Chapter 5
Devil take it, his proposal left Emily looking even more devastated than she had after they were caught out. She was pale as paper, and her great hazel eyes were wide and dark with distress. Hamish watched her delicate throat move as she swallowed. He might as well have delivered a death sentence, instead of an offer of marriage.
The silence, as sharp as a honed blade, continued.
And continued.
Since that fraught night at Pascoe Place, Hamish’s gut had been tied up in knots. Right now, he felt like he’d swallowed a coiling cobra. It was bad enough having to make up for his unacceptable behavior. It was worse when his proposal made the lady to whom he made amends react with unconcealed horror.
Eventually he couldn’t bear the wait. "Emily? What do you think?"
She swallowed again, but this time she managed to speak. Her voice was hoarse and unsteady. "Of course the answer is no."
His lips firmed, but he placed a short rein on his temper. Her immediate, unthinking refusal shouldn’t hurt. Now wasn’t the time to harangue her. After all, his temper had got them into this deplorable situation in the first place. "That’s not good enough."
Still with that awful frozen expression, she sank into the chair that she’d been clutching like her dearest friend.
"You’re overreacting." She linked shaking hands in her lap, as she stared up at him as if afraid he meant to run mad. He supposed he couldn’t blame her.
If only she knew how he’d already raged through his luxurious rooms in the Albany, cursing chance and society and his own bloody stupidity. But all the fury in the world couldn’t alter the fact that he was trapped.
So was Miss Emily Baylor, however she might rail against their inevitable fate.
"The sooner we sort this out, the better. If we delay, the scandal will only deepen."
"You didn’t come yesterday," she pointed out.
Her sharp mind was recovering from the shock, he was grateful to see. She started to sound more like her clever, capable self. Someone so smart would soon see that neither of them had any choice in what happened next.
"No." He’d spent yesterday desperately trying to come up with some other way of salvaging his reputation – and Emily’s. The unpalatable truth was that he was no more reconciled to the future looming ahead than she was. He’d just had more time to come to terms with the fact that marriage was the only thing that would save them.
When he’d entered the room, he’d been appalled to see how tired she looked. Tired and hounded and defeated. Defeated was a word he’d never before associated with indomitable Emily Baylor.
She didn’t look indomitable now. She looked young and defenseless and lost.
Hamish had often indulged in forbidden fantasies where he took his mentor’s prickly daughter into his arms and taught her about passion. This was the first time he’d ever wanted to hold her purely to provide comfort.
The girl who sat before him wasn’t his razor-tongued bugbear. In her shabby green merino gown and with her luxuriant hair confined in a knot that looked ready to fall down, she seemed vulnerable and fragile. He felt a ridiculous urge to protect her, when his protection was the last thing she wanted. As proof of that, he only needed to recall her discourteous response to his proposal.
"But you don’t like me," she said in the tone that told him her conclusion was inarguable.
He shook his head. "Circumstances dictate that my feelings – our feelings – are irrelevant." He watched her eyes widen, and realized that perhaps she wasn’t the only one guilty of discourtesy. Heat rose to his cheeks. "Anyway, I do like you."
Her glare was disbelieving. "No, you don’t. You think I’m far too big for my boots and I show an unfeminine interest in areas where no woman should presume to intrude."
It was true. Mostly. "But that doesn’t mean I dislike you."
"Yes, it does. Name one thing about me you like."
Your bosom.
He retained enough grip on strategy to keep that to himself. "I like your loyal heart. I like how good you are with your father. I like your mind. If you’d been born a man, you’d make a name for yourself in science."
"Thank you," she said, looking dazed.
"That’s three things. I could list more." He took a chance as he continued, although what he said might scupper his plans forever. "I also like how you look. You’re a dashed pretty girl, Emily. When you take the trouble, like you did for the reception at Pascoe Place, you’re beautiful."
She looked even more astounded. And disgruntled. It was clear the compliment didn’t please her.
"Are you saying you’re…attracted to me?" She asked the question as if she needed to wash her hands afterward.
Hamish controlled the childish impulse to tell her that if she didn’t find him appealing, plenty of other girls did. "I’m saying I’ve noticed that you’re a pleasure to look at."
When your mouth is closed.
That wasn’t entirely true either. When she wasn’t set on puncturing his conceit, she was clever and interesting.
"That’s not enough to build a life on."
It wasn’t. But it would have to be. "Emily, we must wed."
"So you can become Astronomer Royal." She sounded sour, although he couldn’t see why she should scorn his ambitions. She knew what it took to pursue a scientific career.
He kept his voice steady. "So your life doesn’t become impossible."
Her chin jerked up. "I can survive a bit of gossip."
She must know it was worse than that. "You and I were caught in an assignation, Emily. The world and its wife will talk of nothing else. If we don’t wed, you’ll be ruined. No respectable household will allow you across the threshold."
"I’ve always been considered an original."
"But a chaste one." He made an impatient sound. "For God’s sake, can I sit down? I feel like a bully, standing over you while you cower away."
That made her sit up straight and glare at him. "You don’t scare me."
