“You are not jesting with me, are you?” Sean asked, looking as if he were attempting to temper his excitement.
Alex was tempted to say that he was, and call Benedict right back. Instead, he gritted his teeth and nodded. “I have held it off for long enough. It is time I showed my face in society again.”
Just saying the words in such a manner—knowing the horrid state of his face—Alex shrank back. Yet, the elation on his friend’s face was evident, helping calm his nerves on the matter.
Sean jumped to his feet, looking almost as excited as he had when Alex announced his friend’s freedom. It had been his first act as the Duke of Westmarch. Having been a servant of the late duke for near on eighteen years, Alex thought his friend more than deserved it.
Though he was grateful and relieved when Sean had agreed to stay on as his business partner and friend. He wasn’t sure how he might have handled what was to come without him at his side.
“Oh, Alex, I never thought this day would come!” Sean exclaimed, holding his ledger to his chest, his thumb removed from between the pages as though all thoughts of business had left his mind.
Alex raised one hand to silence him, rubbing his temple with the other as he warned, “Sean, do lower your voice.”
Though the tonic had begun to take effect, he was not yet prepared for raised voices.
Sean laughed at that and leaned over the desk, “Perhaps that shall teach you not to drink so much while on the floor of the club.”
Alex scoffed in return. They both knew that would never happen. Alex needed the liquor to dull the pain of the patrons’ stares, containing fear or curiosity or even outright horror. Whichever it was, it did not matter, for they never looked at him as if he were anything but a gruesome curiosity in some kind of circus act.
Though a part of that was his own doing, by his playing the part ofThe Devil Lordever since his father’s demise, it still pained him to feel the effects of it. At any time, he could put down the mantle ofThe Devil Lordbut the same could not be said for the scars that had become somewhat of a mask, hiding his true nature.
“I shall try to remember that for next time,” Alex growled at his friend. “Why don’t you go and get yourself prepared. I am certain we both need to bathe and have a shave after these last few weeks.”
He had been taking his title of devil lord to extremes of late, and he suspected his current appearance would not help him in finding a bride, which he had little hope of doing as it was.
“Indeed,” Sean agreed, crossing the room to put the ledger back inside the safe. It was only once he had locked it that he turned to Alex’s desk and promised, “Have no fear, Your Grace, for we shall find you a bride tonight!”
Alex scoffed at that, wishing that he could have such confidence. Too many were dependent upon him to find a bride: Sean, Lorraine, the charities he supported. He had taken to donating half his wealth to help those who suffered at the hands of gambling, drugs and all other manner of horrendous things—things his father had a huge part in.
“I shall not be proposing upon the floor of the Beaufort ballroom!” Alex called after his friend even as he hurried from the room to prepare.
Sean paused at the door and said over his shoulder, “Be that as it may, you can certainly set your sights on the lady.”
He winked devilishly and Alex wondered whether it ought to be him with the title of devil lord.
Sean dipped his head. “Your grace.”
And then he was gone from the room, leaving Alex to wonder,what have I set in motion?
Chapter 3
The ball that Emmaline's father had made mention of was the very first of the Season—Emmaline's very first Season—which for many young women was a time of excitement and joy.
All Emmaline felt as she prepared for the evening in her room, was nerves. They churned in her stomach until she felt sick right to the back of her throat. It was only the knowledge that Jane would be at her side, on her first Season out in society too, that gave her any sense of relief at all.
“How do I look?” Jane asked, standing before the full-length mirror. Twisting this way and that in her peach gown, she was stunning as ever. With pale blonde hair much like Jane’s mother and sisters, she was beautiful and fair. Emmaline wouldn't be surprised if she turned out to be the belle of the ball just as Violet, her sister, had been at her debut.
“You look just like Violet,” Emmaline said, meaning it as a compliment but it only made Jane's face wrinkle in disgust.
“That is the last thing anyone should wish to look like!” Jane protested, turning to face Emmaline with her hands tightened to fists at her sides. “Do you think I should change? The last thing I wish to look like is a sour-faced old trout!”
Emmaline bit back laughter and rose from the edge of the bed where she sat to allow the maid to help her on with her shoes. The blasted things were mighty uncomfortable, and they pinched her toes terribly, but as her stepmother assured her, they were the height of fashion and so they had to be worn.
Every woman must follow society's standards, fashions and trends, and the heavens help them if they didn't. Emmaline had long since learned not to argue on such matters no matter how uncomfortable. There were other things to fight for, like her right to do the business that her father had instilled within her from an early age.
Crossing the room, she said, “Violet is only a year our senior and she is your blood sister. It is only right you should look like her.”
She stopped before Jane and laid her hands upon her sister's shoulders. They might only have been sisters by marriage but to Emmaline, Jane was the closest thing she truly had to a sister. They had shared a room for as long as she could remember and with only eight months between them, they had always been close.
