They’d met six years earlier when she’d made her debut. She’d been sixteen and he’d been eighteen, according to Debrett’s. It made sense to look him up after returning home from that hellish evening, if for no other reason than to find out who she was dealing with.
Her parents had introduced them. Stratton had mumbled something about a dance and she had agreed to partner with him. After all, he’d been a duke’s heir and she had to admit she’d thought him rather dashing. It was unlikely he’d been similarly impressed by her, for rather than showing excitement, or even a tiny hint of pleasure, he’d looked like he might be sick. A curt nod had followed and then he’d stormed off.
He'd not appeared again until two hours later when it was time for their set. Her interest in partnering with him had been much reduced by then, and it vanished completely when he stepped down on her feet. Not once, twice, or even thrice, but a grand total of thirteen times, leaving her toes so achy and swollen she’d had to sit for the rest of the evening.
One might forgive such an occurrence, and she had. Not everyone was equally gifted when on the dance floor. She herself had struggled with her instructors, so she sympathized. What she did not expect was for it to be the first incident in a series of many.
Keeping to the shorter path that led to the left, she continued walking while Heidi occasionally stopped to sniff. When the dog lingered too long, Emily gently pulled on the leash and the two continued.
Not counting today, she had encountered Stratton on five additional occasions during the last six years. Each had left her increasingly certain that he was best avoided. He must have felt the same way, for they managed to steer completely clear of each other for nearly a year before crossing paths at the Farthington’s ball last week.
The fall their encounter had led to was so incredibly typical, she ought to have seen it coming. It was no different from when he’d turned while attempting to move a chair, only to use said chair to knock her into a fountain. There was also the time he had been carrying two large glasses of punch through a crowded room. She’d been coming toward him from the opposite side, their eyes had met, and he’d promptly tripped, spilling the punch all over the front of her white gown.
She also recalled him rushing to help her once when she’d dropped her dance card. Only she’d bent to pick the card up first, bringing her head immediately under his. Not knowing how close he’d come, she’d risen, knocking her head against his so hard her teeth had rattled.
And then there was the time when he’d happened upon her in the park. They’d both been out riding and he’d pulled his horse alongside hers, as one does when one meets an acquaintance and tries to be polite.
Except, he somehow managed to get his stirrup caught in her riding habit. How such a thing was possible she’d never know, but the fact remained that as he rode off, she was pulled from her mount. The only blessing was that it was early morning and that no one besides her groom had borne witness to the embarrassing ordeal.
Finally, there was the Vauxhall Garden incident.
She shuddered.
Her only wish had been to have a nice outing with her parents. Buthe’dbeen there. Ready as always to ruin everything for her.
She and her parents had gathered to watch the cascade – the waterfall spectacle Vauxhall was so renowned for. The moment she’d seen Stratton approach, she’d moved closer to where her father stood. Unfortunately, Stratton had not seemed the least bit deterred by this. He’d simply waited for the show to end before asking Papa for permission to have a private word with his daughter.
Looking back, Papa had likely believed the conversation would lead to a courtship. He’d allowed it without hesitation, provided Stratton and Emily stayed within view. Stratton had agreed and led Emily farther along the path, to a more secluded spot.
He’d told her how happy he was to see her again and that she looked lovely. All while keeping his gaze on anything other than her. He’d fumbled with something in his pocket and once he retrieved it, he’d launched into a lengthy apology relating to the horse-riding incident. She’d barely understood one word since he kept on losing his focus, interrupting himself and muttering, wrestling with the item he’d found in his pocket.
It turned out to be a box of cheroots. He’d offered her one but she’d declined.
“I accept your apology,” she’d told him, watching him strike a flint and light his cheroot. “Accidents happen.”
He’d met her gaze and something in his eyes drew her nearer. The smile that followed had been so charmingly bashful she’d rather wished things might have been different between them. But then he’d said, “Unfortunately, you seem to be particularly bad luck for me.”
The statement, spoken with an underlying hint of irritation, had set her back on her heels.Shewas bad luck forhim? If anything, it had to be the other way around. She’d spun away without saying a word, too angry with him to speak. Except he’d leapt around her as if attempting to stop her from leaving, but in doing so, he’d brushed the cheroot he held between his fingers against her swirling skirts.
Emily hadn’t even realized what had happened at first. It was Mama who’d called to her about smoking. She’d shaken her head, insisting she wasn’t, only to realize her gown had caught fire.
Since then, she’d been very careful to avoid the Duke of Stratton at all costs.
Still, she felt bad for Peter. It had seemed as though walking Heidi would likely have given him joy. Emily was sorry to have denied that, even if she’d done so for a good reason.
She sighed and started her homeward trek. With the Season well and truly over except for the occasional party, avoiding Stratton for the rest of the year should not be too hard.
Much to her surprise, she realized she was wrong to suppose such a thing when a letter arrived that evening immediately after supper. She was having tea with her mother in the parlor when Larrow, the butler, brought it to her on a silver salver.
“From the Duke of Stratton, my lady.”
Emily stared at the missive, half afraid to touch it in case the duke had somehow managed to poison it. She’d not put it past him.
“Go on,” said Mama. “Take it.”
Emily took a deep breath and picked up the letter. It had been neatly folded and sealed with a shiny blob of crimson wax bearing the Stratton insignia. A bold script on the front bore her name.
Much to Emily’s astonishment, her heart began beating slightly faster. She fiddled with the paper while taking deep breaths in an effort to steady her pulse.
