The Persuasive Love of a Libertine

by Jane Lark

  She nodded. “We shall be.” It was strange to be the one reassuring Harry.

  He opened the door. “Drew!”

  Drew looked up as Harry walked her in, gripping her hand, and he lifted her hand as though that was his evidence. “We are engaged!”

  “You are?” Drew stood up, looking from Harry to Emily. “My goodness that was quick. Although I doubt it feels so to Harry. Congratulations.” He walked across the room, holding out a hand to take hers. She offered it to him, he kissed the back of her fingers. “I am thrilled for you. I know you shall be happy now.” He turned to Harry.

  They embraced each other. Did he know about Harry’s past? She would not ask. She would never make Harry speak of it unless he wished to. She had seen how difficult it was for him to say.

  When he let go of Drew, their eyes glistened.

  Mary had told her; he is like Drew too. Yes. Harry was like Drew. He would love and care for her with the same depth that Drew did Mary. Emily had found her happy ending. She had no need to be envious of Mary now. She had Harry.

  “We must tell Mary.” Drew turned to the door.

  “There is no need to wake her,” Emily said.

  “Nonsense, she will want to be woken by such news.”

  And so Mary was called for, and champagne. Then they spent their afternoon drinking the bubbly wine, and laughing. It felt very homely and natural. It felt correct in a way that her engagement to Peter had never felt.

  When Harry came to her room later, in the dark, he held her as they whispered about their wedding.

  “We will marry in St George’s, in London. I shall ensure you have the wedding you desire. There will be a fuss made over you, I will insist upon it. Though I will not invite my family, there will be a Duke in attendance, we shall invite Mary’s family.”

  She laughed, and burrowed further into his embrace.

  Part Thirteen

  A knock tapped on the drawing room door. Emily looked up from her sewing, as did Mary.

  “I have a letter for Miss Smithfield, my lady,” the footman said, “and there is a carriage for Miss Smithfield outside.”

  “There is what?” Emily stood, putting aside her sewing. She turned and walked over to the window to look. It was her father’s carriage.

  “Miss.”

  She turned back.

  The man held the letter out towards her. She walked across the room and took it, then tore it open.

  Emily,

  I have good reason to believe that Mr Webster has been visiting you, against my will.

  Against his will?

  You are to come home. I will not have you stay there when the Framlingtons are not appropriately chaperoning you. I have sent the carriage, I expect you to return by nightfall.

  Emily’s gaze lifted to the clock on the mantel. Eleven. She looked at Mary. “I am to go home. My father has heard that Harry is here and he says that he disapproves of Harry…” She did not understand.

  “Why?”

  “I have no idea. But I must go back. I must pack. Will you help me?” Her hands trembled.

  Harry was not even there. He’d returned to London to speak to the minister at St George’s Church about calling their bans, and he’d said he wished to tell his friend Mark… He would return to find her gone.

  “Come along.” Mary clasped her arm. “Let us get you sorted.”

  “You must explain to Harry…”

  “We will, do not worry over that. He will understand.”

  Her heart thumped as they packed, throwing things into her trunk, not folding them properly. Then the footmen were called to take her things down to the carriage.

  She had been summoned home like a child.

  In her thoughts were all the emotions of yesterday. Her happiness and Harry’s happiness—and her father disapproved of Harry.

  Why?

  Half an hour later, with her bonnet and cloak donned, and all of her possessions piled into the boot of the carriage and on top of it, Emily stood on the doorstep and hugged Mary tightly.

  “Do not worry,” Mary reassured her. “Drew and I will look after Harry, and everything shall turnabout. Your father will change his mind. He simply needs some persuading to like Harry, as my father did to like Drew.”

  Emily nodded. Her head was a mess, a muddle; her thoughts all higgledy-piggledy.

  She longed for Harry to speak to and seek comfort from.

  Harry! Her heart cried out as she turned to the carriage.

  Her father’s groom held the door open and she could see her maid within.

  Emily had changed. She had become a different woman from the person who had arrived. It was because now she knew how much Harry loved her, and she’d discovered how much she loved him.

  ~

  It was dark and very late in the evening when the carriage turned onto the semi-circular drive before her father’s house. The journey had been tiring. Long. It had been worse too because of the silence between herself and the maid. Emily had been too muddled to talk. Yet hours of silence…

  The carriage door opened and the groom held it wide. She clasped his hand as she descended then walked towards the house. The door opened.

  Her heart was the weight of lead in her chest.

  When she walked into the hall, she faced her father.

  “I feared you were not coming.”

  “I am here, but I am too tired to talk, Papa. May I go to my room?”

  He stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. We shall speak in the morning.”

  She nodded.

  She had not imagined it; she had changed in the days she’d been away.

  They had never been an emotional family. Yet having been held by Harry, and having held his hand, her father’s lack of physical expression of emotion had an edge to it she had never noticed before. But she was too tired to think any more of it. “I shall go to bed.”

