Morgan straightened his shoulders. “This one.”
“What if we found a house in Hampshire?”
“I’m not made of money,” he protested.
“Liar.”
He opened his mouth then closed it. She had him there. His father had been a savvy investor and the estate earned well not to mention his investment in the ale business with Guy was already paying off—information Emma was likely privy to via her sister.
“I have no need for another house. This one will do just fine. You can visit your family whenever you wish. It is not a long journey from London.”
Emma folded her arms across her chest and her chin jutted out. His meek, shy wife was well and truly gone. “What is so terrible about the country?”
“What is so terrible about Town?”
“Everything. The traffic, the smoke, the...the people.”
“Everything,” he echoed. “What of the country? The bees, the mud, the people,” he added with a smug grin.
“There is nothing wrong with simple, honest, country-folk. You forget that your wife was raised mostly in the countryside.”
“Well, now my wife will have to get used to living in Town.”
“Never.”
He shrugged. “You have little choice.”
“So you do intend to play the overbearing husband.” She removed her napkin and placed it on the table. “There is plenty of love about the countryside. Perhaps if you gave it a chance, you might come to love it as I do.”
“Not likely.”
She leaned forward. “How long shall we stay with Lord Weston?”
“Two weeks at most.” Less if he could help it.
“How about we make a deal?”
“A deal?”
A slight smile crossed her lips. Her green eyes sparkled enticingly. Were they not butting heads about the one point that bothered him the most, he’d quite appreciate her fire.
“Give the countryside a chance. Let me show you all it can offer. If you still loathe it after two weeks, I shall return meekly to London and say nothing more on the matter.”
He smirked. There was nothing he could love about the country. He’d win this with ease. “No more talk of Berkshire?”
She mimicked sewing up her mouth.
“I think that sounds fair.”
“You must embrace it all, though. Everything I ask you to do.”
He nodded and thrust out a hand. “You have a deal.”
Her expression was far too triumphant as she shook his hand. Uncertainty scratched at his gut. What had he let himself in for?
Chapter Six
“You will be staying in London for the rest of the year?” Julia asked.
Emma sighed. “That’s what he says.”
“Guy did say he spends all his time in London. I should have warned you.” Julia lounged back against the sofa, hardly the image of the elegant duchess she was now meant to be. After over a year of marriage Julia had not changed one bit. She was headstrong and passionate about the countryside and animals. It seemed Guy was intent on encouraging her passion.
Unfortunately for Emma, her own husband did not seem to care so much about what Emma liked or wanted to do. London held no excitement for her and she wanted to be near her family.
“He seemed determined we should stay in Town. He loathes the countryside.” Emma addressed Julia. “Do you know why?”
Julia lifted a shoulder. “He grew up in Berkshire. But his parents died when he was attending Oxford. Guy says he rarely went home after that, and now avoids it altogether.”
“You shall have to persuade him otherwise.” Catherine snatched up a biscuit from the table in the middle of the drawing room of Morgan’s townhouse.
Not Morgan’s, though. Theirs now. Emma wrinkled her nose. She was not sure she wanted a townhouse.
Her mama pressed her fingers together. “I shall miss you so. It’s going to be too quiet with your father always gone. Though”—a smile crossed her lips—“how jealous everyone shall be. Four daughters married and to titled men no less.”
“Mama, you should not boast,” scolded Amelia.
Mama straightened. “Everyone said you were all too freckled and red to marry, but I always told them otherwise.”
Amelia shook her head and shared a look with Emma. As much as their mother loved them, she had often complained that the only one to take after her in looks was Lavinia—who had been the first to marry a handsome Scottish laird.
“You certainly should not boast of my marriage, Mama. Everyone will know it was to cover a scandal by now,” Emma said.
“Oh shush.” Mama waved a hand at her. “I will not hear another word about scandal. The deed is done now and you are a countess.”
Countess. How odd the word sounded. It had been hard enough to get used to her sisters being titled, let alone herself. With their heads filled with the idea of them being far too bluestocking to attract a husband—and well, frankly, their own interests—none of them had thought such a thing would be possible.
Emma suppressed a sigh. Julia and Amelia had love, though. That was the main difference between them. That, and their own passions. Emma had always envied them that. It seemed no matter what she tried, she could not find one that she liked or was good at. Painting had been terrible. Singing and song writing even worse. Her poetry has been dismal. Her last attempt at card tricks had been to no avail. Even Catherine had astronomy. Emma...well, she had nothing.
Catherine gave Emma a nudge with her elbow. “Don’t be sad, Emma, you can persuade him to stay in the country. I am certain of it. No one says no to the Chadwick girls, just ask Julia and Amelia.”
Julia lifted her chin. “Guy sometimes says no.”
“As does Nicholas,” Amelia added.
“Liars.” Catherine stuck out her tongue at Julia who rolled her eyes. “Julia managed to persuade Guy to give up on his plans for a mill with our help. I am sure we can convince Lord Radcliff he needs to remain in Hampshire.”
