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“A husband,” Emma said, “should educate his wife on such matters.”

Rosalie snorted. “Do you truly believe that? No matter. Even if you do not wish to join, you will keep our secret.”

“Yes!” Emma spun around, nearly barking the answer. “I would never tell. I swear it.”

“You can keep the book. Just in case. If you change your mind, take me aside at a ball or any other event and let me know. You can be my personal guest at the next discussion.”

Emma reached out. “Wait… are you not scared about what would happen if someone found out?”

“That is a risk. But sometimes a husband does not educate a wife as you suggest. And I think in such cases a lady must pursue education elsewhere. You are, as you say, one and thirty, and inexplicably ladies of such mature years are considered undesirable. You may be facing a future with no husband at all, no man to teach you. Yet… shouldn't you like to know,anyway? Shouldn't you like your sisters to have someone who does know? Shouldn't you like to be the one to prepare them before their wedding days? If they have no mother, and you have no husband, then how are you to do your duty as their closest female relation?”

Emma inhaled the widow’s words like fresh air. And with a bit of guilt as well. She had not prepared her other sisters for marriage, but her mother, had she lived, would have. “I will think on it.”

Rosalie made for the door. “Excellent. I trust you’ll come to the correct decision. Some things, you know, are worth taking risks for.” She grinned. “Enjoy the book. That duke does know how to garden. Strong fingers. Flexible... Enjoy.” She tossed a languid smile over her shoulder, then disappeared down the hallway.

Emma returned to her room, the salacious book clutched to her chest. She knelt next to her trunk, popped it open, and dug deep until she found the book Aunt Georgie had given her. Her sisters needed her to obtain the knowledge within its pages. Perhaps it was time to procure it with steadfast dedication instead of a few furtive sentences at a time. The other book… the one Rosalie had given her… She was not ready for it yet. She dropped it into her trunk, where it landed right next to the ink-stained, folded paper—Clearford’s letters.

He had proposed to Rosalie.

Rosalie had refused.

If I were free to choose, I would choose you.

Emma shivered and retreated to her bed, sprawling across the mattress on her back and holdingThe School of Venusabove her face as she cracked it open and silently read the first words again.

Roger a young Gentleman being passionately in love with Katherine…

She curled her lips to the side. “Not too questionable.”

… a virgin of admirable beauty, but so extremely simple…

“Terribly rude, that.”

… having always been brought up under the rigid Government of her Mother, who was a Wife of a Substantial Citizen, that all his perswasions could do no good on her…

“That’s more titillating, I suppose.”

… by reason she understood not anything that appertained to love.

Emma sighed. “Who does?” She skipped past the book description and opened to the first page. She read about clueless virgins and knowledgeable cousins. And about how men and women together could reach the “greatest pleasure.” She read until the light outside the window shifted from afternoon to early evening, and—

A bang on her door startled her upright. She shrieked and threw the book. It landed in her still-open trunk as she jumped to her feet.

More banging. “Emma, open up! You must!”

Emma smoothed her hair and opened the door, and five girls flew in. The duke’s sisters and her own, all but for Lady Felicity, and all red-cheeked and wide eyed, their hair wild and their skirts wrinkled, their throats gasping for air.

“Breathe,” Emma demanded as she stood. “Do breathe and tell me what’s happened. Is the duke—”

“Not him!” Lady June gasped in a breath. “We ran all the way from him, though.”

“He’s leaving for Scotland,” Lady Gertrude said.

“Scotland?” Emma heard the word but did not feel her mouth shaping it. “Whatever for?”

“Lady Felicity has eloped!” Briar clutched her heart, her words ringing with doom.

And in Emma’s ears they rang like a death knell. Eloped. Eloped. Eloped.