The dowager’s expression was wry. “Come now. I should know my son better than anyone, I think.” She released a heavy breath. “I know I shouldn’t interfere when it isn’t my place, that this is something between the two of you, but I couldn’t live with my conscience if I didn’t at least warn you.” Her blue eyes were sincere when she added, “I respect you, Miss Pageant, and don’t wish to see you injured by my son, whose reasons for this farce are yet unknown to me.”
Emary didn’t know if it was the interaction with Miranda that suddenly loosened her tongue, or if it was her own conscience that she wished to unburden, but she suddenly found herself bursting into tears, truly distressed. “Oh, it’s all my fault!” She covered her face with her hands.
The duchess apparently misread her upset, for she said softly, “My dear, you mustn’t blame yourself—”
Emary lifted her head and sniffed. “You don’t understand,” she whispered brokenly. “This entire sham betrothal was my idea.” She put a fist to her chest for emphasis.
Understanding finally dawned on the dowager’s face and she slowly sat back in her chair. “Perhaps you should explain.”
Emary clenched her fists and explained everything from the proposal she’d put to Donovan at the ball, up until her interaction with Miss Parkhurst. “I admit it rather started out as something of a lark, a chance to prove myself to the duke, but things are…different now.” When she was finished, she looked down at her lap, unable to see the condemnation that was surely on Caroline Wainwright’s face. “I can only imagine what you must think of me.”
The lady was silent for a moment, before she said, “How are things different?” When Emary’s throat closed up with renewed emotion, preventing her from speaking, the dowager came to her own conclusions. “Have you fallen in love with him?”
Emary hesitated, and then shook her head miserably. “I’m… not sure. Of course,” she added hastily. “I will break off the engagement at once—”
“You will do no such thing!” the duchess interrupted firmly.
Emary blinked, both puzzled and stunned by her reaction. “Surely you don’t wish for this to continue now that you know the truth?”
Caroline tilted her head to the side and studied her. “I believe that you have a kind heart, Miss Pageant. While this may have started out as a simple proposal, it is my hope that it will become genuine.” She sighed heavily, her expression turning sad. “Not only was my husband a firm hand when it came to raising our son, but Donovan was grievously injured in the war, and not just physically. He needs a strong, brave woman that will love him unconditionally.”
Emary certainly didn’t feel very courageous at the moment. “Are you sure that person is me?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yes,” the dowager said matter-of-factly. “I do.” She rose to her feet. “I’ll leave you to compose yourself.” She walked to the door but paused and turned back to face her. “I would truly be honored to have you as a daughter-in-law, Miss Pageant. You’re a strong woman, and these days, that is a rare quality.”
Emary sat back in her chair and stared into the fire after the dowager left, contemplating all that had been said. Even after the duchess knew the level of subterfuge that Emary had been willing to partake in to ensnare a duke — her son — she still thought that she was worthy of his love. It was humbling, to say the least.
Emary stood and walked over to a nearby mirror. She withdrew a handkerchief from her reticule and wiped the last of the tears from her face. She tucked it away and pinched her cheeks to add some healthy color. When she was finished, she was satisfied that her appearance was just as fresh as before, even if her eyes were slightly puffy.
Putting a smile in place, she returned to the party.
Donovan took longer conversing with Lord Corderly than he would have liked. While he wasn’t averse to speaking about politics, when he had a beautiful woman waiting for his return, Emary was the right choice every time.
But when he returned to the parlor where several people were still milling about and discussing the musicale, Emary was conspicuously absent. Several minutes later, when she finally appeared in the doorway, a wave of relief washed over him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her until she wasn’t there. It was a thought that was both thrilling — and highly unsettling. He was starting to believe that this hole, which he’d dug for himself, was going to get so deep that he wouldn’t be able to climb back out.
“You look quite besotted, Your Grace,” a feminine voice said at his elbow. He turned to see a blond woman standing next to him. She wore an expression that could only be deemed as innocent, but he rather thought the opposite was true. “If you don’t mind me saying so, of course,” she added.
“Have we met?” Donovan asked, knowing that he sounded curt, but unable to keep the irritation out of his voice. Am I so transparent with my emotions?
“We have.” She inclined her head. Her green eyes were shrewd, although her voice was perfectly polite. “I am Miss Miranda Parkhurst. Although I doubt you would remember me. Even the night of your mother’s ball Miss Pageant had quite turned your head. But then,” she shrugged. “Emary always made it her objective to charm any suitor. I daresay she was quite out of sorts when you initially brushed her off. But she has always been resourceful. But even I wouldn’t have thought to spill punch on someone to gain their notice.”
Donovan didn’t want to be pulled into whatever game she was playing, but he found himself narrowing his eyes and asking her all the same, “What are you talking about?”
Her mouth fell open slightly, as if she was surprised, but Donovan was rather confident that she knew exactly what she was doing. “Didn’t she tell you that it was all part of her grand plan to ensnare the unattainable Duke of Windwood?”
Donovan clenched his fists, both in annoyance at her attempt to discredit Emary, and for her encouragement toward his own misgivings. “No.”
“It doesn’t matter now, I suppose. It all worked out in the end.” She turned those keen green eyes on him. “By the way, I never did congratulate you on your engagement.”
She smiled slightly as she walked away, although Donovan didn’t even acknowledge her withdrawal. Emary was moving toward him through the remaining guests, shooting a narrowed glare at the woman that had just departed. “What did Miss Parkhurst say to you?” she nearly demanded when she reached him.
“Quite a bit, actually.” Donovan was pleased that his voice was so calm and controlled when inside he was roiling with anger.
“I hope that you didn’t believe a word of whatever she told you. Miranda has long been jealous of my successes this season.”
He finally turned his full gaze upon her. “Meaning me?”
Her face instantly blanched of color. “No! That’s not what I—”
“I think it’s time to depart, Miss Pageant,” he interrupted firmly. Even he knew this wasn’t the place to air their disagreements where it could be discussed in drawing rooms across London the next day.
He forced himself to ignore the hurt in those brown eyes as he turned his back on her. Once they had collected his mother and her parents, they climbed into the carriage. He was thankful that the dowager and his future-in-laws carried the conversation on the way back to the townhouse, for he was in no mood to engage. He kept his gaze firmly fixed out the window, staring off into the darkness.
He didn’t want to believe that Emary was some calculating pretender who had only set her sights on him because he was a duke, but Miss Parkhurst’s claims had unnerved him more than he cared to admit. He knew he shouldn’t allow some envious debutante to make him rethink everything he felt, and yet, her words had revived the doubt he’d happily ignored until then. While it was too late to remove his heart from Emary’s grasp, he had to know how things stood between them.
When they finally stopped at the Armenton townhouse, he turned to Emary’s mother. “Might I have a private word with my fiancée?”
Lady Armenton acquiesced after a slight hesitation. But then, she was under the impression that her daughter would be his wife in less than a fortnight. “Of course. But only for a few moments.” She turned to the dowager. “Perhaps I might show you the heirloom china I was speaking of earlier?”
His mother glanced between them, and then offered Emary’s mother a slight smile. “Certainly.”
Once the two women had departed, with Emary’s father following silently in their wake, Donovan turned to Emary. She was sitting patiently across from him, likely waiting for the axe to fall.
Donovan wanted nothing more than to reach out and caress the silky softness of her cheek, to ease her concerns, but he forced himself to refrain. “Why do you want to marry me, Emary?”
She blinked, as if surprised at the question. “I…I…” she stammered.
