A Kiss for the Marquess (Wedding Trouble, #5)

by Blythe, Bianca

  “I’m simply enjoying the journey,” Emma said.

  This was true, though it wasn’t only the calm river she enjoyed. It wasn’t the vibrant wildflowers smattered over the riverbank, it wasn’t the sunshine that imbued warmth, and it wasn’t the birds that glided above, flapping their wings and squawking to one another, that caused her to smile.

  At least, not solely.

  It was memories of Hugh.

  He’d told her he loved her. And then, he’d told her that her past didn’t sway him from loving her. He’d told her he planned to propose.

  Happiness flitted through Emma.

  “One would almost think you didn’t believe being happy was a good thing, Mother,” Miss Carberry said.

  Mrs. Carberry widened her eyes. “Are you speaking back to me?”

  Miss Carberry gave a lackadaisical shrug. “You could term it that, if you desire.”

  “You’ve changed,” Mrs. Carberry muttered.

  “Have I?” Miss Carberry gave a bland smile and returned her focus to the horizon.

  Emma squeezed her hand. She’d told Miss Carberry about her night with the marquess in the morning. She hadn’t wanted Miss Carberry to become surprised, but Miss Carberry had only been happy for her.

  Finally, the boat docked by the castle, and Emma strode with the others toward it.

  She wanted to always remember the sound of the birds as they chirped above, and the sway of the long blades of grass. The landscape was perfumed with delicious scents.

  Hugh was walking behind with Jasper. They seemed to be having a heated conversation, and a trickle of uncertainty wafted through her. She followed the other women inside the castle.

  “I hope you enjoyed your stay in London. Welcome back.” The butler smiled at them. “There is tea in the drawing room.”

  Relief spread over everyone’s faces. Tea was always a cause for pleasure. They moved to the drawing room. A few people were already gathered inside, and Emma’s footsteps slowed.

  And then she saw him.

  Bertrand.

  The last time she’d seen him, he’d snuck into her room and was bragging at his skills in jewelry thievery.

  This time, he was calmly having tea, his little finger extended, with a group of middle-aged men.

  Her heart stilled. “What are you doing here?”

  Bertrand smiled. “I was invited.”

  A few of the others gave her strange looks, and Emma realized they expected introductions. At the very least, Emma should be curtsying to them. Emma did so quickly, noting a growing smirk on her brother’s face.

  It was over.

  Bertrand would find some excuse to take her away, and then she would never see the marquess again. Their last conversation had not ended well.

  Bertrand’s eyes gleamed wickedly, and her heart sank.

  Hugh strolled into the room, accompanied by the duke, and she couldn’t take her gaze away.

  “I see you’re all here.” The Duke of Jevington beamed. “I took it upon myself to arrange a last meeting for family members.”

  “How l-lovely,” Emma stammered.

  “My dear friend needs to know about which families he might marry into,” the duke continued.

  Hugh strode to Bertrand. “You must be Lord Braunschweig.”

  They exchanged deep bows. Her brother had never struggled with etiquette.

  “And you are the wedding groom,” her brother said smoothly.

  “Once he knows whom he will marry,” Jasper said.

  “I know,” Hugh said, and the others stared at him.

  HUGH SCRUTINIZED THE new visitors. Lady Henrietta’s mother, Lady Agnes, was there, and she sent him a smile. He nodded, but his focus was on Emma’s brother.

  Emma’s brother was just as blond as she was, but he was quite a bit taller, and unlike Emma, he was not shy.

  “It is so wonderful to meet you. I have heard so many things.” Emma’s brother winked at the other parents, some of whom tittered.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you too,” Hugh said graciously.

  “You’ve been putting up with my sister,” Emma’s brother said. “You must be quite a man.”

  Hugh widened his eyes. Most brothers wouldn’t speak about their sisters in such terms.

  “It’s been very nice to have her here,” Hugh said.

  “Good thing you have so many other women to choose from,” Emma’s brother continued. “Better to spread the conversation.”

