‘It was my mother’s, and her mother’s before her,’ he said. ‘It never seemed to belong to Maude; I could never bring myself to give it to her. But I think it is rightfully yours. It’s the colour of your eyes. The colour of summer, which is how it feels whenever you’re near.’
Emma was sure he must have deep feelings for her, if it made him so poetic. As she watched, David slowly knelt before her and held out the ring.
‘It is yours, Emma, if you will have me with it and Beatrice, too. She adores you, as I do,’ he said solemnly. ‘I know I am not exciting or adventurous. Life at Rose Hill will have no casinos or court balls. But I promise to always love you, to always work as hard as I can to make you happy.’
Tears pouring down her cheeks, flowing freely as she let her emotions fly out at last, Emma knelt next to David and covered his hand with hers. ‘You already make me happier than I ever thought possible. There at Rose Hill, with you and Beatrice—that’s where I felt I at last belonged. I didn’t think you wanted me.’
David laughed, a glorious, musical sound she had heard too rarely. But maybe now she would hear it every day for the rest of her life, if she dared hope for that. ‘I want you more than anything. I don’t think I realised quite how very much until you were hurt and I feared to lose you. Please, Emma, say you will marry me. Or do I have to run into that concert and declare that I have ruined you in front of everyone to make you say yes?’
Emma had to laugh at the image of David, her calm, cool David, making such a dramatic scene. ‘Such scandal! Just like me, I fear.’
‘I’m not afraid of any scandal, as long as we face it together. All of the things I have guarded against all my life—none of them matter next to you.’
And nothing in her life mattered next to him, either. He was truly the best man she had ever met. The only man she wanted. ‘Then, yes. Yes, Sir David Marton, I will marry you.’
David took her hand and slipped the ring on to her finger. It did look like summer, she thought as she looked down at it. Like warmth and light, and the promise of a happy life where she belonged. The promise of a life with David, the man she truly loved.
She threw her arms around him as he drew her close for a long, sweet, fiery kiss that said everything she ever needed to know.
As his lips trailed to her cheek, she smiled as happiness greater than any she could have ever imagined broke over her. ‘Oh, David,’ she whispered. ‘I suppose you are not such a dull old stick after all...’
* * *
From the diary of Arabella Bancroft
It has been a year since I last wrote in this book, and I am sure this will be my last entry. I have not been able to find words, find light, for so long, but today the sun has come out again. Today is my wedding day.
I shall never forget the glorious love I found with my sweet William. But George Marton is a good man who I have come to care for. And with him I can leave London—and seek the treasure once more...
Epilogue
One year later
‘Oh, Lady Marton, it looks lovely. Just perfect.’
Emma stepped back to survey the new window display of books freshly arrived from London. Mrs Anston, the young widow she had hired to manage the shop after Mr Lorne retired, clapped her hands as she looked at the array of volumes.
‘Yes, Mrs Anston,’ Emma agreed as she slid one book just a shade to the right. ‘I think you are quite right. We should be ready for our re-opening party next week.’
Wiping her hands on her apron, she turned to scan the space. There were just as many books as ever, but now they were neatly shelved in categories, with displays laid out on tables from the attics at Rose Hill and Barton Park. A few comfortable chairs and sofas were also scattered about for easy perusing of volumes and pretty yellow curtains hung at the newly scrubbed windows.
It was a lovely sight indeed, her idea of the perfect bookshop. And it was all her own.
Emma had feared that once she was married, she would have to give up the shop and Mr Lorne would close it. But David had insisted she keep it, and even found Mrs Anston, the widow of a kinsman of his, to run it for her. Part of Mr Sansom’s library had already found buyers, the beginning of Emma’s antiquarian clients, and new book-buying ventures to London were all the ‘adventures’ she ever needed again.
Well—that and what happened in the grand, curtained bed at Rose Hill every night. That was proving to be quite adventurous indeed.
Emma felt herself blushing fiercely to think of it and she quickly turned away to readjust a display. Yes, life as Lady Marton was continually proving to be all she had ever dreamed. And more.
Beyond the window, she heard the church bell toll and she glanced up, startled. ‘Is that the time already? I must go...’
‘Don’t worry, Lady Marton, I will unpack the last of the new books,’ Mrs Anston said. ‘You can’t be late today.’
‘No, indeed, or my sister would be furious.’ Emma quickly changed her apron for a satin pelisse and tied on her bonnet. Her pearl pendant gleamed at her throat. She glanced in the mirror to see that her cheeks were still pink, but hopefully everyone would just think it was the spring day, the happiness of the occasion. Not that she had been daydreaming about what her husband did to her in their bedchamber.
She gently smoothed a caress over the still-small bump under her pelisse. It was still a secret to all but her sister, but in a few months Bea would have the new brother or sister she persisted in begging for.
Emma smiled to think of it. Her family. Her husband and children. Their home. All things she had once thought could never be hers.
With a quick goodbye to Mrs Anston, Emma hurried out of the shop and towards the church. Lady Wheelington’s carriage was already there, outside the churchyard gates, and Mrs Smythe and her rambunctious brood were making their way up the path.
Jane and Hayden waited with the vicar at the church door, the twins helping little Emma toddle around on her leading strings. Beatrice tumbled around with them, laughing, until she saw Emma walking toward them.
‘Mama!’ she called, and dashed towards Emma to hug her. ‘I got to hold the baby. He is very small, but I was so careful.’
‘Of course you were,’ Emma said with a laugh. Bea was always careful, always polite, always with a book in her hands. But she was learning to play too, which Emma was happy to see.
‘And he’s named Edward, just like Queen Elizabeth’s brother,’ Beatrice said. ‘Come and see.’
‘Yes, Emma, come and see your godson,’ Jane said, holding up the lace-swathed baby in her arms. Hayden beamed down at them, every inch the proud papa. ‘You were almost late for his christening.’
‘I never would have missed this for anything,’ Emma said. She took baby Edward carefully from her sister, marvelling at his tiny nose and silky lashes, the sweet scent of him. She couldn’t believe that very soon she would have one of her own.
She felt a gentle touch on her shoulder and glanced up to find her husband smiling down at her. Even after a year of being married, just the sight of him made her heart swell and the day turn golden-bright.
He bent to kiss her and Emma knew that finally she was right where she belonged. For ever.
* * * * *
ISBN: 9781472004239
RUNNING FROM SCANDAL
© Ammanda McCabe 2013
First Published in Great Britain in 2013
Harlequin (UK) Limited
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