A Regency Duchess's Awakening. Amanda McCabe

      Amy tsked as she gave Emily’s hair one last tweak. “Of course you do. You give yourself far too little credit, Sister. You are an earl’s daughter, and very pretty, if rather quiet. You know how to run a fine household and move about in society, even if thus far you have chosen not to. Anything you do not know already would be easy enough to learn.”

      “Is there a ‘how to be a duchess’ book on the shelves at Hatchards, perchance?”

      Amy laughed. “If there was, I would have read it long ago! But really, Em, this is a fine chance for you and for all of us. Rob would be such a good influence in politics, if he had a proper patron to help him, and your parents deserve a comfortable retirement. You should have your own house, before it is too late.” And before she was Amy and Rob’s responsibility and burden, though she did not say that aloud. Emily knew very well it was true, all of it.

      “Em, I do think you should—” Amy began, only to be fortuitously interrupted.

      “Good evening, ladies,” a deep, masculine voice said smoothly. “May I say how very charming you both look tonight? Quite the loveliest in the ballroom.”

      Emily turned away from Amy to find Mr Rayburn standing before her. She hadn’t seen him since that dramatic day in Hyde Park, though he had sent flowers. She had supposed the gossip about the duke and herself had put him off, yet here he was, bowing and smiling at her most charmingly, as if nothing had ever interrupted his sporadic courtship.

      How much easier life would be if she could like Mr Rayburn in that way, Emily thought sadly. If he made her pulse race and her cheeks grow hot as the duke did. But life was not often easy. And there was something about him that made her feel so unsure.

      Amy frowned at the interruption, but quickly covered it in a polite smile. “Mr Rayburn! We have not seen you in a few days.”

      “I was sadly called away from town for a short time, Lady Granton, but I did have to return in time for Lady Arnold’s ball. It is my last chance this Season to beg for a dance with Lady Emily, if she would so favour me.” He never took his gaze from Emily’s face, which was rather disconcerting. Could he read her thoughts there?

      “That is very kind of you, Mr Rayburn,” Emily said. “But I don’t mean to dance this evening.”

      “Emily, I am sure the exercise would do you good,” said Amy. “And Mr Rayburn is right, this is the last ball of the Season …”

      “His Grace, the Duke of Manning,” Lady Arnold’s butler suddenly announced. The ballroom doors opened, and the duke appeared at last. He wore a simple, perfectly cut evening coat of deep blue velvet that nearly matched his eyes and a gold-shot ivory waistcoat that sparkled in the candlelight. All the light in the room seemed to gather directly on him, leaving all else in shadow.

      His gaze slid over the company—and landed right on Emily. She was so startled she had no time to look away or even disguise what she was feeling. That sudden excitement at seeing him, the fear, the giddiness—surely it was all written right there on her face.

      Then Lady Arnold hurried over to him and he was surrounded by the crowd. Emily’s fist tightened on her fan.

      “Perhaps you are wise not to dance after all, Emily,” Amy said quickly. “I seem to have torn my hem in that last quadrille. Will you come with me to the ladies’ withdrawing room and help me mend it? If you will excuse us, Mr Rayburn.”

      His face darkened, and Emily noticed his gloved hand flex. But he merely bowed and said, “Of course. Perhaps we can take a turn about the room later, Lady Emily.”

      Emily hastily nodded as Amy took her arm and hustled her away. Her sister-in-law dragged her through the heavy press of the crowd, frantically looking side to side as she no doubt searched for the duke.

      “Amy!” Emily whispered. “That was terribly rude to Mr Rayburn.”

      “Oh, pooh,” Amy whispered back. “Mr Rayburn has no title and not enough fortune. It was one thing when he was your only suitor, but now …”

      Emily glanced back over her shoulder to see Mr Rayburn still watching them, nearly obscured by the throng. Jane stood with him now, saying something into his ear.

      “Ah, your Grace!” Amy cried. Emily whipped her head back around to find they were right in front of Nicholas. Lady Arnold watched them with a smirk, but Emily hardly even noticed. She could only see him.

      Amy tugged sharply at her hand, pulling them both into low curtsies.

      “Lady Granton, Lady Emily,” he said. “How very good to see you again.”

      After a few more pleasantries about the weather and the size of the party, Lady Arnold was distracted by more new arrivals and Amy, just as Emily feared, seized her chance.

      “Your Grace, Emily was just saying the ballroom is so crowded she feels rather faint,” Amy said, all sweet concern. “We were on our way to seek some fresh air, but sadly I must now repair my torn hem.”

      Emily tried to free her hand, to protest, but Amy just tightened her grip.

      “If Lady Emily feels faint, I would be happy to escort her on to the terrace for a moment,” Nicholas said. “I am not especially fond of such crowds myself.”

      “Your Grace, there is no need.” Emily began. Her words were cut off by another of Amy’s pinches. She was frightfully strong for such a small lady.

      “So kind of you, your Grace!” Amy said happily. “I will rejoin you both momentarily.”

      She danced away, and Nicholas held out his arm to Emily, watching her expectantly. Emily glanced around, but there was no escape. Everyone around them seemed to be watching to see what she would do, and there was no place to run. There never was.

      She took his arm and let him escort her to the half-open doors to the terrace. She was quite sure he must feel trapped by her family’s machinations; she knew that feeling all too well herself. Yet he gave no sign of resentment, no indication he wanted to leave her in the nearest corner at the first opportunity. He held on to her arm and talked of light, polite matters, not even minding her minimal, murmured responses.

      Maybe dukes were taught to be excessively polite, even ones from notoriously wild families. Or maybe they just developed finer acting skills than most people, all the better to manage all the demands placed on them. If only there really was a guidebook to such things, as she had wished for! Then she wouldn’t feel so lost and confused around him.

      Then again, it was not the duke who confused her. It was Nicholas himself. She glanced at him sideways, secretly. He seemed so careless, so easily, socially polite, yet she was so sure there was something else underneath that ducal surface. She had seen it too briefly at Vauxhall, a raw, passionate loneliness that touched something she hid down deep in herself.

      Every once in a while, when he thought no one watched, it flashed in his eyes. But only for an instant, then he concealed it again.

      They slipped through the doors on to the terrace. It was a space that only Lady Arnold’s house possessed in London, a wide, enclosed walkway with tall windows opening on to the garden. They could be closed against the chill even as they let in the moonlight, or they could be open to the night breezes as they were now.

      It seemed all the potted palms had been moved out here as well, for they lined the walls and made intimate little pathways. Chairs and tables were hidden in leafy nooks, perfect for quiet conversations. The noise dropped suddenly in that space; the roar of the crowded ballroom muted to soft murmurs and laughter. Couples strolled past slowly, pale flashes between the dark green palms.

      “I’ve thought of building something like this at Manning House,” Nicholas said.

      “It is certainly lovely,” Emily answered. “Are you planning to entertain more at Manning House?”

      He laughed wryly. “I suppose it’s my duty to, or so everybody keeps telling me.”

      “Hmm,”