Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(43)

Emmaline mustered another weak attempt at a laugh. The sound emitted was more that of a bull-frog who’d downed a stone instead of a fly. She closed her mouth.

Oh dear, this had gone from bad to worse.

“I urge you to remember to whom you are speaking,” Sebastian said between clenched teeth.

Drake squared his shoulders. “Oh? And who am I speaking to?”

Sebastian’s words emerged as a silken threat. “Who am I? Why, I’m the lady’s guardian, of course. One word from me and this,” he gave a wave of his hand, “game you are playing with my sister is at an end.”

Emmaline gasped. Before she could muster a response, Sebastian neatly took her hand, and steered her from the dance-floor.





Chapter 19

My Dearest Drake,

Forgive me for not writing. I fell from a tree and my arm was dislocated. It was dreadfully painful. I now understand why mother said ladies should not climb trees. So, I have climbed my last tree.

Ever Yours,

Emmaline

She wished it were raining.

And she hated the rain.

But today the sun’s bright rays were so abundantly, well, bright, and it was making it difficult for her to remain buried in her cocoon of covers, pretending it was still time to be abed.

Anything so she didn’t have to face the inevitable confrontation with her brother.

After the tumultuous exchange between Drake and Sebastian that previous evening, Sebastian had chosen to let the matter rest. Emmaline had been dealt a reprieve. Alas, today was the day she visited London Hospital.

Emmaline sighed.

The last thing she wanted to endure was a closed carriage ride with Sebastian. She considered postponing her trip until tomorrow. That would allow her a brief reprieve from—

“My lady?”

Her maid, Grace, hovered in the doorway.

Emmaline waved her in.

Grace hurried over to Emmaline’s armoire. “His Grace wanted me to remind you of your visit to London Hospital.”

Emmaline scrubbed her hand across her eyes. “Was that all?” If she knew her brother as well as she believed she did, then there was certainly more.

Grace’s hand, which had been ruffling through Emmaline’s row of day gowns, paused. “He also instructed me to tell you—” she cleared her throat, “—that you couldn’t hide in your room forever. His Grace’s, words, of course.”

“Of course.”

Grace returned her focus to her efforts at hand. She apparently would rather choose to ignore Emmaline’s stinging sarcasm.

Oh, he was an insufferable bother.

Tossing the covers aside, she flung her feet over the side of the bed and jumped to the floor. “Help me dress, Grace.”

The ever diligent Grace was already crossing the room with an ivory silk organza creation draped over her arms.

Emmaline allowed her maid to assist her out of her nightgown and into the lovely gown. She stood in front of the floor-length ornate silver mirror, trimmed in roses not really seeing Grace’s final efforts.

What could she possibly say to Sebastian that would make any sense? How could she brush aside his very legitimate concerns of her betrothal, when she herself saw merit in them? In four months she would be one and twenty, and another year would be behind her, leaving her still unwed.

Grace cleared her throat. “My lady?”

Emmaline jumped. “Ah, yes, thank you, Grace.”

And because Sebastian was correct and she couldn’t stay in her room forever, she left the sanctuary of her chambers.

She found him waiting for her at the base of the stairs with a book tucked under one arm, and checking his watch fob.

He spied her coming and slipped the piece back into his jacket. “I took the liberty of selecting your reading selection for the men today,” he said by way of greeting.

He held up the maroon leather volume up for her inspection.

She read the title. “Byron,” she murmured. “I thought you found all poetry to be rubbish.”

She accepted his arm and accompanied him to the carriage. He waved off the groom and handed her up himself.

“I decided to delve a bit deeper to see what it was that so fascinates you…about poetry, that is. I maintain my earlier position. Most of the stuff is useless drivel.” Emmaline was astute enough to detect the subtle nuances of her brother’s casual conversation. She remained silent. “But then there is Byron. Rather smart, if not an odd fellow. Do you know what he once said?” Sebastian didn’t wait for Emmaline to answer. “I do detest everything which is not perfectly mutual.”

Emmaline’s gaze snapped out the window.

Folding her arms, she braced for the onslaught of his lecture. She waited. And waited….

But he didn’t add anything further.

Nary a word.

Somehow that unspoken disappointment was far greater than if he’d come out and reprimanded her.

Sebastian earned points for not making any mention of Lord Drake on their carriage ride to London Hospital. He even dutifully carried the basket and books into the ward without being asked, pausing beside various hospital beds to speak with the soldiers.

He took his leave, and Emmaline finally settled into her comfortable seat beside Lieutenant Jones.

Jones greeted her with a slight inclination of his head. “My lady.” He motioned to the empty spot beside his bed. “What did you bring?” He nodded to the bundle in her hands.