novelxo A Bluestocking for the Duke: Chapter 2
“This is boring,” Lucy muttered, examining a hangnail.
“Shh!” Harriet exclaimed sharply.
The dining room was so quiet and tense that it felt like if Emma dared so much as to blink, her entire family would hear her. Everyone seemed a little on edge, sitting stiffly in their chairs, eyes fixed, examining the doorway for movement. Most everyone except her father, whose eyes were still fixed on the book he was reading. He was relaxing, nestled comfortably into the light blue dining chair, enjoying the morning that had so easily left everyone else fidgeting with nervous anticipation.
The room was livened only by the sound of a ticking grandfather clock. The ceilings were tall and ornate with golden crown molding. The windows were large, and sheer gossamer curtains framed them, softly filtering light across the table. Tea was already served. Emma’s cup was far too hot to drink from.
The family had arrived late the evening prior, and the servants claimed that their hosts were fast asleep, although Emma had noticed a flicker of candlelight from the library. Someone was awake to greet them, yet no one showed their face.
Could the Duke of Radford be as nervous as I am, or does he simply not want to welcome me into his home?
Emma had stewed on the thought all through the night. The future husband she’d so often dreamt of was funny, gregarious, charming, and outgoing. There was no way the Duke of Radford could live up to her expectations. She’d simply have to make the best of what she was given.
But a man who could not even be bothered to greet the woman he was about to rely so heavily upon made her fill with misgivings. It felt absurd, as if he had already decided he was tired of her. If he really had already made up his mind about her, then she had no chance.
Harriet shifted in her seat. She had the greatest reason of all to be nervous. If this match didn’t work out, she would not return home to her sweetheart with the news he hoped to hear. He was very open about his desire for a family. Emma worried that he wouldn’t be able to wait as long as she wished he could—long enough for her to find a suitable and successful husband she could see herself falling in love with. “This is bound to be the greatest romance of all time,” Harriet cooed.
“Sweetheart,” Robert sighed, his voice tinged with apathy. “You must be more realistic. For our Emma’s sake.”
“Oh, Papa,” Emma said, running her finger across the velvety petal of a pink rose from the table’s bouquet. “Let us have hope for something grand.”
Her father raised his brows and sighed as if to suggest that his daughters were being needlessly optimistic. “Fondness is something that grows slowly. All this nonsense about passion and…” He used his hand to simulate an explosion. “That’s not realistic, nor is it sustainable. Being optimistic is valuable, certainly, but we should keep ourselves humble and realistic in the face of the Lord’s plan.”
“Amen,” Mother said, stirring honey into her tea. “You know I hate surprises. Let us marry simply and predictably.”
“Or not at all!” Lucy declared.
“Harriet has found such things, so why can’t I?” Emma smiled proudly, ensuring her sister noticed how straight her back was and the angle with which her chin pointed upwards. Harriet stifled a laugh when she saw how excited her older sister was.
Emma exhaled, dropping her posture at the rush she got from watching Harriet smile. She owed Harriet everything she had. If being in love with the man she was to marry was her sister’s dream come true, then Emma would put on a fantastic show. But she knew, all by herself, that her father was correct. It was best to be practical about the realities of married life.
Emma was very clever; she liked to think. If perhaps she could make everyone believe it, then maybe the Duke might believe it too. And if he loved her, might she be able to fall in love with him too? Men were simple. There were three tricks she had up her sleeve to get him to fall ardently in love with her, even if she did find herself loathing him.
After a moment longer, there was a shuffle at the door, and an older woman, roughly the same age as Emma’s mother, entered, followed by two handsome young men and a beautiful young girl. Tucked in the girl’s arms was a lethargic-looking Italian Greyhound. Emma stood up quickly, followed by the rest of her family. She turned towards her hosts and curtsied, her eyes fixed on the man smiling at her. He looked almost identical to his brother.
“Your Grace,” she said.
He laughed, looking at the man beside him. The stern man cleared his throat and bowed. He approached Emma. “Miss Hale,” he greeted her, his hands clasping hers in a light touch. Her cheeks ran red, and she hoped that he hadn’t noticed her surprise. But he had because now he was much warmer and more engaging than his younger brother as if all of a sudden, a switch flipped.
