by Burke, Darcy
Was there a chance he’d orchestrated last night’s activities to achieve that end? She scoffed at herself. That was absurd. She’d had to convince him to go through with it. The evening had been a surprising turn of events for both of them.
“I think it’s a bit premature to discuss children,” Emmaline said, ready to be finished with this conversation.
Lark nodded, and Emmaline left the chamber. Downstairs, Tulk opened the door for her as he normally did. Had she expected something different? Just because she felt different didn’t mean anyone else would notice. Lark had the benefit of finding the ruined night rail. Without that evidence, would she have detected the slight buoyancy in Emmaline’s step?
Emmaline climbed into the waiting coach. It took a while to reach the orphanage, which meant she had plenty of time to relive every moment of last night. By the time she arrived, she was glad to leave the warm confines of the coach.
She walked inside and found Ivy waiting for her in the entry hall. They embraced briefly.
“I’m so glad you came today,” Ivy said.
Emmaline smiled in return. “I’m so glad you invited me. What are we to do?”
“I wanted to introduce you to the headmistress, and then we will meet some of the children. I’m going to work with some of them on their reading. I thought you could read a few stories to the smaller ones?”
“I would enjoy that very much.”
Ivy led her into a large chamber with tables and seating areas where small children were reading or drawing or even writing. They ranged in age from perhaps two to eight years. There were so many—a few dozen—and to think they had no parents, no one to care for them… Emmaline’s throat burned with a sudden rush of emotion.
“Good morning, I’m Mrs. Templeton.” The headmistress greeted Emmaline with a wide smile. “We’re always so happy when Lady Clare brings a friend—or two—to help.”
Emmaline was sorry she hadn’t come sooner. “I’m delighted to be here.”
“Come, I’ll introduce you to the children.” Mrs. Templeton took them around the room, and Emmaline stepped on something small and round.
She bent down and picked up a clay marble.
With a sigh, Mrs. Templeton turned to one of the tables where a boy was seated. “Cecil, one of your marbles has gotten loose again.”
Cecil, a wide-eyed boy of about six years, came forward. “My apologies, Mrs. Temptleton.”
“You must be more careful. You don’t wish to trip anyone.”
He nodded as his shoulders drooped.
Emmaline walked over to him. “Here’s your marble.” She wanted to bring him real marbles—made from marble—and made a note to do that on her next visit. Because she absolutely planned to come again. “Perhaps we can play later.” She looked over at Ivy and Mrs. Templeton, hoping she hadn’t spoken out of turn.
“Of course,” Ivy said. “They have time for play in a while.”
Emmaline met the rest of the children, then settled herself in a chair with a handful of books to read to the youngest children, who gathered on the floor in a semicircle around her. As she read, the children edged closer, and she decided to leave the chair and sit with them. Soon they were snuggled all around her, the smallest one in her lap.
Yes, children would be nice.
Before she knew it, the children were dismissed for play. Emmaline found Cecil, and he proceeded to beat her at marbles several times.
“You’ve had fun today,” Ivy said, joining Emmaline as the children left to go to the dining hall for tea.
Emmaline stood up from the floor, brushing at the skirt of her gown. “Yes. More than I anticipated. I can’t wait to come again.”
Ivy beamed. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it. Cecil really took a liking to you. He can be difficult sometimes.”
“I’m going to bring him some real marbles next time.”
Ivy chuckled. “You’ll likely win him over for life.”
Emmaline felt a shaft of sadness. “To think that something so simple could mean so much… It’s very humbling.”
“Indeed it is. Your compassion is lovely. Thank you.” Ivy cocked her head to the side and studied her a moment. “You seem different today—more serene. Did something happen, or is it just the children making you glow?”
Glow? Emmaline instinctively raised her hand to her face. She considered saying it was just the children, but she wanted to tell someone besides her maid. “Lionel and I, er, had intercourse last night.”
Ivy stared at her. “That’s unexpected. Are you happy about that?”
