by Joyce Alec
"You may be onto something, Mother," Paul brushed his chin with his hand. He quickly categorized his married friends, and could only think of one instance where the man loved his wife to distraction and also got along with her parents. The rest had entered into arranged marriages, and all of their affections had dwindled to near nothing.
But such an unconventional step in his life needed more thought. He allowed himself to ponder Emma Carter as he rose and began to pace. She had a lively personality, got along with his mother, spoke intelligently, her dark hair and blue eyes were a beautiful combination of exquisite English beauty.
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.
6
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 ope
ra. 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
Part III
A Lady’s Reluctant Heart
By Caroline Johnson
1
“Mama! Mama!”
The familiar annoyed voice made the duchess close her book with a sigh as her fingers moved to her temples to massage them.
“One day my nerves will get the better of me and these two will be left to shout at the walls,” she told her brother, who shook his head in amusement.
A door slammed in the distance and the sound of stomping became louder and louder until a fair-haired girl barged into the room, wearing a very prominent scowl. “Mama, tell Lizzie that she cannot claim the first dance with Lord Deering. She just wants him because I do and it is just not fair!” Isobel stamped her foot on the ground in frustration.
Another young girl glided into the room and shrugged in a dainty manner. “Too bad. Do get over it, my dear, and stop making such a fuss. The servants are starting to gawk.”
As her sister picked up the book her mother had just put down, Isobel clenched her fists. “Be quiet, Lizzie! Mama!”
The duchess gave a pleading look to her brother, who sighed and stood up. “Why don’t you and I take a walk, Isobel? And let us see if we cannot sort through this mess.”
Isobel looked at her quietly smirking sister and then at her uncle. Gritting her teeth, she bit out, “I’ll get my bonnet.”
As soon as Isobel exited, the duchess looked at her oldest, disapprovingly. “Really, Lizzie? Lord Deering? What has gotten into you?”
Lizzie made a sound. “I cannot help it. He saw me whilst I was out riding and he asked me. How could I say no? I did not wish him to think my manners were poor. Besides, Isobel’s reaction amused me.” She made a face at the book and handed it back to her mother, “I’ve read this one. I did not approve of the ending.”
Her mother put the book on her lap and shook her head. “Must you tease your sister so?”
“Why should I not? She makes it so easy, Mama. I cannot help it.” Lizzie sat on the seat by the window and picked up her sewing. “Besides, I want Papa to come back. I am so very bored.”
The duchess looked on disapprovingly. “You are the daughter of a duke and duchess. I find it hard to believe that you find the time to be bored, darling.”
Lizzie just made a noncommittal sound and focused on her task. Lord Deering was too old for Isobel. The duchess was so determined that both her daughters make a good match that she had forgotten that Isobel needed someone who could temper that energy inside of her. Lord Deering seemed hardly the person for that. Lizzie planned on making sure Lord Deering stayed far away from her sister. She’d play with him like she had done with many others, and then toss him aside. Isobel would find the perfect match. After what Lizzie had experienced, she was determined to guide Isobel to a man who would treat her well.
Lizzie turned her head, watched her sister walk in a very unladylike manner and nearly snorted. She would make a lady of Isobel yet.
When Uncle James returned with a calmer niece, Lizzie rang the bell for tea, and as Isobel left to freshen up, her sister followed her.
“What?” Isobel asked in a sullen manner, as she sat down at her dressing table. A maid was waiting to fix Isobel’s hair.
“Leave us. I’ll do that,” Lizzie ordered the maid.
“Very good, m’lady.” The fresh-faced maid hurried out of the room.
“Why did you do that?” Isobel turned around in annoyance.
“Oh, hush now!” Lizzie undid Isobel’s curls and started setting them again. “Have you seen Lord Wentworth’s nephew?”
Frowning, Isobel played with the pins on the table, her fingers restless. “Which one? Lord Wentworth has relatives all over England.”
Grinning, Lizzie pinned up another curl. “The one who could not take his eyes off you during the ball last night.”
Isobel’s fingers stilled. “Why didn’t he ask me to dance?”
“Maybe he was too shy or perhaps you just did not give him the opportunity to ask. You should look for him today. He seemed quite taken with you.” Lizzie chuckled. “I nearly missed a step when I was dancing with Sir Bale.”
