Authors: Lynne Barron
Chapter Twenty-Five
Emily felt as light as air the next morning as she floated down the stairs. She’d fallen into a deep contented sleep after Nicholas had left her bed just before dawn and she hadn’t awoken until after ten o’clock. She’d missed breakfast, Tilly had informed her with a wink. Most of the other guests had gone out riding as the weather had turned warm overnight.
She didn’t care. She’d agreed to marry Nicholas Avery. She felt as if she was in a dream, a wonderful glorious dream from which she hoped never to awaken.
“Who do you think you are?” Bernice’s angry words pulled her unceremoniously from the dream and she froze on the stairs, half a dozen steps from the landing.
A soft rumble of unintelligible, masculine words followed the lady’s outburst.
“How dare you?” Her friend’s voice was coming from the back of the house, from the library or perhaps the billiards room. Emily hesitated, unsure whether to run to assist Bernice or to mind her own business.
“Take your hands off me!”
Emily hurried down the remaining steps and turned toward the back of the house, her hand gripping the newel post as her slippers slid on the polished marble. She flew down the long wide hall.
She stopped on the threshold to the library just as Lady Bernice’s hand streaked across Lord Jamison’s cheek. The gentleman seemed not to notice the strike, stood tall and motionless before the furious woman.
Emily’s gaze shot to Bernice who stood trembling before Jamison, her obviously stinging palm gripped in her other hand, her chest heaving, and two bright spots of color on her cheeks.
“No more,” Bernice ground out through clenched teeth. “I am finished acting the fool for you. Do you hear me, Jamie?”
Jamison said nothing and Emily saw no discernible expression on his face.
“You need never again worry that I will embarrass you with my unwanted attentions. You no longer need to hide in your house for fear I will appear at whatever event you attend. You are free of me. And I will get free of you, damn you. So help me God, I will stop…” Bernice’s angry tirade faded away as she stared at the silent man before her.
Jamison made no reply but for the clenching of his jaw.
“Was there ever a time, even in its smallest increment, when you cared for me?” Bernice asked, and Emily was surprised to hear, not anger or sorrow, but confusion in her voice. “Have I truly been blind all these years? All the times I turned to find you looking at me, watching me, were you only marking my whereabouts to determine which corner of the ballroom, which box at the theater, which path in the park to avoid?”
Lord Jamison did not speak and Bernice drew a shaky breath, and stiffened her spine, her eyes never leaving him.
Neither of the room’s inhabitants had noticed her. Emily took a careful step back, intent on fleeing the scene of her friend’s humiliation. Unfortunately, her small movement caused Bernice’s head to swing around.
Their eyes met, Bernice’s bright and fierce, Emily’s brimming with tears.
“I beg your pardon,” Emily whispered as Jamison followed Bernice’s gaze. His eyes, dark and empty, landed on her. He stared at her. She stared back.
“No, I beg your pardon,” Bernice retorted. “It is quite unseemly, my standing in your aunt’s library screaming like a fishwife.”
“Excuse me,” Emily murmured as she turned and fled from the room.
Holding back tears, she careened around the corner into the front parlor and right into Nicholas.
“Whoa,” he exclaimed, his hands coming up to grip her shoulders, to keep her from falling on her backside.
“Oh,” she cried, her eyes jumping up to his face.
“Emily, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” she whispered as she flung herself against his chest, grasping the lapels of his dark coat, burying her face against his neck.
“Em,” he murmured.
“Will you walk with me in the garden?” she asked, her lips pressed to the pulse beating at the base of his throat.
Without a word, he took her hand and led her out the front door, stopping only long enough to grab her cape from the butler and wrap it around her shoulders.
The snow was nearly gone, only wet patches remained in the shade of the oaks and pines dotting the lawn. Emily looked over to the Winter Goddess, now little more than a misshapen mound of melting ice.
Emily and Nicholas walked side by side along the twisting paths between tall hedges and around empty fountains and benches. Neither said a word until they reached the gazebo. With a strong hand on her back he ushered her into the open structure, leading her to the bench and gently pushing her to sit.
“Well?” Nicholas stood before her, glaring down at her.
“What?” she asked, calmer after the walk through the bare winter garden.
“What is wrong? And do not try my patience by telling me it is nothing,” he growled at her, his eyes flashing.
“Nicholas, whatever has come over you?”
“Tell me. Just say it.”
“Say what?”