He was, however, incredibly handsome, with deep brown eyes flecked with green. His brows were dark and narrowed in a determined tilt, making him look confident and severe. His brother, although equally easy on the eyes, was more what one might call beautiful. His features were softer and friendlier. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hale,” the Duke smiled. Emma smiled too. However, the gesture didn’t reach her eyes. Almost instantly, she felt slightly on edge.
“Likewise, Your Grace.” She curtsied yet again, bowing her head. He smiled again and made his rounds through the room, greeting her family. While she waited, she was welcomed by the remainder of his family—a sharp-witted and sociable brother, a bubbly mother, and a painfully shy younger sister. Once the greetings were made, everyone circled around the table to take their seats, and Emma’s father politely tucked his book aside.
“Rosie! Remember what I said about dogs at the table?” The Dowager Duchess whispered sharply.
“But Mama.” The girl held tighter onto the dog. His fur was white, marbled with gray flecks. He had a frilly little yellow collar that looked to be rather itchy. “You know how he feels about being included.”
“Included? As if he has the sensibilities of a man!” The Dowager smiled painfully, turning to her guests. “Can you imagine? A dog at the table!” She glared back at her daughter, whose dark black hair was gathered high into a perfectly smooth updo. “Put the dog down!”
“I can hardly imagine!” Emma’s mother huffed. She was always elegant and tidy. She didn’t like the idea of animals in the home in general, although she tried not to show her disapproval.
The girl sighed and placed the dog on the floor. The skinny greyhound skidded across the floor and dove underneath the table, away from the strangers.
The Duke of Radford chuckled lightly and pulled out a chair, offering it to Emma. She took a seat, and he politely fixed her closer to the table. He sat beside her.
“I am so pleased you made the long journey to visit us. I hope you’ll make yourself at home here.” He smiled. He glanced at the Dowager for a moment, and she smiled cheerfully from her conversation. A frown fixed on the Duke’s face for just a moment before he looked back at Emma. She straightened her back and looked at him attentively. It was one of the simplest ways to make a man think he was in love. If you listen to him, he’ll never want to stop talking.
“The Dowager Duchess tells me that you’re an accomplished…painter?”
Emma opened her mouth to correct him, but she stopped herself. The distinction between painting and drawing was hardly noteworthy. He likely didn’t even care. Correcting him was useless and might even hurt his pride. “Indeed,” she murmured. “What about you, Your Grace? What do you do in your free time?”
“Free time?” He cracked another smile, and Emma faked a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. Step two, laugh at every joke he makes. For a moment, his eyebrows narrowed before the look of annoyance dissipated into something softer. “I suppose I’m a voracious reader,” he said. “I will read just about anything you give me.”
“Really?” she asked.
His posture stiffened, and yet he responded with a simple smile. “Have I surprised you?
Emma turned her face from him slightly as if she had been caught off guard. He made it sound as if she’d imagined him to be a fool. He didn’t have the same athletic physicality as his brother, but he looked more like the sort of man who might be more interested in sport than knowledge. “Not at all,” she lied, offering a soft smile and a tilt of the head.
Just then, the servants entered the dining room, platters teetering on their arms. They set an array of foods, a bounty of fruits, tea biscuits, honey cake, and warm, hearty loaves of brioche.
There was a soft whine, which caused Emma to look down. The dog stretched out on the Duke’s leg, begging for attention. He motioned for Emma to stay quiet before inviting the dog onto his lap, where he curled up for a nap.
Emma looked down, shocked for a moment that he had done such a thing. It seemed rather impolite. Emma didn’t care much, but she knew the things her mother might have to say if she saw such a thing.
“You don’t strike me as the sort of man to…” She paused, thinking perhaps that it was best not to say anything for fear of sounding judgmental. The goal was not to understand him better but to impress him. “You rather like him.”
“Do you dislike dogs?” he asked. He tore off a small piece of brioche and looked around the table. When he figured no one was looking, he offered it to the dog. The hound snapped it down a bit like a pelican swallows a fish. Inelegant. Sloppy. Oddly intriguing.
