Chapter 1
Emma was a notorious dreamer. She dreamed improbable dreams, and her mind was often far away, in another time. But even her wildest imaginations could not have prepared her for the good fortune that had befallen her. She was in the most remarkable circumstance for a constable’s daughter.
At sixteen, she had become the ward of the Marquess of Downshire.
She went from living the life of a country miss to one of grandeur and opulence.
The simple cotton gowns she had worn in her youth were replaced with the finest silk, her brown hair was now adorned with ribbons, and the coral necklace around her neck was worth more than her family’s cottage and land in Totternhoe.
Rachel, the Marchioness of Downshire, leaned closer and whispered, “You are staring at Lord Brisbane.”
“Am I? I must have been woolgathering,” she replied, diverting her gaze to Rachel.
“Dear heavens,” Lady Downshire said, bringing her teacup down to her lap, “I thought we had sufficiently stopped your tendency to reverie. I fear that you may require additional tutoring.”
Emma shook her head, causing her ringlets to swish back and forth. “No more training. I will behave.”
“See that you do,” Rachel responded with mirth in her eyes.
Sitting in the elaborate drawing room of Caddington Manor, Emma couldn’t believe that four gentlemen were already vying for her attention, especially since they had only been in London for a fortnight.
Two were titled men, but the other two were also men of considerable worth.
At least, that is what her guardian had informed her.
One man kept drawing her attention, and it was not because of his appearance or countenance.
She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the crumbs on Lord Brisbane’s moustache.
He looked rather ridiculous, and yet, he somehow managed to retain a sad dignity, making her suspect that he was not a man of great confidence.
“Miss Pearson,” Mr. Southhampton, the brother of Earl Fitzroy, began, “please say that you will save me a dance at your ball tomorrow.”
She gave him a gracious smile. “I would be honored, Mr. Southampton.”
“I shall look forward to it,” he replied with a flirtatious wink.
Hoping no one witnessed his bold move, Emma took a moment to consider Mr. Southampton. With his blond hair and sharp features, he was a handsome man, but not enough to tempt her. His words seemed too smooth. Perhaps she should refuse him rather than encourage him by allowing him to dance with her.
Lord Brisbane cleared his throat, and Emma found herself leaning forward to see if the crumbs would finally break free from the confines of his neatly groomed, hairy lip.
“Would you care to go riding with me tomorrow, Miss Pearson?” he asked as the crumbs continued to hold strong to the hairs.
Emma could see the line of sweat forming on Lord Brisbane’s brow, and she couldn’t help but notice that Mr. Southampton and Mr. Ramsbury were both hiding smirks behind their teacups.
It was clear that they expected her to let him down gently.
Poor Lord Brisbane, she thought. She had no interest in the man, but she didn’t dare embarrass him in front of his peers.
“I would be honored, Lord Brisbane.”
He let out a relieved sigh, causing the crumbs to take flight. “That pleases me immensely.”
Sitting alone on the upholstered settee, the solemn-faced Lord Haddington appeared content to observe as he sipped his tea. Emma directed her next comment to him.
“Have you read any interesting books, Lord Haddington?”
He gave her a complacent smile. “I’m afraid none that you would understand, my dear,” he replied in a condescending tone.
What an insufferable man, she thought. “Truly? You have piqued my interest, Lord Haddington,” she stated in a steady voice.
Lord Haddington huffed in a way that implied he was just indulging her. “I just finished Critique of Practical Reason by Immanuel Kant.”
Ah, she knew that book! Placing her teacup on the table, Emma recited, “ ‘Two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing admiration and reverence, the more often and more steadily one reflects on them: the starry heavens above me and the moral law within me.’ ”
Lord Haddington stared at her with a stunned expression on his face. After a moment, he asked, “You have read Kant?”
“I have,” she responded, savoring the moment, “and I found it quite enjoyable. Did you not?” She offered him a sweet smile.
“I did, but I did not memorize it like you apparently have,” Lord Haddington commented.
Attempting to keep the amusement out of her voice, she stated, “I suppose his work just spoke to me.”
Mr. Ramsbury placed his teacup onto the table. “May I be so bold as to ask for the supper dance, Miss Pearson?”
“You forget yourself, sir,” Lord Downshire declared from the doorway. “As Miss Pearson’s guardian, I will have the privilege of arranging her supper dance.”
All the men in the room rose when the tall, dark-haired marquess walked into the room.