“You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you?” he demanded, raking a hand through his hair, rumpling it until a wayward curl stood straight up on his head.
“About what?” she asked in confusion.
“Do no play games with me, Emily,” he ground out.
And then she understood. She jumped to her feet, her heart beating hard in her breast. “I have not changed my mind and you better not either!”
“Me?” he asked incredulously.
“It’s too late to change your mind, Nicholas Avery,” she told him, her mind whirling.
“Ah, Em,” he murmured, shaking his head. “It was too late the moment you started singing to Danny Boy.”
“Way back then, huh?” she asked in relief.
“Even before that,” he assured her as he stalked toward her, a wicked grin on his face. “When I found you counting whiffles on your fingers and toes.”
“Whiffles? On whose fingers and toes?”
“At the theater.” He sat on the bench and pulled her down onto his lap. “I thought your name was Evette.”
“Really?”
“Or maybe Elspeth.”
Emily wrinkled her nose at the name.
“What are whiffles?” he asked as he bent her back over his arm.
“I haven’t the slightest idea.” She ran her hand up the column of his neck, across his smooth cheek.
“Apparently you have seventeen of them,” he replied against her lips and Emily could feel his smile.
A wisp of memory shivered through her. “Seventeen willfuls”
He leaned back, staring down at her.
“I was counting the number of times my father called me ‘willful’,” she explained.
“Only seventeen?” he asked doubtfully. “In your entire life?”
“Since the day Mrs. Gimble paid him a call to tattle on me.”
“Ah, the busybody whose loose tongue started you on the path that led you to London. Remind me to thank her when I meet her.”
“I doubt very much you shall ever meet Mrs. Gimble, as she is unlikely to travel to London,” Emily said with a laugh, trying to imagine the silly woman amongst the ladies of the
ton
.
“Surely I’ll meet her while we are at Emerald Isle,” he replied and Emily’s heart stopped.
“When will we be at Emerald Isle?” she asked, not daring to hope.
“In the spring, of course.”
Emily closed her eyes and sagged against Nicholas, her heart feeling as it was about to leap from her chest.
“We are sailing with your father in the spring, aren’t we?” he asked slowly. “I thought you would want to spend some time with your siblings after we are married. Was I wrong?”
“No.”
“Em, open your eyes.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I’m afraid if I open my eyes it will all have been a dream.”
Nicholas pressed soft kisses to her closed eyelids.
“What had you upset earlier?” he asked as he settled back against the wall of the gazebo, pulling her tightly against his broad chest. Emily wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled against his warmth.
“I stumbled upon a terrible row between Bernice and Lord Jamison.”
“They were arguing?”
“Bernice was screaming at him and he was just standing there silent as usual.”
“How odd.”
“It was awful. She was so furious she slapped him.”
“She slapped Jamison? Why?”
Emily relayed the entire sad tale, leaving nothing out, not Bernice’s rage or her confusion.
“She’s truly given up on him, then?” Nicholas asked and Emily’s eyes popped open when she heard the regret in his voice.
“It seems to me she should have given up on him years ago,” she replied indignantly. “The man cares nothing for her. He stood there looking at her, listening to her wretched words, and said nothing.”
“Jamison loves her,” he said and there was no doubt in his voice.
“He doesn’t,” she argued. “He couldn’t.”
“He doesn’t believe he deserves her.”
“He’s right.”
“Things are not always as they seem.”
“If he loves her why has he allowed her to pine for him all these years?” she demanded. “Why has he allowed her to tarnish her name chasing after him? They call her
The Untouchable
, for goodness sake.”
“I don’t know,” Nicholas admitted quietly. “I only know that he adores her, every irreverent inch of her. Jesus, it must have near killed him when she raised her hand to him.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice soft and plaintive.
“Some people have scars, Em,” he replied, his eyes looking deeply into hers. “Scars no one else can see, scars on their heart. And as hard as they try, they just cannot place their battered hearts into another’s hands, cannot take that leap of faith.”
Emily swallowed, wishing she could unburden herself to him, knowing he was asking her to do just that.
“Someday,” she whispered. “I promise.”
“Good enough.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
When Emily and Nick returned to the house, they learned that Lord Jamison had vacated the premises, taking the Parker brothers with him.
“Damn,” Nick muttered, watching Emily wander away in search of Bernice.
“Good afternoon, Nicholas.” Veronica Ogilvie glided across the parlor to stop before him, blocking his path toward Oliver and his father who sat at the card table. “Where have you been hiding yourself?”