The words she’d used with Lionel last night came back to her. “I certainly don’t regret it.”
Ivy grinned. “Well, that’s good to hear.”
“I’m very conflicted. I wouldn’t mind doing it again—and I’m sure he feels the same, at least about that. But anything more… I don’t think I can contemplate that yet.” Well, she could contemplate it. She just wasn’t sure she wanted more. And maybe she never would.
“Then maybe you just take things very slowly. You do have a lifetime to figure this out.”
Emmaline let out a soft, ironic laugh. “Yes, I do.”
“It’s good to hear you laugh. And see you smile. You do seem more at ease, and that has to be a good thing, doesn’t it?” Ivy linked her arms through Emmaline’s and led her to the table where they’d stashed their hats and gloves earlier.
“I think so.” Emmaline heard the doubt in her voice.
“If you wouldn’t mind a piece of advice from someone who lived with regret and anger and self-loathing for quite some time, I would say that you should try to let go of the past. If that’s the only thing hampering you from a happy future with Axbridge, maybe it’s best to forget it and move on.”
Emmaline let her friend’s words sink in. “Thank you, I’ll think about that.”
Later, as she traveled back home, she considered Ivy’s counsel. When she’d said self-loathing, something had fired in Emmaline’s mind. She’d been so angry—at Lionel, at Geoffrey, and, yes, even at herself. If she hadn’t leapt into marriage with Geoffrey in the first place, she wouldn’t be in any of this mess. Never mind the guilt she felt about her own part in Geoffrey’s death. She shoved those thoughts away and grasped at the serenity Ivy had noticed.
Who knew how long it would last?
Chapter 10
“Good afternoon, Tulk,” Lionel said as he came into the house following a meeting. “Is my wife at home?”
“No, my lord. She is at the orphanage with Lady Clare.”
Lionel hadn’t realized she’d planned the excursion, but then why would he know? Just because they’d had sex didn’t mean they were now sharing information about their days.
Tulk closed the door and looked at Lionel. “Might I have a word?”
“Certainly. Come to my office.” He led the way through the drawing room and went to stand behind his desk.
“Your mail is there.” Tulk inclined his head toward the desk. “I don’t wish to overstep, of course, but since you entrusted me with the truth of your marriage, I thought I should ask if things had changed?”
Lionel had looked down at the missives stacked on his desk and now jerked his head up. “What do you mean?”
“I, ah, I couldn’t help but realize you and Lady Axbridge were together in here last night. I don’t mean to pry…”
Lionel snorted. “And yet you are.”
Tulk arched a brow, looking appropriately chastised. “Just so. Am I premature in offering my congratulations?”
“Yes, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
Tulk nodded, then took himself from the room.
Lionel stared after him for a moment before shaking his head. Tulk wasn’t the only person who’d noticed the change—Hennings had said something that morning. His evidence had been Lionel’s ridiculously jolly mood. As Hennings had put it, “It’s not too difficult to recognize when you’ve been with a woman, particularly when it’s been so long
since the last time.”
Lionel had thanked him for reminding him of that and then asked how Hennings had known it was Emmaline. Maybe it had been someone else.
Hennings had looked him square in the eye and told him he knew him better than anyone—and the only woman Lionel would be shagging was his wife.
He was, of course, absolutely correct.
And Lionel could hardly wait to do it again. But would they? She’d told him she couldn’t make promises, just as she’d vowed she wouldn’t regret what they’d done. He hoped she still felt that way today.
He sat down and went through his mail, which included the invoice from Townsend’s tailor—Mullens. Lionel reviewed it with interest. It seemed Townsend liked clothing. Expensive clothing. Mullens’s rates were competitive, but the fabrics used were of premium quality.
What had happened to all of Townsend’s clothing? Lionel wasn’t sure he had the nerve to ask Emmaline. Did it really matter? Why bring up something like that when it had the potential to remind her of why and how much she hated Lionel.
