The Reluctant Duke (A Seabrook Family Saga) (7 page)

The sisters and
Emma curtsied––all three at the same time. Then Emma found each of her arms
linked to a sister, and she was led toward the grand staircase. “Call me Bella
as we will be sisters now,” said the older of the two, “and call my sister
Amelia. Come along with us. Let’s get you settled in your room. I, for one,
want to hear everything about Yankee men and the Native Americans.”

The room they
ushered her into made her smile. It was not quite as large as her bedroom at
home in New Bedford. The furnishings were small, feminine, and exactly to her
taste, perfectly decorated for her. And it was
not
pink––that was
refreshing. The walls were covered in a light blue and cream striped silk. A
thick cream rug hugged the wood floors. A blue brocade chair sat in front of
the fireplace. There was a mahogany wardrobe against one wall near a small
writing desk that could double as a dressing table.

The four-poster
bed was draped with beautiful blue silk coverings and numerous pillows. Hanging
above the bed was a portrait of her parents. “Oh, my.” Her hand covered her
pounding heart and tears stung her eyes at the duke’s thoughtfulness. She was convinced
it was his doing. Who else could have brought it here from where it had hung in
her papa’s bedchamber? Emma would have to remember to have a private word with
him that evening to thank him.

Emma glanced at
the bed again and suddenly realized how weary she was. And the thought of
sleeping in a real bed, in a home, instead of a rocking ship, had her sighing
with longing. Even though she had been on land for several hours, she still
experienced the rocking of the ship. But she could not be rude to her new
sisters who were making themselves comfortable on her bed, their eyes wide and
waiting.

Bella and Amelia
were the exact opposites. Amelia had deep brown hair and dark, exotic eyes.
With her creamy pale skin, Emma could picture men dropping to their knees
begging for her favors.

Bella had
beautiful silky blond hair and blue eyes. When she looked at Bella’s eyes it
was unsettling as they mirrored those of Bella’s brothers. It was the duke she
pictured and thought about most as she compared the family.

“What would you
like to know?” Emma asked as she sat down at the foot of the bed. She prayed
her racing heart would settle down soon.

Just as Bella
was about to speak, their mother swept into the room, with two muscular
servants managing Emma’s trunk. A lady’s maid followed on their heels. The
dowager duchess clapped her hands to get their attention. “Girls, Emma needs
her privacy. She must be positively exhausted from her travels. She needs rest.
You can spend time with her later this evening. Now, go.”

They said their
good-byes and promised to come back later that night for ‘girl talk.’

“Emma, this is
your lady’s maid, Rosie. She is competent and has been in our employ for…” The
dowager threw up her hands. “Well, forever. Her mother is my maid, and I assure
you, she has had the best training. She will take good care of you. Now, I will
leave you to rest before the evening meal.”

The dowager
duchess paused at the door and glanced over her shoulder. “If you need
anything, Rosie will help you.”

Emma did
nothing but yawn as Rosie helped undress her down to her chemise and tucked her
in bed under the rich, silky covers. The last thing Emma remembered before
falling into a dreamless and utterly exhausted sleep was the duke’s scowling
face and his penetrating eyes as they had appeared their last time together.

***

“Miss Emma,
wake up,” Rosie murmured as she threw open the doors to the wardrobe. The
rustling of taffetas, silks, and satins pulled Emma from sleep. “It’s time to
dress for dinner. There will only be family this evening so nothing formal. How
about this lovely pink evening dress?”

Emma sat up,
swung her legs over the side of the bed, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
“Oh, I cannot. That is not mine.” She shuffled to the wardrobe and gently
fingered the exquisite and expensive clothing hanging there, everything from
day dresses to ball gowns to riding habits. Where had they all come from? She
had nothing so fine in her trunk. She’d left all her lovely clothes in America
because she had outgrown them.

“Rosie, where
did all these come from?” she asked as her pulse soared. Though not hers, she
wished she had time to try them on one by one and parade before the mirror.

“His Grace,”
Rosie replied.

