She'd hesitated at the suggestion they be seen in public together. How could he possibly court her? She'd resist him at every turn. He'd have to offer something so compelling she couldn't say no. He rubbed his chin again, taxing his brain. She'd never entertain the thought of marriage to him. At least not right away. Perhaps he could let his invitations lead her along.
***
Emma prided herself on her strength of character. She had been the strong one, and held her mother together after Father passed away. She had maintained the bookstore, and managed to earn enough to keep a roof over their heads for three years now. She had accepted her lot in life as a spinster and had been content, if not always happy.
But pride goeth before a fall, and she had fallen, in a hard way, for the Duke of Ravenswood. Certain she was nothing more to him than a simple girl who amused him, she allowed herself a few tears as she prepared for bed. She had to shed them privately, since her mother must never know of her feelings. Even though her mother appeared to have a good time with Paul's mother, she had done nothing since their return from tea except to tell Emma she was wishing for the stars if she thought the Duke would be interested in her. According to her mother, she should cut off all contact with him immediately before their neighbors began to gossip.
Emma listened to her complaints all evening with half an ear. Her heart still tingled from his words, and she allowed herself to remember every word, every gaze, and every smile from the day. How he remembered exactly how she preferred her tea, how he noticed the ink on her fingers and teased her about it, how he expressed sincere sympathy about her father's death. Her mother's words drifted around her while her mind rolled out the memory of the day.
Emma never expected to see him again. They were brushing past each other on the road of life. He was headed in one direction, she the other. She'd have to bundle her heart away, along with each memory she had of Paul, for those long winter nights ahead, when she'd try to stay warm with her thoughts of a love that could never be. And live alone, with only her mother for company. Although she knew what her life had in store, she could help but entertain a dream of marriage to a man who seemed to accept her idiosyncrasies. She prayed for guidance before falling asleep. Getting over Paul was not going to be easy, so she put her trust in God's wisdom and not her own limited understanding.
The next few days, she roamed the aisles of the bookstore, duster in hand and a pinafore apron over her dress, unloading a shelf at a time, cleaning every inch of space. Busywork kept her focused at a time when she was decidedly unfocused. The few customers who wandered in were almost an interruption. But she smiled, offered help and reading suggestions, and totaled up the orders.
Still no Paul.
Chapter Six
On her fifth day of solitude, the shop sparkled from her labors, and she had run out of things to dust and polish. There was nothing left to do except to shelve some books customers had pulled out and then decided against. Emma sighed softly. Such is the life of a bookstore owner. She should be grateful she at least had a shop with a good reputation. Her father hadn't left them entirely destitute. She already had made it halfway to the magic number of twenty books sold each month, and the store's bank account was a bit plumper than it had ever been. Even though her situation was better than it had been in a long time, she couldn't shake her melancholy.
She lowered her head into her hands, fighting against tears. What would people say if they wandered into the shop, only to find the owner crying about her lot in life? They'd run in the opposite direction, no doubt. She had to be strong, and support both herself and her mother. Lifting her head, she wiped away any trace of tears and set about replacing the books that had been left on the counter.
A tinkle of the shop's bell attached to the door announced the arrival of a new customer. Emma pasted a smile on her face before she pivoted and faced the person who had entered. Her breath caught in her throat when she recognized her new patron. It was the Duke! Her knees threatened to buckle, so she leaned up against the bookshelf and stared at him.
"Your Grace," Emma whispered.
He came forward and took her hand in his. Shots of current ran up her arm at the contact, and she quit breathing altogether. Her stomach began fluttering when, instead of relinquishing his hold on her, he came closer. The breath she'd been holding whooshed out of her.
"Hello, Miss Carter," his deep voice washed over her like a caress.
"You've returned," Emma stated the obvious in a weak voice. "Why?"
"Because I realized I'd forgotten something." He continued to stare at her.
"I can't imagine what that might be." Emma's gaze darted around the room. "I've just spent five days cleaning everything in the shop and found nothing unusual."
"I didn't say I left anything behind, only that I'd forgotten something." His smile lit up his face, exposing his dimples and an errant lock of his brown hair cascaded over his forehead. Emma lifted the hand he wasn't holding to brush his hair back before she realized her intent, and lowered it again. Embarrassed, she quickly looked down, but didn't draw back her hand from his hold.
***
Paul took a deep breath before he spoke again. He needed to get this right. "You asked me once how it was I remained single, and I brushed off the question."
"You don't owe me an explanation," Emma's gaze came back to him, and she narrowed her eyes, studying him intently.
"I believe I do. I was once engaged, to a lovely, but somewhat impulsive, young lady named Margaret. We were out walking one winter's day, and she ran ahead of me onto an ice-covered lake. I urged her not to head in that direction, since I couldn't follow her. She knew I feared the water, but laughed and ran on ahead. The ice wasn't thick enough to hold her weight, and she fell in." He stopped, took another deep breath, and ran a hand over his eyes.
"And you couldn't save her," Emma finished for him.
Paul closed his eyes, as visions of his nightmare threatened to overtake him again. When he opened them, Emma stood in the sunlight, holding his hand. The nightmare abated, finally. His future was in front of him.
"No, I couldn't." He shook his head. "Ever since, I've tried to assuage my guilt by associating with women who haven't had the best reputations. It's all I thought I was worthy of, since the finest woman I'd ever met I let slip beneath the ice."
Emma's hand raised as she gave in to her impulse and brushed back a lock of his hair. "I'm so sorry for your loss. It must have devastated you. But why are you telling me this?"
"Because it's time to put the nightmare in its place." Paul smiled slightly. "My mother enjoyed you and your mother's company quite a bit the other day. She told me I'd suffered long enough for Margaret's death, and I should get on with life, while there was still time for her to enjoy her grandchildren."
He could hear the sharp intake of Emma's breath, and her hold on his hand tightened as she spoke. "I'll ask again. Why are you telling me this? I am not a member of your class, and although my reputation may be solid, I'm hardly worthy of your time."
Paul finally relinquished his hold on her hand, only to pull some tickets from his pocket. "Well, I disagree with your assessment of your merits. Mother and I would like to invite you and your mother to come with us on an outing. We'll see where it leads from there." He handed her the tickets.
"The opera? We're going to the opera?" Her eyes grew large as she stared at the tickets.
"Not just any opera. Note which performance we'll be attending." He ran a finger under the title. "The Marriage of Figaro. Maybe we'll get some ideas on where to go next."
Emma began to shake, and he wrapped her in an embrace. "Just say yes to the opera for now. That's all I want. And a kiss, if you're so inclined."
"Yes to the opera," she whispered. "And yes." She raised her face to him and stood on her tiptoes. His gaze fell to her mouth. He lowered his mouth to hers, and a feeling of warmth and rightness surrounded him. Paul and Emma had finally found contentment.
***
>
THE END
About the Author
Emily Williams is a romance author, who focuses on inspirational, historical stories for cozy, heartwarming reads.
Born and raised in Colorado, Emily is grateful to live amongst beautiful landscapes in a health-oriented setting. When not writing romances, Emily enjoys painting, hiking, and taking her family snowboarding.
Christmas Wishes: The Love of a Marquess Page 34
