Page 3 of In Service to the Duke

I can only hope we transported her back into the country with enough haste to keep her from becoming worse. The physician made it sound as if she might even turn back around and find the youth so quickly fleeing her body. Nightly, I pray it is so.

A loud shout pulls me out of my morose thoughts and onto the scene before me. Poor Norhaven pales as he holds up the ring matching Miss Campbell’s. The men do better than to tease him in public, but judging by the way the ladies gather and titter, they’re doing more than an earful to her.

Bright pink splotches her face, turning it a pale crimson as she ducks away. Just like Twelfth Night. If this continues, some may say fate is playing a hand in bringing them together, but that would be absurd. Luck and fate have nothing to do with matching up a man and a woman.

It’s all about breeding and pedigree. Others may spout nonsense such as true love, but it doesn’t exist. Only rare couples, such as my parents, seem to find that within themselves, and certainly not between such disparaging classes.

A niggle of unease pounds at my brain. Again, my parents broke that rule when my father, a duke, married my mother, a governess. They seem to be the odd ones out, able to find true happiness where others would have to endure it as a mistake. But they are certainly the exception and not the rule.

Making my way into the smoking room, I snag another glass and pour myself some more brandy. If I’m forced to stay, I might as well indulge a bit. The burn of the alcohol soothes my ragged nerves as it slides down my throat and into my gut.

As I sip it, the others come in one by one. Portswell ambles in and brandishes the loathsome vase now containing two thousand pounds. A wry smile twists up my lips as he puts it on a middle table for all to see.

My reticence in getting married has nothing to do with this silly bet. It’s not for fear of losing which stays my hand, but of finding someone worthy to be the next Duchess of Blackport. Honestly, in the interim, the idea of fleecing this lot of their coin and collecting all the money for myself is certainly an added motivation to remain unwed.

I prop my Hessians up onto a nearby stool and watch with glee as my brother runs a hand over his face. There’s no question he’s able to provide the money demanded of him, but there seems to be that need to draw it out, to show just how abhorrent it is to lose to the likes of them.

It was a similar song and dance with Foxford, and I suppose it will be the same for every one of them as they fall prey to the omegas looking for a mate. Swallowing another sip of my brandy, I watch as he finally stuffs the notes down into the vase before beaming at them all, smiling at each one in turn. The answering cheers from all except Norhaven bring a reluctant grin to my lips.

As long as he’s happy, I suppose. As long as he’s happy.

CHAPTER 2

EMMA

It is a universally acknowledged truth that a single omega, of any station or breeding, is in want of an Alpha. And yet, to find such a specimen, one has to be in a position where an Alpha can find them, see them, and publicly acknowledge them. Not me, though. Never me.

With a sigh, I roll over and bury my face in the lush pillow and force the scream to quell in my throat. What use is it to take leave of my senses, and so close to the ladies I’m charged to guide and direct? Besides, they could never understand the anguish and heartbreak plaguing me at every turn.

Clutching my mother’s letter in my hand, I roll back over and squint at the haphazard scrawl and sigh. Her hurtful words are even now etched into my soul as if she took her quill and wrote the words deep inside, as opposed to this bit of parchment. But I suppose I shouldn’t be too shocked.

It’s not as if she’s saying anything worse than she did when I was still at home. It could be I have been away from the constant barrage of nitpicking and nagging that I had forgotten just how sharp her tongue can be. Another sigh hangs heavily on my lips.

She just doesn’t understand. And dare I say, she never will. This obsession with money and status has never made any sense to me and still doesn’t. But my lack of understanding doesn’t seem to stay her harsh words.

As much as she wants me to do the unthinkable and trap the duke, I find it impossible. Despite the fact that he is not here, I am nothing to this household. What use is it to go after him while I’m currently in his employ?

But even if I tell her this, she will not hear of it. To my mother, anything less than enthusiastic pursuit is not good enough for her. I must be coy and flirtatious, snagging him in time for a winter wedding. But what’s the use?

No doubt he’ll only see me as only just a touch better than the servants, and nothing more. As if I don’t have enough on my plate wrangling my two charges and looking after their ailing mother, I’m supposed to beguile him and charm him until he cannot resist but claim me as his own. As if he’ll even look at me with more than a passing glance.

Deep down, however, I know my real reluctance is something far worse. If I were able to be as affable as she was demanding I be, I would have already done it. I would be with my own titled husband and not in another’s household for the purpose of trapping him.

It’s just not in my nature to beguile, and yet, because I am her daughter, according to her, it should just come naturally. She cannot fathom how I’m so inept at this when she claims to have had the entire Ton eating from the palm of her hand. Yet, she still ended up with my father. Though a pleasant enough man, he certainly wasn’t as high in station as my mother aims for me to be.

Unfortunately, this entire situation she’s forcing me into feels hopeless. Worse than that, however, is the fact that I do actually have a bit of feelings for the grouchy Alpha, and not just because my mother demands it. It would be easier if I felt nothing at all toward him.

While on the carriage ride to Whitmore Manor, there seemed to be a moment between us, something sparking as he looked in on us to ensure our safety. But it’s just as easy for me to have imagined the whole thing. The active imagination of a love-sick girl aching to feel even a modicum of the things I read and hear about.

Or, if I am to be honest with myself, it’s daydreaming about feeling even a crumb of compassion and congeniality when I’m so used to feeling nothing but anger and disdain. The kindness he showed me, no matter how brief, struck a chord within my soul. It was so unexpected. More than likely, it was all one-sided.

For someone of his station, he probably just did his duty and nothing more. How ironic to finally feel something for a man, and it’s the one my mother wants me to trap. Will wonders never cease?

Unfortunately for me, it makes the whole affair a bit more difficult. If I felt nothing, I could possibly put on an act. But with my feelings having a thread of reality interspersed, it makes this almost mortifying. If I felt nothing at all, any rejection would roll right off my back.

But now? My brow furrows as I contemplate the agony of actually putting myself in his path, only to be shoved away. Such thoughts will bring on madness, and so I push them away, determined to start the day.

All too soon, reality closes in as the maids prepare the girls. I hear them next door as they giggle over their cups of chocolate. A morose, deep sigh huffs through my lips as a soft knock raps on the door.