His Grace.
Emma remembered his scowl and quickly snatched her hand back from fingering the
pink taffeta evening dress Rosie had recommended. Emma frowned. How on earth
had he accomplished all this? What purpose did he have that had him dressing
her so fine? Her heart slammed into her chest.

Of course it
made perfect sense.
The duke needed to marry her off, and how could he
accomplish that with her wearing the less-than-stylish clothes she had brought
with her? If she arrived in London drawing rooms or attended balls wearing her
own clothing, she would be laughed at. And not only herself––the whole Seabrook
family would be shamed as well.

Her eyes
scanned the room. While she slept, Rosie had certainly been busy. The dressing
table overflowed with bottles of creams and perfumes, hair combs, ribbons, and
pins. Emma smelled a perfume bottle full of a wonderfully light jasmine scent.
How did he know she’d like this?

Emma sauntered
over to the chest of drawers and opened one after another and found
undergarments worthy of a queen. Without a thought, she fingered the chemises
and nightshifts made from such fine muslins and linens they would caress her
skin like a tender lover’s hands. Where had that thought come from? She blushed
down to her toes at the thought the duke had ordered each of these feminine
garments with her in mind.
Surely not. That would be most improper.

“Rosie, the
pink dress it will be.” For a moment she considered wearing one of her black
dresses, but she did not want to anger the duke. He had seemed positively put
out when they had arrived today, and she would just as soon not attract his
ire. If she were smart, she would stay far away from him. How could she stay
away when she owed him a thank you for her parent’s portrait? Well, after she
spoke to him she would stay quiet and blend in with his sisters, and quite
possibly, with any luck, he would then forget about her.

And forget
about his duty to marry her off.

Emma sucked in
her breath, partly because Rosie, at that precise moment, pulled tightly on the
stays to her corset. Also, she feared if she continued to upset him, the duke
would actually thrust her off into marriage without consulting her feelings or
thoughts on the subject.

Oh,
fiddlesticks––surely she would have time to adjust to being part of the
Seabrook family before he sent her off to strangers? The dowager duchess seemed
to be a sensitive and caring mother. Perhaps she would become an ally.

An hour later
Emma descended the stairs, her hands gripping the railing for dear life and her
heart beating in triple time against her rib cage. The panic threatening to
engulf her almost won out, but then she caught sight of Sebastian waiting at
the bottom of the stairs. The wide, welcoming smile plastered across his
handsome face soothed her.

“Emma…” He
bowed most gallantly. “My dear, you are a vision of loveliness.”

As she
approached the last step, he took her ungloved hand—oh, no, she had forgotten
her gloves—and raised it up to his lips. Right before he would have brushed her
knuckles he met her eyes, his deep blue ones twinkling with mischief. Then
Sebastian boldly turned her hand over, placing a warm, moist kiss on her pulse
point. She shivered down to her silk-slipper toes. Nobody had ever been so bold
with her before.

Emma would have
to watch herself around this handsome devil.

Plucking her
hand from his grasp, she curtsied. “Sebastian, your flattery is wasted on me.
Are we not supposed to be family? Are you not my brother now?”

That brought a
burst of laughter from him. “I would be remiss, as a brother, if I did not
compliment my sisters on their beauty.”

A throat
cleared.
Oh, no.

“Excuse me,”
Wentworth said flatly from the doorway leading into the drawing room. “The
servants are anxious to serve the first course. And I would prefer my meal to
be hot when I eat it. Do you two think you could join us sometime this hour?”

The younger
brother held out his arm. “Emma, may I have the pleasure of escorting you to
dinner?”

“For Christ’s
sake, Sebastian, this is not a formal affair. I’m quite sure Miss Hamilton can
find her way to the dining room table without your help.”

How rude. Her
papa had always told her there was no excuse for rudeness. And she’d done
nothing wrong. If he’d seen Sebastian kiss her hand, that was something to
speak to Sebastian about, not punish her for.

Emma shot
Wentworth a scathing look, raised her chin, took Sebastian’s arm, and said
sweetly, “I would be honored.” She would thank the duke later for her papa’s
portrait…when he demonstrated some civility.