  Something muffled sounded behind Hugh, and when Hugh glanced behind him, he saw Jasper. His eyes sparkled even more than they normally did.

  Blast.

  Hugh shifted his legs over the floorboards.

  “Yes, it’s been so lovely to meet so many people,” Emma chirped.

  “Particularly Miss Carberry. She is most entertaining,” Lady Letitia drawled. “Especially if you have an interest in earthworms.”

  “I have no such interest,” Emma’s brother said promptly.

  “Well, that’s something in Miss Braunschweig’s brother’s favor,” Lady Letitia said.

  Miss Carberry’s face had turned puce, a color generally favored on clothes rather than skin.

  Hugh turned to the women. “I’m certain you must be tired. You are free to go.”

  Miss Carberry nodded gratefully and left, dragging her parents with her. The Dunhams also left the room, though Lady Henrietta and Lady Letitia and their parents seemed quite content to stay.

  “Do please enjoy the tea,” Hugh said. “I would like a private conversation with Lord Braunschweig. Perhaps I can give you a quick tour.”

  The others jerked their faces toward the marquess. Emma had a worried expression on her face, and the others seemed to be either shocked or resigned.

  They’d all learn soon enough.

  Hugh led Emma’s brother into the library.

  Her brother grinned at Hugh. “I think this is when I tell embarrassing stories from childhood.”

  “Only if your sister wouldn’t mind,” Hugh said.

  “How very honorable,” Emma’s brother said, but something in his voice made Hugh think that the baron was not exactly impressed by honor.

  Well, Hugh was just going to tell him that he intended to marry Emma. No doubt that would rid him of the instinct to make disparaging comments.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  LADY LETITIA’S MOTHER scowled. “That is suspicious.”

  “Is it?” The dowager marchioness gave a bland smile.

  “My husband did not come all the way here to watch the marquess speak to another woman’s family member.”

  The man beside her flushed and ate another piece of scone. Emma wasn’t certain whether it was out of enjoyment of the scone or at desiring to have something to occupy himself with.

  Hugh’s mother cleared her throat. “Who would like to join me in the garden? I do enjoy a good walk.”

  “Brilliant idea.” Lady Letitia’s father jumped to his feet and stuffed the rest of the scone in his mouth. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

  Lady Letitia’s mother rose reluctantly. “I suppose we could inspect the rose garden.”

  “I intend to enjoy them,” Lady Letitia’s father declared.

  “Would you like to join us too, Lady Agnes?” Hugh’s mother asked. She smiled to Emma, and Emma had the impression that the dowager marchioness would like her to join. Perhaps though she expected that Emma would want to see Hugh and her brother after they were finished in the library.

  “No.” Lady Agnes shook her head. “Roses do not interest me in the moment.”

  “Oh.” The dowager marchioness’s lips wobbled slightly, but she nodded. “Please do enjoy the tea.”

  The others departed, and Emma was alone in the drawing room with Lady Agnes.

  She glanced in the direction of the library, and her hands fluttered. Her brother and Hugh were speaking together. Alone.

  “Miss Braunschweig,” a cool voice said.

  Emma turned toward Lad
y Agnes, Henrietta’s mother. “Yes?”

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Emma blinked.

  Though they’d never spoken alone before, she’d been around Lady Agnes for the duration of the house party. She’d had the impression Lady Agnes had dismissed her an unlikely wife to the marquess. Lady Agnes had seemed to encourage her daughter to spend more time with Lady Letitia, no doubt because of her title. She hadn’t thought Lady Agnes willfully unkind, but it was difficult to deem her as being anything else now.

  Emma straightened. “Yet, I am here.”

  “You’re wrong for the marquess,” Lady Agnes said.

  Emma tossed her hair. “That’s for him to decide.”

  She was aware that she might have given a smug look. Smugness wasn’t a condition to which she generally succumbed, but now was an exception.

  Hugh loved her, and she loved him.

  It wasn’t logical, it wasn’t sensible, and yet–

  The fact was there.