“How could I hate any of the Lord’s creatures?” she asked, eyeing the dog with uncertainty.
“None?” He glanced at her before bringing a cup of tea to his lips.
She shook her head. “Of course not.”
He shrugged. “You’re much more patient than I,” he said. “I prefer the four-legged sort.” He gave the dog a scratch behind the ear.
“Dogs possess such unyielding affections. It would be impossible not to adore such innocence.”
He nodded as if to agree for the sake of the conversation, although he didn’t necessarily share her reasons. “Yes, well, he strongly objects to my sister.” He lowered his voice. “Sweet girl, but she has a tendency to treat him like a doll.”
“And he favors you because…?”
“We have an understanding.” He shrugged. “Tranquility understands tranquility.”
“And you give him table scraps,” Emma pointed out, her heart softening at such a stern man with such a soft spot for an animal.
“Someone has to, Miss Hale. What is the point of allowing an animal into your home if not to treat it better than you treat yourself?” He smiled at her before averting his gaze back toward the dog. “This is Lemon Drop,” he said.
Emma covered her mouth, attempting to swallow a laugh. “Lem—Lemon Drop, is it?”
“My sister’s dog,” he clarified. “I would have given him a more dignified name if it were my choice.”
Emma pursed her lips and nodded. She ate a bite of the honey cake. It was warm and spiced, with just enough ginger to make her tongue tingle. “Such as?”
“Hm,” he paused, giving the snoozing dog a once over. “Rattler.”
Emma snorted lightly, which made her laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.
“Don’t laugh,” he said, leaning to the side and looking at her, a goofy smile plastered to his face. “The dog shivers constantly. A bundle of nerves, he is.”
Emma looked up from her food and caught his gaze. His eyes were so deep, and it seemed the happier he was, the greener they became. Maybe she was worried for nothing. This seemed like a genuine connection. “Adorable,” she said.
“No one’s ever dared to call me that.” A teasing smile played out across his mouth.
“Lemon Drop,” she clarified. The dog was lovely, but perhaps it was true that the Duke was as well. Seemed odd to think of a duke as such, but he was easily charming and likable.
“And you, Miss Hale, what would you name him?”
Emma’s breath hitched softly at the way he so deliberately used her name. She looked down at the dog, and their eyes met. He really did look to be shaking. He had a unique face, sort of goofy, with a long muzzle. His eyes were dark brown, nearly black. Whether he was asleep or awake, he seemed to look a bit dazed. “Samson,” she declared.
The Duke could barely hold back a laugh. “What a cruel name for such an unusually fragile and short-haired dog.”
“Quite clever, I think.” Was that step three? She hadn’t done it on purpose; however, men liked a sharp wit. Someone who could push them, although not too far. Just enough to keep things interesting.
They ate quietly for a few minutes while the Duke’s younger brother entertained the table with a rousing story about the last horse race he’d bet on. Emma had been paying too much attention to the Duke to have heard what had the table—especially her earnest and gruff father—laughing hysterically into a napkin.
“I said, never again,” Adam shook his head. “I should have known not to wager on a horse named Sleeper. I thought it was ironic!”
Emma looked aside to see how handsome the Duke might look if he was laughing as hard as everyone else. His brows were fixed, slanted down. His nose twitched, and he frowned, looking to the side as if he wanted to be anywhere else.
Emma stiffened, setting her fork down. How odd that just a moment ago, they were teasing each other about dogs and their hypothetical names, and now the Duke looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else. She frowned, feeling a twist in her gut like she was being made a fool of. Maybe he was doing the same thing she was doing to him. A marriage based on constant trickery could not be any healthier than an honest union, even if honesty meant accepting that love and passion did not exist.
Emma set her silverware neatly on her dish to indicate that she had finished her meal. “Th—this was really such an enjoyable breakfast. Very generous of you.” Emma stumbled on her words just a bit as she was starting to feel unsure whether the Duke was as happy to be there as he appeared.
The Duke turned back to her, suddenly smiling at her as if she fascinated him endlessly. “You are so pleasant,” he observed. “You make it look effortless.”
