Excerpt from Chapter One:
The knock on the door interrupted her father’s reply—silence. “Come in.”
Wilcox stood in the doorway, his frown more pronounced. “Messrs. Tremayne and Bayfield have agreed to call again, though neither produced a proper calling card.”
That was curious—mayhap they were not fortune hunters. “What of the third gentleman?”
Instead of answering right away, the butler motioned her closer. Worry filled her. Wilcox had never gestured to her in that manner that she could recall. Something must be amiss—aside from the fact that Father was dead, and she was now ward to a duke.
“What has happened?”
The butler pitched his voice low, so as not to be overheard. Emily did wonder who else, but one of the footmen, would be near enough to hear their conversation. “Mr. Garahan refuses to leave, and in fact insists upon an immediate audience with you, Miss Montrose.”
“You will kindly tell that rude gentleman that I am not receiving callers, no matter how insistent they may be.”
“Ye’ll want to amend yer last statement, lass, as I’ve been sent by His Grace, the Duke of Wyndmere.”
Her lips parted at the sight of the tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, dark-eyed, handsome man garbed in black standing just behind Wilcox. For a heartbeat she wondered if he were a dark angel who’d come to take her to her parents. Ridiculous thought.
She gathered her gumption and replied, “I do not care who sent you! A gentleman would never venture past the entryway until and unless he were bidden to do so.” When the handsome man’s lips twitched, and the hint of a dimple winked at her, she stiffened. “Your manners are deplorable.”
“I beg yer pardon, Miss Montrose. I should be warning ye, I never claimed to be a gentleman.” His pleasant expression disappeared, and a neutral one took its place. “I’m here on business for His Grace. I’m thinking ye’ll be wanting to hear what the duke requires of ye.”
“I have never met the duke, and refuse to bow to his dictates before I meet the man!”
Mr. Garahan’s jaw clenched, and she expected harsh words in answer to her statement, but he surprised her. “Well now, part of me shared duty—”
“Shared?” she interrupted, knowing it was rude of her. “With whom?”
“Lieutenant Tremayne and Captain Bayfield,” he answered.
She was digesting that information, and their rank, when it hit her. “Did you say duty?”
“I was hoping ye’d have heard the news from yer da’s solicitor by now.”
Emily knew then what he had hoped. “That the duke has proclaimed me as his ward?”
Mr. Garahan shook his head, and she noticed strands of fiery red nestled among the dark brown hair that brushed against his collar. Her mind drifted as she wondered, would his hair feel silky and warm?
The clearing of his throat to get her attention had her pushing that inappropriate thought aside. For a brief moment she hoped what the solicitors had told her was a mistake. But the man standing before her was proof that there was no such error.
He corrected her assumption. “’Tis yer da who asked it of His Grace. I’ve a note for ye from Wyndmere Hall.”
She gripped her gown with both hands to keep from snatching the missive from him and ripping it to shreds. Doing so would not change the contents, or instructions in her father’s will, but it would certainly make her feel better.
“Ye may want to loosen yer grip, lass, lest ye wrinkle yer gown.”
Appalled that the man would mention something so personal as her clothing, or bring attention to the anxiety that had her by the throat—evidenced in her grip, as he put it—she glared at him. “You will kindly remember to address me as Miss Montrose.”
He remained stubbornly silent. Would he be this difficult to deal while waiting for the duke to arrive? A second, more appalling, thought filled her with dread: if the duke were not in London, would he expect her to put herself in the hands of Mr. Garahan and travel to meet him? Did the duke have a country residence?
Ridiculous. Of course he had a country residence, and probably a handful of other estates. How would she handle a journey that would no doubt take a couple of days, at the very least, in the company of strangers? I’d have Helen, my maid, she remembered, so she would not be totally alone. Mayhap they could take one of the footmen with them, too.
“And I’ll thank you to keep your opinions regarding my person to yourself, Mr. Garahan.”
He raised an eyebrow but did not reply, simply held out the missive with the ornate wax seal, waiting for her to grasp it.
She dug deep to snuff out the anger flaring to life inside of her, knowing her temper would have her speaking when she should be silent, and in a tone of voice her father warned her, more than once, was far from circumspect. Drawing in a deep breath, she slowly exhaled and accepted the missive from the duke. The tips of her fingers brushed against Garahan’s. Tingles spread to her palm and all the way to her heart.
That had never happened before! Unsure of what it meant or what to think, she buried the feeling. She needed to appear in control, so that Garahan and the others would not assume she didn’t have the wherewithal to handle the situation she’d been thrust into. In a more conciliatory tone, she thanked him.
“Sure and ye’d be welcome, lass.”
“Miss,” she corrected him.
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