Page 22 of To Have & To Hold

Nathaniel laughed, “I can imagine.”

Oliver threw an arm over Nathaniel’s shoulder as they walked out of the breakfast room. “I will stay here with your sister until you return. Has she gotten any better at chess?”

“She has developed a master strategy. I can no longer win against her.”

Oliver shook his head. “You certainly have your hands full, my friend.”

Chapter Eight

Emilia sat perfectly still. Partially because she was afraid of doing anything to alert her uncle as to how terrified she was, but mostly, she was unsure if she actually had the strength to move. She had barely slept the night before, and when she had requested a tray be brought to her room for breakfast, Lord Moorfield had warned the maids against it.

She knew once she set foot in the breakfast room she would not be given the opportunity to eat, and instead would be demanded to provide an explanation as to what happened in the Beckley’s garden—she had no explanation.

Emilia had every intention of remaining in her room until the duke arrived—if he arrived—but her uncle had sent for her three times, summoning her to the sitting room. A messengerhad arrived with a note from the duke before breakfast had even been set, but the minutes continued to tick by and he still had not arrived.

Now Emilia sat under the scrutiny of Lord and Lady Moorfield. They had yet to say a word to her since she entered the room, and the longer her uncle went without saying anything, the more cutting his words would be once he spoke.

“You have disgraced yourself, Emilia,” Lord Moorfield’s voice trembled slightly under his restraint, but his wife was not so controlled.

“You have disgraced us!” Her shrill voice vibrated off the walls. “Do you know what people are saying?”

She heard a few of the accusations, but mostly the words had floated past her in a haze. Once she set foot back in the ballroom on the duke’s arm, the whispers had started. The duke hadn’t seemed concerned. His head had remained high, and his tone calm and even as he introduced himself to her uncle. The only time she saw his composure waver was when his eyes met hers as he bent down to kiss her hand before walking away.

“They are saying that you lured him into that garden,” Lady Moorfield accused. “That you staged the entire encounter to entrap him into a marriage.”

“I did not…” She began, but her uncle’s glare stopped her. Anything she had to say would not make any difference, for they had already decided she was to blame.

“You did notthink!” He snapped, his voice rising into unfamiliar territory. “I have spent years keeping this family’s name from being attached to scandal, and now it may be all for nothing!”

It was a low blow, hitting her exactly where it hurt the most, and her heart ached. She knew he would never speak Alexander’s name out loud, and she knew better than to mention him, but there was no doubt as to whom he had been speaking of.

Emilia pressed her nails into the palms of her hands, focusing on the stinging sensation instead of the feelings rising in her chest. For once, it wasn’t panic or fear; it was anger. But she knew that fighting back would only make it worse.

She glanced at the clock on the mantle. The duke didn’t remind her of a man who made a habit out of being late, but she couldn’t allow herself to think of what would happen if he did not come at all.

“You can count yourself lucky that I managed to salvage things with Mr. Whitcombe.”

Emilia’s heart stopped at her uncle’s words. “What do you mean?” She asked.

“He is very motivated to make a match and willing to overlook your indiscretion, though not without a great deal of convincing on my part.”

“But the duke…” Emilia replied.

Lord Moorfield gave a humorless laugh. “The duke will not marry you, despite what he may have told you last night.”

Emilia’s chest tightened. She feared that very thing, yet when she remembered the way he had spoken to her and the sincere look in his eyes, she truly could not imagine him abandoning her and leaving her to ruin.

“I believe that he will…” Emilia’s words were cut off by the shattering of a glass she hadn’t even noticed her uncle had been holding.

“You will marry Lord Whitecombe!”

Emilia kept her gaze fixed on the golden brown liquid trickling down the wall, but she could see her uncle as he took a step towards her. Before he could say another word, the door to the sitting room burst open. The duke stood in the open doorway, fingers gripping the handle and eyes fixed coldly on the earl.

The housekeeper stumbled in after him. “The Duke of Kenswick, My Lord.” She kept her eyes on the ground as she mumbled the very unnecessary introduction.

Lord Moorfield immediately composed himself. If it had not been for the shards of glass and pool of brandy staining the sitting room carpet, no one would have suspected anything was amiss. “Please, come in and have a seat, Your Grace.”

The Duke did not move from his place at the door, but his eyes flickered quickly to Emilia. They did not lingerlong, but she could feel him assessing her from across the room before turning back to her uncle.