Emily dipped into a deep curtsey. Such a different sort of duchess than Sophia! The woman carried herself as though she’d been born to the role.
The duchess’ mouth tightened into a hard line, almost causing Emily to drop her gaze. Even in one of her newer gowns, she knew she would not be considered any prize.
She’d known this all along. They would see her plain brown eyes, mousy-colored hair, and unimpressive figure.
And her spectacles. Of course, his family would not see past her dratted spectacles.
Rather than speak, the duchess dipped her head slightly.
“And my sister, Lady Hartley, Corinne, this is Lady Blakely, Emily.” Emily couldn’t remember any time when Marcus had stood beside her like this, acknowledging her position in his life.
She could almost believe herself a wife.
Only… many aristocratic marriages were no different than hers.
“His grace is resting. I’m sure you remember Lord Quimbly.” Marcus’ mother gestured toward the stooped gentleman beside her.
Quimbly. Quimbly… Where had Emily heard that name before?
Marcus stiffened beside her and barely nodded. His grip on her elbow tightened. Emily stifled the urge to comfort him.
Oddly enough, she wished she could comfort his mother as well. She’d been estranged from Marcus, too. This family had experienced too much bitterness. They needed to forgive one another.
But Emily could not succumb to Marcus’ needs right now. Instead, she stepped away from him, both physically and emotionally.
Marcus presented Mr. Nottingham, whom the family was already familiar with, and Mr. Nottingham presented Cecily.
Lady Hartley and the duchess exchanged an enigmatic glance.
Emily wondered if they knew Cecily was of the merchant class. What would they think of Emily’s own mother?
“Beatrice will show you to your chambers.” The duchess indicated a middle-aged housekeeper hovering nearby.
“Oh, we are not staying.” Cecily grimaced in apology at what must have been a pained expression on Emily’s part. “We’ll be staying—”
“We’re going to travel on to April Downs,” Mr. Nottingham interrupted his wife.
Cecily’s expression softened upon locking eyes with her husband.
Seeing this kind of love, seeing Cecily’s husband defer to her wishes, nearly brought another round of tears to Emily’s eyes.
Not all couples entered into marriage without love.
Feeling exposed, feeling like an imposter, Emily shivered when she noticed the withering stare Lord Quimbly pinned upon her. And then she remembered who he was. He’d been beside the woman Marcus had been betrothed to. Her father. He must be Marcus’ betrothed’s father.
Of course, the man hated her! Probably more so than Marcus’ father would.
She. Emily Goodnight… er Roberts… had usurped the man’s daughter from ever becoming a duchess.
No laughing matter, that.
Emily schooled her features to return a pleasant façade. She wouldn’t cower. She wouldn’t hide.
Meaningless conversations swirled around them as Quimbly took hold of the duchess’ arm and led them into the manor.
Marcus looked around but before he could take hold of Emily, his sister stepped forward and wound her hand around his arm.
Emily glanced around nervously, suddenly feeling quite as though she did not belong. Although not an unfamiliar emotion, she hated that she felt this way.
