“I shall indeed, Your Grace, nothing could make me happier than to support my daughter in this matter,” the lady announced, smiling to Emmaline though Alex thought he saw distaste on his new wife's face.
“We both shall be, Your Grace,” the earl said, rising to his feet. With a little help from his startled wife, he stood tall and looked Alex in the eye. “I cannot say I am pleased by this turn of events, Your Grace. Nobody would wish their daughter married in such a way, but I can say I am grateful to you.”
He then turned to Emmaline and added, “To you both.”
Emmaline looked at Alex almost as if awaiting his permission and when he gave a curt nod she rose and approached her father, hugging him in a way entirely unexpected to Alex. He could never have dreamed of embracing his own father in such a manner.
“I am so glad you are recovering, papa,” she said, hugging him tightly.
“As am I,” the earl said, and he cupped his daughter's face with the hand that wasn't clutching his wife's to hold himself steady. “Are you certain of this, my dearest Em?”
Em…Alex thought. It was sweet. He liked that. Perhaps one day, when all was done and settled, she might be his Em too.
Deep down, he knew it was more than he might hope for. After all, he had practically forced her into a marriage, ripped her from her family into an altogether unconventional situation, and failed on just about every count to give her what a young lady like her deserved. He was not handsome.
He was not kind. He wasn't even present much of the time, his mind always on business or responsibility. Emmaline’s future, save for the possibility of giving him an heir, was to be a lonely one indeed.
And a small claw of guilt scratched at his insides to think on it. Yet, the dice had been cast.
“I am, papa,” Emmaline told him, and Alex's chest tightened at her next words, certain they were only for her father's benefit. “The duke has been good to me.”
“You ought to stay,” her father insisted. “Stay for tea. Your siblings shall be most eager to see you. Jane has been like an animal with a sore head since you left.”
“Thank you for the offer, My Lord, My Lady,” Alex said, “But I am afraid I am a very busy man and my businesses do not run themselves. I have a great many things to do before the Trentons’ Ball.”
He dipped his head then, making his intention to leave clear before he turned to Emmaline and said, “We really must be going, Your Grace.”
Emmaline's face paled though Alex could not have said whether it was down to the thought of having to leave or the fact he had called her by her new title.
She was paler than ever before as she placed her hand in his and allowed him to guide her from the room. With every step they took, he felt her stiffening beside him. He could not entirely blame her. She was leaving behind everything she had ever known. And yet, oddly, he felt just as fearful as he too stepped into a new world
Though in marrying her, he had secured his dukedom in his father's wishes—for now, at least—he had also saddled himself with an entirely new responsibility, a wife.
And for all he knew, she might very well cost him everything.
Chapter 12
The Trentons’ Ball was unlike any Emmaline had ever experienced. She had been to one of Lord and Lady Trenton's balls before but never upon the arm of a duke. And from the very moment they set foot inside, the whispering and the examining looks began.
It was one thing to be a debutante on your first London Season gossiped about merely for the match you might make and quite another to be gossiped about beside you were being escorted into one of the most prestigious parties of the Season by the scarred duke himself.
Emmaline tried her damnedest not to let the looks or the mutterings get to her, but it was a next to impossible from the moment they were greeted by their hosts.
“Your Grace, such a pleasure for you to honor us with your presence this evening,” Lady Trenton said once her husband had given him his most formal greeting. Emmaline stood meekly at her new husband's side, praying that she could get through this very first meeting. Maybe then the rest would be easier.
But it appeared the duke was to throw her in the deep end as he urged her forward with his fingers wrapped firmly around hers, “My Lord, My Lady, I must thank you for inviting us. I am certain you have met my wife on previous occasions, though by a different name. May I reintroduce you to The Duchess of Westmarch, formerly Lady Emmaline Moreau, daughter of the earl of Monrith.”
The duke's tone was clear, his volume lofty. Emmaline’s throat constricted.
It was not only the Trentons who had heard and looked utterly shocked. All those within eavesdropping distance whipped around as if all their long years of practiced dignity and refinement were washed away in an instant.
“Your Grace, Your Grace,” the nobleman and his wife quickly recovered, bowing and curtsying in turn to them both. “Many congratulations to you both!”
“Thank you, Lord Trenton,” the duke said, dipping his head to the viscount.
“Thank you, My Lord, My Lady,” Emmaline added, struggling to speak past the lump in her throat.
With her new title as duchess, she had attempted to dress the part. Hoping not to make a fool of her new husband and at least look as if she had been prepared for the match, wearing an elegant purple gown and the finest jewels, her hair trussed up in the latest fashion. But as she stood there, the attention of nearly half the room on her and growing by the moment, she felt as if she were lost at sea.
