by Donna Hatch
She did, never marrying another, never even allowing herself to be courted by any of the boys in the village, though she was very beautiful. They wrote letters secretly. His family would not approve.
Her father grew ill and died unexpectedly.
“And when he received her letter telling of the tragedy, my father came home as quickly as he could,” Eli said, wistful at this part of the story as he always was, regretting that he had never had the opportunity to know his grandfather.
“Did she find your father much changed?” Emily asked. Her blushes had long since passed, her attention rapt throughout his tale.
“Not as much as one might believe,” Eli said. “He was similar to you—having lived in the world of the spoiled without becoming spoiled himself.”
“He still loved her?” Emily seemed almost breathless as she asked the question.
“Yes.” Eli imagined his father had felt very much like he did at this moment, looking at Emily, knowing she was truly his—in name, at least. Now he must win her heart. “My father was to stay at Claymere for the summer, learning to manage affairs there. Though the gardens and grounds are magnificent, the manor is considerably smaller than Collingwood. His parents would never have allowed him to be there, had they any inkling that what they had perceived to be the infatuation of his childhood was actually the love of his life.
“The weekend after the funeral, he and my mother eloped to Gretna Green. They returned home married, no one the wiser. She continued to live in the gardener’s cottage. He stayed at the manor, but they spent time together every day, and he came to the cottage as often as he might.”
“How long was it before they were found out?” Emily, on the edge of her seat now, leaned forward eagerly.
Eli wondered how many months it might be before she leaned toward him like that for another reason, or if she might ever look at him as she was, anticipating a kiss instead of a story.
“Both my mother and father told me it was a wonderful, glorious summer—the happiest of their lives.”
“Just one summer? How sad.” Emily fell back against her seat.
“It is,” Eli agreed. Feeling bold, he moved to her side of the carriage and sat beside her. “I want our story to be different.”
“It is already,” Emily said. “We did not share our childhood as your parents did.”
“Perhaps not,” Eli said. “But I remember watching for and then waving to you daily, for many months, summer after summer, a girl in blue out riding her father’s property. You may not have realized it, but seeing you was often the best part of my day.”
“I so wanted to ride over to meet the boy who always greeted me.” Emily smiled warmly. “I was afraid to disobey my father and leave our property, but I wish now that I had. We might have made acquaintance so much earlier.”
“A wish for what is past is no good,” Eli said. “A wish for the future is what matters.”
“Let us make one, then,” Emily suggested.
“All right. What shall we wish for?” He angled his body on the seat so that he was facing her.
“We should wish for many wonderful, glorious summers.”
“And winters, too,” Eli added.
“Autumns and springs as well. Those are some of my favorite times of year.”
“Mine too,” he said. “How about simply wishing for years—a great many of them, spent together happily.”
“Yes.” She gave a resolute nod. “That is a good wish.”
“Then it shall be ours, and much more than a wish. It will be the beginning of a beautiful life together.” He pounded on the roof.
The carriage began to slow almost at once, and when it had stopped completely, Eli rose from his seat and opened the door. Without waiting for the step he jumped down and held his hands out for Emily.
She leaned forward and he caught her around the waist, lowering her carefully to the ground.
“Still a gentle giant, I see.” She smiled up at him.
“You make me sound like some monstrosity.” He stuck his lip out, pretending hurt.
“Not at all.” Emily leaned back, over exaggerating her need to tilt her head to look up at him. “It is just that for as long as I can remember you have been so much taller than me. You were always able to help me up on a horse with little effort, yet you never boasted of your strength as some of the other stable hands did.”
“Because my strength is naught compared to your beauty.” He took her hand and pulled her from the road, into the field beyond, searching until he found what he was looking for. Bending low, he snapped a dandelion from the ground and held it between them. “We can make our wish with this.”
Emily looked up at him through her eyelashes, a speculative expression in her gaze. “Mr. Linfield, how do you know about wishing on dandelions?”
“I may have seen a certain young lady do it once or twice before.”
“Did you used to spy on me?” Emily’s free hand went to her hip.
“I wouldn’t call it spying, but more watching out for your safety every now and again. I was never close enough to hear anything you said. I haven’t any idea whom those wishes were for. Though I do admit to being curious. It is believed, is it not, that if all the seeds blow away your love returns your affection.”
“I suppose.” Emily shrugged and tried to turn away, but Eli held her hand fast.
“Who was it?” he asked. “Sherborne? Or the vicar’s son? I remember when he used to come around to see you.”
“Neither,” she said. “Shall we make our wish?”
“Are you attempting to change the subject in the middle of a serious discussion?”
“Serious?” She laughed. “There is nothing serious about wishing on a dandelion. It is the stuff of myths and fairytales.”
“If it is not real, then you should tell me whose affection you were seeking with all those wishes.”
“All?” She gasped. “You said you saw me once or twice. This is getting worse by the minute. Why, you’re no better than Sophia. I’ve married a spy.”
