Page 43 of The Unfortunate Debutante
“No! Absolutely not,” Downshire exclaimed. “I will not force Emma into a marriage of convenience.”
Jonathon spoke up from his seat. “There are a few outstanding gentlemen that I could recommend…”
“No!” Downshire repeated.
Miss Pearson turned her gaze towards her guardian. “Perhaps it would be best if we left for Scotland. This Season has been a disaster for me, anyway.”
“Honestly, Emma, if you run away from this, I doubt your reputation would ever recover,” Eliza pressed gently.
“So, I should stay and fight?” Miss Pearson asked in disbelief.
Knowing this was his fault, Simeon found himself doing something he didn’t think he was capable of. He approached Miss Pearson and reached for her hand in her lap. He dropped down to one knee and held firm to her hand, despite her trying to pull her hand away.
“Miss Pearson,” he paused, correcting himself, “Emma. I don’t want to get married any more than you do, but it is inevitable. I can’t promise love, but I can promise you the protection of my name.” Ignoring the furrowing of her brow, he continued. “We get along nicely, and you would have a title. Since this is a marriage of convenience, I wouldn’t expect an heir, or any intimacy of that nature.”
Simeon stopped speaking and wasn’t prepared for the deafening silence in the room. Furthermore, everyone was frowning deeply at him. He turned his gaze back towards Emma, and she was staring at him with her mouth gaping.
Finally, her mouth closed, and she yanked back her hand. “Was that a proposal?”
“It was,” he confirmed.
“My answer is no,” she replied immediately.
He gave her a baffled look. “No?” he repeated, surprised by her rejection.
Before she could respond, Jonathon muttered under his breath, “That was awful.”
Benedict chuckled. “I stand corrected. Jonathon did not deliver the worst proposal ever.”
“Get up,” Downshire ordered. “You’re making a fool of yourself. My ward will never marry you, Wentworth.”
As he rose, he found his anger pricked by Downshire’s rejection. “May I ask why?” he growled.
“Emma will not marry a lowly viscount,” Downshire said. “Or a Bow Street Runner, for that matter.”
“I beg your pardon!” he shouted.
“Stop!” Miss Pearson exclaimed, rising from her seat. “I have my own voice.” She turned towards him. “Mr. Martin, your gesture is appreciated, but I do aspire for a love match. Besides, you don’t want to marry me, any more than I want to marry you. We are two vastly different people.”
“Is it because I am a lowly viscount?” he muttered.
Miss Pearson gave him a look of censure as she approached him. “You forget yourself, milord. I am just a constable’s daughter, and I do not aspire for a title. I will marry for love, no matter how lowborn or highborn he may be.”
“But an earl or higher is better,” Downshire mumbled.
Rachel sighed in exasperation. “Good heavens, my love. Leave it be.”
Downshire frowned, but his eyes softened when his eyes landed on his wife. “As you wish.” He leaned back against his desk. “We will all need to ponder on how to repair Emma’s reputation, but first, let’s discuss the other pressing matters.”
“Finally,” Lord Jonathon said, placing his snifter on the side table and leaning forward. “I don’t believe in coincidences, which makes me suspect that high speed carriage was no mere accident.”
“I concur,” Eliza replied. “Furthermore, Mr. Lockhart was quite brazen to approach Emma in public.”
“Perhaps it’s time to bring in agents to guard Emma,” Benedict suggested.
“Absolutely not!” Simeon proclaimed, tugging down on the lapels of his brown jacket. “I am more than capable of guarding Miss Pearson.”
“It would appear not.” Jonathon smirked.
