But her hands lingered on the ribbon for a moment longer than necessary.
The irritation and disappointment she felt surprised her. Why should she care if these were love letters—or something less innocent? Had she not vowed to keep her distance, to approach this union with detached resolve? She had been the one to insist on boundaries, to make it clear that her heart would remain untouched.
And yet... the existence of the letters unsettled her, and not because of their likely contents.
Why do I care?she thought, clenching her hands.I am a practical woman. My feelings—whatever they are—should hold no sway in this arrangement.
Still, as she resumed her unpacking, the sight of the letters lingered in her mind. She chided herself for her foolishness,for allowing such trivialities to vex her. But deep down, she could not entirely dismiss the disquieting notion that the letters mattered—not because of what they might mean for Evan’s past, but because of what they revealed about their future.
CHAPTER 18
Emma
The soft light of dawn filtered through the heavy damask curtains of Emma’s chamber, bathing the room in a muted glow. She stirred reluctantly, the unfamiliar grandeur of her surroundings reminding her that this was no longer her simple life. She was now the Duchess of Wells, mistress of the great house, with all the expectations that title entailed.
Brigitte entered soon after, curtsying lightly before crossing to the wardrobe. “Good morning, Your Grace,” she said with a touch of cheerfulness that Emma did not quite feel herself.
“Good morning, Brigitte,” Emma replied, sitting up and allowing her maid to help her into a morning gown of soft dove-grey muslin.
“Shall I fix your hair, Your Grace?” Brigitte asked as she deftly tied the ribbons at the back of the dress.
“Yes, thank you. Though I confess, Brigitte, I feel quite at a loss. What is expected of me now?” Emma’s voice was light, but her brows furrowed as she glanced toward the window.
Brigitte hesitated, smoothing the gown. “Well, Your Grace, I daresay His Grace would have some thoughts on the matter. Perhaps you might speak to him over breakfast?”
Emma gave a faint smile and nodded, though a knot of uncertainty tightened in her chest. As Brigitte pinned her hair, Emma changed the subject. “Have you heard any news of Ophelia?”
Brigitte’s face softened. “Jean mentioned that her parents are moving forward with finding a new husband for her.”
Emma’s hands stilled on her lap. “Poor Ophelia. I wish there were something I could do for her.”
Brigitte, ever perceptive, offered a small smile but said nothing further. When Emma was ready, she made her way to the breakfast room.
The long dining table was set with a sumptuous array of morning fare: freshly baked bread, pots of preserves, eggs, cold meats, and a silver urn of steaming coffee. The Duke was already seated,a newspaper in hand. He rose upon her entrance and moved to pull out her chair.
“Good morning, Emma,” he said, his tone polite but distant.
“Good morning,” she replied, taking her seat. He returned to his paper as she surveyed the table, her appetite nearly forgotten amidst her nerves. She poured herself a cup of tea and nibbled at a piece of bread, stealing glances at him.
After several moments of silence, Emma cleared her throat. He looked up, raising a brow in inquiry.
“Your Grace,” she began hesitantly, “I was wondering... what your expectations are for me as Duchess.”
He set the paper down, his expression puzzled. “Expectations? I have already spoken with Mrs. Havisham. She will meet with you after breakfast to discuss the estate’s operations. She will guide you in managing the household.”
“And... as for other matters? As husband and wife?” she ventured.
“Other matters?” He seemed briefly perplexed before shaking his head. “There is nothing pressing, I assure you.” With that, he returned to his paper.
Emma felt a flicker of frustration at his dismissal. Gathering her courage, she asked, “Might you accompany me to meet the tenants, then? It would be helpful to have your guidance.”
He folded the paper, setting it aside. “I have business in town today and every day this week. Mrs. Havisham can arrange for you to meet the tenants if you wish.”
Her chest tightened with irritation. “Perhaps another day?”
“I shan’t be back until late, even then,” he replied. Rising from his seat, he adjusted his coat. “By the by, do you intend to return to the orphanage of Benevolence?”
Emma blinked, startled. “I... I had thought to visit, yes. I received a letter inviting me to return.”