  Love.

  It beat through her heart, cascading through the rest of her body, and seemed to threaten to rise her from her seat. Everything seemed possible now she had Hugh’s love.

  She wasn’t going to allow some aristocratic woman to question herself. She wasn’t going to let her quote from an etiquette book, no matter how gilded the pages of vellum, or how glossy the leather binding, and declare that Emma would make an inappropriate wife.

  Emma would love and care for Hugh, and that was more than many couples had.

  “I love the marquess,” she said.

  Lady Agnes’s eyes widened.

  “I suppose it’s inappropriate to speak of such things,” Emma said. “I suppose you think it’s distasteful.”

  The other woman’s lips curled. “My dear, if you love him, as you so adamantly and–er–loudly attest, you should absolutely not be anywhere near him.”

  “You are telling me you think I will not be a proper match for the man I love, the man who loves me?”

  “You’re correct.” Lady Agnes gave a pained smile. “This is truly so tiresome. I would so much rather be chatting about just anything else. Still, someone needs to stop this wedding.”

  “And you think I should be the one?”

  “Naturally. After all, you’re the one who wrangled an invitation here.”

  The dread that had been settling in Emma’s stomach halted.

  No doubt Lady Henrietta’s mother didn’t actually have something important to say. She was simply prone to exaggeration, something so many people whose lives seemed overly calm seemed to suffer from.

  “I assure you that I will be an excellent wife, should the marquess choose to marry me.”

  Lady Agnes laughed. “That would be impossible, my dear.”

  “Because of my heritage?” Emma asked uncertainly. “Because I wasn’t born here?”

  “Because of your brother,” Lady Agnes said, inching nearer her on the sofa.

  “My brother?” Emma’s voice wobbled.

  Emma knew her brother’s flaws. She was still thankful she’d recovered the jewels he’d stolen. But no one knew about that.

  Bertrand tried hard to maintain the illusion of being an aristocrat. He wore the right attire. Indeed, he managed to look more proper than most of his counterparts, the ones with seals and stamps gleaming from correctly filled out birth certificates, the ones who didn’t have to lie and didn’t spend their lives worried about being caught.

  She knew Bertrand had deceived them. She knew he’d forced her to deceive them.

  And she knew deception was dreadful.

  Yet at that moment, she despised the deeply hierarchical system that was strictly abided to, even though the titled people in question’s most important work had been at the very beginning of their life and had been secured by utter accident.

  She despised that Lady Agnes could be so smug, as if she was possessor of a horrible secret, and not of the story of a man who’d risen from nothing, who’d learned a new language and had mastered the ways of a new land.

  “I don’t know what you’re speaking about,” Emma said, but her voice trembled, because she knew absolutely what Lady Agnes was referring to.

  Lady Agnes’s mother sighed. “You seem intelligent. It is hard to imagine you would not have noticed your father was not a baron.”

  Emma knew she was supposed to protest. She was supposed to laugh and tell Lady Agnes that she was most amusing, but equally mistaken.

  But instead Emma simply felt tired.

  She didn’t want to lie anymore.

  “Are you familiar with Loretta Van Lochen?” Lady Agnes asked.

  “Er–yes.” Emma blinked. Everyone knew the famous Loretta Van Lochen, who was rumored to be vastly wealthy. She wrote fanciful stories about scullery maids marrying princes, pirates being tamed by maidens, and dukes disguised as highwaymen, all set in idyllic places.

  Did Lady Henrietta’s mother intend to speak to her about literature? Because Emma did read, though Bertrand had never much permitted her to read such frivolous books: not when there were etiquette books and histories of England to devour.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t actually read her,” Emma admitted.

  She’d spotted some copies on Bertrand’s desk. Perhaps he’d attempted to read some but had decided nonfiction reading was more suitable for Emma.

  “A few years ago, when Miss van Lochen was new to the country, your brother attacked her.”

  “That can’t be true. My brother is not violent.”

