“Liar,” she teased. “You are dreading this ball as much as my husband is.”
Oliver chuckled. “You are as wise as you are beautiful.”
“Flattery?” Madalene asked, smiling. “I would have thought you were better than that.”
Baldwin slipped his arm around her waist. “If you will give us a few moments,” he said, “we have some things that we need to discuss before we depart.”
Madalene tipped her head. “Of course. I will be in the entry hall with your mother and Jane.”
After Madalene departed from the room, closing the door behind her, Baldwin turned his expectant gaze towards Corbyn. “Is there anything else you needed to discuss?”
“Not with you,” Corbyn said. “Need I remind you that you are retired?”
“That may be true, but I am happy to render any assistance,” Baldwin pressed.
Corbyn huffed. “I am confident that Oliver can manage this assignment on his own, even if he has a swollen lip from being attacked yesterday.”
“I wasn’t attacked,” Oliver defended. “I willingly got into a fight. There is a difference.”
“With a man holding a dagger,” Corbyn said with a shake of his head.
“I had the situation under control,” Oliver insisted.
Baldwin crossed his arms over his wide chest. “Perhaps you can start boxing with Madalene every morning.”
“I wouldn’t dare hit a woman,” Oliver declared.
Baldwin smirked. “I underestimated Madalene once, and she nearly broke my nose,” he said. “But enough of that now, we don’t want to keep the ladies waiting.”
“Quite right,” Oliver agreed.
Chapter Three
Emmeline smoothed down her ivory gown with its pale blue overlay as the coach came to a stop in front of Mrs. Linfield’s townhouse.
The door opened and the footman extended his hand towards her. She placed her hand into his and stepped down onto the pavement. As she withdrew her hand, she heard her plump, white-haired companion complain from behind her.
“Good heavens, it is warm this evening.” Mrs. Jackson reached into her reticule and pulled out a fan and began fanning her face. “Aren’t you warm, dear?”
“I am not,” Emmeline replied.
“Then it is just me… again,” Mrs. Jackson muttered.
They entered through the main door and followed the line of people towards the ballroom. When they stepped into the rectangular room, they were immediately greeted by their hostess, Mrs. Linfield. The tall, brown-haired woman smiled kindly at her.
“Miss Emmeline Lockhart,” Mrs. Linfield said, “what a pleasure it is to see you again.”
“Thank you for inviting me to your ball.”
Mrs. Linfield waved her hand in front of her. “You are always welcome in my home,” she declared. “Where is your aunt, Lady Taylor?”
“I am afraid she was not up to attending this evening,” Emmeline replied.
“That is a shame,” Mrs. Linfield remarked. “You must bring her to call before your wedding, and we shall have some tea.”
Emmeline stiffened. “I shall do just that.”
“Wonderful,” Mrs. Linfield declared, clasping her hands together. “Now, go and enjoy yourself.”
As Emmeline walked further into the room, she couldn’t help but notice the stares from the other guests. She kept her head high as she walked towards the back of the ballroom and picked up a glass of champagne from a table.
Mrs. Jackson came to stand next to her. “You may have one glass of champagne,” she ordered. “We wouldn’t want you to become inebriated, now would we?”
“Have you noticed how everyone is staring at me?” Emmeline questioned, glancing down at her glass.
Her companion’s eyes scanned the room. “They are just jealous of you,” she said. “Soon, you will be the Duchess of Billingham.”
“It doesn’t appear as if they are jealous,” she admitted. “I almost sense that they are pitying me.”
“Why would they pity you?”
“The duke is eighty years old, and I am turning twenty-one in less than a week.”
Mrs. Jackson hesitated for moment before saying, “So there is a slight age difference.”
“Slight age difference?” Emmeline repeated in disbelief. “He is old enough to be my grandfather.”
“But he is a duke,” her companion reminded her, “and he can give you a life that most people can only dream of.”
“What if it is a life that I don’t want?”
“Surely, you don’t mean that.”
Emmeline forced a smile to her lips. “I suppose it is just nerves that I am feeling.”
“I am glad to hear that,” Mrs. Jackson huffed. “If your aunt and uncle heard you talking like this, they would lock you in your room until your wedding.”
Bringing the glass up to her lips, Emmeline sipped her drink as she tried to pretend that the stares weren’t bothering her. Why did I even agree to come to this ball, she wondered.
The familiar face of Lady Jane broke through the crowd as she quickly approached her. “Emmeline!” she greeted as she kissed her on the cheek. “I am so glad to see you here.”
“You have no idea how pleased I am to see you,” Emmeline admitted.
Jane stepped back and asked, “Why is that?”
“Everyone is staring at me,” Emmeline replied as she placed her empty glass onto the tray of a servant passing by.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Jane said. “After all, gentlemen have been placing bets at White’s about how long you will survive as the Duchess of Billingham.”
Emmeline gasped. “That is terrible.”
“The duke has had four wives and a profusion of mistresses,” Jane said. “It is any wonder that he ever gets out of bed.”
“Jane!”
Jane pressed her lips together as she slowly turned around. “Yes, Mother?”
The Dowager Marchioness of Hawthorne gave her daughter a stern look. “That was rather crass of you to say.”
“It makes it no less true,” Jane pointed out.
“Dear heavens, child,” Lady Hawthorne said. “You must think through your words carefully. Once said, words can never be taken back.”
Jane turned back to face Emmeline. In an unconvincing tone, she remarked, “I am sorry that I insulted your fiancé, and I feel quite badly for doing so. I am sure the duke has numerous reasons to get out of bed each morning.”
Emmeline giggled and brought her hand up to cover her mouth.
Lady Hawthorne sighed. “We must work on your apologies—again.” She turned her