Emma raised her brows and looked at him. He was smiling, but there was a harsh slant to his brow that suggested otherwise. Did he think her to be deceitful? Her mouth tugged into a thin line. She looked aside, catching Harriet’s gaze. Her younger sister regarded the two with curiosity. Emma smiled, forcing her eyes to wrinkle up as if she was genuinely happy. She was likely overthinking things. “As do you, Your Grace. It seems we have quite a lot in common.”
Colin smiled at her warmly, standing up from the table. He held out his hand, offering it to Emma. Hesitantly, she accepted, his palm warm and strong. She stood up, and he bowed, his eyes fixed on her. He was about a foot taller than her. He brushed his lips against the back of her palm softly as if he was nervous to offer much more of a touch than that. The truth was that Emma was glad that he’d restrained himself. The mere suggestion of his lips on her sent a voltage through her body that she’d not expected.
“May I interest you in a turn about the room?” he asked. Emma nodded. She glanced back at Harriet. Her mouth was biting back her excitement. She was excitable and full of energy—clear from the bouncing of her shoulders and the hands clasped in front of her.
Harriet was good at many things, but one thing she had always found impossible was hiding her emotions. Ever since they were children, Harriet had been easy to read, while Emma maintained a calm countenance in even the direst of situations. Maybe that’s why Emma hated so badly to see her sister sad.
The Duke led Emma around the room, looking down at her from over his shoulder. Up close, he looked less warm. His eyes were an incredible watercolor of browns and greens, like the forest in June. His hair was dark, softly waved against his head. Emma’s heart fluttered against her better judgment.
“You’re close with your family, Miss Hale?”
Emma nodded. “Of course. Family goes before all else. Wouldn’t you say, Your Grace?”
He hesitated before nodding, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. He was quiet for a moment before he tilted his head slightly. “Something bothers you about your sister,” he observed.
“Pardon?”
“Miss Hale.” He dropped his voice. “You truly are very pleasant, but your eyes give you away. You regard your sister with concern. Strange when she is so fixated on the two of us.”
She looked up at him, her lips parting with surprise. She pushed a curl of golden-brown hair behind her ear and tugged her hand away from him. “Pardon me, Your Grace. I simply have no idea what you speak of.”
He huffed softly, pulling her to a stop at an immaculately clean set of French doors, he tugged at the latch and pushed them open. A chilly burst of air hit them head-on. He guided Emma onto the patio, where they were farther from their nosy families.
The grounds of the estate were gorgeous, albeit dull this time of year. There was a nip in the air. The pond made Emma shiver just by looking at it. In the Summer, it looked like it would be a glorious spot for garden parties and afternoons sketching under the shade of the willow tree.
“No idea, hm?”
This time, she didn’t respond. Instead, she looked back through the glass doors, where the two families tried to avert their gazes. It was clear, however, that everyone hoped the two might be falling in love as easily as they looked to be.
“Smile at me,” she said, turning quickly to the Duke.
“Why must I?”
Emma smiled, tilting her head to the side as if she was swooning under his gaze. She closed the space in between them. “Because,” she replied. “You’re right about my sister.”
He studied her for a brief moment before his face relaxed into a convincing smile. “I apologize if I upset you,” he said. “From our time spent together this morning, I have nothing but admiration for you.”
Emma stepped back just a little, biting her cheek as she tried to grapple with whether he was telling her the truth.
“You are an impressive woman,” he said. “Well-spoken, clever, and beautiful. I merely ask about your sister for my own edification.”
Emma blushed lightly and curtsied. “My apologies as well, Your Grace. I misread your intentions.” She took a deep breath before glancing in through the glass doors. “I assure you that I am merely in tune with my sister. I worry a great deal about her. That is all.”
He looked down at her, his eyes holding her gaze a moment longer than they should have, and Emma felt a burn in her chest. It was a strange feeling, as if the entirety of her was on fire with nothing to put it out. “You—” Emma coughed, her mouth going dry as she choked out the words. She was typically so put together, but he intimidated her, both by his intensity and his appearance. “You seem so different from your brother.”