“Oh, he could rent the Langmarsh estate.” Mama’s face lit up. “It is quite grand and I hear it will be up to let by the end of the month.”
“And it is only a short carriage ride away from us,” Catherine added.
“I am one step ahead of you,” Emma announced. “I have made a deal with Lord Radcliff...I mean Morgan.”
“A deal?” Catherine leaned in. “Do tell?”
“If I cannot persuade him he can enjoy the countryside when we come to stay with Julia, then I shall drop the subject altogether.”
“And he agreed to this?” Julia frowned.
Emma nodded.
“You must have been quite aggravating.” Julia grinned.
Emma could not help but giggle. Their first morning together had not gone as she had planned. After his rejection of her the previous night and a restless sleep, she had been determined to prove herself excellent wifely material. After all, she had failed at everything else she had done. Perhaps marriage would be the one thing she could do right. But after the shock of knowing they must remain in London and his refusal to even consider the idea of going to the country, that determination had withered away.
“A little perhaps.” Emma shook her head. “Oh dear, I am going to make a terrible wife.”
“Not at all. You will do a wonderful job. It is always an adjustment, even for those of us who expected to become a wife.” Amelia reached over from her position opposite and grasped Emma’s hand.
The oldest of them all, Amelia had always tried to be their guiding hand. She had failed many a time but Emma took comfort from her sister’s care nonetheless.
“Oh yes,” Julia agreed. “Guy and I fought terribly for the first few weeks of marriage. Of course, we found ways to make up afterwards.” Julia wiggled her brows.
“Julia!” Their mother scolded.
Julia made a dismissive sound. “We are all grown-ups, are you not?”
“Catherine is not yet married.” Mama wagged a finger at her.
“I’m still a grown-up,” Catherine reminded her. “And I am not an imbecile. I know all about that stuff, thank you very much.”
Mama pressed a hand to her chest. “Why you girls insist on being so scandalous and aggravating I shall never know. You certainly do not take after me. It is all your father’s fault. If he were around more often, this sort of talk would never happen.”
Emma was the first to admit that having grown up with four sisters and a mostly absent father had created a somewhat bohemian atmosphere in the Chadwick house. It was probably why she loathed the rigid atmosphere of London.
“Well he isn’t here, Mama,” Amelia said. “So it’s a bit unfair to blame him.”
Their mother made a dismissive sound. “He does not have to deal with such unruly girls.”
“And here we thought you were going to miss us all,” Julia said dryly.
Chapter Seven
“Look how beautiful it is.”
Morgan ignored Emma’s exaggerated praise of the scenery. He’d seen it all before. Lots of green, lots of brown, and not a lot more.
The carriage jerked over a bump in the road and Morgan had to prevent himself from gripping the edge of his seat. He drew in a breath and exhaled slowly...but quietly. He did not need his new wife knowing what driving through the country did to him. Christ, it was hard enough creating a marriage from nothing, let alone if she thought him an utter wimp.
“I can see the house. Look.” She pointed out of the window.
He kept his face forward and focused on the luxurious innards of the Brougham. He counted his breaths and studied the pattern on the seats on front of him with great concentration. Thankfully the journey from London to Guy’s home in Hampshire was a short one. Still not short enough for his liking, though. He supposed he should have thought this through when he had decided to invest in growing crops and producing a fine ale.
It was too hard to say no to his closest friend, however. They had known each other since their days at Oxford and rarely went a month without seeing one another. If his friend had a new endeavor, Morgan felt obliged to take part in it—especially when it was going to prove to be extremely profitable. After all, what could he say to his friend? No, I will not support you and invest in this excellent business scheme because I cannot stand riding in carriage in the countryside? It hardly made sense to him let alone to another person.
“You said you would give the countryside a chance.”
He swung his attention to Emma. She wore a colored gown of green silk. He had only seen her in paler colors and he had not been able to prevent himself from admiring the way the shade made her skin appear creamier and enhanced the green of her eyes. Paired with long gloves, he kept finding his attention drifting to the gap of flesh between the sleeves and the edge of the gloves. It was a ridiculous thing to find a portion of arm attractive but his finger kept twitching with the need to brush the back of a hand all the way up, linger on that bare flesh then toy with a curl of hair or push said curl behind her ear.
How would she react? She had made no attempts at being intimate and he had done little more than brush a kiss over her forehead or her knuckles since their wedding night. She did not pull back from him when he did as much but there was a certain nervousness to her still.
That kiss after their engagement was not easily forgotten, though. She had liked that, he was certain of it, and that had given him a fair amount of hope that their match would not be a passionless one.
Unfortunately, he’d have to wait until after they returned to London to see if his conclusion had been correct. Inevitably, his nightmares would start again now they were in the country. They had last time he’d stayed with Guy. It was all well and good when one did not have a wife to worry about but it meant there was no chance he could be intimate with her—not if it meant waking up in a bed with her. She would surely witness his nightmares and they were no pleasant experience.
“Well?” she demanded.
