by Jane Lark
Drew nodded at him, then when the women focused back on their food and conversation, he winked as Harry sat down.
Harry looked at a footman. “Everything, thank you.”
Drew chuckled and Mary smiled at him.
“So what does one do in the country on a wet day?” Harry asked.
“We play with George,” Mary and Caro answered together.
He smiled at Caro. It was rare that she spoke, yet she had known him for years, she was more at ease with him than others.
“And embroider or read,” Emily added.
He lifted one eyebrow at Emily, telling her neither occupation suited him.
“Or you may come and visit my brother-in-law with me. I am to ride over to John’s. He knows about some new farm equipment. He and his steward are going to tell me all about it. Everything is becoming mechanised.”
Harry gave his friend a wry smile. “Me in the company of the Duke of Pembroke, I thank you, but I think not.”
Mary laughed.
“Well then, you shall be idle while everyone else is busy,” Emily stated.
His gaze spun to her. Had she just been teasing him again? Emily… Timid little, start at a snail, Emily… Who was no longer an innocent woman, thanks to him. “So you will sew?”
She smiled and shook her head. “No, I shall take my turn at playing with George.”
“Ball is the game,” Mary said. “George loves to roll a ball back and forth. He can sit in the middle of us all and we roll the ball to him and he will roll it back.”
“You shall all be highly amused then,” Harry responded.
“Do not mock my son. He is incredibly clever,” Drew snapped.
Harry looked at him. “But you are not remaining here to play ball…”
Drew smiled.
Harry had been a man with close male friends and no female friends for years, so it was very odd to stand in a room a lone man among three women as he watched them play their game with George, who sat proudly in the middle of their little ring. George laughed and squealed gleefully each time he returned the ball, as though it was the grandest achievement.
Harry smiled at the boy. It was Drew who had achieved something special—he had this life with Mary and a happy, healthy child.
It was Emily’s turn. She was sitting on the floor cross-legged, her skirt and petticoats bunched up in an undulating pile of fabric layers about her. She leant forward and pushed the ball back towards George. “There, catch it.” She rolled it into George’s waiting hands, so all he did was wrap his chubby fingers about it.
“Roll it back, come along…” Emily’s hands rested on the floor, open and ready.
Just as Harry’s heart was open and ready—waiting.
George leaned forward, pushing the ball into movement. Emily moved her hands to catch it, and then the women cheered and Mary and Caro applauded. George applauded himself.
Perhaps that was what Harry needed to do, reposition himself, in some way. How?
A child…
She was enjoying playing with George, she must want children, a son or daughter of her own… She had dared to risk that eventuality once.
The thought hung in his head as he watched the women for another half-hour before Drew returned.
When Drew did return, they drank tea.
How very rural…
Then Drew rescued him and they retreated to the library. Within their masculine haven, Drew walked over to a small box on his desk, opened it, then looked back at Harry. “Would you like a cigar?”
“Yes.”
He walked over to take it from Drew’s hand.
Drew lit his cigar, then held the flame out so that Harry could light his.
Harry sucked in the smoke, let the flavour fill his mouth then blew the smoke out.
“So, how fare you?” Drew asked.
“Reasonably well, but no further forward. She has spent her day with Mary and Caro, playing with George. All I have done is watch.”
“Watching, I think, might still have some power. Watching, merely remaining there, expresses loyalty. Loyalty is a worthy attribute, and loyalty implies determination, and determination expresses a commitment. If she lacks trust, merely watching will subtly ease that.”
Harry blew out smoke again. “You sound so knowledgeable.”
“I have been married for nearly two years…”
They laughed; that short time was really nothing. But Harry grasped at the reassurance regardless.
When they had finished smoking, Drew looked past Harry, out through the window. “It has ceased raining.”
“Has it?” Harry twisted to look over his shoulder. It had.
“Mary rests in the afternoon, the pregnancy exhausts her. She sleeps while George sleeps, and Caro may be brave enough to be in a room with Emily while Mary or I am there, but without Mary my guess would be Caro will have retired too…”
So Emily would be alone; that was Drew’s implication.
Harry stood up. “Thank you.” He nodded at Drew before leaving. Of course, she might have gone to her room also.
The drawing room door was open, but no footman hovered near it. Harry knocked gently, uncertain if anyone was within.
“Come in!”
Emily’s voice.
He walked in. “Hello. Oh, you are alone.”
“Have you finished gossiping with Drew?”
He smiled, as she did. It struck him again how much she had grown in confidence as Drew had said. “He is working again.”
“Mary and Caro have gone upstairs to rest. I was not tired.”
He did not walk farther into the room. He felt as though this new Emily he was speaking to was a doe, and that any sudden movement might make her run back into her shyness. “I was going to walk outside now the rain has stopped. I came to ask if anyone wished to join me. Would you care to?”
She bloody blushed, and so she should. Memories were damned well haunting him as he looked at her.
She stood. “I’d like that.”