Isobel made a face. “Why? So that you can take him from me like you did Lord Deering?” She yelped when Lizzie pulled on her curls in reprimand.
“Lord Deering is practically ancient. He might just fall asleep while dancing.”
That made Isobel giggle against her will. “He is not that old. Granted, he may have a few gray hairs, but all distinguished suitors do these days.”
Lizzie met her sister’s eyes in the mirror, seriously. “Is that what you want? Do you want to tie yourself down to a boring old man? You will be bored to death, darling.”
“Then why did you accept his invitation to dance?”
Lizzie raised her brow. “Because Lord Deering is looking for a young wife whom he can control.” She tightened her hands on Isobel’s shoulders. “I will not let that be you.”
As they exited the room, her sister asked, “What if he decides he wants to marry you? I heard Lady Frederica asking Uncles James about whether you plan to accept a marriage proposal. Soon there won’t be any eligible men left, Lizzie. You keep turning every suitor away.”
Lizzie grinned. “Do not worry about me.”
2
A ball was taking place at Lord Deering’s. Lizzie and Isobel greeted friends and acquaintances with plastered smiles. Being that they were the daughters of the Duke and Duchess of Wellington, many people sought their attention. As always, Isobel and Lizzie were expected to be on their best behavior. After an exhausting hour of niceties, the sisters found a hidden corner and let themselves breathe.
“I do say. If one more old lady asks me whether Lord Barton and I are to be married, I might very well take off this shoe and start hitting her with it.”
Lizzie’s remark had been meant for her flushed sister’s ears only, but she heard a low, barely audible chuckle. When she looked around, there seemed to be no one paying attention to them. She chalked it up to her annoyed mood. The moment was immediately forgotten when her eyes found a young man approaching them from the side.
Smiling at him, Lizzie murmured to Isobel, “It seems that charming young man over there has an interest in you. I have been watching him work up the courage to approach you since we arrived.”
Isobel’s eyes darted to where she was looking, and to Lizzie’s amusement, the younger girl blushed. “He is very attractive,” she managed.
“Good evening,” Lizzie said as the man approached
The young man bowed quickly and spoke in a deep voice. “Good evening. I am Sir Charles Wentworth. I believe we were introduced last week.”
“Sir Charles, of course. Yours is a hard face to forget. How do you find the ball tonight?”
The man smiled. “I do not find it lacking pretty girls, but I believe I may have found the most beautiful girl in the room yet. Could I ask you for a dance, Lady Isobel?”
Isobel blushed, “Your words are very kind, Sir Charles. I would be honored to have this dance.”
As Sir Charles held her hand, he flashed a charming smile. “Then would it be too bold to claim the next dance as well?”
Isobel gave him a look from under her lashes. “Let us see how you fare on the first dance.” With that she was led away as Lizzie watched on with a smile.
She had forgotten her predicament however, when Lord Deering found her. From his breath, she
could tell that he was on the verge of being drunk.
“Good evening, Lady Elizabeth. You look lovely. I believe you promised me a dance.”
She smiled at him. “I believe I did.”
She did not dislike dancing, but Lord Deering’s incessant stumbling was too much. She could not find any joy in the music, in her partner, or in dancing. “Perhaps we should stop, Lord Deering, you seem unwell.”
“Nonsense, Lady Elizabeth. I am as fit as a horse,” he stammered.
She wondered if she should tell him that it was ‘fit as a fiddle’, but decided against it. The man was determined to dance. When the dance ended, she slipped away and didn’t wait for Lord Deering to escort her back to her seat. Isobel was still with her young man. He seemed totally entranced.
“True love. What a joke,” Lizzie said out loud without realizing her inner thoughts had crossed her lips.
“I’ll drink to that,” spoke a familiar male voice. Lizzie looked up to see a tall man sipping on his drink standing next to her.
“Do I know you?” questioned Lizzie, annoyed with the man’s unwelcome conversation.
“We haven’t been introduced.” He gave a short bow. “My name is Matthew Adams. You were dancing with my cousin, if you call what he did dancing.”
Lizzie stood up. “I feel he was not so well.”
“Or he was drunk,” Matthew offered.
“He is your cousin. Should you really be saying that?” Lizzie asked. His lack of manners was almost unforgivable.
“Why? Will you hit me with your shoe?”
Lizzie looked at him intently. “I knew someone had been listening to me. You do realize eavesdropping is very rude.”