***

For the love of
God, had the two of them plotted against him? And had she been flirting with
Sebastian? She’d certainly pulled her gloveless hand from Sebastian’s quickly
when she realized he was there. Thomas would not put it past his brother––but
Emma? He sighed, letting his breath out slowly as he fought to control the
anger churning inside him, looking for an outlet.

Dinner was a
disaster. Not that anyone else noticed. Thomas sat at the end of the table
facing his mother. His sisters sat on one side, facing Sebastian and Emma. The
courses came and went. Thomas didn’t taste a thing. Even so, when the servants
came to take his plates away they were empty. He didn’t remember putting the
food in his mouth, never mind chewing and swallowing. He caught his mother’s
frown when his glass of wine was refilled again. Exactly how many times had it
been refilled? Damned if he knew.

All Thomas knew
for sure was that he felt out of place sitting at his own table, in his own
house, while the conversation traveled from one person to another – never
including him. Their voices resonated around the room, and not once did he
grasp what was being said. Laughter came and went, and he had no idea what was
so amusing.

At one point,
all eyes peered at him and an uncomfortable silence descended around the table.
His mother’s voice broke the spell. “I say, Thomas, why don’t we retire to the
drawing room for sherry?”

“Why, yes,
excellent idea. Why did I not think of it?”

Thomas entered
the drawing room last, skipped the sherry, and poured a generous amount of
brandy into a crystal glass before walking over to the chess table.

“Sebastian, how
about a game?” he asked.

“Why, brother,
I would love to.”

Once Sebastian
sat down opposite him Thomas pinned him with his eyes. “What do you think you
are doing?” he whispered, for their ears only.

“What do you
mean?” his brother asked.

“You are
flirting with Emma like some hound chasing the scent of a bitch in heat.”

His brother
flinched. “Lower your voice. Do you want everyone to hear––including Emma––that
you just compared our new sister to a female dog in heat?”

“I know what I
just said.” Thomas’s voice rose several octaves, and everyone’s eyes fell on
him. Just what he did not need. He’d embarrassed himself in front of his whole
family––and her. How the bloody hell was he supposed to relax in his own home
with her everywhere? And why the bugger did he buy her jasmine perfume when one
whiff of it sent half his blood to his head and the other…well…down?

“Excuse me.”
Thomas stood, knocking over his chair in the process. “I’m going out.”

Thomas stalked
from the room and barked an order to Giles. “Have the coach brought around.”

***

As Thomas
entered Brooks’s sometime later, he found Myles sitting with their friend
Amesbury and––his heart sank as he recognized the other man––Lord Templeton,
Viscount Riverton. The lord’s gossipy tongue rivaled that of the aging Lady
Shrewsbury. Thomas would swear the lives of people like Templeton and Lady
Shrewsbury revolved around digging up scandal amongst the citizens of the
haut
ton.
More than that, they considered it their duty to spread the word when
they found it.

The two of them
had personally ruined many reputations, for some warranted, for others not.
They were the cause of many Gretna Green weddings and at least one suicide,
that of a prominent captain in His Majesty’s Royal Navy. And innumerable young
maids cried in their pillows at night after finding their name whispered by
their lips, then plastered in the gossip rags for all to read.

There was a
time Thomas’s family’s name had graced the print in the gossip rags––but not
anymore. God help them, if he ever found his name or that of one of his
siblings as the topic of conversation between the two battle-axes. All the more
reason he had to keep Hamilton’s secret and the circumstances of his death
confined to Myles, Amesbury, and himself. His two best friends could be trusted
with his life.

Amesbury
spotted him first and motioned him over. “Wentworth, finally you arrive. I was
beginning to think you had forgotten about our meeting of the minds. Riverton
just stopped by to pay his respects.” Amesbury turned to the viscount. “If you
will excuse us, the three of us have urgent business matters to discuss.”

Riverton,
startled to be dismissed so rudely, bowed and said his farewells with due
haste.

“Amesbury, are
you trying to make an enemy?” Thomas groaned as he took the viscount’s recently
vacated seat.

Amesbury raised
his brows. “Hardly. I need help and I don’t need Mr. Gossip King hearing.”