Emotion gripped and twisted in his stomach. He nodded. He could not trust the strength of his voice.
“I just need to fetch my bonnet and a shawl.”
“I shall wait for you in the hall.”
“Thank you, Harry.”
He nodded again.
She walked past him. He faced the wall across the room, and after she had gone, his hands gripped into fists. How to make her love him? How was that to be done?
He sighed as he left the room.
She looked beautiful when she hurried down the last few steps and looked at him. She’d put on a straw bonnet, with a white ribbon, the bow was tied loosely to the right of her chin, and her shawl was a pale green; it somehow set off her eyes—the brown shone.
She smiled, he smiled too, and lifted his arm. “Shall we?”
She nodded.
Was her throat as dry as his? Did her heartbeat race?
Her hand lay on his arm, without any sign of emotion. But in a moment they would be alone together, as they had not been since the day of the barley field.
The footman opened the door. They walked out side-by-side.
“Shall we turn to the right?” Harry proposed. “There is a pleasant wilderness walk through the trees. The ground will have been protected from the rain by the canopy above, so not too muddy and if by the worst luck it does rain again, we will be protected too.”
She glanced at him. “That is a good suggestion.”
His shoes crunched on the gravel as they crossed the driveway to reach the garden. He was lost for words, there were so many he wanted to speak. How to make her love him?
“Why are you here, Harry?”
This was certainly the new, more direct Emily, that he walked beside.
Well then, he would be direct too. He did not look at her but ahead of them. “Because I love you.”
She did not answer.
“I could not stay away when I heard you were here.”
She s
till did not reply.
“I have not given up. I wish to marry you. I shall not give up until you marry someone else and are beyond my reach.” There, had he been direct and honest enough?
She did not respond. They walked onto the lawn in silence.
The grass was damp; it stained the leather of his brown shoes. She had more sensibly donned her short boots.
“I am sorry, Harry.”
“Sorry for what?”
Her head turned. He met her gaze about the narrow brim of her bonnet.
“Did I hurt you?”
“Did you…” He choked on the words. Swallowed, then nodded. He would answer. He was being direct too. “Yes.”
A frown crunched the skin on her brow and carved lines that ran down to the bridge of her nose.
He stopped walking and his free hand lifted, then his thumb rested at the top of the bridge of her nose and ran upward, trying to smooth out the lines. “Sorry,” he said, before he began walking again. They could still be seen from the house.
He led her towards the opening in the yew hedge at the far end of the lawn. The path continued past a large rectangular pond and went out into the wood, where it then meandered through the trees. He had walked it once with Drew, Mark, and Peter, not long after Drew had purchased the property.
“I believe I can see the sun,” Emily stated.
He looked up. Yes, it was peeping about the edge of a cloud.
They walked through the gap in the yew hedge and on past the pond.
“What have you been doing in town?”
“Drinking, and little else.”
“Have you seen Peter?”
“No.” He looked at her, even though she was not looking at him. “Why? Do you wish to hear news of him? Do you love him as I love you? If you do then I should imagine your heart is a trampled, painful—”
“My heart was not broken.” She met his gaze. “I did not love him, and he knew it. He knew he had no need to feel guilty. I have felt guilty. I feel as though I had trapped him.”
“Do not be silly.”
“Would you wish to marry me if you did not care for me, Harry? Because I had a dowry, and my father had a business…”
A scoffing sound left his throat. “No. God forbid. I would not choose to attach myself to any woman without affection. Why?”
Emily laughed.
Laughed…
He smiled. “Why are you laughing at me?”
She shook her head. “Because that is what I did. Not to a woman of course, obviously, but to Peter. He was a good proposition and I was flattered and a fool.”
Harry’s hand lay over hers, as hers still rested on his arm. “You were not a fool, you were courted and persuaded.”
“And ended up looking so ridiculous.”
“I would not have let you suffer that for the world. I would have treasured you.”
Her brown eyes had a depth he’d not seen in them before, and that depth was full of softness. If her eyes were windows to her soul, then her soul spoke some emotion to him.
She looked ahead.
It was his turn to ask. “Did I hurt you?” The image in his head was the bloodstained handkerchief.
She glanced at him again and frowned.
They had reached the entrance of the wilderness walk. “We will walk this way.” His arm slipped from beneath her hand and he held his hand out, encouraging her to walk on into the shadow of the canopy of trees. The path was a mud track, wide enough for two.
His hands gripped behind his back. He was too emotionally charged to have her touch him. This conversation meant too much. His muscles were too tense.
“What do you mean, Harry? When you said did you hurt me…” As she spoke her fingers pulled the end of the ribbon on her bonnet, unravelling the bow.
“Are you taking your bonnet off?”
“Yes, because I keep having to crane my neck to see you about the brim.” She smiled. “Now stop changing the subject. You asked me a question. What did you mean?” She slid off her bonnet and looked down to retie the ribbon as she walked.
