Marcus’ jaw tightened. “Very well, then.”
A servant chose that moment to open the doors and announce dinner.
Her stomach in knots, Emily had no desire to eat.
Marcus released her arm, and as was appropriate, led the duchess into the dining room.
Her stomach pitched when Lord Quimbly approached her.
She was Lady Blakely, after all. She would be expected to perform such a duty. “My lord.” Emily searched her mind for conversation. This was not one of her strengths, after all, but she had something to prove.
A common miss, a wallflower, might be overwhelmed in her current situation.
A countess would not.
“Is your estate far from here?” Ah, that was innocuous enough. “Such fine weather ought to make your journey home a pleasant one.”
At her words, he chuckled.
“Ah, my lady.” He spoke her title as though it tasted bitter in his mouth. “I cannot in all good conscience abandon my dearest of friends while he lies on his deathbed. I insist upon offering my assistance to the family at this time.” The earl stepped slowly so that the two of them fell behind. “As an outsider, one cannot expect you to understand the nuances of aristocratic alliances. Waters and I are practically brothers. We’ve made promises to one another. Upon his death, those agreements shall pass to his heir. So, you see, I shan’t be departing any time soon.”
“The duke told Lord Blakely you were leaving today,” Emily reminded him. She did not like this man. Why did he act as though it was he, and not the duke, who was lord of the manor?
“The duke is no longer in his right mind. Cholera does that.”
Emily gasped. Cholera?
But that did not make sense. Cholera was a disease mostly contracted by the poor. And when it came on, its victim usually succumbed rapidly.
She wrinkled her brow.
If the duke had cholera, the entire household might be in danger due to the miasma. She’d read several articles on the disease this past winter.
“Is that why you did not bring your wife and daughter with you for this visit, my lord?” Was he not fearful of succumbing to it himself? And if not, why?
“My wife passed two years ago.” The man spoke matter-of-factly. “And my daughter shall reside here soon enough.”
She nearly offered her sympathy but his comment about the daughter confused her.
They entered the dining room and Emily withdrew her hand from his arm. She did not like this man. Not at all.
No doubt, the feeling was mutual.
Sitting at the long table with candles flickering and too much space between the guests to converse amicably, Emily was reminded of Cecily’s first dinner party.
The first night she’d met Marcus.
He’d made her nervous, uncomfortable from that very first meeting. On more than one occasion, he’d exhibited his keen intelligence. He showed loyalty to his friends and eschewed the languid lifestyle of most peers.
She’d admired him.
At the same time, she’d hated him for his roguish behavior. Or had she?
Had she merely hated the fact that he had never turned it upon her?
Glancing down the table at him, the image of the barmaid taunted her once again.
She picked at her food, uninterested in Lady Hartley’s and the duchess’ stilted conversation. They’d done nothing to include her, so why bother?
