“Hmm,” Emily pondered. Up north? She’d go to Scotland if it would save her from pandering to Aunt Gertrude. “He isn’t handsome, is he? I’d feel more confident if I knew he was merely just agreeable to look at. More like me.”
“Oh, Em, why do you persist in denigrating your looks? It’s because of your mother, isn’t it? Just because you don’t look like her doesn’t mean you aren’t attractive in your own way.” Sophia’s pretty blue eyes flashed.
Emily hadn’t been fishing for compliments; she was simply trying to be practical.
“And I’m not saying it to be kind, Emily. You have wideset, soulful brown eyes. Your hair has the prettiest golden glints that sparkle in the sunlight, and your figure is slim and petite with just the right amounts of curves. What more could any man want?”
“But my spectacles, and I’ve no shape—”
“You don’t wear spectacles while making love, Emily. And you most certainly do have some shape to you. You simply hide it beneath drab clothing made up of unflattering fabrics. I’ve an abundance of dresses at Eden’s Court. First thing when we get there, I’m going to ask my maid to alter some to suit you. Like I said, your hair can be styled differently, less severe, and you can stand to learn a few things from Rhoda.”
“Not too much!” Emily couldn’t help but point out. Rhoda’s flirting had gotten them into all of this to begin with.
Sophia laughed but then nodded in agreement. “Agreed.”
“Who else is attending?” Emily didn’t like discussing her failings. Although Sophia’s observations complimented her, Emily doubted their accuracy.
Her mother had well abused her of any notions in this direction long ago.
“Rhoda, her mother, and both of her sisters. Of course, Cecily and Mr. Nottingham, ah, Lieutenant Langdon, Mr. White, Lord Blakely, and Dev’s steward shall even out our numbers. We cannot appear overly festive, mind you, or the locals will be offended. Mrs. Mossant will be the only odd number, but if Cecily’s father chooses to attend, the numbers will be even.”
“What of the duchess? Your mother-in-law?” Emily had wondered about the woman when Sophia first announced the impromptu party. The full year of mourning hadn’t yet been observed.
Sophia frowned. “She keeps mostly to herself, in the dower house. Ever since Harriette was born…” Silence fell as Emily glanced at the baby’s full head of black hair.
Well, at least she wouldn’t pose any difficulties.
“I do hope this works, Soph,” Emily said with a sigh. And then she glanced out the window. “Oh, no. It’s starting to rain.” And as though to punctuate her statement, a flash of lightning flickered through the windows, followed by the deep rumbling sound of thunder.
Peaches jumped beside Emily and then climbed onto her lap and tried, unsuccessfully, to burrow. Poor baby. Emily gathered the pup safely in her arms as Sophia hugged little Harriette tighter and then pounded on the ceiling.
“The gentlemen cannot ride outside in this weather. We can certainly make room for them, can we not?” It wasn’t a question, really. Sophia’s concern for her husband was real.
After marrying Lord Harold last summer and becoming a widow a few weeks later, Sophia’s hasty wedding to the captain—well, the duke now—had seemed to be one of convenience. But Emily and Rhoda surmised that it was not. Prescott doted on Sophia, and Sophia’s eyes turned all soft and dreamy whenever she mentioned Prescott’s name.
The carriage drew to a halt and after a brief argument with the gentlemen, which Sophia won quite handily, the horses were handed off to the two outriders and the door opened. The wind kicked up and the tiny droplets that had been falling transformed into large splatters.
His grace climbed in first, tucking himself beside Sophia, and Lord Blakely followed. Suddenly, the carriage felt as though it had shrunk down by more than half. Emily cuddled Peaches and smashed herself to her side. Even so, Lord Blakely’s presence overwhelmed her.
She’d never been so affected by any other man. She wondered why it had to be him. He was a rake—no, a rogue—and she ought to abhor him. Especially after the exhibition he’d put on in the Crabtrees’ library last week.
Peaches glared at him and let out a few sharp barks.
“Hush, Peaches,” Sophia said lovingly to her dog over the baby’s head. Prescott’s arm had dropped around behind her. The look he sent in the dog’s direction seemed much more effective at quieting the pup.
“You’ve quite the defender, Miss Goodnight.” Lord Blakely made himself comfortable, his legs sprawled so that one of his muscled thighs brushed up against Emily’s. Glancing at his leg, the recollection of his member intruded, most unwelcome, into her thoughts. Not for the first time, she wondered what it felt like, for him to put it inside… She blushed at such an untoward thought.
Resolutely staring straight ahead, she watched as the duke’s fingers played lovingly with one of Sophia’s curls. An image of the two of them stirred her up even more.
Good heavens! What was the matter with her?
“It’s not a long drive.” Sophia smiled reassuringly.
Emily twisted her mouth into what she hoped looked like a smile. Peaches watched Lord Blakely suspiciously. Emily related easily to the little dog.
“Peaches has always been a good judge of character,” she said without thinking.
Lord Blakely chuckled. “Why, Miss Goodnight, are you implying that I lack character?” His eyes crinkled when he spoke. He’d always treated Emily like something of a little sister. When he’d swived Mrs. Cromwell, his eyes had been heavy-lidded. And he’d not smiled at all. He’d scowled throughout the encounter.