Nick couldn’t help but laugh at her transparent antics. Mr. Kildare had ceased paying attention to her, preferring the company of his sister and Miss Endicott, who for some unknown reason seemed glued to Lady Katherine’s side. Carmichael was perhaps days away from offering for Adelaide Sanderson. Mr. Endicott was paying marked attention to Lucinda Davis. And now Parker One had flown the coop. That only left him or Mr. Boone.
“I’ve been paying court to Miss Calvert,” he answered.
“Good Lord,” she exclaimed. “Are you still barking up that tree?”
“I’m gaining ground, actually,” he told her as he sidled around her and headed to the empty chair at the card table.
“There he is,” his father greeted in a near roar as he plopped into the vacant seat.
“Father, how are you?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Just dandy, son, and you?”
“Even better,” he answered, nodding across the table at Ollie. “How’s Joan today?”
“She’s well. She’s out in the garden with Margaret and Mrs. Sanderson, discussing a design for a folly.” Oliver gifted Nicholas with the carefree smile he’d worn since learning of his wife’s condition.
“Better than dandy?” his father asked slyly as he dealt them each a hand of cards. “Making headway, are you?”
“Yes, sir.” Nick fanned his cards out, kept his face blank as he took in the pair of aces and three fives.
“Should we expect an announcement soon?” his father persisted.
“What announcement?” Ollie asked.
“Since it will be you and Mr. Calvert making any such announcement, I’ll be sure to let you know when the time comes,” Nick assured his father.
“Ah, that announcement.” Ollie smiled at his brother. “Well done.”
“Thank you.”
Sensing a presence behind him, Nicholas looked over his shoulder to find Veronica peering at the cards in his hand.
“Well done, indeed.” She trailed her hand along his jaw, her fingertips as cold as ice. There was an odd quality to her voice, a slight tremble beneath the husky purr. “Until later, Nicholas.”
As she turned and walked away, Nick saw Emily standing in the doorway watching Veronica sashay across the room. For one heart-stopping moment he feared she had misread the situation as Veronica had intended. Until she smiled ruefully and mouthed, “Nasty Baggage.”
Nick chuckled under his breath and returned his attention to the game.
Emily had seen Veronica’s little performance, seen right through it. Poor pathetic girl. She’d met others just like her, women who invariably wanted what, or who, belonged to someone else. And Nicholas Avery belonged to Emily and there wasn’t a blessed thing the little she-wolf could do about it.
With a shake of her head at Veronica’s tenacity, Emily resumed her search for Bernice. She’d already looked in her bed chamber and the orangery and library.
She finally found Bernice in a little used parlor at the back of the house. She was curled into a big chair beside the cold hearth.
“Good grief,” Emily exclaimed as she entered the room. “It’s colder than brass balls in this room.”
“What exactly are brass balls?” Bernice asked, peering at Emily through puffy red-rimmed eyes.
“I’ve no idea,” Emily admitted. “I’ve always assumed they were some reference to a man’s anatomy as every time my father says it he looks a bit sheepish afterward.”
She knelt before the stacked wood in the grate, found a flint beside the poker and struck it on the stone, holding it to the kindling that had been laid. Within minutes she had a roaring fire going.
“Your father’s a treasure,” Bernice said.
“I’m happy you like him, as he seems smitten with your mother.”
“So I noticed.”
“Do you mind?” Emily pulled a low stool close to Bernice’s chair.
“Not at all. My mother deserves some happiness after enduring twenty years with my father.”
“Theirs was not a happy marriage?”
“It was frightful. He seduced the parlor maids and gambled away his allowance. Thank God my grandfather lived until a year before my father died or we would have been bankrupted.”
“Your poor mother,” Emily murmured. “My father was unfaithful but at least he didn’t gamble away Mama’s money.”
“Does he chase the parlor maids?”
“No, thank goodness, or I’d likely have more half-brothers and sisters. Pretty little caramel-skinned ones.”
“Like Tilly?” Bernice asked.
“Yes,” Emily admitted. “Tilly’s grandmother, Dora, was my grandfather’s concubine. Tilly’s mother was born of their union.”
“Is Tilly’s mother a servant?”
“Pearl has been our housekeeper since before I was born. She cared for Mama through all the endless years of her doomed pregnancies.”
Bernice looked up and over Emily’s head and she turned to find Nicholas hesitating in the doorway.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said, a curious spark in his eyes.
