“If I have made you uncomfortable that was not my intent.” He had not resumed the card play. He sat looking contrite, and Emily felt that she had somehow been unkind.
“Of course not, Your Grace,” she answered. She could not call him Alexander in company and yet she wanted to do so. The moment felt too intimate. His eyes were alight. She felt they would have a very different conversation if they were alone.
Was she imagining it, or could Alexander also be recalling their childhood in a different light? Emily bit her lip. He was a child no longer. The thought made her heart beat fast. She was so muddled, she could not speak. Instead, she looked down at her cards once more.
“You have hardly said a dozen words to me since your arrival, Miss Ingram. Yet, Edmund and I are not so different and you adore him.”
“Oh, she doesn’t,” Edmund chipped in.
“He is my brother and I am obligated to adore him,” she gave one sharp laugh. “If it were not so, and he still teased, I would keep my distance.”
“Then you no longer have the heart to be teased?” The duke said as if he could not believe it.
“You are now a gentlemen and I am a lady. As you have said, we are not children any longer. A gentleman does not tease.”
The words brought back a flood of memories shared from that last summer before she and Anne left for finishing school.
“I think we are done with cards,” Anne said disgustedly throwing in the hand and sitting back allowing the duke to shift closer to Emily.
Edmund laughed. “Oh Anne, this has always been in the cards,” he said.
Emily and the duke sat in silent accord while the duke pondered her answer. Then, so softly that Emily could not be certain whether she had heard it or imagined, he said, “Then we are in agreement.” His breath was hot on her ear. “We are no longer children.”
She turned. His lips left her ear and instead she found herself staring into his eyes. They were the deepest darkest blue she had ever seen. Her own eyes found his lips as he asked, “Would you allow me to call upon you, Miss Ingram?”
She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes and their gazes locked. He was uncommonly close to her. She could smell the scent of him. It was quite pleasant, like the outdoors after fresh snowfall, and underneath something deeply masculine that tugged at her insides.
She felt as if she couldn’t breathe. The request was formal, but somehow more intimate than all their former discourse. She nodded helplessly, her insides roiling like a tempestuous sea. He smiled at her acceptance although it did nothing to lessen the intensity of his deep blue gaze.
That evening, when she turned in for the night, Emily could not remember ever having felt more confused or frustrated. In barely two encounters the duke had transformed from a childhood playfellow into some paradox of emotion that had defied Emily’s best attempts to decipher. Edmund remained oblivious and Emily could not bring herself to confide in him. He may be her brother, but first he was a man.
Well, at least he was male, she decided and the duke’s friend. Her aunt and uncle were preoccupied with Henrietta’s mystery groom. Even worse, Emily could not bring herself to share her predicament with Anne for fear that her friend would attempt to encourage a deeper evaluation of something that Emily was unprepared to confront. Alexander could always be counted upon for fun and the glib comment, but she did not need such flippancy. She was a lady now.
She had agreed to his calling upon her. Why had she done such a thing? It seemed as if something had changed between them over cards or over dinner and Emily had entirely lost her footing.
Emily needed someone to remind her to stay the course. Stand firm. She needed someone to tell her that she had a plan, and a good one. There was no point in jeopardizing her future based on some unidentifiable emotion that would most likely lead to heartbreak. She needed someone to sit her down and remind her that Robert Hawthorne possessed all of the necessary characteristics in spades. Yet, there was no doubt that Alexander, the duke, was in her thoughts.
Sometimes she felt she could almost see her Alexander’s clear blue eyes staring back from underneath the smoldering gaze of the man he had become. The man inflamed her in ways she did not understand. It was as if the boy she once knew and the man he was now, were two entirely separate people and she could not reconcile them in her heart.
Emily realized quite suddenly that she needed her mother. Lady Kentleworth was the epitome of the proper lady. She would lecture Emily with a cool civility and practicality that left no room for sentimental feeling. It was everything she hated about her mother, and everything she desperately needed. Emily loved her mother. She was a gentlewoman, and yet being gentle was not in her nature.
No, the viscountess would merely reveal her dismay that Emily was even slightly questioning their agreement. She would be all for Emily to catch a duke for her husband, just not this duke. She would remind Emily of what she already knew: the misery that Alexander’s mother had endured walled up in the country while her husband flaunted his mistresses and bastards. She would call her daughter a fool and insist that she return to London. At the moment, Emily felt the fool.
15
The duke thought the dinner party went quite well although by necessity many guests left before too late in the evening. Although Alexander had not invited the crowd to stay for the night, he had prepared a few rooms for several elderly guests who remembered his father, and most needed to be convinced of the changes he wished to make to Bramblewood.
None had stayed. Sandstowe was close enough that some guests went there for the night, but most were from nearby estates throughout Northwickshire and returned home.
Even though the sun set early in the winter, all who were traveling home after dinner brought some extra footmen who could walk ahead of the carriage with a lantern to be sure none of the horses took a misstep. In the summer this was not so much of a problem, but this far north, one always had to worry about the condition of the roads.