His mouth drew into a thin line, and his brow arched slightly. He turned his head to look back through the doors where the families were enjoying each other’s company. His brother was once again commanding the group with a story, his face animated and his hands gesturing wildly. “Do not act so surprised,” he murmured. “I am sure you are acquainted with how birth order can affect one’s sentiments. If not, I doubt you’d be doting so hopelessly over your own siblings.”
“Then tell me why you do not dote.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You suggest you know something I do not about my family?”
She squared her shoulders against him. “You act as if you know something about mine, Your Grace.”
He looked back over his shoulder at their families, and when he looked back, he was smiling gently, but the look never reached his eyes. “Interesting,” he said. “A marriage is not a power struggle, Miss Hale.” With that, he walked over and opened the French doors, and motioned for Emma to come back in from the cold.
As she passed by him, she fixed her eyes up at him over her shoulder. “I am sorry?”
“You do not agree?” He smiled tersely as if it were really all that simple. Her stomach flipped a little, nervousness blooming at the inkling that maybe he wasn’t as pleasant as he seemed.
The rest of the morning dragged by slowly. The family was subjected to many entertaining stories from the Duke’s brother while his younger sister stumbled shyly across the piano keys. At some point, Lemon Drop settled himself on the drawing room carpet and stared at Emma for much longer than she’d felt comfortable, his body shivering like a leaf caught in the wind.
Later into the evening, the families parted ways to freshen up for dinner. Emma took the short hiatus to wander the home. In her head, she couldn’t help but imagine that if everything went according to plan, she could be living here. Downstairs there was an extensive library, a dining room, a formal sitting room, a drawing room, and what appeared to be a small guest room, although Emma didn’t dare to open the door and inspect herself. On the left side of the house was a warm conservatory, and on the right was a gallery. The floors were marble, and the walls showcased incredible paintings of the family and various depictions of the countryside.
As Emma stepped through the gallery, her slippered footsteps echoed softly off the high ceilings. She heard a man’s laugh. It came from somewhere outside the gallery and past the main staircase.
She knew it was a rotten idea, but that didn’t stop her from tiptoeing down the hall and gliding past the study door. It was closed, and behind it, she could hear muffled voices. At first, she assumed it to be paranoia, but the thought that the conversation was about her made her squirm uncomfortably in place. Besides, maybe understanding the Duke’s concerns would give her an advantage now that he had seemed to be such an expert on the inner workings of her mind. She pressed her ear to the entry and listened, closing her eyes.
“I cannot wait until dinner tonight!” Adam shouted, clapping his hands together. One leg was tossed over the arm of the chair, and he was nestled into the crook like he’d never been taught to properly sit in his life. “You suppose you went a bit too far? My brother, the great Misanthrope of Radford, a perfect charmer? My God, even I would have married you!”
Colin grumbled, back turned to his brother, scanning the bookshelf for something he didn’t mind reading again. He looked back at Adam and scowled. “It is not worth it,” he said. “Miss Hale is either a complete simpering imbecile or as calculating as I am.”
“Accusing your sweetheart of manipulating you? What a way to be!” Adam closed his eyes as if he couldn’t be more relaxed in a situation that made Colin feel like he was crawling head to toe with spiders. “You know, it is rather fortunate to have something in common with the woman you love,” Adam snorted.
“Unless she’s a fool,” Colin growled. “Then she might be a better love match for you.”
Adam shrugged. “Lucky me, then. I imagine you took quite a good look at her. I did.”
“Don’t be so crass,” Colin snapped. “Social maneuvers aside, she is a lady, and you will treat her as such.” He pulled a book off the shelf and looked at it. It was a book his father always loved. Colin had attempted to pick it up once after his father’s death, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of a man who’d put his family into such a desperate situation.
Water Under the Bridge, it was called. How ironic. Colin tucked it back on the shelf. “Besides, how does that pathetic behavior not offend you?”
“What?”
“The simpering. The laughing at your jokes even if she doesn’t find them the slightest bit amusing? The eyelash fluttering? Twirling her hair like a simpleton?”
“Brother,” Adam sighed. “That’s the way of things,” he explained. “So much is just to say, she has designs for you, you have designs from her. Allow it to happen. It is not that complicated.”
