Emmeline’s mother and sister had gone down into the town to the haberdashery shop to look at samples of fabric for her wedding gown. Emmeline would have gone with them had she not already seen those same samples seven or eight times over. She had already chosen the fabric and lace, and it had been ordered, but now that it had arrived, Constance Fitzgerald had been excited to set off immediately they had received word.
“Are you quite sure you do not want to come with us, my dear?” Constance seemed entirely surprised that her daughter would choose to stay behind.
“Mama, you are only collecting the fabric and lace.” Emmeline laughed. “And I had really wanted a little time alone to continue to read my book. I cannot tell you how absorbing it is.”
“Really, that you can read amidst all the excitement around your wedding gown astounds me,” Constance said shaking her head. “I know that you are not as romantic as me, my dear, but surely this is extreme even for you.”
“But the book is every bit as exciting as Hunter said it would be,” Emmeline complained.
“Oh, it is the book that Hunter bought for you,” Constance said, instantly approving of her daughter’s choice of occupation now that she knew it had some link to her future husband. “Well, I suppose there is a little romance in you after all.”
Emmeline decided not to tell her mother that the book was anything but romantic in content at least. If she had any idea of the Highlanders and Jacobite rebellions it contained, she would undoubtedly suffer as she had done at Lady Harbury’s unfortunate choice of reading matter.
“Perhaps there is, Mama.” Emmeline thought it best to agree.
“Well, as long as you do not mind, I thought that Rose and I could speak with seamstress and discuss her visit here for all the measurements.”
“I do not mind at all, Mama. I am very grateful, in fact.”
It had taken a little doing, but eventually, her mother and sister were out of the house and on their way to town. Suddenly Tarlton Manor seemed so peaceful, and Emmeline sat in the drawing room, the book open on her lap, as she stared contentedly into space.
Ever since Hunter had given her the gift, she had found herself unable to stop thinking of him. Her mind contained scenario after scenario, all of them imagined and completely romantic. If only her mother had realized what a truly romantic heart she had, she would have been greatly relieved.
But Emmeline could not be entirely relieved herself, knowing that she was imagining love and life with a man who might never really love her. It was true that there was great sympathy between them, certainly in terms of manners and intellect, not to mention interests. But was that really everything? Was that enough to sustain them for the rest of their lives if Hunter never loved her in return? Never loved her as she loved him.
“Good morning, Miss Fitzgerald.” When the door to the drawing room opened to reveal none other than the Duchess of Galcross, Emmeline gasped.
“But …?” Emmeline looked around for any sign of one of the household servants but could see none.
“Please, do not concern yourself that I have shown myself in. I do not mind at all.” Felicity Burton smiled at her, but it was not a friendly smile, rather a spiteful one.
“Forgive me, but is there something that I can do for you, Your Grace?” Emmeline regained her senses just in time to be outraged by such an intrusion.
How dare anybody, even a Duchess, walk straight into her home, straight into her drawing room, without first being announced? It was rudeness of the first order, and Emmeline felt herself becoming ready to tell the woman just that.
However, as the Duchess stood regarding her coolly, her bright blue eyes seeming cold and almost hateful, Emmeline realized she suddenly lacked the courage.
“I can see that you are a little dismayed by my sudden appearance, Miss Fitzgerald; perhaps you would like me to give you a moment to compose yourself?” Felicity smirked at her in a self-satisfied manner.
“No, I do not need any time to compose myself,” Emmeline said defiantly, keen to have this woman know that she would not be upended by her sudden appearance. “It is obvious to me that you have something to say, and I beg you would just say it and leave.”
“Well, well, well,” Felicity said and laughed. “And there was I thinking that you did not have a backbone at all.”
“I cannot imagine why you would think that Your Grace, for you and I are not acquainted. If we were, then you would not have said such a thing.”
“Please do not imagine for a moment that I am put off by your little outburst,” Felicity said as if Emmeline’s words were as nothing to her. “But I will, as you suggest, say what I came here to say.”
The Duchess of Galcross made her way further into the room and sat down on one of the couches without invitation. She looked around slowly, coldly surveying all the appointments of what she probably thought a very poor little drawing room. Her look of displeasure was clear, and it was a look which she finally turned upon Emmeline herself, looking her up and down from head to toe as if surveying her along with the furniture.
“Well?” Emmeline said, sitting down in the armchair opposite.
“Sir Walter Scott,” Felicity said slowly as she surveyed the now closed book which Emmeline had placed on the low table. “What dreadfully dreary taste you do have.”
“And how very rude you are,” Emmeline retorted. “Although I daresay you are not here to discuss my literary tastes.”
“I suppose that Hunter gave you that dull little volume.” The Duchess kept her eyes on the book, and Emmeline thought she could sense a little jealousy in her countenance.
“Yes, Hunter did give me the book as a gift, but again, I am sure that is not why you are here.” Emmeline felt a little victory when she saw how her words had touched a nerve with the haughty Duchess. She obviously felt a stab of jealousy to think that he had bought her such a gift.
It was probably very clear to the Duchess that Hunter had given a gift of something that was close to his own heart. Doubting that Felicity Burton read such involved novels, if she read at all, gave Emmeline the impression that she had a closeness in certain areas with Hunter that his former love had not.
“No, but I am here about Hunter. Hunter and this ridiculous little engagement of yours.”
“The engagement is not ridiculous to me, and I am certain that it is not ridiculous to Hunter either.”
“But it is, nonetheless, ridiculous,” Felicity said in a languid tone which Emmeline felt was designed to belittle her as if she was beneath the woman’s notice.
“And what have you to say about the engagement, other than your skewed perception of it?”
“That I want you to put an end to it,” Felicity said so matter-of-factly that Emmeline had at first thought she had heard her incorrectly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I think you heard me perfectly well the first time. I have come here today to tell you to put an end to this engagement. You have no business marrying the Earl of Addison, Miss Fitzgerald, and I think you know that.”
“I would beg that you leave now, Your Grace. Much apart from being an uninvited and most unwelcome visitor in my home, your demands are insulting.”
“I will not be leaving until I have your answer.”