The duke thought it had been a fruitful evening. He controlled the urge to whoop with joy when Emily had agreed to his calling upon her. Still, it was only the first step.
After his guests left the manor, the duke considered what sort of call would be best. He hoped the weather held. He wanted to take Emily riding as they had done in years past. It would give them a chance to talk. Even though they would, of course, take a groom with them, or even her aunt or uncle, it would afford them a form of privacy.
The duke smiled at the thought. He realized at the card table how very much he wanted to kiss her. He knew he would have little rest tonight with thoughts of Emily on his mind. It would not be the first time. He had dreamed of her for as long as he could remember although his dreams had taken on a decidedly more heated note of late.
He woke the next morning with an aching need for her that did not dissipate with the chill as he took his greyhounds for a romp. The weather was clear, and he once again considered his desire to call upon her. He thought perhaps Edmund could be persuaded to accompany them on their ride.
Edmund would not be so stiff and that would perhaps help Emily to be at ease. He missed the easy camaraderie of their youth. The duke had teased a smile from her at dinner and he dearly wished to do so again. He loved to see her smile.
When the duke returned to the manor after leaving all the dogs, save Lucky, at the kennels he told Franklin to bring him some hot mulled cider. Now that company had left, Lucky followed at his master’s heel.
The duke knew it was most improper to keep a hound within the manor. He didn’t much care. Alexander trained Lucky himself when he was only a pup. The dog had slept at the foot of his bed ever since he was a child and was a comfort within the cold and empty manor when his mother had passed. The hound was too old for hunting now, but the duke would not part with him.
Lucky went directly to curl up at his favorite place in front of the library fire which reminded the duke he could not immediately go calling. He sighed as he thought of
the pile of paperwork in the library which he had yet to go through. He had work of the duchy to do, but soon, he would call on Miss Emily Ingram; as soon as he was able.
“Bring that cider to the library,” he told Franklin.
“Very good, Your Grace,” the man said with a slight bow. His shoes sounded like a sepulchral march on the cold floor.
As the duke sat at his desk, he realized that all the guests had gone home and the house felt cavernous. Save for the servants, he was once again alone in the enormous manor. He wanted to fill it with Christmas cheer.
One day there would be loud children playing in the nursery. An heir, of course, and several beautiful little girls with auburn hair and freckles to fill the cold halls of Bramblewood with their laughter.
At the thought of their preferred mother he remembered Emily’s sweet hand under his. A thought struck him and he put aside his work. He intended to find something. A smile graced his lips. As he stood, the old greyhound also stood, stretching lazily ready to follow at his heel.
He gestured for the old dog to lie back down. “Stay,” he ordered Lucky who after the morning romp was ready to for a long nap. Grateful with the order, the dog made three circles, tucked in his tail and lay back down in front of the fire. The duke would start his search with his mother’s old rooms.
Several days had passed since the duke had last seen Emily. Regretfully he had been far too occupied with the goings on in the duchy to be social. Final preparations for the town’s welfare had been completed and he was pleased with the result. For the first year since the death of his father they would not be crawling out of winter or scrambling to prepare for the spring when it came.
He had done the best he could do for his people, including the crotchety Mr. Marksham. He allowed himself a breath of fresh air on the steps of the church before entering. The threat of a real, lasting snow was upon them, and he could not wait for the world to be blanketed in white.
It was Sunday and the entire town had gathered for the service. It was an age of enlightenment, and the duke knew that there were those in London who questioned the church, but here in Northwickshire, the people expected to see their betters in the parish each Sunday. It had been so since Alexander was small.
The truth was, the chapel at Bramblewood Park was in no shape for use. Even if it were, Alexander thought, with the goings on at Bramblewood in his father’s lifetime, he should probably have the place consecrated to God once again. The thought of anything sacred had been absent from Bramblewood for far too long, but change took time.
The bells had rung and all entered the church; some for the service, and some to get out of the cold.
The duke had the front row reserved for his family as it had been for years. His staff occupied the wall at the back several rows behind him. The duke was spotted by Edmund and Mr. Marksham as they came into the church.
The duke put an arm over Edmund’s shoulder to direct him to the empty front seat. “Sit with us,” He gestured Marksham forward and both men joined him. It would feel less lonely with his friends beside him. “How are your chickens?” the duke asked in a whisper as he sat beside Marksham.
“Laying quite nicely for winter,” the man replied with a grin. “Except for that rooster, of course; he will be the death of me.”
“Yes,” the duke laughed. “He always was a pest. That was why we chose him. My staff is ever so pleased he is gone,” he admitted.
“He was the devil to catch,” Edmund added and they all chuckled together.
Angry eyes around them demanded silence even though the service had yet to start. Still, the gentlemen took their seats and bowed their heads piously. Alexander took the time to think.
The duke had greeted many of the people on his way into the church and would greet many more on his way out. Again, it was Lord Stratton who urged to him mingle after services.
“People will say things at church that they will not voice in the town meetings or most especially to your face.” Cecil had said. “You will hear what you need to hear.”
