Page 50 of Pursuing a Duke
“I promise it will not. Not with Hartford agreeing to the plan and Lady Hartford safely ensconced in the country. And if the worst happens and Hartford can’t procure a husband for Lady Beatrice, you have my promise I will not marry her.”
“If you say so.” The numbness in her voice startled him. It was as if she had given up on them.
Turning to her, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, never wanting to let her go. The rapid beat of her heart thumped right along in time with his. They would be together. He would see that nothing failed, even if he had to spend every waking hour of every day hunting down a husband for Lady Beatrice himself. Nothing would come between him and Emmeline. “I love you. I will die without you. So believe me when I say we will get through this.” He kissed her. “I must go.”
“Andrew,” she said as she reached for his hand. “I’m not going to the Tremont Ball tonight. I can’t possibly...”
He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her fingers. “I understand, my dear. I will call upon you tomorrow.” The last thing Andrew wanted to do was attend the Tremont Ball himself, but he knew he must.
Since the Waterfords’ house party, a dark, ominous cloud had followed Emmeline and him. Would it ever release its hold so they could walk in the sunshine again, hand in hand? He prayed for the day that the rest of the world would no longer intrude on their lives, threatening their love and future—for the sake of Emmeline’s and his sanity.
When he arrived home, Lord Hartford’s note awaited him, informing him that the engagement would be announced right before the dancing began at the Tremont Ball that night. The idea of it had Andrew leaning over the chamber pot, emptying what little contents his stomach held.
As soon as he received the message from Hartford, he penned off two notes, one to Langford and one to Caldwell, warning about the engagement announcement and explaining it was fake and not to discuss it with anyone. Without their support and understanding, he wouldn’t survive until it was concluded. He would talk to them tonight about a potential list of marriageable men for Lady Beatrice—this business needed to be handled quickly. He didn’t think he would survive for long without Emmeline. And by the way she’d looked and acted today, she wouldn’t survive without him either.
He refused to allow her pain to linger. She was innocent in all this and didn’t deserve to have her heart ripped from her chest... again. He was also innocent, but for some reason, he felt a strange connection to Lady Beatrice, and he wanted to help her. Someone needed to take the young lady under their care. But a nagging suspicion in the back of his mind told him this dilemma needed to end and fast, or he would lose Emmeline. For ten years, the circumstances of their lives and the decisions they’d made had kept them apart. Well, no more.
After dressing for the ball, he climbed inside his carriage and left. The closer he came to the Marquess and Marchioness of Tremont’s home, the tighter his muscles coiled up and the more queasy his stomach became.
The receiving line was dastardly long, and he kept pulling at his cravat as the warmth from the crowd overwhelmed him. He had never been one for attacks of nerves, but he’d swear he was experiencing one now. Finally, it was his turn, and he felt sweat soaking through his clothing.
He bowed. “Marquess, thank you for welcoming me into your home.”
“You are most welcome, Your Grace.”
“Marchioness Tremont,” he said as he bowed over her hand and brought it to his lips. “How lovely you look.”
“Silver-tongued as always, Your Grace,” she giggled.
Once inside the ballroom, his eyes roamed for Langford and Caldwell. Thankfully, he spied them in a corner toward the back. He strolled toward them but was waylaid by the Earl and Countess of Hartford and Lady Beatrice.So much for the earl sending the countess off to the country.
“Your Grace,” Hartford said with a nod, relief visible on his face. “I thought perhaps you would leave us in a lurch.”
“I gave my word,” he said with a frown and a narrow gaze, shocked that the man dared insult him at this point.
“Forgive me,” Hartford mumbled. At least he had the decency to apologize for the slight.
“Your Grace.” The countess curtsied with a twinkle in her eye and a frightening smile. She must be elated at the turn of events, even though they were false.
No words came from him, nor did he bow or acknowledge her in any way. Instead, he turned to her daughter. “Lady Beatrice,” Andrew said, “how beautiful you look this evening. I will be the envy of every gentleman here.”
“Your Grace.” She curtsied with a weary look in her eyes. “Thank you, but I highly doubt it.”
As the four of them stood on the outskirts of the ballroom, every eye scrutinized them openly. Were there no members of thetonwho hadn’t read the scandal sheets that morning? Andrew never favored himself for the stage, but he would perform his part of this farce in a manner worthy of a standing ovation during the upcoming days. To save his mind, he thought in days instead of weeks. Letting this fake engagement go on for weeks was something he refused to allow to happen.
“The orchestra leader is signaling me. I must take the stage for our announcement,” Lord Hartford said, looking pleased with himself. Andrew’s neck itched. He had a terrible feeling the countess wasn’t the only Hartford enjoying this little subterfuge.Could they truly be that delusional, thinking it would become something real? Blast it! Perhaps he needed help in controlling them.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the earl said in a deep, booming voice as the room quieted, “I have wonderful news to share. The Duke of Blackstone and my daughter, Lady Beatrice, are betrothed.” Murmurs, loud voices, gasps, and clapping bombarded Andrew’s ears; he wanted to cover them and run and hide like a young child. Not even when Aiden had told him he and Emmeline were getting married had he felt this devastated. Standing here now, his mind far away and looking on, as though someone else stood in his place, was an odd feeling. He wanted to yell out and explain to the two hundred people in the ballroom that it was false. Instead, he stayed silent, his body trembling and sweating again. He thought there was a very real chance he might fall unconscious for the first time in his life. And wouldn’t that be a shock?
“I want to thank the Marquess and Marchioness of Tremont for letting me make this joyous announcement at their lovely ball.” He held up a glass of champagne. “Let the dancing begin.”
As always, the dancing began with a quadrille, and he begged off, instead escorting Lady Beatrice to Langford, Lilly, and Caldwell as all eyes followed them.
“Congratulations, Blackstone,” Lilly said in a clipped voice with an angry look.
He bowed. “Thank you, Countess.”
“It’s fake,” Lady Beatrice whispered, looking pale and embarrassed, so only their close circle could hear. “It will be over soon, and he can return to Mrs. Fitzpatrick. I hate that she was dragged into my mother’s delusions. It’s not fair to either Blackstone or her.”
