Lord Melton and his Duchess

by Miers, Fiona

  “Now I see. You planned this. You were well aware that I would not be here to notice your plan to steal Emma away.”

  Joseph began to laugh and shook his head. “You are jealous. I never thought I would live to see the day where Charles Melton showed such a deep emotion.”

  Charles’ jaw clenched and his fists balled at his sides.

  “Most men who marry out of duty seldom develop feelings of love for their wives, regardless of how beautiful they are,” Joseph went on. “I never expected it from you.”

  “You are preposterous,” Charles spluttered. “You sought out my wife. This is your fault, Joseph.”

  “I can bet my life that you were not even aware of her fondness for poetry,” Joseph said.

  Charles did not appreciate Joseph’s condescending tone, nor his insinuation that Charles had no knowledge of Emma’s interests. He was aware of her affinity for poetry, as she had spent many evenings reading poems to him in front of the fireplace. What he did not expect, was that she would share that love of poetry with someone outside the family circle

  Charles’ brow furrowed as he realised that he felt threatened by this, and he did not care for it one bit.

  “Oh, Charles. Perhaps you ought to pay more attention to your wife.”

  He narrowed his eyes at his arrogant cousin. “You have no right to say that to me. I pay attention to my wife, and I give her everything her heart desires.”

  “Oh, do you now?”

  Charles growled under his breath and took a step towards Joseph. Cowering in fear of possibly being struck, Joseph backed away and raised his hands in defence. “Charles, calm yourself.”

  “Did you lay a finger on my wife?” he asked.

  “Charles, I hardly think—”

  “Answer me, by God!”

  His angry demand echoed through the study and his ragged breathing did not help matters in the least.

  “Nothing happened between us, Charles. Nothing.” Joseph hurried to say, “She rejected my advances.”

  “Your advances?” Charles repeated and stormed towards him.

  “Charles, wait—”

  Charles balled his fist and landed a facer on Joseph, who immediately fell to the floor. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth as well as from his nose, and he covered his face with his palm.

  Charles’s hand stung from the impact, as he was not usually the aggressive type. He hadn’t punched anyone in a very long time, and he was rather shocked at the power of his blow, although that very hand now trembled ever so slightly.

  He cleared his throat and stared down at Joseph. “You will not come near this estate or anywhere near me or Emma ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

  Joseph groaned and Charles impatiently crouched down and grabbed him by the throat. “Is that clear?”

  “Indeed,” Joseph said.

  Charles released his grasp from his cousin’s neck and rose to his feet. With utter disgust, he stared at Joseph until he rose shakily to his feet.

  “Charles...”

  “You are no longer welcome in this home, nor in my life. I wish to never see your miserable face again. Now, leave.”

  The calm in his voice seemed to unsettle Joseph more than Charles’ anger had, and the young man stumbled out of the study.

  Charles inhaled deeply several times, quieting the rage inside him. He was already exhausted from traveling from London, and the added stress of the revelations of Emma and Joseph’s behaviour was certainly taking a toll on him.

  It was clearly time for him to turn in. A good night’s sleep would certainly help matters. He did not have the mental capacity nor the strength to settle things between him and Emma now. He ascended the stairwell, his hand still ablaze, and he blamed himself for being such a blind fool.

  Chapter Seven

  Emma paced nervously in her bedchambers, uncertain of what to think or what to do. She didn’t know what motivated Charles’ odd behaviour this evening.

  She had known him for quite a long time and was well aware of the fact that he had a tendency to overreact. But she had never seen him in this state before.

  She was also uncertain whether she should remain in her chambers or go to him. The hour was late already and knowing Charles, approaching him to discuss what had happened tonight would not end well. Neither of them would likely be getting any sleep.

  His loud footsteps sounded in the hallway, and she heard him enter his bedchambers next to hers, and separated only by an adjoining door. Emma sat on the edge of her bed, waiting for him to step through the door and offer her an explanation, but he did not.

  The sound of his boots being tossed on the floor was the last she heard before a deafening silence followed.

  Emma drew in a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she quietly approached the door. As she reached for the door, something heavy hit the other side of the wooden panel and her body jolted. Her heart raced even faster, and she felt dizzy for a moment. Perhaps it was not a good idea to walk through the door. He had been livid the entire carriage ride home from the hall, and she certainly did not wish to get in the way of a flying object.

  Her brow furrowed as she shook her head at the ludicrous thought. In all the years she had been married to Charles, he had not once raised a hand at her, struck her, or made her fear for her life. Not once, and she felt ashamed that her thoughts made him seem like the villain.

  After a few moments of silence, she once against reached for the doorknob and slowly twisted it.

  Charles was seated on his bed, bare chested, his arms stretched out beside him. His angry stare met her gaze for a moment before he turned away. “You are the last person I wish to see.”

  “And why is that?”

  “You are well aware why,” he said.

