Am I always destined to doubt my skills?
Aunt Lily thought her too hard on herself, too exacting, always striving for perfection in everything, including her behavior. Mama, on the other hand, saw the opposite when she looked at her only daughter. She’d once lamented that it was a shame Emily had no talents and seemed happy with her boring life. Her latest failing, of course, was refusing to live in town. Mama feared Emily would become a recluse, like Aunt Lily, a woman she’d never understood.
Her aunt’s lifestyle might be eccentric, but it had its attraction. In the country, Emily found peace and the freedom to follow her own pursuits, away from prying, judgmental eyes. London had no enticements, now that her friend Gwen was settled in Yorkshire and no longer had her salon.
Pausing at the window, she gripped the sill as rays of sunlight peeked through the clouds, beckoning her outside. Perhaps she would not go to the sewing room after all. A long walk would help her clear her thoughts and settle her anxiety.
“There you are.” Aunt Lily glided into the room, her hair bundled at the base of her head in what was supposed to be a chignon. “I thought you were playing the pianoforte.”
“I was trying to learn a new piece. But I think I’ll give it up for now and go outside for a walk.”
“Take care you don’t go too far, and please take a parasol. The sky could darken again, and you might get drenched.”
“I will.” She turned toward her aunt. “What will you do today?”
“I’m going to finish the watercolor I began the other day while the weather holds. My easel is already set up in the garden next to the last of the roses. Later, I think I’ll go into the village to see about new bed hangings. Do you care to go?”
“Not today.” Emily eyed the paper stretched on the drawing board tucked under her aunt’s arm. “You’re so talented, Aunt. I wish I were good at painting.”
“I’m good at one thing. You’re good at many. One day you’ll decide what satisfies you the most and concentrate on that particular pursuit.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” She waved and headed for her room to change.
The sun shone brighter by the time she left the house, wearing sensible walking boots and a warm, hooded cloak of fine wool. The cool wind had died down some from the night before but was strong enough to make the air fresh. She passed a fat tabby enjoying the sun in the garden.
Ah, the life of a cat.
Several paths branched off from the main one circling the house and outbuildings. Choosing the one leading toward the lake, she took her time, marveling at the bold colors emerging from some of the trees. She stopped to watch a squirrel race up a trunk and laughed at two squawking birds sharing a limb.
Breathing deeply of the crisp air, she set off again, the blue-gray waters of the lake in the distance. One of her favorite places was a large, flat rock across from the summerhouse. Exactly the right height, she could seat herself and watch the wind rippling across the water. She liked to sit there and release her mind from all thought, allowing herself to be mesmerized by the patterns on the surface.
She rounded a group of trees and stopped. A man with a broad back and dark, windblown hair sat on the rock.
Andrew Quigley.
Unable to move, she held her breath, hoping he hadn’t heard her, and slowly let it out as she turned back as silently as she could. A bit of pique made the hairs on her neck bristle. How dare he encroach on her solitude. Of all people, he alone knew this was her private place, the place she came to when she needed peace. How often in the past had they both sat here, side by side, their hands clasped together, dreaming about their future?
Alone, their conversation would be quite different from their public discourse. She wasn’t ready. She needed more time. Didn’t she?
Emily gulped in several deep breaths and straightened her spine. Her instinct was to stride right back to the house, but she would not. She was no coward. She’d learned that much over the years. You faced your problems, head held high, and decided on a course of action. If the first solution didn’t work, you moved on to the next.
Andrew wasn’t a problem. Not anymore. Nor was he a threat. She would not run off and hide like a thief.
Squaring her shoulders, she turned back toward the lake.
He stood as she approached, a wary expression on his face.
“Emily? I didn’t think you’d be out in inclement weather.”
“Inclement? Do you not feel the sun on your face?” She stopped a few feet from him, aware once again of his height, the breadth of his shoulders, and a commanding presence that turned heads when he walked into a room. He acted like he had every right to be there and she was the one encroaching. “What are you doing here, Cardmore? This side of the lake is not your property.”
“But it’s peaceful here. I have a problem, and I needed a quiet place to think. I believe you taught me to come here for that. I’ll leave if you wish.” His gaze held hers. “I know this is not the time, but if you ever want to talk about . . . what happened in the past . . . please tell me.”
“I do not.” Only that was a lie. She did want to talk, even though it might be painful to hear the truth.
“Very well.” He continued to stare at her until her body tingled with a need she’d long thought dead.
You are weak, Emily Sinclair. Are you the kind of woman who loves one man, no matter what he has done to you?
In this place she was strong, but with strength of character came a more basic need—curiosity.
“Wait.” She breathed deeply. She might not get another chance to have her questions answered, to finally get closure. Wasn’t curiosity one of the reasons she remained? “Please sit down, and I’ll join you.”
He didn’t smile but did as she asked. Was she doing the right thing? Too late now. She walked slowly toward the rock and sat where she had many times in the past when they were young and in charity with one another.
