Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(16)

“Emmaline,” Sophie said. “Hurry.”

Emmaline wanted to curse at the interruption. Instead she dipped a hasty curtsy. It wouldn’t do to be seen emerging from a hidden alcove with her betrothed’s closest friend. “My lord, I thank you for your assistance.”

He sketched a short bow. “We shall see you tomorrow evening?”

“Emmaline,” Sophie again urged, this time her tone frantic.

She cast one more look down at the scrap in her hands, then folded it and stuffed it into the reticule dangling from her wrist. “You shall.”

He held up a staying hand. “Oh, my lady, one more thing. I thought you should know, Lord Drake was most impressed by your showing with Lord Whitmore.”

Emmaline smiled as she slipped from behind the curtain





Chapter 8

Dear Lord Drake,

I’m beginning to suspect you are avoiding me.

Ever Yours,

Emmaline

Drake filled a dish with several pieces of toast from the sideboard, and sat down across from his father at the long dining table. “Good morning,” he murmured.

His father lowered the paper he’d been reading. He appeared startled by the salutation. “Uh-good morning, Drake.”

He raised the paper back into place.

Drake picked up the silver knife beside his plate and proceeded to spread blackberry preserves upon his toast.

He looked up at the shuffling form in the doorway. The old butler, Winchester, who’d been around as long as Drake had been alive, entered. He stopped in front of Drake and held out a small, silver platter.

Drake ignored his father, who had set aside his paper, and now stared at him with blatant curiosity. Drake put his knife down and lifted both the sealed envelope and the blade presented by Winchester.

The faint scent of lemons wafted from the thick ivory envelope. Drake inserted the blade under the seal and withdrew two slips of parchment.

One was an autograph.

The other a note.



Dearest Lord Drake,

What kind of intended would I be if I didn’t keep to my word, honor a promise, and present to you that which I offered—a signature from the great Signora Nicolleli?

Ever Yours,

Emmaline



He laughed.

Who knew? His betrothed had a sense of humor.





Chapter 9

My Dearest Lord Drake,

How odd you are traveling the world when I’ve hardly been anywhere at all. With this in mind, I packed up several dresses and provisions and took a very long journey about our Leeds estate. My parents raised a hue and cry when they discovered I’d gone missing. Needless to say, I have been punished and forbidden from going anywhere for the next five years. I say that seems a rather harsh sentence.

Ever Yours,

Emmaline

In May of 1811, at the Battle of Fuentes de Onoro, Marshall Massena had retreated back to Spain to find Wellington had already effectively blockaded Almeida. Though Wellington had been surpassed in manpower, he’d outnumbered the French in artillery. With the French failure at Fuentes de Onoro, Massena had been unwilling to attack because of Wellington’s strong position. Subsequently, Wellington had made the assumption that the French army of Portugal had been sufficiently weakened and discounted his enemy. The end result had been Wellington’s retreat.

Both, Wellington and Drake, had learned something very important at Fuentes de Onoro—never underestimate one’s enemy.

In this case, it wasn’t an enemy per se…but an opponent, whom he happened to be betrothed to.

No place was safe from Lady Emmaline. There was no sanctuary. When staring down the inevitable face of defeat, the only logical option had been retreat.

Drake scanned Lord and Lady Wilcox’ ballroom for the woman who’d occupied his thoughts for the better part of the evening.

From the time their betrothal contract had been signed, Drake had tried his damnedest to avoid any interaction with Lady Emmaline. Instead, he’d relegated her to the role of un-aging child, and prevented her from becoming a woman to whom he had obligations.

As a result, he knew next to nothing about her. He didn’t know her likes or dislikes. He didn’t know what made her laugh. What she read, or even if she enjoyed reading. He didn’t know if she had a personality. Until now.

Drake discovered Lady Emmaline was called Em by those closest to her. He learned her only real friend was Miss Sophie Winters. He noted Emmaline sat with Miss Winters at most events, smiling and chatting, all the while seeming oblivious to the pitying stares directed her way.

And she had a sense of humor. He thought about the note she’d sent round—the same note that had put an immediate end to his affair with the lovely Signora Valentina Nicolleli. Following the whole peculiar exchange with Emmaline, he would never have been able to carry on with the voluptuous mezzo-soprano without hearing his intended’s teasing voice.

Just then, Drake spied the brown coiffure of a young lady moving through a sea of guests. He held his breath, waiting for her to turn, then realized, upon closer inspection, that her hair did not possess the same deep chocolate hues.

“Are you looking for someone in particular, my lord?” An amused voice drawled over his shoulder.

He started, and swung around.

“Lady Emmaline.”

***