Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

E mily paced the length of her bedchamber, ignoring every glimmering brass candlestick and not sparing a glance at the floral wallpaper. Every so often, she dared a glance out the window overlooking Grosvenor Square. Only the wealthy and elite lived in this realm, the titled and educated, for London's high class made certain they could only rub shoulders with each other whenever possible. And it was because of all of them, with their judgments and hypocrisy and their noses in the sky, that Emily had been thrust into the situation she was in, and therefore, she hated them all.

She rested her head on the cold glass and closed her eyes, letting out a calming breath. She had been waiting to speak to the duke all day, but he had been out on errands. She had to find a way to talk some reason into him. Surely he could not enforce her marriage to a complete stranger, not when he'd already given his approval to Mr. Evans. Was that not why they had come to find her on the balcony together, to deliver the good news? The thought crossed her mind that perhaps Mr. Evans no longer would marry her if her reputation was ruined, but surely he would not judge her so when he knew the truth. He'd heard the explanation, the miscommunication. Would he still marry her if she begged it of the duke? Or if the duke refused to budge, would Mr. Evans dare to run away with her if she asked him? Emily would brave the travel to Gretna Green if it meant she could secure the future happiness she had always hoped for, but never dared to dream possible. She couldn't let her final chance disappear without a fight.

Her bedroom door opened, and Emily pulled her head away from the glass as Isabel entered. The duchess wore a grim expression. "He's in his study."

Finally.

Without a word, Emily rushed past the duchess and down the ornate staircase, through the front foyer, and into the corridor. Then she pushed through the door to the duke's study without knocking.

The duke sat at his desk on the opposite wall, bookshelves beside him, and a large painting above him. The room was not as big as his study in the country house, but this size seemed to suit him better. Yet, when he looked up at her entrance, he did not seem his normal, grumpy self. With jaw clenched and brows narrowed, he still appeared on edge, more perturbed than normal.

Well, good. So was she.

Emily opened her mouth to give him a firm understanding of her opinion when she was interrupted.

"Ah, good. You're here. Let's get this over with."

Her head whipped to the side, only to realize that the duke was not alone. That man was here. She couldn't stop the immediate rush of memories, that of his heated kiss, the strength of his arms around her, but no. She could not be caught weak again. Emily fought off the warmth that surfaced in her cheeks, then straightened her shoulders and clenched her own jaw at the sight of him. She hadn't expected to confront both him and the duke at the same time, but perhaps it would be good for him to hear as well. This man should learn to pay for the consequences of his actions.

"Very well," the duke said before she could speak. He held up a paper in his hand. "A Common License has been secured for your marriage. We will forgo the reading of the banns, and you will be married within the week."

Emily inhaled sharply, her bravado fading. "A week?"

"You will marry at St. George's church on Saturday morning, and afterward, we will have a breakfast here."

Mr. Westcott stood with hat in hand. "Very well. I will send a footman to retrieve her things beforehand. My house is already staffed, but will she require a new maid?"

Emily bristled, despising being talked about and planned for as if she were not even in the room. "I will retain my maid," she said firmly, glaring at him.

If Mr. Westcott noticed her indignation, he did not acknowledge it as he continued with a perpetual frown. "As you wish. And if you desire a specific location for a honeymoon, please inform me immediately so that I can make the arrangements."

The situation was spiraling out of control. Her thoughts and emotions continued to escalate, but she tried to remain calm. "There will be no need for a honeymoon." Those were for happy couples who enjoyed each other's company. Besides, she was still trying to find a way out of this disaster.

"Very well. Then I will prepare for your arrival on Saturday. Until then." He bowed stiffly and excused himself from the room.

Emily let out a tight, pent-up breath, fisting her hands at her sides.

"You have something more to say, Emily?" the duke asked, his countenance softer now. He seemed tired.

"Please do not make me go through with this, Your Grace," she begged. "Did you not already give your approval to Mr. Evans?"