For a long time, they didn’t speak. Andrew had a handful of rocks he tossed one by one into the water at the edge of the lake, the ever-widening circles riveting in the silence. Finally, he spoke, his voice low.
“I tried to see you before I left for the continent.”
“I know.”
“Your father would not allow me to enter the house. If you’d been here instead of in London, I would have found a way to scale the wall and scratch at your window until you opened it. Remember when I did that once?”
“I’d assumed it was a persistent, misguided bird, trying to peck his way through the glass.”
“And I thought the branch of the tree would break as I swung down onto your balcony. When I couldn’t open the window, I panicked. Then you came into the room, and I nearly wept in relief, knowing I would not have to embarrass myself by hailing one of the gardeners.”
“It was a bold, improper move.”
“But I was a lovelorn lad, and I had to see you before I returned to school to finish my term.” He looked at her now with twinkling eyes and dimpled cheeks. With his rumpled coat and mussed hair, she could almost believe that boy sat next to her now, idly tossing stones into the lake. Except for the eyes. Deep shadows seemed to line them.
The memory momentarily warmed her as the wind whipped up, stirring the branches of the trees behind them. Too much had happened since. She could not dwell on the happy moments she’d had with Andrew. Not when bitterness shriveled her heart.
She willed herself to be calm, to speak in the prim tones she’d perfected over the years. “Shall we start at the beginning? Or perhaps somewhere in the middle. We announced our engagement at a grand ball. And then?” She gazed out over the water rather than look at his face, afraid she might detect a falsehood.
Oh ye of little faith.
“I’d accepted the invitation to the Livingston hou
se party, thinking you would be there.”
“I’d planned to go. But Mama took ill. I remained behind to help nurse her.”
He stirred beside her, as if searching his memory for long-ago details. “On the, er, night in question, I joined the billiard players after dinner rather than take tea with the ladies. We wagered on every game. The challenges took hours, and we all drank heavily. When I look back on that night, it was Woodley who kept my glass full. In the wee hours of the morning, I stumbled to my room. I’d sent my man to bed hours before, knowing I’d probably collapse fully clothed once the door closed behind me.”
He paused and let the remaining stones in his hand fall to the ground. “This next part is hard.”
She glanced at his bowed head. “This is the part I need to hear from your own lips, Andrew.”
He nodded. “She was under the coverlet—Miss Woodley—in her night rail. I hadn’t lighted a candle. I didn’t notice her until I had removed most of my clothes and climbed up to the bed. She laughed, a high-pitched screeching sound. I-I couldn’t believe my ears or my eyes. Then the door opened, and her mother and another lady who were just passing by in the hallway barged in.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes downcast.
“Mrs. Woodley screamed, ran over to me, and pelted me with her fists. Several people gathered at the door to watch the drama. I thought it was a joke. Caroline was still laughing, and I wanted to join in the merriment even though my brain was sluggish and I feared I would pass out at any moment. Her father came in, ordered everyone else out, and bellowed at me in outrage. By then Mrs. Woodley had escorted her daughter out of the room.”
He paused. “I never touched her, Em. I swear I didn’t even know she was there. They’d hatched a parson’s mousetrap and decided the night was ripe to spring it because they knew I was thoroughly foxed.”
She’d been told only part of the story. But the last part was new. Had it been a trap? There had been moments of entrapment in the ton, but most eligible bachelors were careful to stay clear of unscrupulous mamas who had unweddable daughters. Andrew had been betrothed and technically off the market. Had he been chosen because of his fondness for spirits? Many of the eligible bachelors of the ton drank to excess. That couldn’t be the reason, could it? And why?
Caroline Woodley had not been an antidote. On the contrary, she’d had many suitors, but had not accepted any. That was the perplexing part. Why go to the trouble of entrapping Cardmore and contracting a scandalous, Gretna Green marriage when eligible men surely had applied for her hand?
She hunched over and picked up one of the stones. Smooth and round, it was perfect for skipping across the water. She grasped it tightly, forming words she needed to say. “I’m still confused. Caroline was popular. She never lacked dancing partners, and a cadre of beaus followed her around. Why would she trap someone? Had she no offers?”
“Many, or at least that’s what I was told.”
“Then why did she not accept any?”
“I asked her. Do you know what she boldly said? She was in love.”
Emily frowned. “With you? Was she in love with you, Andrew?”
“No. But by then it was imperative she marry quickly. I believe I was chosen because of my father’s reputation as a man who lived by the teachings of the Bible, or at least his version of it, a man who would require his son to perform his Christian duty.”
A harsh man who had given his son fits. Emily remembered quite well. Andrew and his sisters had spent hours on their knees, praying in the family chapel every Sunday, and were forced to memorize long passages of the Bible. If they’d faltered, they were punished.
“I’m still confused.”
He rubbed his hands on his knees. “Caroline was carrying a child, and she told everyone it was mine.”
Chapter 7
Emily’s stomach knotted. She couldn’t breathe. Caroline had already been enceinte? No wonder her father had demanded Andrew marry her. Mama had not told her the entire truth.