“If you won’t tell me I may die of curiosity, and then this wish for years of happiness will be in vain.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “You’d laugh.”
He pouted, but she shook her head, refusing to give in. Eli let the subject go for now, but intended to ask later, some future day when they knew each other much better.
Facing one another they held the dandelion between them and spoke their wish at the same time. Then they each blew, successfully sending all the seeds flying—into each other’s faces.
“Oh!” Emily exclaimed just before she began sneezing.
Eli dared not laugh at her; he was fairly certain one of the seeds had gone up into his nose.
“Come here,” he said, when she was finally still after four sneezes in a row. “You’ve one in your eyebrow.”
Emily tilted her head up obediently, and with great care Eli leaned close and brushed the piece of fluff away. “All gone.” His fingers lingered, then slowly made their way down the side of her face, tracing the curve of her cheekbone. “I fear I must be dreaming, and I will wake up and find you are not mine after all.”
“There is nothing to fear,” she said quietly. “We are really here, and I will not abandon you as your father did your mother.”
Eli’s chest tightened at the mention of his greatest fear. To have no hope of Emily had been bearable. But to have her and then lose her...
As if she sensed his worry, Emily spoke again. “You needn’t fear that my earlier wishes were for another man. My heart’s desire was that Fortune would love me as much as I loved her.”
Eli stared for several seconds, uncertain he had heard her correctly. “Your wishes were for—your horse?”
Color flooded Emily’s cheeks once more. “It is silly, I know, but Sophia also wanted Fortune to be hers, and Father had said the horse would choose its owner and—”
“Your horse!” Eli threw his head back and laughe
d, a great rumble from his middle that soon had him near doubling over.
“It isn’t that amusing.” Emily tugged her hand from his and crossed her arms in front of her. “See if I ever tell you anything again.” Her toe tapped the ground.
Eli wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry. I just—I knew you loved your horse, but that is real love.” He paused, considering. “Your first love was a large, hairy beast. And then you voluntarily wed a gentle, bearded giant. I believe I’m seeing the connection now. I am not quite as good as a horse, but perhaps passable.” He grinned. “I suppose you’ll want me to grow that obnoxious beard again.”
“No. I do not.”
She met his eye, and Eli could see she was having difficulty containing a smile.
“I find your face quite handsome without it.”
His smile widened. “Considering your first love was a horse, I am not at all certain that is a compliment.”
* * *
They picnicked later that afternoon, enjoying the delicacies provided in the basket from the baron’s cook. It was then Eli cautiously presented some of the realities of their new life.
“I have not hired any servants yet, but we have enough presently to hire one or two of your choosing.”
“Presently?”
He heard it there, the subtle undertone of worry in her voice. Coming from the life she had—never wanting for anything—the idea of going without must be frightening. It was something he would have to be aware of. He’d started with so little that what he had now seemed more than enough, but she very well might not feel that way.
“With our current income,” he explained. “In the future, we may be able to afford more.”
She nodded.
“I would suggest perhaps that we first set about employing a cook—unless you are inclined to that task yourself.”
“Me—cook?” Her eyes grew wide and terrified. “If we are dependent upon my skills in the kitchen, I fear that in very short order we shall starve.”
“We cannot have that, not after I assured your father I could provide for you.” Eli smiled to let her know he was neither surprised nor upset. “A cook we shall have, along with a housekeeper once or twice a week. I’m afraid the rest we’ll have to manage ourselves.”
“I suppose that how properly a bed is made—or not made—will not affect our health too badly.” She returned his smile, but it was a little too wide, her effort at trying to be cheerful and positive somewhat obvious.
He tried to see her side of things, to imagine if the tables were turned and he was forced to step into the role of the Earl of Shrewsbury. He would not have liked it one bit, yet he would have done it—for Emily. If it comes down to it, I shall do it for her. But it was not his first choice. Aside from the harm it would cause Sherborne and the uproar and scandal that would ripple through the peerage, the life of an earl wasn’t a life he wanted to have.
His father had lived in a prison of privilege and luxury his entire life, never free to be with the woman he loved or to have the life he wanted. Eli had seen two different homes, and he knew the kind he wished to have.
The one we will have. He would simply have to love Emily so much that it made up for all she’d left behind.
Their talk turned to other things. She shared tales of Sophia and all the mischief she used to cause and the fun they used to have, in spite of their age and personality differences.
Eli told of his father and the winter storm that had brought him to his doorstep.
“He did not know who I was at first, and I was too ill to tell him, to realize that the man I had been searching for was the one who had found me and brought me to his home, literally saving my life. Later my father said it was my mother’s presence that guided him to me that night. She appeared in his mind, and it was almost as if they were having a conversation. She told him where to find me.”
“And he listened?” Emily leaned forward, again paying rapt attention.
“He did.” Noting the late hour, Eli began returning things to the basket. Emily joined him, and their hands bumped as they both reached for the same item.
