Despondency cloaked her as she walked from the doorway toward the stairs, counting the steps as she went. Before she reached them, Mrs. Harding called out to her. “Miss Bartholomew, may we speak?”
She turned and waited for the matron to approach. “Of course.”
“Come into my study.” She started to guide her with a hand on her shoulder, but Emma interceded.
“It’s all right. I can follow your steps.”
The headmistress dropped her hand away. They walked alongside one another until they reached the study. Inside, Emma could smell the lingering aroma of tea, and she heard a cat purring to her right. “Please, sit down.”
She found a chair and heard Mrs. Harding pulling out a sheet of paper. “I’ve arranged for you to attend a ball tomorrow evening. Am I correct that, aside from Lord Dunmeath, you had no interest in the gentlemen who were here for supper the other evening?”
Her face flamed as she thought of the Irish earl. But she guarded her heart fiercely, knowing it was folly to imagine more. For now, she answered Mrs. Harding’s question. “The others weren’t quite right for me.” But more than that, she’d sensed that they had no interest in her.
“I’ve asked Mr. Gregor to find other candidates and ensure that they will be present during the next ball you attend,” she continued.
She didn’t know what else to say except, “Thank you.”
“In the meantime, we must ensure that you wed a very wealthy gentleman. You will need a secretary to handle the household accounts on your behalf.”
Emma was starting to feel uncertain about all this. A wealthy nobleman could have any heiress he wanted. Why would he want someone like her?
“After we introduce you to the new gentlemen, you must try your best to make conversation with them. We may only be able to stop your stepmother’s auction if you find another possible husband.”
Her thoughts wandered back to Lord Dunmeath’s offer, but Emma said nothing of it to Mrs. Harding. “I will try. But what if Miss Cooper or Lady Chelsea tells everyone that I am blind?” The very thought was humiliating, not to mention untrue.
“Lord Dunmeath has agreed to ask you for a waltz. If the others see you dancing, then we believe it will help to dispel the rumor. Others may dismiss it as only a falsehood. I have also asked Lady Ashleigh and Lady Scarsdale to help you. They are former pupils of mine.”
Emma knew that already, for it was because of the women’s recommendation a few months ago that she’d even heard about Mrs. Harding’s School for Young Ladies.
But although she knew Mrs. Harding was trying to help her, familiar self-doubts intruded. What good would it do to attend this ball? She was convinced that the rumors would only humiliate her more.
And yet, if she didn’t make a strong effort to find someone, she might be forced into a match she didn’t want.
“You seem nervous,” Mrs. Harding said.
“I’ve many reasons to be nervous. Especially after that dancing lesson.” She shuddered and hoped in vain that she would not be expected to dance again.
Mrs. Harding asked, “I would... strongly advise you to consider Lord Dunmeath as a possible husband. That is, if you wish to marry.”
“I don’t know,” Emma murmured. “Ireland is so very far away.” It was only an excuse. The truth was, it had nothing to do with the physical distance and everything to do with how she felt so uncertain around the earl. She didn’t understand what sort of man he was. One moment, he was easy to talk to, as if they’d been friends for years. And the next, he betrayed her to strangers. Although he’d apologized today, she didn’t know if she could ever trust him.
“He has asked for our help in finding a bride,” Mrs. Harding said. “If you are not interested in him, then we may consider him for another student in the future. Would that bother you?”
“No, of course not.”
But despite her answer, a sudden rush of dismay came over her. Now where had that come from? She barely knew the earl. He could marry whomever he wished. Heaven knew, if she agreed to wed a man like him, she would be nothing to him but a disappointment and a burden.
And yet... an unexpected, possessive mood coming over her at the thought of him with someone else. Which wasn’t fair to him at all.
“Or would you consider him as a possibility?” the matron prompted again.
Emma pushed away the confusing thoughts and said, “I don’t know.”
Mrs. Harding remained silent for a long moment as if she were thinking about it. At last, she inquired, “Miss Bartholomew, are you certain you evenwantto be married?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “But the problem is... I’m not certain that anyone would want to be married to me.”
*
