Page 1 of Two Blessings For His Duchess
CHAPTER ONE
“How is your dear uncle keeping?” Mrs. Pembrook asked with a warm, solicitous smile.
Euphemia smiled back. She was, if she was honest with herself, simply grateful for anyone who approached her with a smile rather than a studied avoidance of eye contact. “Quite well, thank you. He rarely leaves the house at present, but he is comfortable, and the physicians seem pleased with his progress.”
“Yes, yes.” Mrs. Pembrook patted her hand. “And you are managing? All on your own? I mean, without... well.” She tilted her head. “It must be terribly difficult.”
“Not especially,” Euphemia said.
It was a lie. However, she had been telling it for long enough that it came out smooth and even. In her experience, a smooth lie was the next best thing to the truth.
“You are so brave,” Mrs. Pembrook said. Her eyes were very bright and very warm. “I always said so to Lady Alderton. Whatever one might think of the circumstances, Miss Vane has remarkable composure.”
Whatever one might think of the circumstances?
Euphemia swallowed, the muscles in her throat tight enough to ache. For a brief moment, she had been silly enough to forget that she was the talk of theton. That ever since she walked into the ballroom, eyes had been following her into every corner of the room. It was the reason she was standing tucked away like a wallflower. She had been silly enough to think that Mrs. Pembrook had approached her truly out of care, rather than a predatory need to pick at the scabs of a scandal.
She was an incurable idiot.
“How very kind,” Euphemia managed to say, her voice tightening even more. Her hand dropped to her side. Her index finger found a fold of her silk dress and began to twist the fabric into a tight, nervous coil.
“One does wonder, of course.” Mrs. Pembrook leaned closer. She lowered her voice just enough to ensure that everyone nearby would listen harder. “Whether Lord Finch had any warning. About the family situation. Your father’s affairs, I mean. One hears things.”
“Right,” Euphemia said, scanning the ballroom for an escape. Her finger twisted harder into her skirt.
“Only that it must have come as rather a shock to him. If he had been misled, in any way, about what he might expect,” Mrs. Pembrook added. “Or did something else happen?”
Euphemia thought about Lord Finch. She did this rarely, and when she did, she did it with a careful, gingerly touch one might use on a festering wound. She remembered the way he had looked at her at the end, how the warmth in his eyes curdling into a cold, sharp disgust as he spat the wordtrickedas if it were a stone he was shooting directly onto her chest.
A surge of heat climbed her neck. Her hand flew from her skirt to her throat, her fingers beginning a rhythmic, desperate rub against her collarbone.
“Mrs. Pembrook, what a lovely brooch. Is that new?” she asked, a fickle attempt to change the subject.
Mrs. Pembrook blinked. “I... yes, actually. But as I was saying, about Lord Finch. I mean, it is true that he left you at the —”
“Charming. The Brooch,” Euphemia cut her off. “You must excuse me, I think Lady Merrick needs my attention.”
“Oh, but you must not rush off.” Mrs. Pembrook’s hand closed around Euphemia’s wrist. “I only meant to say that I don’t blame you, naturally. Your father’s situation was hardly your doing. I mean, his death was so awful, and the...”
“Why would you blame me?” Euphemia blurted, feeling the heat rise in her throat. “What does that have to do with Lord Finch?”
Mrs. Pembrook’s smile did not disappear exactly. It thinned, and something more sinister took its place. “So, did you trick him?” She asked. The sweetness was gone from her voice, replaced by a cold, clinical curiosity. “Was that truly what happened? Because that is what everyone is saying, my dear.”
“Euphemia.”
A hand touched Euphemia’s shoulder before she could react. She turned to find Emily Merrick standing by her side. Emily was the Duchess of Carrowell and her close friend who had navigated her own share of societal minefields, Emily possessed an uncanny sense for when the atmosphere turned predatory and Euphemia was very thankful for it.
“There you are, I have been searching all over for you.” Emily beamed, then turned to Mrs. Pembrook. “I am so sorry to steal her, Mrs. Pembrook. I am afraid I’m in dire need of Miss Vane’s assistance with some arrangements. Hosting is quite the work.”
Emily tucked her arm through Euphemia’s and pulled her away. She steered Euphemia firmly through the drawing room, past the fireplace, and toward the shadows near the library door.
“Thank you,” Euphemia whispered. She felt as though she had been holding her breath for an hour.
“How long had that been going on?” Emily asked.
“Long enough for my blood to boil.” Euphemia let out a long breath. Her hand was still at her throat, her fingers rubbing the skin red. “I thought she had come over to talk about my uncle. Her husband works for him, so I thought she was concerned.”
Emily looked at her with pity. “Oh, well. I cannot blame you. But Mrs. Pembrook can be vicious when she is fishing for gossip.”