“I’m sorry.” They each spoke at once.
Eli leaned back, allowing her to pick up the bottle and place it in the basket. “You can bump into me any time.”
“How is it that all these years we’ve known each other, I never realized you are such a tease? And I never would have dreamed so many fascinating stories of your past. It is most disturbing to think that I never took the time to learn this of you.”
“You could not,” Eli said. “Neither could I suggest such a thing. As an employee of your father, it would never have been right.”
“Marrying me was right?” Eyes filled with worry lifted to meet his.
You suggested it. He kept the flippant remark to himself. He had used that once already, and perhaps it had been mildly amusing then. He doubted she would find it so a second time. Besides, she might have been the one to voice the idea out loud, but he was the one who had harbored secret affection for her these many years.
“I can think of nothing more right,” he said. “Give me a chance, Emily. Give us a chance. We can be happy together. I promise.”
Chapter Thirteen
They arrived well after midnight. Emily had long since fallen asleep, her head against his shoulder. Eli’s mind had been so filled with the day’s events and the wonder of having Emily beside him that sleep would not come, likely not anytime tonight.
When the carriage stopped before the house and the step let down and the door opened, he nudged her carefully from his shoulder, propping her head up with his hand as he maneuvered from the seat.
“We’re here,” he said quietly. “Let me help you out.”
“Thank you, Mr. Linfield.” She gave him a sleepy smile, and with both hands he reached for her, helping her from the carriage and lifting her in his arms without banging either of their heads on the door frame. Quite a feat.
“I can walk,” Emily said, even as she turned her face into his chest and her eyes closed again.
He chuckled and felt his heart swell as he looked down on her. “I’m sure you can.”
After giving brief instructions to the driver, Eli made his way up the familiar path, trimmed and tidied by himself in the past week, then turned sideways and fitted the key to the gardener’s cottage, fetched from his pocket as he’d exited the carriage, into the door.
He paused before opening it and crossing the threshold with his bride in his arms. Some twenty-seven years ago, also at the beginning of summer, his father had carried his mother through this same doorway. What had he been thinking in that moment?
Did he believe the obstacles before them would simply disappear? That their two, vastly different worlds would somehow blend seamlessly? Eli could not deny similar hopes this night. He’d done the difficult thing and had managed—by some miracle of fate—to marry the woman he loved. But will she stay? Will she be able to live a simple, humble life?
His father could have if it came down to it. He loved Claymere and had hoped to be able to move his bride from the gardener’s residence to the manor here; but if that was not possible, he had found contentment and happiness within the stone walls that made up the cottage.
It was his father’s parents who could not abide his choice. They had forced him to choose—not between the life of an earl or his wife, but between his family and his wife. He would have been abandoned not only in fortune but in name as well, never welcome evermore in the home of his childhood.
Eli could not fault his father his choice. Neither had his mother faulted him, though she had never stopped loving him—and hoping.
Emily does not face that same ultimatum. Surely that improved their odds.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside. Emily stirred in his arms, snuggling her face deeper into his chest. For a moment he considered spending the rest of the night on the sofa, holding her thus, but he wasn’t certain how she would feel upon awaking to that in
the morning.
Instead, he continued on through the main room to the first of two bedrooms, the larger one, likely still small by any standard she was used to. He placed Emily carefully on the bed and removed the slippers from her feet, then took a quilt from the end of the bed and tucked her in. Before leaving the room, he watched her a minute, still in awe of his good fortune. The luckiest man alive. He bent to kiss her forehead, then walked quietly from the room. Morning would be upon them soon enough, and with it the first tests of their marriage.
* * *
Emily awoke feeling positively ravenous. The smell of bacon wafting from some other part of the house set her stomach to growling and made her decision not to linger abed any longer an easy one.
A wardrobe stood on the opposite wall. Intending to dress, Emily arose and walked across the bare floor. The doors stuck a bit at first, but she managed to open them, only to discover the piece entirely empty.
Of course. She felt suddenly foolish. Eli had told her no servants were in place yet, and even when the two they could employ did arrive, it was not as if she would have anyone to tend to her clothing or help her dress.
No matter. She might not know how to cook, but she was certainly capable of dressing herself. Emily turned a slow circle about the room, noting the simple white curtains, blank walls, and Spartan furnishings. There was nothing frilly or fancy about the space. Her mother would have been horrified, but Emily found the plainness did not bother her. The room was clean and had everything she might need, if not want. She had imagined far less when thinking of the sort of home that awaited her.
She spied her trunk near the door and upon opening it discovered her favorite dress at the top. The gossamer fabric and lace edging the pale blue bodice and sleeves seemed a stark contrast to the humble room. How long would such a gown last, if she was to be expected to work in it? A pang of homesickness struck, and Emily longed for the kind, thoughtful maid who had attended her. No doubt she had been thinking of Emily when she packed, guessing, perhaps, that a favorite dress would be much needed today.