Her defiance made Hamish feel better. This combative relationship was what he was used to. He crushed the memory of that strange moment when her vulnerability had made him want to pledge himself to her service. Jammed it deep down inside him, where he’d never have to look at it again.
"That’s a good start if we’re going to get married."
She stared at him, and he saw her mind whirring behind those hazel eyes. She gave a sigh and waved to the chair opposite the desk. "Oh, sit down, for pity’s sake. I invited you before."
The impatience in her voice was also familiar. Feeling on firmer ground, he took the chair. Although he hadn’t yet convinced her of the stark necessity for a wedding, he could see. "Thank you."
She studied him as if she’d never seen him before. When she finally spoke, she sounded less overwhelmed. "Why should we marry? We didn’t do anything wrong. Anyone who knows us will understand that you and I sneaking off to enjoy a romantic interlude is as likely as the Thames flowing west instead of east."
Bleak humor turned down his lips. "That makes the scandal even more delicious."
Her pointed chin set in a stubborn line. "I can weather a passing scandal. If I marry you, it’s forever."
In other circumstances, he might laugh at her bluntness. But the situation was too dire for amusement. "Yes."
Emily continued to regard him with that searching look that usually ended with a trenchant critique of one of his theories. "You can’t want this."
With a heavy sigh, he raked his hand through his hair. "It’s not about what I want. It’s about damage control."
"The damage will be you and I tied together for life. We’ll end up killing each other."
Highly likely.
Hamish couldn’t fault her unflattering assessment of their chances of marital happiness. Through two sleepless nights and a wretched day, he’d said most of the same things to himself.
"Still we must marry." He paused, playing what he hoped might be his tru
mp card. "Emily, forgive me if I intrude on private matters, but the demands of caring for your father must stop you accepting any work of your own. I know he hasn’t taken on any students in years. I assume household income has shrunk."
Pink tinged her slanted cheekbones. "You’re right."
"About the hardship?"
Her hands clenched on the arms of the chair. "No, that you intrude."
His gesture was dismissive. "Polly didn’t answer the door last time I visited. Hoskins did. I’m guessing you’ve dispensed with your butler. I also noticed that the Reynolds no longer hangs in the hall, and the two blue Chinese vases have gone from the mantel behind you."
"You have no right," she said tightly, her color flaring hotter.
He hated doing this to her. She was a proud creature.
"I’m a rich man." He kept his voice low and reasonable, praying with not much optimism that she’d acknowledge the practical good sense of what he said. "If we marry, your life will change. So will your father’s. I’ll arrange a nurse. I’ll ensure his every comfort. You’ve already got his health to worry about. Wouldn’t it be nice not to have to worry about money as well?"
She looked at him down her neat little nose. "Are you trying to buy me, Hamish?"
Again he took firm hold of his temper. "I’m pointing out that a match between us has more advantages than just the restoration of your good name."
"And what do you get out of it?"
"The chance to fulfill my ambitions, however much you deride them."
She sighed. "I don’t deride them. I suspect if I was a man, I’d aim to be top of the tree as well."
Hamish permitted himself a faint smile. "If you were a man, I doubt I’d have a shot at becoming Astronomer Royal."
She didn’t smile back. "Don’t try and charm your way into my good graces."
"Perish the thought," he said. "I’m happy to go away and let you consider my proposal. Just don’t take too long."
"You speak as if I’m sure to say yes," she said, bristling up again. For a few seconds there, he’d wondered if she softened toward him. He should have known better.
"When you’ve had a chance to think, you’ll see this is the only way."
Emily shook her head, more in bafflement than denial, he thought. "But I don’t want to marry you."
He didn’t want to marry her either, although if he were a different man in a different universe, he’d gladly take her into his bed. Emily Baylor had a flash and a fire that had always drawn him. "I hope you’ll come to terms with the idea."
She frowned as if at last she put the pieces of the puzzle together – and she didn’t like the picture she saw. "I rarely go out in society, especially now with Papa…"
It was mere weeks since he’d called on Sir John. The deterioration in that time was shocking. "Don’t think you can come through this just by holding your head up and spitting in society’s eye."
She shrugged. "Why not?"
"Because we were caught in public. Because the story is too spicy to fade away." He paused. "Forgive me for asking, but have you any thoughts about what you’ll do, once Sir John is no longer with us?"
Grief flickered in her eyes, but she answered in a firm voice. He’d gladly add her courage to that list of the qualities he commended in her. "I’ve had a fine education, better than most women receive. Surely that means I’ll find employment. I already copy scientific papers for some of Papa’s colleagues. Perhaps someone will take me on as a secretary."
"Secretaries are generally male."
"If that doesn’t work, I’ll find a post as a governess."
The thought of brilliant, pretty Emily Baylor becoming a drudge in someone’s household made his gut clench in denial. Although the bleak truth was that she was unlikely to find employment, even without taking the other night’s hullabaloo into consideration. No sensible lady would take on such an attractive girl, if there were any virile males in the vicinity.
"A governess needs a spotless reputation, Emily," he said quietly.
