever so slightly and gave her a subtle nod, a clue she was certainly next.

"Oh, good heavens," she whispered.

The duchess asked her a question, but Emily did not hear it. Everything about the room faded away as Mr. Evans approached with a confident smile.

"Good evening, Your Grace, Your Grace," he said with a bow to the duke and duchess, not even looking at them as he spoke. His eyes remained fixed on Emily, who had a hard time catching her breath.

"Might I claim your next dance, Miss Clay?" he asked, reaching out for her.

Emily nodded, placing her gloved hand in his, and let him lead her to the dance floor.

"You look a dream tonight," he said in a low voice, and Emily's pounding heart stuttered in her chest .

"Thank you," she whispered before they took their places in the line.

They danced a lively reel that did not provide much opportunity for talking, but she didn't mind; being the woman he had picked out of the whole ballroom was enough. For every time he pulled her around or took her hand or met her eyes, she felt a burning knowledge that he knew the same thing she did. They belonged together. They would make it official this very night.

Once the music came to a close and the dancers all bowed to their partners, Mr. Evans took her hand, tucking it safely into the crook of his arm.

"How is your father?" Emily asked.

"He is much improved, I am pleased to report." He patted her hand. "Thank you for asking."

"I am glad of it. Please tell him I wish him a speedy recovery."

"I will, thank you," he said, before pausing to swallow.

Emily could no longer keep her thoughts to herself. "And you will speak to the duke tonight?"

Mr. Evans smiled nervously, tugging at his cravat. "I intend to, yes." He turned to face her, his eyes filled with concern. "Do you think he will approve?"

"It is my greatest hope, and I believe he knows that." Emily had never expressed great interest in any of the other suitors before, so surely the duke would take it into consideration.

"Then if you have no objections, perhaps you might wait for me on the north balcony, and I will come to you when it has all been confirmed." Mr. Evans reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"To be sealed with a kiss?" Emily teased in a whisper.

She delightedly watched as his whole face flushed, and he rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. " You are quite something, Miss Clay." Then he turned on his heel and strode away.

With a sigh, Emily hurried across the ballroom to the large double doors and peeked out onto the north balcony. It was not occupied by anyone else. Though the March chill lingered as evening had fallen, she was willing to wait. Richard Evans would be worth it.