Hell. Was he doomed to second-guess everything to do with her in fear that they’d go right back to where they’d started?
It’s far more than you deserve, came the haughty voice of self-loathing in the back of his head.
He refocused on the invoice, curious as to the tailor’s skills and whether he really possessed and used such expensive materials. He’d pay Mullens a visit and maybe even commission a new suit of clothing.
Tulk appeared in the doorway once more. “Mr. Forth-Hodges is here to see you.”
Lionel instantly bristled. He couldn’t think of any reason to speak with the man. “Show him in.”
A minute later, Mr. Forth-Hodges entered wearing a wide grin. The man was portly, with thinning hair. Emmaline had inherited her beauty entirely from her mother.
“Good day, Axbridge. How are things with my daughter? She’s been quite scarce since your wedding. My wife has only seen her once, and I haven’t seen her at all.”
Lionel was pleased to hear it. Just as he wondered what Emmaline could’ve had to say to her mother. Again, he missed the intimacy that would come with knowing his wife, talking with her, sharing with her.
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Lionel drawled.
“Oh, well. Yes, I suppose.” Forth-Hodges looked mildly uncomfortable. “May I sit?”
Lionel gestured toward the chair on the other side of the desk near the corner.
Emmaline’s father sat, then adjusted his waistcoat. Lionel steepled his fingers in front of his chin as he waited for the man to get on with it.
“We’re quite thrilled with your marriage, of course. In fact, I’d say you did her a huge favor eliminating Townsend.”
“I thought you were perhaps joking when you made a similar comment on our wedding day.” Lionel fought a wave of nausea. “You aren’t really glad I killed him?”
Forth-Hodges blinked. “Glad? No, no. Relieved is perhaps a better way of stating things.”
Lionel stared at him. Before he could articulate his disgust, Forth-Hodges continued. “We also deeply appreciate your financial assistance. We, ah, had some difficulty there staving off Townsend’s creditors.”
“I am aware.” They’d been thrilled to receive payment from Lionel.
“In fact, the things we did settle caused a bit of hardship for us.” Forth-Hodges’s neck flushed, and he looked away. “Mrs. Forth-Hodges and I hoped you might see clear to reimbursing us for those payments.” He finally settled his gaze on Lionel, and it was full of apprehension. Small droplets of sweat dotted the man’s forehead.
Lionel wanted to be sure he understood. “You wish me to reimburse you for all of Townsend’s debts that you settled. And how much is that?”
“Several hundred pounds—I can send an itemization.” Forth-Hodges dashed a handkerchief over his brow.
“I would require it. Which isn’t to say I agree.” Lionel enjoyed watching the man sweat. Literally. “Are you destitute, then?”
“Oh no, no. But I have…other things I’d hoped to spend that money on.” Of course he did.
“And you think I don’t?” Lionel didn’t bother waiting for an answer—he didn’t really want one. “Was Sir Duncan prepared to do this?”
Forth-Hodges’s mouth gaped open. “Er, no.”
“And would you have asked him?”
He wiped his weeping forehead again. “Perhaps?” The word squeaked out.
“Ah, then it really is fortuitous that Emmaline married me.” He gave the man a deceptively serene smile. Inside, he was boiling with outrage. “You must realize, Mr. Forth-Hodges, that I am a man of honor. I also value your daughter more highly than I suspect you ever have. For those reasons—and those reasons only—I will reimburse you. After I receive an accounting.”
He stood and walked around the desk, stopping when he towered over the man’s chair, and he looked up at Lionel with increasing fear. “Don’t for a moment think I care what happens to you or Mrs. Forth-Hodges. From what I can see, you’ve been less than parental in your duties.”
“I beg your pardon,” Forth-Hodges sputtered as he cast his head back to look up at Lionel. “We love Emmaline. We’ve worked hard to see her settled. The gel made a colossal mistake, and we’ve done our best to fix it.”