“Complicated?” Colin huffed, running his finger across the spines of the books a little more manically. “It is complicated, indeed. What could she possibly want? She has money, wealth, and enough beauty to have a man she values, and she’s young enough to waste a few more years finding him. You mean to tell me this is motivated by nothing but a title?” He sighed, turning back towards his brother and leaning against the shelf. “I hate to be made a fool of.”
“I would marry her,” Adam said. “But I have…several other engagements. You know I hate to disappoint.”
Colin’s cheek twitched, and he frowned. “Even I do not wish such a fate on her.” Adam would never grow up. There was a point in every young man’s life where he had to stop pursuing pleasure and focus on duty. Colin had learned this much sooner than his brother, and at this point, he feared twenty-five was too late to expect Adam to become any more mature. Colin would have killed to waste his life away as a hedonistic second born, but here he was. Water under the bridge it might be, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still drowning in it.
“When did you last spend time with the fairer sex?”
“Pardon me?” Colin turned his head from the window. The dull light of the morning had turned into a gray half-light that made the entire affair seem ever bleaker. Adam looked at him expectantly, knowing full well that his brother had heard him.
It had been a while. Longer than Colin would have liked to admit, although the isolation was more a product of his own stressors. Once his father died, there was so much bearing down on him that the challenge of sparring intellectually with a woman sounded needlessly exhausting. For quite some time, it had been easier to be alone, even if he did sometimes yearn for some kind of attention.
“I will not entertain your interrogations,” he grumbled. “I am well practiced and sharp.”
“I think you might be happier if you tried not to look at everything as a personal affront. Flattery is the key to flirtation. If she’s as much of a dolt as you suppose, then at least she’s a dolt who wants you. Yes? Much better than a genius who detests you.”
“And if she’s calculating?”
Adam pulled back his top lip in bewilderment. “Brother, the only person insane enough to treat love as a game of chess is you. I assure you all of her ulterior motives are firmly in your head. And if they’re not? Then she might be the woman of your dreams.”
“Great,” he snapped. “Then, in order to save the family, I must marry a complete and utter fool. How fortunate.” He sat down at his desk and opened his drawer, hoping that if he looked like he was getting ready to do some work, Adam might leave him be.
“I think she is rather well-spoken, actually.”
Colin shook his head. “Then she should pique my interest with her intelligence and not her femininity,” he said.
Adam got out of his chair and walked across the room to his brother. He reached a hand out tentatively and pressed two cold fingers against the side of his brother’s neck. Immediately, Colin swatted him away, smacking his head with a flattened palm. “What are you doing?”
Adam stepped away, shielding himself from the abuse. “Checking for a pulse,” he replied, matter-of-factly, leaning against the desk.
Colin crossed his arms. “I am very much alive. She is incredibly tempting, but I am not as obtusely motivated by the same things as you. She may bat her eyelashes all she desires, but I cannot be seduced so easily.”
“Brother, brother, brother,” Adam shook his head. “You’re a horrible cynic. What is this woman going to say when she realizes you’re three degrees away from the grave?” He snickered to himself and sat back down.
“Enough,” Colin snapped, pressing his fingertips together in a quick zipping motion. His brother did stop talking, although his presence alone was annoying enough.
Colin glanced up, but Adam was still lounging in the armchair, watching his older brother like he was a source of great entertainment. Colin lifted his hand and swatted his brother towards the door.
With a silent eye roll, Adam stood up and made his way to the threshold. He tugged at the knob, and all of a sudden, a high-pitched gasp sounded, startling Colin. The two brothers blinked sharply and watched Miss Hale step back, her shoulders hitting the wall of the hallway behind her. She stared past Adam’s shoulder and right at Colin, but even then, it seemed she could see right through him. Without a word, she hurried off down the hall in the opposite direction.
“Miss Hale!” Adam shouted before turning to look at his brother. Colin stood up, clenching his teeth at the realization that he’d ruined his only chance to pay off his father’s debts. He would have to find a way to make this up to her, especially if she’d heard every cruel and pigheaded thing he’d said about her.