Chapter 6

6

The next day,the modiste, Madame Dubois, who was, apparently, the most expensive and sought-after modiste in Mayfair, came with a swarm of helpers and managed to make two gowns that very day. She also promised to have five more delivered in two days’ time.

If she was so sought after, Emma wondered, how had Sebastian convinced her to put aside her other commitments and make seven gowns for a new client? Could it simply be a matter of money? Emma couldn’t deny how generous Sebastian was.

Or, perhaps it was not generosity so much as his desire to flaunt his new wife to the ton. The duchess had mentioned a match that had fallen apart because of her. Perhaps, it was the Lady Isabella mentioned last night that he wanted to show her off to.

Poor woman. That must be quite hard for her, if her whole life she’d believed Sebastian would be her husband, and now suddenly, he was married and she’d see him parading around with another woman…

The next few days passed in preparations, standing in front of the mirror as the modiste and her ladies measured, pinned, cut, and sewed. When she wasn’t busy with the modiste, she went to the library and read. For the first time in her life, she had no house chores to attend to, no garden to take care of, no dinners to supervise, no clothes to mend, and no guests to entertain.

Most of the womanly chores that she had done at her papa’s home as well as at Sir Jasper’s she could do without.

But she missed her flower garden, even if peonies would never grow there. Growing peonies was something her grandmama had taught her, and they reminded her of the kind woman who had passed a few years before Emma’s marriage. They bloomed so well back at Sherbourne Place where she’d grown up. But they had withered and died at Bardsley House as though the soil itself was poisonous.

In the evenings, she descended in her new gowns for very tense dinners, with the Duchess of Loxchester not speaking a word to Emma—not even looking at her—and the duke not even trying to start a polite conversation but just glaring at his food as he ate.

And then the nights… For the past three nights, the duke had come to her, dashing and handsome and broad-shouldered, amber eyes glowing in the candlelight, repeating his offer. To bed her, to bring her pleasure, to make her his true wife. Remembering the sweet agony his touch had brought her in the bathtub, part of her wanted to say yes. And each night, it was harder and harder to say no.

But she did.

When the night of the ball finally arrived, she was dressed in a pastel, golden-green gown that streamed down her body. Her green eyes shone brightly, her cheeks rosy, her complexion looking attractive and healthy. The maid, Erin, created an elaborate hairdo with lilies of the same golden-green color.

When a dozen women stood around her, frozen and mesmerized, Emma couldn’t recognize the goddess in the mirror. That woman belonged in a grand house and with its master. With a lightness in her stomach, she knew that she had never in her life looked or felt so beautiful. She descended the stairs, while the duke stood in the hall, waiting for her. The moment he looked up, the brooding frown evaporated from his face. Instead, his eyes widened in admiration as he slowly looked her over, seemingly not missing any detail. His mouth opened slightly in surprise, and there was, perhaps, even pride in his expression. His darkening, amber eyes stole her breath away.

Sir Jasper had never looked at her this way.

She’d liked seeing the duke’s gruff exterior disappear in those rare moments when he let down his guard and was playful with her. And she saw the man behind the surly wall now, when he stood in surprise and in awe, clearly pleased, not a wrinkle between his gorgeous, thick eyebrows.

And the thought that she could do that had heat rush to her face.

For a brief moment, while she descended the stairs towards him, she allowed herself a tiny hope. She imagined that the duke truly was her husband and she was his wife, and that the admiration in his eyes was love. The duke in her head was one she could fall in love with.

Then she reached him, and he offered her his arm. As she slid her arm through his crooked elbow, the touch of him felt solid, warm, and so right.

“Good evening, Duchess,” he said, his voice low and raspy. It felt like a caress against her skin.

“Good evening, Duke,” she said, lost for a moment in the warmth of his amber eyes, feeling like she was floating, weightless.

When they climbed into the carriage, he was still all manners and grace, but he became cold and distant again. He didn’t even look at her. And when they entered the ballroom, her hand wrapped around his elbow, her breath was stolen once again. She’d been to balls before, organized by the neighbors, or when she visited her aunt and uncle in York.