  He nodded.

  She missed Harry in her bed. She ached for the feel of his arms around her. She pictured him sleeping in a bed alone at Drew’s and Mary’s, wondering why she had left—hurting. She hoped he did not misunderstand. She hoped that Mary had explained.

  She should have written a letter.

  She would write a letter tomorrow. She wanted to hold him. They had been engaged. He had gone to London to arrange their wedding.

  What must he think of her?

  She would write to him in the morning.

  She hardly slept, though, thinking about him.

  ~

  Harry could not sleep.

  Her father had not replied to him; he had sent a bloody carriage to take her away.

  Harry had walked across the landing and then climbed into the bed she had used. The sheets had not been taken off yet. The bed held her smell. He did not sleep, but to be in her bed comforted him.

  His desire was to go to her.

  But her father… He could not face that rejection. He was too out of sorts today.

  Perhaps in a week he might face the conversation.

  Despite her father, the wedding was set up. The bans were to be read out in a month in St George’s; he would not let that be undone. They would be married. He would not let this end otherwise. She had said yes to him.

  Part Fourteen

  Emily’s hands clasped together before her waist, trying to hold on to the emotion that yelled out within her. She forced her voice to come out in an even tone. “You are wrong, Papa. He is a good man.” They had been speaking for a quarter-hour; she had already told him he was wrong three times, yet he had not heard, or would not listen. He was wrong. She knew.

  “Harry loves me and I love him.” And she had not even told Harry. How awful that she had told her father first.

  I love him.

  “You do not know him, Emily. Not the real man—”

  “I do.”

  He huffed out his breath. “Has he told you he has debts? He built up debts even while he stayed here.”

  “He told me. Th
ey have been paid. Lord Framlington paid them all. Does that not tell you what a good man Harry is that he has a friend who would do such a thing? How many men might say the same?”

  Her father was silent.

  “I promise; I know he is a good man.”

  “He is a libertine.”

  “He has been kind to me, and he loves me.”

  “He is like Lord Brooke.”

  The words were said in a tone of warning. They swirled through Emily. But… “He is, in some ways. He will be loyal to the woman he loves. Peter did not love me. Peter loves his wife. Harry loves me.”

  “You sound so sure.”

  “I am sure. He is like Lord Framlington too. He is loyal and loving.”

  He stared at her.

  “Please listen to me. I shall marry him whether you are happy with the match or not.”

  He continued to stare.

  She looked back at him unflinching, the new Emily, who would not be cowed.

  “How do you imagine you would live if you marry him?”

  “We will manage well enough.”

  He stared at her. Perhaps it had been wrong to talk about love. Her father probably thought love childish nonsense as they were not a loving family, they simply were. Facts, then, was what she should speak. “I am not going to change my mind. I have accepted his offer. I will marry him.”

  He sighed. “I had always thought you listened to common-sense.”

  Emily swallowed, she had never spoken back to her father, yet… “I have always previously thought you spoke common-sense.”

  He growled at her, with a sound of frustration.

  She would never back down on this. She had changed. She would argue with her father. She would do anything if it was for Harry. She had never felt the same for Peter, she would not have fought for him.

  She longed for Harry—to be standing beside her and holding her hand, just in the way he had held it as they had declared their engagement to Drew.

  Love.

  Yes.

  She loved him.

  She had probably done so since the day he’d arrived at Seend.

  Since the moment he had pulled her behind the tree and kissed her.

  From the moment he had teased her in London, even as she had let Lord Brooke court her.

  She loved Harry. But he did not know.

  ~

  The street below his window was busy, and the weather wet. The rain fell heavily. The people passing, hurrying to avoid a soaking, gave him a constant change of view. Usually it was more entertaining, though. Today the distraction did not suffice. His mind continued its constant debate—whether or not he should travel to Seend?

  His heart yelled the case to leave immediately. His head thrust back its desire to avoid a difficult conversation until it must be faced. Emily was well, and he did not think she would change her mind. After all, that game had been played on her. But she would want her father’s consent, and it was for Harry to persuade him.

  His hands slipped into his pockets.

  A carriage he thought he recognised travelled towards the shop his rooms were above. He could not place it, though. It stopped below the window.

  A frown pulled down his brow as he leant forward trying to see. The footman opened a large umbrella, screening the occupant from Harry’s view.

  Of course, it could be someone visiting the tobacconists.

  He leant his shoulder against the window and watched the people beyond the carriage, through the tracks of the raindrops on the window.

  Five minutes or more passed, then there was a knock on the door of his sitting room. Harry straightened. The occupant of the carriage… It must be. And they cannot have known where he lived, to take so long to find him. They must have gone into the shop to ask directions.

  He walked across the room, his heart pulsing with memories of the debts he had juggled for years. But he had none now.

  He opened the door.