  “He raised his voice,” Lady Agnes said. “At a ball. Dozens of people witnessed it. He exposed her identity, which she’d kept carefully hidden, derided her background and heritage, and was, in short, utterly miserable. Who knows what he told her in private?”

  Emma’s heart thudded.

  This was more believable.

  Her brother was quick to distribute insults. His generally negative impression of the people around him had helped push him harder to maintain his deception. In his world, everyone was doing bad things, even though Emma was quite certain that was not the case.

  He had been in possession of Loretta van Lochen’s books. She’d thought it odd at the time.

  “He didn’t mention he’d visited Yorkshire?”

  Emma stilled. “Last year. But that doesn’t mean anything. Many people visit Yorkshire.”

  Lady Agnes arched an eyebrow, and Emma’s cheeks heated.

  “Perhaps you’ve confused him with someone else,” Emma said loyally.

  “There aren’t many handsome blond Austrian barons bounding about England,” Lady Henrietta’s mother said. “And I was there at the ball. I heard his anger, his prejudice, his disgust. It was...terrible.”

  Nausea tinged Emma’s throat.

  It can’t be true.

  It mustn’t be true.

  “But he’s still been part of society,” Emma protested. “We’ve been to house parties of people who would never have tolerated such behavior.”

  “Have you never wondered why your brother never took you to London?”

  “London?” The word quivered on her tongue, even though there had seemed nothing particularly difficult about enunciating the word before.

  “I’m not talking about the marquess’s jaunt down the river.”

  Emma shook her head.

  Lady Agnes sniffed. “Well. Perhaps that explains Lord Metcalfe’s sudden urge for river activity. Still, that does rather prove my point. London contains more people. Perhaps your brother can hide what he did in Yorkshire by spending time in southern England, but he can hardly hope to get away from gossip in London.”

  Was this why Bertrand had always scoffed at the idea of visiting London? He’d never shown any interest in the seaside, even though they lived there. He’d mocked the English behind their backs for their sentiments toward the channel, contrasting them negatively toward the mountains in the Austrian Empire, which he deemed majestic, even though when they’d still lived there, he
’d never extolled them at all.

  “You were at the house party,” Emma said finally. “You could have mentioned that earlier. Why didn’t you?”

  “I only knew for certain when I met him just now. It’s difficult to forget a man like that.” Lady Agnes stared at her. “You are beautiful, my dear. It won’t be enough for the marquess though. I’ve been his neighbor his whole life. That man is determined. He wants to continue his father’s legacy, and he won’t be able to do that if he’s tied to you. So, you see, you would make a disastrous bride for the marquess. What sort of a brother-in-law would you be giving him? Do you want to ruin the man’s dreams?”

  “No, of course not,” Emma said.

  “Then don’t. I believe you know where the door to the library is.”

  Emma’s heart tumbled downward, but she managed to rise. She’d half thought Mrs. Carberry might protest once she discovered Emma was going to marry the marquess. She’d braced herself for that. She hadn’t braced herself for an encounter with Lady Agnes.

  She had to speak with Bertrand.

  How could he have done this? How could he have harmed someone like this?

  He’d always said the British were narrow-minded and prejudiced against people like him, but he’d been so eager to show his own narrow-mindedness and prejudice against someone he deemed lower, and someone who had certainly been more vulnerable.

  “If you love the marquess, you will never marry him,” Lady Agnes said.

  Emma gave a curt nod and left the room. She marched toward the library. The dining room door was open, and she could see the servants scattering rose petals through it.

  Perhaps this is where he attends to propose.

  Normally Emma’s heart would have surged with joy, but now it tightened and squeezed, and mere breathing was difficult.

  She needed to see Bertrand.

  Immediately.

  She marched to the library door, and even though she was wearing slippers, her footsteps echoed in the hall, as if striving to compete with the sound of her heartbeat.

  THE DOOR TO THE LIBRARY opened, and Emma entered. Her cheeks were pinker than normal, and strands of her hair had fallen from her normally exquisite coiffure.