“Your best is lacking. Being a parent goes beyond arranging a marriage that benefits you. You may think that’s love, but it is not.” Lionel couldn’t help but think of his own mother and father, of the dreams they’d had for him to grow up happy and loved—by them and some day by a wife of his own. “Send me the accounting.”
Forth-Hodges slid to the edge of the chair and stood, then quickly backed up a step. Two steps. “I will. Thank you.”
“You can thank me by showing your daughter some care. Maybe tell her that you love her and are pleased to have her as a daughter. Yes, do that. Also, Emmaline is to hear nothing of this.” She didn’t need to know that her father had no shame. “Do you understand?”
Forth-Hodges nodded. Lionel could see he was a little afraid, which meant his intimidation tactics were working. Or was it more than that? He was, after all, the Duke of Danger, and most gentlemen were careful to treat him with deference.
Distress nagged Lionel’s insides. He hadn’t ever wanted to be someone who inspired fear.
“Why are you still here?” Lionel asked.
Forth-Hodges bobbed his head. “I’ll send the accounting along.” He hurried to the door but paused before leaving. He looked back over his shoulder. “I do love my daughter. And I can see she chose very well this time. That assessment has nothing to do with your title or your wealth. She deserves a man like you.” He stared at Lionel a moment before dropping his gaze. Then he left.
Lionel didn’t want to care what Forth-Hodges thought of him, but couldn’t help appreciating the man’s words. A man like him.
A man like he wanted to be was more accurate. Lionel’s gaze darted to the portrait of his father. I’m trying.
And now he had a tangible reason—Emmaline. At the very least, she deserved someone who would love her. He was beginning to think he might just be that man.
* * *
When Emmaline stepped into the dining room that evening, Lionel was waiting for her. He stood beside the table, dressed in a crisp brown tailcoat with a dark gold waistcoat. His broad shoulders filled the garments nicely, and his pantaloons fit his legs to perfection. She realized she looked at him differently now that she’d seen him nude. Or mostly nude. She recalled he hadn’t actually removed his pantaloons the night before.
“Good evening, my lady.” His seductive tone skipped over her, provoking gooseflesh along her neck and arms. “You are a vision of loveliness.” He studied her quite thoroughly, his gaze warming with desire.
Perhaps dinner together wasn’t such a good idea. She wanted to take things slowly, but last night’s activities had done nothing to satisfy her attraction to him. If anything, she wanted him even m
ore now.
“Good evening.” She walked to her chair, and he held it out for her.
“I was so delighted to get your note about dinner. Dare I hope this will become a regular occurrence?” He took his chair and nodded toward the footman to begin serving the first course.
“Could we discuss this after the meal?” She glanced toward the footman.
Lionel’s eyes took on a sheen of acknowledgment. “Of course.” He waited for the footman to pour wine into their glasses then lifted his in a toast. “To enjoying our evening.”
What did he mean by that? Was he hoping to repeat last night’s events?
She silently chided herself for reading anything into what amounted to an innocuous comment. She raised her glass and drank.
“I understand you visited the orphanage with Ivy today?” He cut into his duck and took a bite.
Emmaline picked up her utensils. “Yes. It was most enlightening. The children are charming.” She thought of Cecil and several others. “They’re so small and helpless. I plan to return. I am going to take some toys and books.”
“How splendid. Perhaps I could accompany you.”
He would want to do that? “If you’d like.”
“I would. It breaks my heart to think they don’t have a proper family.” His brow creased, and she knew he meant the sentiment as more than just a polite thing to say.
She swallowed a bite of duck. “Family is important to you, isn’t it?”
“It is. I’d give anything to have my father—and my mother—back.”
“I’d trade mine for yours.” She’d spoken the words without really thinking them through. “That sounded rather cold. I don’t wish my parents dead. I only meant that I wish you had yours too.” She closed her mouth before she continued to sound like a heartless daughter.
His lips curved into a slight smile. “It wasn’t cold, and you don’t need to feel bad at all. I appreciate the sentiment more than I can say.”