The duke sighed. "I did, but he might not be of the same mind anymore. Besides, he understands that situations change when a woman's reputation is on the line—"

"Oh, hang my reputation!" She had never raised her voice at the duke, but now she had to in order to prove her point. "I am a nobody from the country. No one knows me or cares whom I marry. No one would know the difference if I were to marry Mr. Evans."

"There you are wrong." The duke folded his hands over his desk. "You are known in London as the Duke of Norland's ward. Any member of nobility and their family is looked upon with the utmost scrutiny, which includes you." He paused to look up at her. "And I need not remind you that it was Lady Hartfield who found you and is aware of what happened. Should you marry anyone other than Mr. Westcott, the potential outcome could be disastrous." The duke shook his head. "She has a great deal of power and influence, and we would want her on our side should anything arise."

"Do you not have more power than the Hartfield's by rank?" Emily asked in desperation. "I assumed people would think twice before crossing you. Aren't you the Undesirable Duke?"

He pursed his lips and hung his head, and immediately Emily cringed, regretting her words. She had never referred to him by that name in person, though she had heard it countless times before. Had she pushed too far?

The door to the study opened, and Isabel entered in concern. "Perhaps it is better if we return to this conversation another time."

The duke shook his head. "I will answer her, Isabel," he said gently, before turning back to Emily. "I am still trying to mend bridges from that time in my life, to restore the honor to my father's name. I do not want to be someone feared or use my title in a disrespectful manner." The duke sat back in his chair. "Though I am surprised at you, Emily. I understand your hesitation, but such insistence from you is uncharacteristic."

Isabel's attempts at peace were no good now.

"Uncharacteristic," Emily repeated after him, choosing her next words carefully. "Yes, for all my twenty years, I have been good and kind and obedient because I had no other choice in the matter, no hope for anything beyond what I was given. And more so recently because I had no reason to complain, as you and the duchess have taken such good care of me. But this is not what I want," she paused, tears burned in her eyes as she tried to remain fierce and not crumble onto the floor, "and I can be quiet no longer."

Isabel stepped forward, reaching an arm around her shoulder. Tears shone in her eyes as well, and Emily was grateful for her sympathy, but those tears would not help her cause.

"I know it is a difficult burden to bear," she offered, rubbing Emily's arm. "Perhaps we could speak with Marianne, Mr. Ramsbury's wife. You know theirs was an arranged union and look how beautifully their marriage turned out."

The duke shook his head again. "There is no time. Marianne is ill and unable to receive visitors. The wedding must go on as planned."

Emily sank into the chair behind her in defeat. "Why must I? Why must I marry that man? I do not even know him."

"His name is Alexander Westcott," the duke explained. "You do not know him because he has spent the majority of his life outside of London. His father, by all accounts, was a difficult man, selfish and cruel to his family as well as in society, and the burden of that reputation has fallen to his son. Since the father's death, it seems Mr. Westcott has fought hard in order to find a decent match for his sister and his mother. All who know him personally speak highly of him, as far as I can gather, so I do not believe you are being shackled with a villain." He stood from his chair and moved to sit across from Emily. "He may seem cross and distant, as he has been dealt the same hand as you, being unable to wed his beloved, but I do believe this is the correct path for the benefit of all. I only hope you will trust me in this."

Isabel sank down next beside Emily's chair, placing a hand on her arm. "It is for your benefit, my dear. You do not know what damage can be done to a person's reputation, to their future, to their very happiness, by being subject to scandal. We are only trying to do what is best for you."

Emily knew it made sense, that they were insisting to protect her, but that didn't make it any easier to accept. Unable to control the quiver in her lip, Emily quickly wiped at the tear that slipped down her cheek. "It isn't fair," she whispered, looking away in her moment of weakness.

The duke nodded. "I know it isn't, and I'm sorry for it."

Bringing her gaze back to him, Emily was rushed with a new emotion. Though the lingering anguish remained, she was grateful James Barrington was a man of honor who cared for her. He had looked into the man that she would marry because he cared for her, and he even genuinely apologized for the entire situation.

But his apology would not make him change his mind, and it would do nothing to save her now.