Emma had to admit that her guardian was a man of great strength and confidence.
His intense stares may have frightened many people…
well, most people, but he had never given her cause to fear him.
From the moment she’d met Luke, he had treated her as family, showering love upon her.
Mr. Ramsbury bowed. “My apologies, my lord.”
Ignoring his response, and the other men’s presence, Luke strode up to his wife and kissed her cheek. “How are you, my dear?”
Rachel smiled lovingly up at him. “I am well.”
Without removing his gaze from Rachel, he proclaimed, “Miss Emma is no longer receiving callers for today. You are all dismissed.”
Emma brought her gloved hand up to her lips to hide her growing smile as she watched all the men awkwardly file out of the room. Once the last man left the drawing room, she rose, walked over to the window, and watched as the men started walking down the pavement.
“You must really stop glowering at all my potential suitors,” Emma stated in a mock chiding voice.
“Those men were not worthy of your notice,” Luke proclaimed, placing his hand around his wife’s waist. “I did you a favor.” He paused, before smirking. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
She let out a puff of air. “You don’t think any man is worthy of my notice.”
“That’s not true,” he acknowledged. “I would be happy to arrange a marriage between you and the Duke of Dudley’s eldest son, Lord Stuart.”
Emma arched an eyebrow. “The Marquess of Stuart would be interested in marrying me, an untitled country miss?”
“I have no doubt,” Luke remarked eagerly.
An image of a pallid, slightly podgy man came to her mind as she thought of her offered suitor. She shuddered. “I shall pass.”
“Good choice, Emma,” Rachel said, earning a disapproving look from Luke. “By the end of the Season, you shall have your pick of suitors.”
“I detest the Season,” Luke whispered to his wife.
Rachel laughed as she placed her hand on Luke’s chest. “You have made that abundantly clear, but we had to come to Town for Emma.”
Turning his attention back towards Emma, he offered, “I will give you ￡10,000 if we can forego the Season and return back to Scotland tomorrow.”
Emma shook her head. “You’re lowering your price. Previously, you offered me ￡20,000 to remain in Scotland for the Season.”
“￡30,000 then,” Luke attempted hopefully.
“You cannot deny Emma the opportunity to have a Season,” Rachel said.
“She already had one last year,” he pointed out.
Walking over to the tray of biscuits, Emma picked one up. “If you recall, you refused to let me dance with any gentlemen, refused to hold a ball in my honor, and refused to let me read any books from your library.”
Luke gave her a baffled look. “I issued no such order. You are always free to read.”
“That’s so kind of you, my master,” she teased, dropping into a curtsy. “I just assumed that would be forbidden, as well.”
Letting out a deep sigh, he replied, “You just turned nineteen last week. You were much too young to entertain suitors last year. Frankly, you’re still too young to even consider marriage. It would be preferable if we departed for Scotland tomorrow.”
“Oh, hush,” Rachel said in a light tone.
“We went through great lengths to prepare Emma for the Season. For the past two years, she has endured a barrage of tutoring on social etiquette, drawing, needlework, dancing, riding, and learning the pianoforte. Will you please stop trying to pressure her to go back to Scotland?”
The image of Mr. Hawkins shouting at her to look livelier as she danced caused Emma to shudder. “Mr. Hawkins was the most unpleasant dance instructor.”
“I agree completely,” Rachel responded, smiling. “He felt you were a lost cause.” She grew serious. “But you must try not to bait all the gentlemen. Poor Lord Harrington was about to have a fit when you quoted Kant.”
“You quoted Kant?” Luke shook his head. “We have been over this… multiple times. A lady of your station is to avoid…”
She spoke over him. “…topics such as literature, politics, morality, and anything that is remotely interesting. Instead, we are supposed to focus on our accomplishments and other polite topics.”
“I fear that our ward is not pleased,” Rachel teased.
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. The butler stood on the other side with a silver tray in his hand. “We received a letter for a Mr. David Blackmore,” Mr. Munro announced with his usual stoic expression.
“That’s for me.” Ignoring Luke and Rachel’s curious looks, Emma walked over and picked up the letter from the tray. “Thank you, Munro.”
Ripping open the envelope, she read the letter and let out a joyous cry.
“My article has been accepted, and they have included two one-pound notes as payment,” she announced, rushing over to Rachel to show her the letter.
“And the editor of The Morning Post would like me to submit additional articles for their consideration.”