“I believe I hurt you physically. I have been worried that you regretted it. It was a rash and foolish thing to allow me to do.”
She looked at him again. “Now you are being ridiculous. You know I enjoyed it, and I have not regretted anything, except the sight of the sadness in your eyes.” She had made the ribbon of her bonnet into a handle and now her bonnet hung from her hand, bumping against her skirt as she walked.
A sudden desire to run his hand across her hair and then grip the back of her head and pull her lips to his, raced through him, cutting into the tense muscles in his stomach. He ignored the urge.
How to persuade her to love him?
“I regret it,” he stated.
“I know. I knew it when you left the house. That was the expression on your face. Your expression has kept me awake at night. I have not regretted what we did, only that you have.”
“So what do we do now, Emily? Because I cannot pretend I do not love you, nor that I want you to love me. I am here because I would like to make that happen, for you to love me, but I have no idea how to achieve it. Yet I have to try.”
“Is that why you came to Devizes too?”
“I suppose it is.” His hands unclasped and his arms swung at his sides with the pace of their walking, just as hers did—her bonnet bouncing against her skirt. He glanced over at her. “So tell me what ought I do?” Why had he never thought about just asking her before?
“You must just be you, Harry.”
“That is far too cryptic for a simple man like me—”
She laughed.
“I am not jesting, you must tell me exactly.”
She stopped walking and turned to face him. He walked another two paces before stopping too.
“Or may I show you?” She did not await his answer but walked the couple of paces to reach him. Then her hands lifted and her bonnet was bumping on his back as her hands pressed against the back of his head, pulling him down towards her. “We have been out of sight from the house for minutes and you have made no effort to kiss me…” The words were breathed against his lips, as her eyes looked directly into his, in the moment before she lifted up on to her toes and pressed her lips on to his.
The desire, the urge in his stomach, became a rush of lust that was hard and painful in a way he’d never known before. His hands grasped at her bottom, through her skirt and petticoats, as he opened his lips and let her tongue into his mouth. His body longed to press her back against a tree, to lift her skirt and her legs.
Her arms dropped on to his shoulders and she broke the kiss, lowering back onto her heels. “I appreciated you coming to Devizes. But I told Mary I could not face you, now, and that I did not want to see you after that, I lied to her and to myself. I am very happy that you came here too. Just being you is the right thing to do, Harry, because you know what is right for me more than I do.”
His hand stroked over her hair. “I love you.”
She smiled, no answer in her eyes. But then… “Is it selfish of me to be glad that you love me? And that you love me enough to try to persuade me to love you? I like you a lot, Harry.”
“Then that is a start. Come along.” He let her go, then gripped her hand. “Let us finish this walk before Mary awakes and asks us embarrassing questions.”
The rest of their walk was companionable. They spoke as friends, and yet their friendship and her manner had a new edge. She seemed so much more relaxed and open with him, and they held hands for nearly twenty minutes, her lace gloved fingers gripping his, returning the hold he had on her.
Since she had given him permission to kiss her, though, he stopped just before they left the cover of the trees and did so, his tongue dancing with hers. They kissed for long, long minutes and her hair was ruffled when their kiss ended, but if she left off her bonnet, the breeze would explain that.
“Will you come to my room tonight?”
Had the stupi
d woman really said those words? “To what end, Emily? If you will not marry me, then no.”
“Are you giving in so soon? Are you not even going to continue trying to persuade me?”
A smile pulled at his lips, tilting them, and he shook his head as amusement slipped out on a low laugh. He loved her new confidence. “I am not giving in, but protecting myself. I do not care to be hurt again.”
“Then I promise I shall not hurt you, but you may share my bed, even if it is only to hold me. I would like it, Harry.”
He would like it too.
Part Eleven
The strangest sensation tumbled through Emily’s stomach as she sat opposite Harry at the table laid out for breakfast. She had lain in his arms all night. He had not even kissed her. Merely climbed into bed beside her, laid down, opened his arms, and then she had rested back against him and his arms had wrapped around her.
They had shared a pillow, and throughout the night when she’d woken, it had been to hear his steady breathing. But when she had woken in the morning, her room was light and he’d gone. There had still been the scent of his hair lingering on her pillow, though.
She smiled at him. He smiled at her with a lilt to his lips that implied within his head, he laughed.
It was so wonderful to have a bond of secrecy with him.
She liked him a hundred times more than she had ever liked Peter.
The sensation in her stomach was like a wobbling tower constructed from jelly.
He’d said he wanted to persuade her to love him as he loved her…
She was waiting for the tower to fall, with every expectation that it would.
She liked him an awful lot. From the moment he’d arrived she had felt better. She liked talking to him, and his presence was a comfort—because despite their folly of the barley field they had been friends from the moment she’d met him. Perhaps she had become closer to him than she was to Mary, certainly than she had ever been to Peter. She longed to kiss Harry again.
She looked out of the window. It was a lovely sunny day. She looked at Mary. “May I take George for a walk along the path through the woodland?”