  Mr Smithfield stood in the hallway, facing him. “Sir.”

  “Mr Webster. May I come in?”

  “Yes.” He was dumbfounded. Had Smithfield had business in town, or come all this way to berate and accuse him?

  “Well…”

  “Forgive me.” Harry stepped back and held the door for Smithfield to enter, then shut the door.

  “So you did not wait for my response to your letter but asked my daughter to marry you.”

  “Yes, sir, and she has said yes.”

  “When I had told you I would not agree.”

  “But my situation has changed, my debts—”

  “I know; Emily told me.” Smithfield’s hands clasped behind his back. It framed his portly figure in a way that made him look larger. He stared at Harry as though waiting for Harry to say something, or ask something.

  “I… I cannot give her the life Lord Brooke, or a man like him, would have done.” Perhaps now her father had tasted such a future for Emily he did not want less, if so then Harry had no chance of agreement. “But I have enough for us to live comfortably if not lavishly, she will lack nothing, and she will be happy.”

  “Emily told me Lord Framlington paid your debts, but are they now truly paid or do you owe him?”

  Harry swallowed. “If I have opportunity in the future to pay him back, I shall, and he knows that, but there is no obligation for me to do so. The payment was a gift, not a loan.”

  “A gift of a vast sum.”

  “Yes. That is why I would pay it back. But I would not allow that to impact on Emily’s health or happiness.”

  The man stared at him.

  Harry stared back. “Emily is over twenty-one, sir, forgive me but you cannot refuse to let her marry me. I shall be glad for your consent but we do not need it.”

  “So now you threaten me?”

  “No.” Or perhaps yes. But he did not care if it was a threat, it was true. “I am merely telling you. But I am still asking you, do we have your approval?”

  Again, there was a moment of gazes meeting. Emily had her father’s eyes.

  Harry breathed steadily not conceding.

  “If you marry my daughter, what will you do for a living?”

  For a living? He had only thought of supporting them on the money he received from his father’s estate. Yet then he would be idle most of the day. Doing what? Sitting and watching Emily sew. “I have not considered—”

  “Would you settle near us? She is our only daughter; my wife would appreciate it if she remained close to us.”

  She would not have been near them if she had married Peter; his country property was far from theirs.

  Harry nodded. “I have no links to draw me away, so I would be happy to look for a house in Devizes or near there.”

  Her father nodded in a silent contract, giving his consent.

  Harry smiled, the happiness in his stomach pulling up his lips.

  “If you wish, you may work at the factory. I have no son. I have no one to pass my business on to…”

  The meaning of that was left open for Harry to make something of or not.

  Perhaps.

  Perhaps he might become the purveyor of women’s and gentlemen’s fine cloths. He laughed at himself. Lord, hark at him. Hark! What a to do.

  But for now, all he knew was that he would have Emily, and he would create a home with her.

  He held out his hand. “Sir.”

  They shook upon the agreement.

  “My daughter would like to see you; will you come home with me now?”

  His heart had been screaming at him to go all morning. He nodded. “I shall pack a bag quickly.”

  “I shall await you in the carriage, Mr Webster.”

  “Harry; surely now you must call me Harry.”

  Her father nodded, but did not offer his name in return. Harry smiled, when he turned away. Emily’s parents were not Drew’s in-laws. Drew had been ordered to treat Mary’s parents as his own, but the Smithfields were far too up-tight for that, and perhaps that was why Emi
ly did not easily love. She cared a great deal for him, though, he knew that, and it would be enough.

  It took most of the day to return to Devizes, including a stop to rest the horses. They ate and Harry insisted upon paying, only to prove that he was able and willing to.

  He liked Smithfield. They would never have the relationship that Drew had with Mary’s family, but Harry did not particularly care. Liking for her parents, and affection and care from Emily were solid enough foundations on which to build his marriage.

  The hours within the coach were not silent agony, then, but filled with conversation as he asked Smithfield more about his work, and remembered the noise and dust created by all those looms. Perhaps he would learn Smithfield’s business… It may be interesting. He began to ask about where all the cloth went once it had left the factory. Who bought it? For what? He discovered Smithfield’s cloth was shipped all over the world.

  It was almost dark when the carriage reached Seend and drew to a halt before the Smithfields’ house.

  Emily is within. The thought whispered through his soul.

  ~

  Emily turned to look at her mother. “He is here.” She had positioned a chair so that she might look out of the window even before dinner and now it was hours after dinner. It had taken her father so long.

  She stood up and crossed the room, to go and meet him in the hall.

  Her heart ran a race to reach him. What had he said to Harry? Did he now agree to their wedding?

  When she reached the hall, the front door was opening.

  “Harry!”

  He walked a few paces behind her father.

  “Harry!” She ran to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting to her toes. “Oh, I am so glad to see you,” she said against his ear. “I am so sorry I left without speaking to you.”