A mountain ofletters and invitations lay atop his desk. Cormac glanced at a few but didn’t open them. Instead, he stood and walked over to the bookshelf by the window. He’d brought a few books from Ireland with him, but his grandfather’s diary meant the most to him because of the familiar family stories and anecdotes it contained. It was falling apart after so many years, with a cracked spine and loose pages. Someone had tried to repair it almost eight years ago with a new cover, but even the new paint was crumbling now.
His father had written most of his stories in Irish, but whenever Cormac read them, it evoked childhood memories of sitting on Brandan’s lap, eating warm slices of bread and drinking milk.
He missed his family. And although this house held traces of his grandmother’s childhood, she had died years ago. He’d only been to her house in London a few times over the years, and he’d never met his great-grandparents. It was strange to think that they’d turned their back on their only daughter so easily. And after she’d married his grandfather, Celeste had never returned to London again. He wondered if she’d ever been homesick.
Would his bride feel the same way if he brought her to Ireland?
His thoughts drifted back to Emma. He couldn’t deny that she’d captured his full interest. And despite his hurried proposal, he didn’t want her to say no like all the others had. He felt protective of her and wanted her to consider him.
He knew what it was like to be mocked by others and treated as if he knew nothing. During his entire childhood, he’d been beaten by his tutors and teased by the other boys. He understood how Emma felt about being isolated from the rest of society, for in Ireland, he’d known the same loneliness.
But instead of fighting back, she’d hidden herself away. And although he didn’t know if they could ever be more than friends, he didn’t want her to fade into the background. He wanted to see if she could emerge from that protective cocoon to spread her wings and become something more.
Since he had so little time left to choose another marital prospect, he found himself wanting to help Emma. He’d done what he could to apologize, but would it be enough?
His secretary entered the study and said, “My lord, will you be attending the Duke of Westerford’s ball this evening?”
“Aye,” he answered. “Miss Bartholomew is supposed to attend, so I’ve heard.”
His secretary offered a slight smile. “Will she be our new Countess of Dunmeath?”
“With a bit of luck, perhaps.” He stood from his chair and stretched. “What do they say about her? Have you heard any servants’ gossip?”
“Only that she has been out for five Seasons, and no one has asked her to wed.”
That wasn’t entirely true, Cormac mused, though Miss Bartholomew hadn’t taken his proposal seriously. He walked toward the doorway and told a passing footman to send his valet to him.
“What else do you know about Miss Bartholomew’s family?” He thought of the mysterious auction. “Are they in financial trouble?”
His secretary shrugged. “Not so far as anyone knows. She has a decent enough dowry, if that’s what you’re asking.”
But Cormac was really wondering why Emma’s parents had conceived of such a strange notion as an auction. It was unheard of.
“There was another invitation from the Bartholomew family,” his secretary said. “About the auction.”
“I thought we answered that one already,” Cormac answered. “But I will speak with Mr. Bartholomew about it, if I see him tonight.” And if he could manage it, he would try to coax her father into abandoning the idea of an auction and instead, give permission for him to marry Emma.
The way he saw it, he could wed her by special license so her family could be there, and then they could return to Ireland. He could also try to arrange a few days near the seaside by way of a holiday.
But even as he dressed for the ball, he sensed that Emma would not be so easy to convince. And as the familiar headache took hold, he realized that desperate measures might be called for.
If the auctiondidtake place, he had to do everything in his power to win.
*
“You’re not standingamong the wallflowers tonight,” Lady Ashleigh MacNeill announced. She took Emma by the hand and said, “You’re coming with Lady Scarsdale and me.”
Emma felt rather bewildered, wondering why the two women had agreed to Mrs. Harding’s request to help her. She knew they were both former students, and both had made exceptional marriages. Though she’d met the two ladies before, this was the first time they’d truly spoken to her at length. There was a warm friendliness from them that could not be denied.
She didn’t know quite what to say, but she let Lady Ashleigh lead her onward while Lady Scarsdale followed.
“Y-yes,” Lady Scarsdale said. “W-we will see to it that you have a w-wonderful time tonight.”
Emma suddenly realized that the women were a shield, protecting her from those who might make fun of her. It eased some of her tension.
“I do like that gown,” Lady Ashleigh said. “That shade of rose is stunning against your hair.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. The silk was indeed lovely though she felt slightly self-conscious about the neckline and her bared shoulders. She wore long gloves, and yet, it felt as if she were pretending to be someone else.