“You’re not intruding,” Emily replied. “Please join us.”
He tossed a pillow to the floor near Emily, removed his coat, loosened his cravat and stretched out on the floor, his golden curls brushing her skirts.
“Em was just explaining her relationship to Tilly,” Bernice said with a fond smile. “They’re cousins.”
“You and your maid?” Nicholas asked in surprise. “How’s that?”
Emily laughed. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes we are cousins. Tilly’s mother, our housekeeper Pearl, and my mother were half-sisters. My grandfather fathered them both.”
If Nicholas was shocked by her revelation, he didn’t show it. He clasped his hands over his stomach and looked up at her, waiting for her to go on.
“Your grandfather took a servant to his bed, fathered a child on her and raised that child in his house?” Bernice asked.
“Actually Dora was a slave,” Emily corrected her. “It wasn’t until Mama passed away that Da freed all the slaves on Emerald Isle. Tilly was the first baby born free.”
“Still, your grandfather kept the children from his… What did you call her?”
“His concubine. Pearl wasn’t the only child he fathered on a slave. And he kept them because they belonged to him. They had value. They worked in the house and stables, but never in the fields.”
“His own children slaves,” Bernice murmured. “I guess my father wasn’t so bad after all.”
“Da’s mother was a servant,” Emily went on. “She was lady’s maid to Aunt Margaret’s mother. Captain Mick fathered them both while home from sea one winter and they were born days apart. Margaret’s mother kept her maid and her husband’s illegitimate son in her house.”
“Emily, you come from a long line of philanderers!” Bernice cried, then covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Emily insisted. “It’s quite true. A number of my ancestors, going back generations, were born on the wrong side of the blanket. My great-grandfather was the illegitimate son of an English nobleman, one of the lords who held the charter to the Maryland Colony. My grandmother, who married that illegitimate son’s son, was the illegitimate daughter of one of the gentlemen who signed our Declaration of Independence.”
“Goodness,” Bernice murmured in awe.
“It’s the same here,” Nicholas said.
“Surely not,” Bernice protested.
“I went to school with a number of bastard sons whose fathers sat in the Lords,” he replied. “There’s been one among us at this very gathering.”
“Lord Kildare, you mean?” Bernice asked.
“Oh, right, I forgot about him.”
“There’s another?” Bernice asked, her eyes round.
“And a daughter,” he added.
“Good gracious, is it me?” she asked.
Nicholas and Emily laughed at the unmistakable hope in her voice.
“I’m afraid not,” he told her.
“Damn, I would so love to think my mother had taken a lover, found some pleasure for herself.”
“Perhaps she did,” Emily suggested.
“No, she wouldn’t. She believed in the promises she made to her husband, even when he flaunted his mistresses and affairs in her face.”
“My mother, too,” Emily replied. “She adored my father, only really came alive when he was home. She tried so hard to give him more children, instead he had two with his mistress, Martha.”
“I’m sure if my father could have gotten Lady Margaret with child he would have been thrilled,” Nicholas said, his eyes upon Emily.
“Maggie would have loved to have your father’s child,” Emily replied softly. “What a terrible mess. It seems all our fathers were incapable of remaining faithful to their wives.”
“None of them married for love,” Nicholas pointed out.
“I believe my father was faithful to Martha,” Emily said.
“Mine has certainly been faithful to Margaret.”
“I doubt my father was ever faithful to anyone,” Bernice said.
“We’ll break the cycle,” Nicholas said.
“Yes,” Emily replied and Nicholas wrapped one strong hand around her ankle and gave her a gentle squeeze.
“Are you getting married?” Bernice asked in wonder. “You’ve finally come to your senses, Emily?”
“Yes,” she admitted as her friend leaned forward to embrace her.
“I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you,” Emily whispered.
“It’s not common knowledge yet,” Nick cautioned.
“I won’t say a word,” Bernice assured him. “But when will you announce it? Surely before Lady Margaret’s party ends.”
“If we don’t I’m afraid she’ll hold us hostage here,” Emily replied.
“She’ll invite every unwed heiress she can find to join us for another week,” Nick added as he rose to his feet.
Bernice rose with him and wrapped her arms around his waist, giving him a big hug. “You’d best break the cycle or I swear I will hunt you down.”
“Please do not threaten my bollocks,” he pleaded.
“Your bollocks?” Bernice asked with a laugh. “Is that what brass balls are?”