Or hadn’t known it.
“It wasn’t mine.” His hand lay gently on her shoulder.
Her head whipped up. “What?”
He looked at her like she had two heads. “You cannot be thinking I was the one who got her in the family way.”
“How can you be sure you were not?”
He stood, his hands on his hips, and glared at her. “You don’t believe me.” He stated it as a fact even though she wasn’t sure what she believed. She was in shock. She’d wanted to know what happened. Now she did.
Be careful what you wish for.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, her mind unable to process any more revelations. “I-I must get back.”
She gathered her cloak around her, adjusted the strings of her bonnet, and rushed off, forgetting that ladies don’t run, they walk sedately with their chins in the air and their backs stiff.
“Emily!”
She couldn’t look at him. She needed time to think. She needed her spot by the lake, although now it would not beckon her but would be forever tarnished in her mind by a sordid story. Men sowed wild oats before they married. But this?
He didn’t follow, and she was glad. Moving as quickly as she could, not feeling the peace she’d craved this day, she hurried back to the house, ran up the stairs, and flung herself on her bed.
He hadn’t loved her after all. How could she have thought he had? He’d done the most intimate of acts with a beautiful woman of loose moral character. Had he planned to continue the liaison after they were married? Or had it been a last fling?
I never touched her.
He was right. She didn’t believe him, because she knew him. Andrew had a passionate nature. An exotic woman like Caroline would have been too much temptation, especially when he’d been promised to an ordinary woman like her.
Emily stumbled over to her dresser and sifted through her jewel case until she found the betrothal ring Andrew had given her. Why she’d saved it all these years was a mystery. She closed her fingers over it, squeezing until it cut into her palm. This was worse than the day she’d been told her dreams had died.
She stiffened her spine and forced her bottom lip to stop trembling. Thank God no one else was at home. Aunt Lily had already gone to the village. Emily would have time to compose herself before she faced her intuitive aunt.
So much made sense now. The laughter behind her back when she walked through a ballroom. The smirks and raised eyebrows when they made morning calls. Poor Emily. Naïve Emily. Silly Emily, shamed by her betrothed.
Her humiliation had taken a full year to live down. By the time the next season came, her misfortune had been relegated to old news. Fresh scandals fed the gossipmongers, and she finally walked among her peers without recrimination.
The only daughter of the Earl and Countess of Langston became the woman who never had a hair out of place or a wrinkle in her gown. She masked her true nature with perfect posture and pretty manners. Dowagers came to admire her countenance and composure. By the time another year had passed, she could enjoy dancing again at balls. She’d even had a few proposals, which she’d graciously declined, not knowing why marriage no longer appealed to her.
The urge to throw the ring across the floor, and perhaps take up the ewer and pitcher and smash them against the wall, was totally out of character for her now. But oh, how she longed to do it.
Her eyes burned with tears she refused to let fall.
“It wasn’t mine.” Could she believe him? Oh Lord, she wanted to. But all the hurt and embarrassment of seven years ago rose like it happened yesterday.
She took several deep breaths and put the ring back in the jewel case, burying it beneath a gaudy necklace she never wore. The tightness in her chest was still there, and her throat hurt. Tears were not far away.
The door to
her room opened, and her maid entered with a stack of mending. “Lady Emily. I didn’t expect you back this soon.” Alice put down the bundle and peered into her face. “Is something wrong, milady?”
Emily slowly released her breath, aware her bottom lip quivered despite her efforts.
“Not at all.”
“You seem a bit pale, if I do say so. Can I fetch you a cup of tea? I can take it to the sewing room. I know you sometimes like to go there this time of day.”
Emily blinked and tried hard to smile, but her throat still burned. “That would be lovely, Alice. But I would prefer to remain here. Perhaps you can bring it in a half an hour?”
“As you wish.” She curtsied and left, a concerned expression on her face.
Emily stumbled over to the chair near the window. The day had brightened to a clear sky with puffy white clouds. The sky should be gray, threatening rain to match her mood.
Perhaps she would begin the new gown after all, a pretty dress for the birds and squirrels to admire during her winter walks. If her hands weren’t busy, she would dwell on the morning’s conversation. She turned away from the window and finally allowed the tears to seep from her eyes.
Why can’t I believe him?
Because he was a handsome, virile man, and men of their social class had affairs and kept mistresses while their powerless wives looked away, hoping their spouses would be discreet.
Andrew had always been passionate. He’d even told her about some of his earliest conquests, hiding explicit details to protect her maidenly sensibilities, but making sure she knew he’d sewn his proverbial wild oats at a very early age. Growing up, they’d shared everything. They’d been playmates, then brother and sister, then best friends. Later in their teen years when their awareness of one another began to change, they became lovers. Not in a carnal sense, but with chaste kisses and hand-holding under the dining table. He became her protector, the one who vowed to marry her after her first season. She was the one who’d listened when he told her of his torment at the hands of his father. His sisters had been spared, thanks to his mother, but as the heir, he’d belonged to Lord Cardmore, body and soul.
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