  She chose her words carefully, though her heart pounded in her chest. “To be entirely truthful, I have no idea why you are so upset. I am the one who should be angry, who should hurl things across the room and scream from the boiling anger I feel inside my heart. Not you.”

  “What gives you the right to stand in front of me and tell me my rage is misdirected?”

  “We have been married for more than ten years, Charles. If you cannot tell me why you are so angry, why did you insist on arriving at Weymouth Hall and practically dragged me home by the hair?”

  “You enjoyed your outing with Joseph?”

  Emma scoffed and crossed her arms. “Oh, this is about Joseph? Your own cousin! He invited me to a poetry reading, which I was rather enjoying before—”

  “Before he tried to seduce you?”

  Emma’s jaw dropped and she shook her head.

  “He told me.”

  “And he also should have told you how I slapped him across the face for doing so. I am not interested in him or any other man, for that matter. You are more than enough for me to deal with, even if you are not here much of the time.”

  “Oh, so this is all my fault?” he asked. “If I recall correctly, you were the one who wished to stay behind. You were the one who invited guests to the estate. You undoubtedly invited him as well.”

  “He is your cousin and your business partner, you fool of a man! What kind of person would I be if I purposely excluded him from all family activities?”

  “A faithful one?” he said.

  Emma’s breath caught in her throat and she stepped back. “How dare you!”

  “Is it not the truth?”

  “I cannot believe that after a decade with me as your wife, standing beside you, supporting you in every single decision you made whether it was right or wrong, you sit there and accuse me of being unfaithful to you,” Emma said, her voice breaking. Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head. “Do I not deserve an explanation? Why did you rush home when you distinctly told me you would be in London for another few weeks?”

  “Why do I owe you an explanation? I would have certainly placed a damper on your social events.”

  “I cannot believe you.”r />
  “Nor can I.”

  A tear ran down Emma’s cheek and she quickly wiped it away.

  “If you must know, I heard rumours of your infidelity in London,” he said after a long pause.

  “My infidelity,” Emma said with a bitter laugh. “I do not possess the physical or emotional strength to entertain another man. You are draining enough.”

  Much to her surprise, Charles climbed from his bed and approached her. “You will not speak to me in such a manner.”

  “I disrespect you only because you do so to me.”

  Charles glared angrily down at her and his lip quivered.

  Emma refused to be cowed, and lifted her chin in defiance. “If you wish to strike me do so, but I vow to you, it will be your last.”

  His eyes opened wide. “I would never do such a thing.”

  “Then why are you pummelling my soul with your anger? I did not betray you. I was merely accompanying your cousin—”

  “Whom you were fully aware is a notorious rake who preys on married women such as yourself,” Charles said.

  “I would never do that to you, Charles. I would never forsake the vows I made on the day I became your wife. We may not have married with love in our hearts, but I was under the impression we at least had respect for each other. I was wrong in that regard as well, it seems.”

  Emma turned away and walked back to the door, ready to leave.

  “Emma, wait.”

  Charles narrowed his eyes at her. “I did have respect for you, up until the moment I realised those vows meant nothing to you.”

  Emma turned on her heel and stared at him in disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You do realise the weight of your words when you made those vows?”

  “You think me an ignorant fool?” She gasped at him. “Of course, I do. I spoke them in front of God and everyone, and I meant every word.”

  “You were inconsiderate and only thought of yourself.”

  Emma shook her head, unable to believe the words coming from Charles’ mouth. “I do not understand why you are directing your anger at me. I have accompanied prominent members of your family on outings and events and balls on numerous occasions. What makes this time different?”

  “Because Joseph’s intentions were made clear to me. He made an advance at you this evening. He informed me.”

  “And as I mentioned, he received a slap against the face for it. I did not care for it at all.”

  “So you say.”

  Emma put her hands on her hips. “You are a fine one to talk, Charles Maynard Melton. You spend an extraordinary amount of time in London on your own. Why have I never travelled in haste to apprehend you and embarrass you in public every time I heard a rumour of you at a gentlemen’s club, surrounded by whores and light-skirts?” Emma asked.

  “What? That is preposterous! Who told you such lies?”

  Emma laughed bitterly and crossed her arms. “It does not matter where I heard it, or from whom. What matters is that I did not believe it. Not for a single moment did I believe that you would do such a thing. You are a man of your word, and I trusted you. I knew that you would always be faithful to me despite not loving me. I knew you would never do that to me or our children or our families. And it pains me that you do not show me the same courtesy. You do not trust me because you believed the words of others before mine. And that is not right. That is not how it is supposed to be, Charles.”

  Charles shifted his weight as though uncomfortable but remained silent.

  “I dedicated eleven years to you, and to you alone. I gave you three beautiful children and continued to support you and care for you. I think you owe me a little more than this,” Emma said, sadness flowing over her in a wave.

  CHARLES PURSED HIS lips as he stared at his wife.

  Emma’s long hair hung down her shoulders, framing her beautiful face just as it always had. She was indeed a very striking woman, and it caused Charles a great deal of anguish to bear witness to her sadness.