But never this. The room was grand and long. Vines with flowers crawled over the columns shooting two floors high. Low, sparkling chandeliers with what seemed like hundreds of candles illuminated the room. Ladies in the most gorgeous gowns, fashionable gentlemen dressed in tailcoats and breeches. Everything glistened, sparkled, moved. Feathers and flowers in ladies’ hair. Diamonds and jewelry on the necks, ears, and wrists sparkled. Music sounded from a little orchestra of ten people seated on a stage at the other side of the room.

Couples already moved in two long lines in an English country dance. Others talked, drank wine and champagne, walked around the room. Something squeezed in Emma’s stomach. Could she ever have imagined someone like her would one day attend a ball like this?

“Mama is already somewhere here,” he said to her. “She wanted to arrive earlier. Ah, I see Preston and the Seatons.”

He raised his arm in a greeting, and led Emma to the group of five people.

She recognized Spencer, the Duke of Grandhampton, and his brother Preston Seaton.

A young lady with auburn hair and blue eyes stood with them, and the Duke of Loxchester introduced her as Lady Calliope Seaton, their sister. The two Seaton brothers stared at her, eyes round, mouths open in shock, probably not expecting the farmer’s wife they thought they had met, to look like this. There was one more tall man, auburn haired and as handsome as the Duke of Grandhampton and his brother, but with a softer expression. The Duke of Loxchester introduced him as Lord Richard Seaton.

A lady in her seventies, dressed in an old-fashioned dress, her silvery-gray hair done in an elegant updo, studied her with big blue eyes.

“My, my,” said the Duke of Grandhampton with the raise of one elegant, dark eyebrow, looking her over. “I wouldn’t have recognized you had it not been for you coming with Loxchester.”

“Quite a makeover,” said Lord Preston Seaton, giving Sebastian a long look with his eyebrows raised.

“You couldn’t look prettier, Your Grace!” said Lady Calliope with a bright smile. Emma liked her right away and returned the smile. Lady Calliope seemed a little out of place in this grand ballroom, despite being dressed like she belonged. Perhaps, it was her shyness, or the shine in her sharp, intelligent eyes.

“Your Grace?” asked the older lady. “Did you find yourself a new duchess?”

Sebastian nodded. “Emma,” he said to her, and she shuddered at the onslaught of warmth from hearing her given name on his lips. “Let me introduce to you the Duchess of Grandhampton. She is the grandmother of the Seatons.” He nodded to the old lady.

“How are you adjusting, Duchess?” asked Lady Calliope.

“Adjusting from what?” asked Richard.

“My wife used to live on a hog farm,” said Sebastian.

Silence fell on the five people, and Emma froze, waiting for their reaction. “Ah!” Chuckled the duchess. “You did clean up rather well, Your Grace. I would have never said!”

That must have been one of the easiest receptions she could have. She doubted her introductions would become easier. They talked some more. The Duchess and Lady Calliope were surprisingly kind to her and asked her questions about her life, to which she replied with generic answers, not willing to lie any more than she had to. After all, she truly knew nothing about pigs.

The three brothers were quite different, really. The Duke of Grandhampton and Lord Preston bickered a lot, about nothing. Lord Richard made jokes and attempted to dissipate the tension. Lady Calliope was calm, sweet, and very smart. A wallflower, perhaps, uninterested in socializing, dancing, and being the center of attention.

People gave Emma odd looks, and despite the warm reception of the Seatons, she felt quite out of place. But she ignored the looks and held her head high. She wondered if the odd looks were the Duchess of Loxchester’s doing. Had she told everyone that her son had married a farmer’s daughter? As Sebastian’s friends, the Seatons knew to keep this quiet unless he told them not to, and the only person in London besides them that knew, was his mama.

“Let’s make rounds,” he said to her, offering her his hand. “I’d like to greet some people.”

