The Historical Collection 2018: The Duchess Deal / From Duke Till Dawn / His Sinful Touch / His Wicked Charm

One woman in England had done so. Social-climbing Miss Worthing, of all ladies, had declined Ashbury’s hand. The more Emma ruminated on it, the less sense it made.

But that wasn’t the question of the day.

“If only I had your good sense, Emma.” Davina’s voice quivered. “What an idiot I was to land in such a situation.”

“You were not an idiot.”

“I still don’t understand how it could have happened. I took every precaution against conceiving.”

Emma lowered her voice. “Do you mean the gentlemen withdrew, before he . . . finished the act?”

“No.”

“A sponge, then.”

“A sponge? What would I do with a sponge?”

“So he wore a French letter?”

Davina gave her a blank look. “What’s that?”

Emma was nonplussed. “Precisely what precautions did you take?”

“All the usual ones. After it was done, I jumped up and down for ten minutes. Sniffed pepper to make myself sneeze three times, and drank a full teacup of vinegar. I did everything right.”

Emma pressed her lips together. If this was Davina’s idea of contraception, perhaps the girl was just a little bit of an idiot. Nevertheless, she shouldn’t pay for one mistake for the rest of her life.

“The important thing is that you have a friend in me. To start, I’ve drawn up some patterns for your wardrobe, to conceal the fact that you’re increasing. I’ll have Fanny send word when they’re ready. Beyond that . . .” Emma took the girl’s arm, drawing her close as they walked. “The duke says I’m to have a house of my own in Oxfordshire. I’ll invite you for a nice long visit.” Assuming, of course, that Emma could travel there herself. “You can stay with me in the country until you’ve given birth.”

“Are you certain the duke won’t object?”

“He won’t even know. It’s a marriage of convenience. All he needs is an heir. Once I’m with child, he will want nothing to do with me.” Emma smiled. “We will be a pair, the two of us. Sitting with our swollen ankles propped on the tea table, gorging ourselves on sweetmeats and knitting tiny caps.”

“Oh, it sounds perfect. But what will happen afterward?”

“That will be your decision. But if you’re set on finding a family to take the child in, perhaps we might find one nearby. Then you could visit whenever you liked. Our children could play together.”

Davina clasped Emma’s wrist. “I can’t believe you would do this for me.”

“It’s no imposition. You can’t know how happy it makes me to help you this way.”

“Oh, but I shall need Papa’s permission first. That’s the only snag.”

“Surely he wouldn’t deny you the chance to visit a duchess.”

“Well . . .” Davina looked hesitant. “It’s merely that—”

“I’m not the usual sort of duchess,” Emma finished. And for that matter, her husband wasn’t the usual sort of duke. He hadn’t been seen publicly in years, and then he’d wed a seamstress.

“There will be a certain amount of curiosity,” Davina said.

Curiosity. What a charitable way of saying gossip.

Emma knew the unkind things ladies said about one another. In the dressmaking shop, they’d spoken in front of her as though she didn’t exist.

“But surely the duke will expose you to society,” Davina said. “He’ll have to introduce you at court. From there, simply ask him to take you to balls and the opera and dinners.”

Hah. To be sure, Emma could simply ask him. And he would simply say no.

This plan of hers was becoming more and more complicated. In order to help Davina she must either get pregnant immediately—which fate and felines were conspiring to prevent—or convince the duke to allow her a holiday despite it. Meanwhile, she must make herself a respectable duchess in the eyes of the ton, so that Mr. Palmer would allow his daughter to join her.

It all felt rather hopeless.

“What if your father won’t grant you permission?” she asked.

“I suppose I shall be forced to run away,” Davina said softly. “I’m the only child, and Papa wants me to marry a well-placed gentleman who can take over his business affairs. If I’m ruined, his plans will be ruined, too. Can you understand?”

“Yes. I can.”

Emma understood perfectly. She, too, had adored her father. But when she’d needed him most, he’d chosen to protect appearances rather than protecting her.

She refused to let the poor girl face this alone. Though Emma’s own situation had been different, it had felt no less dire. She still carried the cruel reminders: Some were visible, while others lurked deep inside. There was no way to erase the pain in her past, but she had a chance to save this young woman’s future.

No matter what it took, she would find a way.

And her best strategy, at the moment, was to go home and entice—or drag, if need be—her husband to her bed.

“Your Grace, would you describe yourself as clumsy?” Mary asked the question as she arranged Emma’s hair for dinner.

“No,” Emma answered. “Not particularly.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.”

“Why is it too bad?”

“Well, I was thinking . . . what if you tripped, and the duke had to catch you? That would surely encourage his affection. Or spill wine on your dress, and he would whip off his cravat to mop it up.” Before Emma could respond, Mary perked with another idea. “Ooh, you might even turn your ankle. Then he would have to carry you. That would be romantic.”

“I’m not going to turn my ankle.”

“You don’t think you could try? Even just a little stumble?”

“No.”

“Never mind it. We’ll think of something else. I was pondering, what if you went up to the attic . . . and then Mr. Khan sent the duke up to the attic . . . and then you and the duke were locked inside the attic, together. Accidentally.”

“Mary. You need to abandon these ideas. The duke is not going to fall in love with me—not even in a locked attic. In fact, he’s rather put out with me at the moment.”

Or at least he was put out with her cat.