  He had not expected her to react in this manner. She had always presented herself in a level-headed fashion, being the voice of reason and not allowing her emotional state to influence her behaviour.

  Even when she was carrying all three of their daughters, she had not allowed her changing body and her emotions influence her. She was as delightful and happy as she had always been. This was the first time he had seen her in a distressed state, and it was entirely his fault.

  Had he jumped to the wrong conclusion regarding her alleged infidelity? A guilty person would not react this way, would she?

  Charles did not know what to say or what to think at that moment, and Emma clearly noticed. Her shoulders slumped and she turned away.

  “Emma,” Charles said brokenly. Emma did not look back.

  She disappeared into her bedchambers and slammed the door behind her.

  With combined feelings of anger and sadness, Charles approached the door. There was a click as Emma locked it from her side, leaving him alone with his bitterness and guilt. He stood in front of the door and lowered his chin. His forehead rested against the wood and he drew in a deep breath.

  “Emma, I do not wish for us to end the day in such a manner,” he said, hoping she would respond.

  She did not.

  “Can we not discuss this further? I cannot, in good conscience, fall asleep with such turmoil in my head.”

  “Excellent,” she said simply from the other side of the door, her voice sounding hoarse.

  “It is not fair of you to deny me the chance to apologise to your face. Speaking through a door is not the proper manner in which to solve problems.”

  “I have nothing more to say to you, Charles.”

  Charles’ nostrils flared, and he slammed his fist against the door. “Emma, you are being ridiculous and behaving no better than a spoiled child.”

  “Go to sleep, Charles.”

  “You cannot simply ignore me, Emma.”

  “I can certainly try.”

  Charles expelled an angry growl and slammed his fist against the door a final time. “Have it your way. But do not expect me to stay here where I am clearly not welcome.”

  The fact that Emma did not answer was a greater annoyance than anything she had said to him that evening, and he stomped back to his bed.

  He climbed under the blankets and stared angrily at the ceiling. In one evening he had managed to have a disagreement with his brother, embarrass his wife, punch his cousin and cause irreparable damage to his marriage.

  Charles berated himself and continued to spend the rest of the night contemplating what he was to do next. He had to apologise to Emma it seemed, but he also did not believe he’d acted in a manner that was unwarranted.

  What a conundrum.

  Chapter Eight.

  “I had hoped the weather would be clear this morn,” Rebecca said at the breakfast table the next day.

  Emma glanced out the window of the parlour where breakfast was being served and watched the droplets of rain trickle down the glass. They reminded her of the tears she’d cried last night while lying in bed, listening to Charles shouting from the other side of the door.

  She had intentionally kept her responses brief or did not respond at all as she sobbed quietly into her pillow. Charles had managed to break her heart into tiny, razor-sharp shards, which cut her soul deeper than she had ever thought possible. She had never anticipated that he would treat her so cruelly, and she was deeply hurt by his words. She was not even able to look at him across the breakfast table.

  Thomas and Rebecca along with Robert and Abigail, were seated at the table, immersed in the tension as well. Emma had decided to give Charles his space, which only caused Charles to be more sullen and brooding than he had been previously.

  The tension was obvious and although Emma still conversed with the others around the table, they were clearly uncomfortable.

  After Thomas and Rebecca excused themselves, Robert and Abigail soon followed,
leaving her and Charles alone at the table. But still, they did not speak. Emma drank her tea quietly, focusing her attention on the sound of the rain against the window rather than attempting to speak with her husband. She had nothing further she wished to say to him, as she had spoken her mind more than enough the previous evening.

  Admittedly, she was glad she’d been able to get those things off her chest, but she also regretted being hurtful. Charles was a rather guarded man, and most likely he did not even take any of those things to heart. Nevertheless, she was not a cruel person who relished in the anguish of others and would much rather keep her emotions and feelings to herself.

  Although she had always been honest and forthright with Charles, she had never been cruel in the process, speaking truthful things in a hurtful manner.

  Emma took another sip of tea as the butler entered the parlour carrying her portable writing desk as well as the daily mail. It had been a morning custom for Emma for a long while. The butler would bring the morning post, she would go through the letters and answer them immediately. It was an efficient manner for her to keep abreast of important correspondence, and also change her schedule if necessary.

  “Thank you, Frederick,” Emma said with a smile, and the butler nodded at her.

  “You can be polite to the butler but not to me,” Charles said wryly.

  “He did not accuse me of infidelity,” Emma said as she scanned through the letters on the tray.

  Most were addressed to Charles, but there was one letter addressed to Emma, penned in her father’s hand. Her brow furrowed as she broke the wax seal and unfolded the paper. Usually, her father only wrote a paragraph or two at most and included it along with her mother’s letters to her.

  As she read through the unusually long missive, her concern grew with every word. Upon reaching the end of the letter, she lowered the pages onto the desk and drew in a deep breath.