“Must you?” she asked.

“You’re showing yourself very educated for a hog farmer’s wife, Your Grace,” he said as he walked past some guests to whom he nodded hello. “If I hadn’t seen you being sold by one, I may have thought you were lying.”

Cold crept through her. What would happen if he knew he was right? “I told you. I am observant and good at copying.”

“I suppose. Look at them all,” he grumbled as they walked. “How I despise the rules and the gossip and how important reputations are for the ladies but not as much for the gentlemen. I never wanted the responsibility of being the duke and just want everyone to leave me be.”

She looked at his stern profile and smiled. “It’s not so bad, Duke. If you want to rub me in their noses, you’re succeeding. They all despise me. Look around you.” She beamed. “It’s working.”

He nodded, looking around, catching the odd gazes. But that didn’t seem to please him. “Why, does it not give you some satisfaction? Are you not getting what you wanted?”

“No. I do not like that they look at you so.”

Heat spread through her. Something in his voice made her feel safe and reminded her of the man who had protected her against a crowd of insult-throwing men when her husband had stood there gleeful.

Clearly, he had a kindness in him, but he didn’t like to show it.

During their conversation, the middle of the ballroom cleared and couples lined up. The musicians on the balcony began playing a country dance. Emma noticed Lady Calliope standing by the wall as though hiding from potential suitors, talking to her grandmama. The Duke of Grandhampton danced with a pretty lady with brown hair and gray-blue eyes who gave him the most radiant smile, and he smiled back, looking as happy as an adolescent boy in love.

Seeing him like that made her think she’d never seen the Duke of Loxchester smile. He glared, frowned, barked, or spoke to her in a most seductive voice.

But he never smiled.

They were pushed closer to a large column by the guests who formed a circle and watched the dancing couples.

“Why do you always glower as though a storm cloud sits above your head?”

He glared at her. “Do you think it is your eternal optimism that led you to say yes to be sold as a wife to a total stranger? And how is it working out for you?”

She chuckled. “I like it more than I want to admit.”

He stopped walking and looked into her eyes, and she drowned in that intense amber gaze. Music, chatter, and laughter around her faded away. The place where her hand was hooked through his elbow sent tingles all over her body. She should have kept her silence, not admitted that she was enjoying herself.

“Your Grace,” said a voice, and a shadow appeared next to them.

The magic was broken, and Emma looked away to see that there were two ladies standing before them. The older of the two had big icy-blue eyes and blond hair streaked with silver. The other looked like a younger version, with shiny blond hair and quite striking blue eyes. She was pretty and graceful in her pristine white gown that flowed over her willowy, feminine body.

Sebastian nodded. “Lady Whitemouth,” he said to the older lady. “Lady Isabella.”

Emma stilled. Isabella…this beautiful lady was supposed to marry him… She felt like pulling her hand out of the curve in his arm, as though she had been caught red-handed. Lady Isabella stood with a cool expression, staring somewhere between Emma and Sebastian. Lady Whitemouth’s eyebrows were drawn up, her upper lip rising in a slight mask of disgust.

“This is my new wife, the Duchess of Loxchester.”

Isabella looked pale. Her face remained a polite mask, but hurt glossed her eyes.

The countess nodded, her tight lips pale. “I suppose I had thought it would be my daughter on your arm. Not another woman.”

Emma did remove her hand then, her cheeks blazing hot.

“There was never a promise nor a proposal, Lady Whitemouth. I didn’t break my word, and I apologize if there was a misunderstanding. But I’m married now, and I wish Lady Isabella every happiness.” Lady Isabella blinked.

“As do we, Duke. I suppose I’m just surprised there was nothing in the papers. That’s all. One wonders why there was such a hurry to marry…”

“As to the papers, there was no chance to make an announcement. We married just two days ago. Our love was too powerful to brook delays.”

The countess raised her eyebrows even farther. “And your family, Duchess?” she asked. “How were you introduced to the duke?”

“Her family raises pigs,” said the duke.

