“It was my request to come here,” Emma answered. “I asked to take lessons, so that I may—” She stopped a moment, wondering if she should tell the matron about the auction. She decided to avoid it for now. “That is, so I might have a choice in whom I marry.” Though truthfully, she wasn’t certain whether that was possible. A month wasn’t nearly enough time.
“Do you truly wish to be married?” Mrs. Harding asked. “Or would you prefer to remain on your own?”
“I would like to have a husband,” Emma admitted. Though in all honesty, it was difficult to imagine. She wasn’t like the other ladies of theton,and men didn’t seem interested in her at all.
“What sort of gentleman are you hoping to wed?” Mrs. Harding inquired. The matron opened her desk, and Emma heard the rustle of parchment and a pen being dipped into the ink.
“One who is...” Emma paused to think. Truthfully, she didn’t think any man would want someone like her. She wasn’t like most young women, pretty or vivacious. Instead, she relied on a rigid set of rules to get through each day.
“Kind,” she answered weakly.
“What should he look like?” Mrs. Harding asked. “Do you have a preference?”
Emma shrugged. “His appearance doesn’t matter. Though I would like someone who isn’t the age of my father or grandfather.”
“Do you want children?” Mrs. Harding inquired.
“Oh yes.” That was very much a dream she wanted. “Or if he has children from a former marriage, that would be all right, as well.”
She heard the scratching of Mrs. Harding’s pen. “Are there any gentlemen who have your interest right now? Is there someone whom you would like to marry?”
“Oh, no one would marry me,” Emma answered without hesitation. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”
“That wasn’t my question,” Mrs. Harding said. “I asked whom you wouldliketo marry.”
She shook her head. “I can’t really say. I don’t know any of the gentlemen of theton, to be honest. They don’t speak to me. They hardly even know I’m there.”
Mrs. Harding sighed, and her pen bumped against the wood as she set it down. “Miss Bartholomew, you should know that we do not accept every potential student at our school. We have an outstanding success rate with our matchmaking. But only young women who are willing to learn, who are willing to try, can become pupils here. Are you that sort of woman, Miss Bartholomew?”
Emma nodded. “Iamwilling to learn, yes.”
“Good. Then I have an assignment for you. A task you must complete before I will consider accepting you for lessons at my school.”
A sudden uneasiness filled her. She’d mistakenly believed that Mrs. Harding accepted all students. Both Violet Edwards and Lady Ashleigh had found husbands, after all. For the first time, a sliver of doubt poked her like an invisible splinter. What if they did not accept her as a student? Would she be forced into this auction? Panic took hold, twisting her stomach into knots.
“If this is truly somethingyouwish to do,” Mrs. Harding continued, “then we can help you. But your task is this. You must attend a ball within the next week. You must speak to five gentlemen and make conversation. During this time, you will determine a list of what you do or do not like in a husband, and you will return to me on Monday next with this list. Do not bring your stepmother with you. After that, I will determine whether you may join my school.”
Five gentlemen? Emma managed to refrain from immediately refusing. She was trying to become a pupil at this school as a means of delaying the auction—not because she actually believed there was any chance of marriage.
Mrs. Harding was essentially asking her to be publicly humiliated. No man would speak to her, even if she initiated conversation. Not to mention the harrowing task of navigating the intricacies of a ballroom. She was far more comfortable as a wallflower.
The matron was still waiting for an answer, so Emma hedged, “I—I understand.”
“Very good. Now we will go and join your stepmother. Do try to join in our conversation without letting her speak over you,” she said firmly.
Emma nodded, though she didn’t know how such a thing was possible. With every moment, she saw her escape plan starting to crumble. What if Mrs. Harding refused to take her? What could she possibly do to prevent herself from being sold off like a horse at auction?
She simply didn’t know.
Chapter Two
Cormac had attendedtwo balls during the past week, but thus far, he’d had no luck in finding a potential bride. His memory seemed to be getting worse, and it was only because of Hawkins’s reminders that he’d managed to keep the household together. Tonight, he could feel another terrible stomachache coming on, and he fought to push it back. He had promised himself that he would keep searching for a wife—and he intended to keep that vow.
Tonight, he was attending a ball hosted by Lord and Lady Scarsdale. The earl and his new countess had been married only a few months, but during that time, they had managed to rebuild the family’s fortune. Cormac had considered courting Scarsdale’s sister, Lady Melanie, but thus far the lady had ignored his offers of marriage. Perhaps tonight he would have better luck.
The ballroom was beautifully decorated with flowers everywhere. The musicians played lively dance sets, and Cormac studied the young ladies, trying to determine who might be a good candidate.
“Oh, look who’s here. The Earl of Marriage.” Lady Persephone, the Duke of Westerford’s daughter approached and cast him a disparaging look. She wore a gown of pure white, embroidered in silver, and her blond hair was adorned with diamonds. “Lord Dunmeath, why do you persist in trying to find an English bride? You would have better luck in Ireland.”
