Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

being Emmaline had a scrap of paper saying someone had claims to her.
    Well, that was no longer enough.
    “Do you know, as much as I resent the Marquess of Drake’s deplorable treatment, I cannot help but empathize with why he’s made the decisions he has?”
    Sophie sputtered around a mouthful of tart. “That is far too generous of you, Em.”
    Emmaline chose not to respond to Sophie’s unspoken censure and instead grabbed another pastry and nibbled the corner. She couldn’t expect Sophie to understand, and to say as much would merely come across as insulting.
    Yet, Emmaline did, to some extent, recognize the reason for Drake’s annoyance. She suspected his decision to enlist had been borne of resentment that his fate had been decided for him when he’d been a mere boy. Perhaps he’d wanted a say in the person he would wed and spend the rest of his days with. Perhaps he’d wanted a great beauty to arouse grand passions—like his opera singer.
    Perhaps he’d felt those things because she herself felt them. Well, all those things except for the opera singer, of course.
    She yearned for some control in her life, ached to know love and grand passion, too. But it was gauche to even think such thoughts.
    Over her long walk home from Kensington Gardens, she’d put a great deal of consideration into her circumstances. In spite of her dreams and wishes, Emmaline had made a commitment to her father. And blast it all, she would try to make something of this betrothal—whether Lord Drake wanted it or not.
    “Whatever it is the Marquess of Drake feels, I no longer care. It is time for him to grow up and honor his obligations.” She flinched at thinking of herself as an obligation, and then shoved away any self-pity. The days of woe-is-me were officially at an end. It was time for the Marquess of Drake to be brought up to snuff, and she was just the woman to do it.
    “What are you thinking?”
    Emmaline’s jaw set. “I am done waiting for the Marquess of Drake. I want a real marriage or nothing at all.” Emmaline ticked on her fingers. “I want to be courted. I want him to take me riding in the park. I want him to escort me to the opera.” She grimaced at the thought of Signora Nicolleli. “Mayhap not the opera, but perhaps Covent Garden for a play,” she amended. “And I want him to waltz with me. That’s not much to ask, is it?”
    Sophie shook her head with such force she dislodged a golden curl from her chignon. “Hardly, the man is after all your betrothed.”
    Emmaline gave an emphatic nod. “His days of bowing over my hand and beating a hasty retreat are at an end. I’m going to bring him up to scratch and if I can’t…” She paused. “I haven’t determined all the details, but what I do know is I will be speaking to my brother about this farce of a betrothal.”
    Sophie gasped.
    Emmaline well knew it was one thing to be displeased with the Marquess of Drake’s lack of attention, it was quite another to speak of severing the legal contract between their families. She folded her arms. “I’m not getting any younger. Why I’m already twenty years old.”
    Lord Drake may be a war hero, but Emmaline was prepared to fight some battles of her own. She reached over and seized the paper that had pushed her to her limits. Taking great care, she ripped out a neat square and studied it . She clenched her lips into a hard line.
    Sophie had been about to take another bite from her tart. The partially bitten pastry dangled, forgotten between her fingers. With her mouth hanging open and her wide, unblinking cornflower eyes, she rather had the look of an owl. She set the treat aside, and leaned forward. “What are you going to do, Em?”
    Emmaline smiled, and if her mother had been present she would have known to be alarmed. “Why, we’re going to the opera.”
    Sophie blinked. “The opera…” Her mouth widened and her eyes dawned with understanding. “Ohhhh, the opera.”
    Emmaline gave a tight nod.