“Well what?”
“You are already determined to hate it all. Will you not even look outside? It is a glorious day. The cold weather seems to have left us.” She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes.
The temptation to lean in quickly and brush as kiss across her lips—perhaps even deepen it and make her forget all this talk of glorious country days—burned hot in his stomach. There was no denying it. He was growing increasingly attracted to his wife. An excellent thing indeed were it not for their current situation.
When she opened her eyes, she narrowed them at him. Arms folded, she waited for him to do as she bid. He gave a sigh, turned his head and glanced quickly at the passing countryside. They were on the road leading up to Harburgh House, that much he knew. which meant this God-awful journey was nearly over.
“Yes, lovely,” he said, turning his attention back to where he would rather it was. On Emma.
“You hardly looked!”
“I saw all I needed to see. Lots of trees. Some grass.”
She made a frustrated noise and shook her head. “You have no soul, Lord…Morgan.”
If they were at a more intimate point of their marriage, he would scold her heartily for her use of his title. She still struggled saying his name and he could not help feel she was allowing herself to keep some distance between them. The Emma he kept seeing sparks of would not care what someone’s title was.
“I have a soul. It merely enjoys things other than grass and nature.”
“What about a beautiful sunset? Or the trickle of water between rocks while you lie on the grass? Does your soul not enjoy those?”
He shook his head. “You can see the sunset in London and you do know there are rivers there, do you not?”
“And people. Lots and lots of people.”
“People are not so bad.” He leaned in toward her. “I am not so terrible, am I?”
Emma did a rotten job at quashing a smile. “You are one person. London is filled with many thousands. Plenty of whom are likely gossiping about us at this very moment. Takes some of the enjoyment away, do you not think?”
“You have quite the disdain for the ton, I see.”
“I prefer the company of country folk.”
“You realize, of course, that your new husband is certainly considered part of the ton and by that route, that means you are too.”
She lifted her gaze briefly to the roof of the carriage. “I realize not everyone is awful but I have no patience for the gossip and...and fakery involved with the ton. They never liked me or my sisters until they married.”
“Ah.” He lounged back against the seat.
“What does that mean?”
“You are bitter.”
“Hardly.”
“Yes, you are. I have seen it time and again. You could not find your place in the ton so you are determined to write it all off as terrible.”
“That is not true at all. Even if I had been popular amongst them, I would not have wished to be. I’m far too busy doing...” She waved a hand. “Doing other things to be worrying about whether those sorts of people like me.”
“The infamous bluestocking Chadwick girls,” he mused. “All busy following intellectual pursuits. I’d heard a thing or two about you all before I met you of course but I don’t pay much attention to gossip these days.”
“Too busy sneaking out of lover’s windows, no doubt.”
Morgan straightened and pressed a hand to his heart. “Ouch. What did I do to deserve that?”
She pressed her lips together. “Nothing. Forgive me. Though I hope I do not have to witness anymore sneaking out of windows.”
“I will not make a farce of this marriage, I promise you that much. I might be many things but I have no intention of causing you deliberate humiliation.”
Her posture softened as did the tightness around her mouth.
“Did you doubt me?”
“As much as you have heard of me, I have heard more of you. It is hard not to listen to the gossips,” she s
aid ruefully.
“And here I thought you paid no heed to gossip.”
“I do not,” she protested. “But—”
The carriage ground to a halt, crunching on the shingled road in front of Harburgh House.
“About bloody time,” Morgan muttered under his breath.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing at all.”
Morgan managed to contain his need to be out of the blasted carriage and waited until the footman had opened the door before exiting the vehicle. He handed down Emma and took a quick moment to admire her.
If someone had told him a month ago he’d have a redheaded, freckled wife with a determined personality, he’d have told them they were mad. If they had told him he would be lusting after her but had already turned her favors down, he’d have marched them off to the asylum.
But there it was. He was paying for his mistakes but he could not quite decide if it was a heavy penance to pay or one that could become quite rewarding.
Guy and Julia stood in the doorway of the house. The building had been a little worn when Guy had first purchased it and it still needed some work but there were already improvements from the shining paintwork around the windows and the freshly planted flowers lined up around the house like miniature soldiers standing guard. Rupert the dog bounded down the steps before Guy could stop him. The sandy-colored animal jumped up Morgan’s legs and licked his hand enthusiastically before Guy could drag him away.
Emma gave the dog a quick fuss before embracing Julia. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Roo remembers you well, it seems.” Guy extended a hand to greet him with a handshake.
“What? No embrace?” Morgan said.
Guy lifted a brow. “I think we’ll leave that to the women. How are things?” He swung a look at Emma.
“Different,” Morgan said. “It is taking some adjustment,” he admitted, “but things could have been worse.”
Guy nodded. “Emma’s a good girl. She will make you a fine wife, I think. Just so long as she’s not doing those blasted card tricks anymore.”
“She seems to have given them up, thank the Lord.”
Emma and the Earl (Bluestocking Bride Book 3) Page 4
