Daria missed those nuances seemingly every other lady—certainly all her clever sisters—understood. From strangers to sisters, Emmy was the one person who didn’t mock—or in her sisters’ cases, tease—Daria about it.
The tips of her fingers and toes tingled. The sensation pulsed rhythmically until a numbness set in. Her flesh prickled like tiny pins were being pressed to those digits.
“He is here,” she whispered, feeling him before she saw him, before the halo her friend referred to fell above him.
“Let us hope n—” Emmy’s wishing was cut short by the deep thrum that rolled over the packed space. The matching hums of hundreds of guests heralding his arrival. “So much for hoping.”
Together, Daria and Emmy followed the Duke of Argyll’s grand entrance.
And what an entrance it was.
The duke descended the sweeping marble staircase as though it were his own; the crowd parted as he went. The duke’s dark blue tailcoat, tailored to perfection, emphasized a pair of broad shoulders, held proudly back as he walked. There was a purpose to his strides; his agile steps conveyed strength and confidence. Why shouldn’t the gentleman be confident? Ladies swooned,they actually swooned, under the charming grin he so casually bestowed on his way.
From the gold of his buttoned waistcoat to his dazzling even, white smile, everything about the Duke of Argyll glittered. That is what her friend meant earlier.
Emmy followed her thoughts. “There is the shining glow, lighting his way.”
“Yes.” This would be a problem.
A greater one than she’d properly considered, and the ramifications.
“Ouch.” Frowning, she looked at her friend. “Why did you pinch me?”
“I pinched you because I know what you’re thinking.”
“No one knows what I’m—”
“You’re thinking the duke will not marry you,” Emmy said, “but your vision does not fail you, Daria.”
No, it didn’t. There were times when the flash of glimpses she’d have of the future—hers or someone else’s—shifted in slight but meaningful ways. Though the details were never quite sorted until the time actually came, some variation of her seeing came to pass.
“I wish it would. I wish you were wrong about both, because you deserve far more than marrying a cold-hearted rake like Argyll and…and…” Emmy’s voice broke.
Daria shifted her focus from the duke’s grand entrance to her friend’s grief-filled eyes. “I’ve already told you—”
“I know.” Emmy dashed away several tears.
Where everyone thought Daria half-mad at her vision of that to come, Emmy believed. Emmy also didn’t wish to speak on anything but the here and now.
Mindful of her friend’s sorrow, Daria looped her arm through Emmy’s and leaned close. “So, what do we think of my odds at the White’s betting book?”
With both his partners and former partners married, the duke was next to fall. Everyone, even ladies without entry to any of the clubs, knew the increasing wagers placed.
Emmy quirked her lips in a droll smile. “Perhaps given the identity of your future husband, we’d be wise to make our bets at Forbidden Pleasures.”
“But you’re a Caldecott and family through your sister to the Duke of Craven. We’ll place a wager there too.”
They shared a smile, then went back to following the golden duke’s obvious path through the ballroom.
Confusion creased Daria’s brow.
For her part, she just couldn’t sort out Society’s obsession. Why did the gentlemen envy him so? Why did the ladies swoon when he came near? Why when everything about the Duke of Argyll, from his movements to his mannerisms to the occasional winks he flashed, came practiced as a Dibdin number?
No, Daria was the sole person immune to the Duke of Argyll’s charm.
That would be herandEmmy.
Just then, Lady Harriet Darlington, the Season’s Diamond and the girl’s bold mama, stepped into the duke’s path.
