Daring Miss Danvers by Vivienne Lorret Page A

word. A convincing response for their audience. Perhaps she deserved a new bonnet as well.
    “A chain, did you say?” His grandmother chuckled. “You have the queerest way of complimenting your bride to be.”
    “Ah, but she understands me,” he said as he exchanged a look with Emma, hoping she understood that there was still a way out of this. “As for her brother . . . well, that’s another story.” He cleared his throat and widened his eyes, certain that ought to plant the seed of discord.
    Beside him, his grandmother ignored his efforts and lifted her hand to the servant standing near the door. “Make sure a formal announcement of my grandson and Miss Danvers’s betrothal is in the Post in the morning. See if Saint George’s is available four weeks from tomorrow.”
    “Wait—” he started to say, but the word stuck in his throat, scratching the flesh surrounding his vocal cords. He coughed in an effort to dislodge it, but before he could, it was already too late. The servant bowed and summarily disappeared through the doorway.
    Emma went still, her gaze fixed on him. Stop coughing and say something , he could almost hear her saying.
    Four weeks? He could hardly think. He thought he’d have at least two months of playacting ahead of him. Now, panic finally set in as he scrambled for what to say.
    Perhaps, he could list a previous engagement. A . . . an appointment for throat surgery to get rid of his damnable cough. In an impatient gesture, he reached down for Emma’s teacup and drained the last of it. Black tea with lemon, because his grandmother frowned upon sugar. He felt an odd twinge of sympathy as he swallowed the bitter brew. He’d done this to her, and now . . .
    They were in this together.
    “The perfect day for a wedding,” he said in place of any other excuse. Besides, there was no tactful way to get out of it this instant. He would need to prepare a speech for his grandmother. In the meantime, they’d have to use a backup excuse. Set the stage for discord, or simply state that they still weren’t certain they’d suit because . . . Hell , if she didn’t have reservations regarding his character, she should. “I’m looking forward to it.”
    Emma swallowed. “As am I.”
    “Then why do you both look like you’re ready to jump over a cliff and smash yourselves onto the rocks below?”
    “Not at all,” he said, concealing the sudden bubble of amusement that threatened to come out as a maniacal laugh. He was fairly certain Emma didn’t find this the least bit funny. He thought of a quick excuse. “It’s just . . . there’s so much to be done. I’ll . . . need to arrange a wedding trip.”
    Emma’s gaze stayed with him, as if holding onto a lifeline. “There are so many things to consider. After all, I haven’t even thought about a dress, or my maids of honor, or the flowers. Perhaps more time—”
    “The dress!” His grandmother exclaimed, taking her pearl handled cane from the arm of the chair. “My dears, we must call upon Lady Valmont this instant. Her modiste makes the most remarkable gowns. Truly, Valmont wouldn’t be half the rage she is if not for the way her clothes make her look. Abominable posture, you know.”
    His mother stood and rang for a carriage. He made the mistake of looking at her and seeing a true and genuine smile. His mother was happy about this wedding. Happier than he’d seen her in years. She lifted her gaze to his, and he saw her eyes glisten with unshed tears. In that moment, he knew he was doomed.
    Only a fool would let her down.
    As his mother and grandmother made their way to the door, Emma stood. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she implored in a whisper.
    He nodded by way of reassuring her. Yet, to himself he added, “So do I.”

 

C HAPTER S IX
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    The esteemed Dowager Duchess of Heathcoat announces a much anticipated and happy union . . .
    E mma stared at the morning’s Post , and looked for any sign that