Lady Whitemouth’s bosom heaved heavily as she gasped.

“Pig farmers?” she demanded. “Most unusual! I’ve never heard a peer do such a thing!”

“Well”—an expression of smug satisfaction lit his face—“now a peer did it.”

“Tarnishing the good Loxchester title! Scandalous…” whispered Lady Whitemouth. “Does your mama know, Duke?”

“She does.”

“Does she approve?”

“She does not.”

Emma bit her lower lip. The lie sat heavy in her chest, making her palms sweat. She was a gentleman’s daughter, raised on strong moral principles. She didn’t lie. She didn’t hide her true identity.

She was doing it to break free, she told herself. To escape the prison of marriage. Including this golden one, with the duke…eventually.

Besides, no one present knew who she truly was, and this scandal wouldn’t get back to her family.

For now…

While Lady Whitemouth and Lady Isabella exchanged a few more remarks, the dance ended, and a new line of dancers filled the space. Lady Isabella excused herself, saying she was engaged for the dance, and both ladies walked away, leaving Emma breathing easier.

But as the music started again and ladies and gentlemen began dancing, there was a sharp movement from the group of people standing nearby, and a man turned around. Emma swallowed a gasp. It was Sir Lionell Cross, whom Sir Jasper and she had visited at Cross Manor. He had said he was going to London right after the house party finished. And here he was, as if her very thoughts had conjured him.

“Ah, Lady Bardsley!” he exclaimed. “Good day!”

“Sir Lionell…” she mumbled. Sweat broke through the skin of her back.

“How do you come to be here?” he asked drunkenly. “I never knew you and Sir Jasper frequented London society.”

Opening and closing her mouth, unable to find any words, she threw a glance at the duke. He glared at Sir Lionell with a furious confusion.

“Wait…” Sir Lionell hiccupped. “I heard a silly rumor…that cannot be true, can it? Something about Sir Jasper selling you at an auction?”

The lie crumbled and fell around her. Her knees wobbled and bile rose in her stomach.

She was caught.

“Lady Bardsley?” asked the duke. “You’re not a swineherd’s wife?”

The Duke of Grandhampton appeared next to them, all large and confident and imposing. “What’s going on?” he asked with a frown, looking sharply among the three of them.

Sir Lionell chuckled with a crooked smile. “I wish she were a swineherd’s wife, Your Grace, and truly up for auction. I’d buy her myself. Look at her! I’ve dreamed about you, Lady Bardsley…”

Sebastian threw daggers with his gaze.

“Sir, I kindly demand that you shut your mouth,” said the Duke of Grandhampton.

Emma wished very much that Sir Lionell would—and not just because he was exposing her but for his own sake. Sebastian had mentioned the Duke of Grandhampton boxed regularly in some sort of a boxing club in the bad parts of London.

“And now a duke bought you?” Sir Lionell kept going. “Ha! Didn’t know we can now purchase gentlemen’s wives also. How much for her, Your Grace? I am unmarried and I find your way of getting wives much more convenient than courting and proposing and such.”

Horror crept up Emma’s spine. Now the duke knew. He knew she’d lied to him. Despite her mortification, a part of her realized this must be good because he would throw her out.

But instead of showing disappointment, Sebastian’s face was livid.

“You have offended my wife’s honor, sir,” Sebastian said coldly. “I demand sa—”

With a loud, drunken hiccup, Sir Lionell fell to Emma’s feet.

Sebastian and the Duke of Grandhampton stared at her. Their gazes were physical things on her skin. And yet, it was Sebastian’s opinion that mattered to her the most.

“You’re a lady?” asked her husband. “Is that true?”

This was it. She had made a mistake. Now her real name was out there. She should have left earlier. She should have been more insistent.

Would she be able to find even a governess post now that her reputation would be destroyed?

Sebastian was right. She should have thought through agreeing to marry a stranger better.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I suddenly have a headache.”

She hurried from the ballroom, hearing Sebastian call her name as he ran after her.