He saw the second the full horror of her changed circumstances hit her. Her eyes rounded, and her mouth dropped open. "But we’re innocent of anything but stupidity."
"The world doesn’t believe that." Aching regret weighted his voice. "And the world has the last word on this matter."
He rose and bowed to her. He knew her well enough to see that all he could do now was leave her to stew on their predicament. "I’ll call tomorrow to hear your answer."
Emily went back to looking hunted. "Tomorrow?"
"Yes. And if we’re proceeding with this match, I’ll call on your father on Friday morning so you can prepare him for my visit." He picked up his hat and turned to go, but paused at the door. "I’m sorry, Emily. This is all my fault. My damned temper got the better of me."
When she didn’t respond, Hamish glanced back. As unmoving as a marble statue, she stared after him. He could guess the thoughts whirling through her mind, and he couldn’t help but pity her. She’d soon understand the inescapable price of their recklessness.
His shoulders slumped as he left the room and the woman who was to become his bride. However much she might wish to evade that fate.
Chapter 6
Hamish stood outside the tall white house in the heart of Bloomsbury and knocked. Polly opened the door to him as if she’d been waiting in the hall.
She probably had.
Yesterday he’d turned up uninvited on the Baylor doorstep. Last night, he’d received a brief note from Emily asking him to call at eleven in the morning. She hadn’t said anything else, so he remained unsure whether she meant to agree to marry him or send him on his way with a resounding refusal.
He hoped to the devil she intended to accept him. As he’d gone about yesterday, he’d resented the curious glances cast in his direction, and conversations cut short the moment he came into earshot. The longer he and Emily delayed announcing their engagement, the worse the talk would get. As he’d said to her, he’d meet with some disapproval and the official support for his activities would evaporate, but he’d be able to continue his life as a young buck about town. Emily, on the other hand, would become an outcast. It wasn’t fair, especially when the fault was his. But it was the way of the world.
If common sense prevailed, he’d leave this house to see Emily’s vicar, then arrange the betrothal announcement in the Morning Post. He’d decided to proceed as if scandal hadn’t precipitated this engagement. Having the banns called and pretending that wedding Sir John Baylor’s daughter was his dearest wish would combat the nasty rumors.
At the thought of how his life was about to change, his gut clenched with useless denial. He didn’t want to marry Emily. He didn’t want to marry anyone, not under duress.
If Emily had let her resentment get the better of her – and he wasn’t the only one in this partnership who could build up a head of steam – he’d have to abide by her decision, however unwillingly. It was up to her if she wished to accept his offer later, once she realized how the scandal was going to destroy her life. He’d seen enough of the world to know that if they did nothing to scotch the talk, life was going to turn very unpleasant indeed for her. Whichever way he looked at it, a wedding loomed in his future.
"Mr. Douglas has called, Miss Baylor," Polly said, ushering him into the library.
Even the usually irrepressible housemaid seemed to know that something momentous happened here today. This morning, there had been no indiscreet chatter.
Looking composed and pale, Emily rose from behind the desk. "Good morning, Hamish."
She’d dressed for his visit in a dark blue gown that lent her an austere air. Her lovely hair was confined in a tight knot that made him want to wince. She looked like a nun.
Hamish searched her wan face for some sign of emotion, but her eyes were opaque and her lips didn’t curve in a smile. He began to suspect she’d called him here to reject him. "Good morning, Emily."
She indicated two chairs in the center
of the room, clearly placed ready for this interview. He noted the more than tactful distance between them. "Please sit down."
He waited for her to take her place, then sat down. "How is your father this morning?"
Now Hamish was closer, he noticed that she looked even wearier than she had yesterday. There were shadows beneath her fine eyes, and he guessed some of her pallor must be due to sleeplessness. Had she lain awake worrying about her future? Or had she nursed her father through another troubled night?
Whatever happened today, Hamish had decided to pay for a qualified woman to assist with Sir John’s care. He owed it to his mentor, although right now he was more interested in restoring the bloom to Emily’s pretty face.
With more of that studied calmness, she folded her hands in her lap. "He had a better night, thank you."
"I’m glad."
So Hamish must blame his proposal for robbing her of sleep. He wished it was otherwise. But then he’d wished things were otherwise since he’d faced that wall of avid faces in Greenwich.
"The party at Lord Pascoe’s was good for him, but it took him out of his routine. He needed a few days to settle."
The door behind Emily opened, and Polly brought in a laden tea tray. Apparently the plan was to treat this visit like a conventional call and not a matter of life and death.
Hamish had no objections, especially as he could see Emily drew strength from the social rituals and the fact that as hostess, she was in charge of proceedings.
They managed a few more minutes of polite conversation, including an enquiry as to how he took his tea, when Emily had known that since he’d moved into this house as a raw and eager assistant to her father.
A silence fell. An awkward, heavy silence.
Hamish grabbed his courage in both hands. He set his half-empty teacup on a side table. Strange how the subject of marriage felt more forbidden in these formal circumstances than it had yesterday. "Have you thought any further about what I said?"
The Highlander’s English Bride: The Lairds Most Likely Book 6 Page 4