“I thought I was there to pray to God.”
“Yes, well, I am sure The Lord will hear what He should hear as well.”
The duke smiled at the man’s very practical form of religion as he looked around from his front vantage point.
The church had been added to over the years and boasted two annexes that broke off from the central hall. Together, with the altar ahead, the structure created the illusion of the shape of a cross. He noted the stones along the wall needed repointing. Did everything need to be repaired? He wondered.
The duke was in the main room, but off to his left, he saw the Albright family sitting piously in the annex. William sat with his two young sisters on either side of him. With them, was a figure he recognized at once: Emily.
Emily’s head was bowed and she looked every bit the devout lady that she ought to be. She was perfection. He felt a stab of shame that she had turned out so well, while he would always have his faults hanging over him. His and his father’s. Guilt suffused him. He should be praying.
She sat as still as a statue with her eyes front. The duke shifted and continued to watch her, just like he had used to do as a boy when he came to services with his mother.
His father had often been sick on a Sunday. Alexander remembered once after services, he had got into fisticuffs with one of the village boys over the verity of that fact. Both William and Edmund had jumped in to help him pummel the liar, who was not a liar.
The duke’s eyes found William seated with his aunt and uncle. He shushed his youngest sister, but then he leaned down to hear what she whispered and smiled. The girl had her mother’s curls. Poor Kate, Alexander thought. He had an understanding for the girls losing their mother at such a time.
Alexander remembered, his own mother explaining, when they returned to the manor after the fight. She spoke with tears brimming, telling him that he should not have bloodied the boy. “You shall be a duke, a gentleman. Gentlemen do not act so.”
“But he said Father was not sick. He was a liar.”
“Your father is sick after a fashion,” his mother said thoughtfully. “But it is not an illness many understand. They believe your father has chosen his way, but I am not sure he has. I am not sure he can. The drink has captured him surely as a demon, and he can no longer escape.”
“A demon?” Alexander had said. “I don’t understand.”
“It does not matter. What does matter is that gentlemen do not engage in fisticuffs. They negotiate, sometimes they give orders, but they most certainly do not resort to violence.”
“Father engaged in fisticuffs,” Alexander argued.
His mother had sighed.
As an adult he could appreciate his mother’s dilemma. His father gave no clear example of gentlemanly behavior; quite the opposite. Three years ago he threw the Baron Shudley straight through the side window.
The sight had been quite spectacular actually as Father picked up the smaller man and quite literally tossed him out of the house. He also could appreciate that his father and the baron always had a strange relationship: almost rivalry rather than friendship. They had fought more than once, though nothing like their last fight he thought.
Over the years they enjoyed the same revelry and tried to get one over on each other, but of course the duke’s funds were greater. No wonder then that the men had such a spectacular falling out. He was filled with guilt for his part in it, and for Henrietta. He bowed his head and tried to pray, but it did not expunge his guilt. He wondered if like his father, he could not escape who he was.
Still, Emily distracted him.
She was distant with him. Sometimes, she acted as if she wanted no part of him. He knew she agreed to his offer to court her with no little reluctance. Why?
He was a duke. How could she not want him? Still, he did not want her to want him because he was a duke. He wanted her to want him because he was Alexander, her friend, and a person who had loved her si
nce they were children. But perhaps she was wiser than his mother and saw him for who he really was. Perhaps she saw the same demon that followed his father also stalked him. Certainly, he was not blameless.
The duke turned his attention to the vicar as the service began, but after a while, he could not sit easy. His eyes strayed back to Emily.
Her hands were folded in her lap, and she looked positively angelic. The duke admired her control and hated it at the same time. He prayed for a hint that the girl he had once known and loved, was still present beneath her austere shield. If he saw but a glimpse, then he knew that, in time, he could draw her back out again. She seemed so rigid. It was almost like she was not the same person she had been.
Edmund insisted that Emily was the same girl who romped with them and followed in their games. That she was still the freckle-faced mer-creature who scolded him and pelted him with pinecones when he was being a dolt, but he could not see it. Please, God let me see it, he thought. Was that a prayer? Surely not.
He turned his attention back to the vicar who had been droning on for a full half hour about something the duke had lost track of in his musings. He tried to get his mind back on the lecture, but it made no sense now that he had missed a part. Rather, his eyes began to wander about the room to see if he was the only one who had been left in the dust. Marksham was listening. Edmund was dozing.
Lady Stratton was asleep, but Cecil was listening intently, nodding somewhat, and leaning in to hear. Alexander wondered if he ever would come up the man’s high standard.
Emily remained firm in her prayer. Almost as if she were not even breathing. The duke repeated his paltry prayer with more force. Give me some sign, Lord. Should I pursue her, or let her go? He thought with more conviction. Perhaps The Lord had not heard him properly the first time with all of the other more appropriate prayers.
The duke did not put much faith in prayer. The Lord did not hear him when his mother was sick, or when his father was not. He was not sure he believed in Christmas miracles.
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