"Oh, be off with you. It seems you have frightened away any other gentleman-callers we might have hoped for this morning. Go on! Away to your books, or whatever it is you occupy yourself with these days."
Emily knew that her mother was only speaking so harshly out of embarrassment. She could hardly blame her. She had deliberately tried to behave badly in front of the Marquess, after all. But the blasted man had taken it in his stride. He really was an absolute sweetheart.
He didn't deserve a heartbroken, contrary wretch like Emily at all.
She retired to her rooms, where she stifled a few miserable sobs in her pillow.
James's package still lay on her bedside table. She hadn't been able to bring herself to open it. Now, it seemed to call to her, full of mystery and shattered hopes.
What on earth was she afraid of? It wasn't as though she could be any unhappier.
It was better to rip the bandage off now, and have done with it.
Emily sat on the edge of her bed and carefully tore the wrapping paper from the package. What she found inside was both familiar and new at the same time.
A small, rectangular, leather-bound red box lay in her lap. On its lid, in gold-embossed letters, the name Emily Albemarle.
"It can't be," she breathed. Hardly daring to look, she cracked the lid open.
A drafting set. No, her drafting set. Perfectly restored. She took out a compass and held it wonderingly up to the light. The craftsmanship was exquisite. She couldn't even tell whether it was new or a repair of the antique her grandfather had gifted her.
She ran her hands over the box's velvet lining and lifted each instrument from its place. There was nothing more. No note. Not even a lock of hair.
"Oh, James," she sighed. "Have you left me without a single word to remember you?"
She had never received such a wonderful present. After all that had passed between them, it meant more to her now than when she'd first been given the drafting set. Her heart felt as though it were tearing in two.
Emily knew in that moment that she could not go another day without James in her life. He had become as necessary to her as the air.
"I'm sorry, Marquess," she whispered. "You'll have to find another mother for Annabelle. You can't have me."
She went to her writing desk and, after only a moment's hesitation, began to write.
My dearest James,
It is no use, my darling. I cannot resign myself to a life without you. Respond to this note with the time and place, and I will gladly run away with you.
Do not worry about my fortune or my reputation. I have not wasted a thought on such frivolous things. My only thoughts are of you and of when I will be in your arms again.
In love and hope,
Your Emily.
She sealed the letter with her signet ring and kissed the wax as it dried. Then it only remained to ring for a footman, have the letter delivered to Amberley House post-haste...and wait.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Emily hardly knew what to do with herself as she waited for a response to her letter. She could not sit down to her studies, she could not play her harp, she could not even read.
She sat down to dinner with her family, but the thought of eating was impossible. Instead, she stirred her soup with her spoon and tried to make it look as though she'd at least tasted it.
"Emily, you seem in very poor spirits this evening," said her father. "What's happened to put you out of sorts?"
She plastered a smile onto her face. "Nothing's the matter at all, Papa."
To think that in only a few hours, perhaps, she would bid goodbye to her family forever and be on the road to Gretna Green! She didn't know whether she felt nervous or excited, but in any case she was sick to her stomach.
"You've not eaten a bite, Em," noted her brother. He nudged her foot under the table. "Not lovesick, are you?"
Emily shot him a look like death. "No," she said primly. "Why do you bring up that subject? Do you have any lovers you wish to mention?"
"Now, now," said Jacob amiably. "I was only teasing. No need to be so prickly."
"I am not prickly," she snapped. "I only want to be left alone!"
Well, that did it. Now they all knew something was wrong.
Emily was saved from the embarrassment of further explanation by an announcement from the butler.
"Pardon the intrusion, Your Grace, but there is a caller for Lady Emily."
"At this hour?" rumbled the Duke. "Who on earth is it?"
"The Duke of Westbourne, Your Grace. That is why I felt it necessary to interrupt your dinner. Shall I tell him you are not at home?"
"Westbourne!" The Duke of Rawly's face reddened at the name. "No, no. Send him into the drawing room. Emily, do you have any idea what this is about?"
She knew very well what it more than likely concerned, and the thought turned her blood to ice. "No, Papa."
"You'd better go and see what he wants." The Duke fussed with his cutlery. "I suppose... I suppose I ought to come with you."
Emily knew what it would cost her father to be in Westbourne's company. "I'm sure there's no need, Papa. I'll send for you if there's anything I need to bother you with."
"Very good. Very good. Off you go then, quickly. Don't keep the man waiting."
Emily was shaking with nerves as she approached the drawing room door. She had never spoken to the Duke of Westbourne before.
"His rank is the same as Papa's," she told herself sternly. "Not even as great as Papa's, since he was not a Duke's son, but came to it through a sideways inheritance." Besides, he was James's brother! Surely he could not be so very terrible.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The man standing at the window was younger than she'd imagined. As he glanced back over his shoulder towards her, she saw a shockingly handsome face. He was nothing like James at first glance – tall and broad where James was lithe and muscular, with a shock of dark hair that fell broodingly into his eyes. But there was something about the nose and the set of the jaw that was very familiar. She was sure that if the two brothers were standing beside each other, no-one could mistake the relationship.
"Your Grace," she said, forgetting whether it was proper to curtsy. She had almost never met a Duke besides her father. "This is most unexpected."
"Forgive my calling upon you uninvited," said Harry. "But the matter seemed urgent enough to warrant the intrusion. I think you know why I'm here?"
Emily shook her head, all wide-eyed innocence. "I can't imagine, Your Grace."
Harry sighed. "So, we are to play it this way? Very well." He handed something towards her. Emily cringed to see that it was the letter she'd written to James that morning.
"I have not opened it," said Harry. She breathed a sigh of relief. "But I can guess at its contents. Your footman left a request for a reply as soon as possible. Consider this that answer."
"Your Grace, let me explain –"
"I do not wish to hear an explanation. In your position, I am not sure I would tell the truth, and I do not want to force you to lie. Only listen to my questions and tell me whether I am right or wrong. It seems that you and my brother have embarked upon some – foolishness together. You have formed what I will politely term a close friendship. Is that correct?"
Emily lowered her eyes. She neither nodded her head nor shook it. Harry waited in vain for an answer, only continuing when it became apparent he would receive none. "I shall assume I am right. Are you engaged?"
Emily bit her lip. She longed to lift her head and tell him yes, yes, she was sworn to James and James to her!
But it was not true. Not yet. She remained silent.
"Knowing James, I shall assume not," said Harry wryly. This pricked Emily into a show of protest.
"Your Grace –"
Harry silenced her with a wave of his hand. He lowered his voice. "Has he – taken liberties with your person, in any way?"
"How can you think such a thing?" Emily gasped. H
arry smiled mirthlessly.
"I know my brother."
"If that is all you think of him, Your Grace, then I am afraid you do not know him at all!"
Harry nodded, stroking his chin. "Your feelings are strong. I can see that much. Has James given you reason to believe his feelings are the same?"
"I know they are."
"But has he told you?"
"He loves me," Emily declared passionately. "He loves me, and I love him. He has told me so. Don't you dare tell me not to believe him!"
"You forget who you are speaking to, young lady," Harry thundered. Emily folded her arms.
"The man who I someday will greet as a brother. I am sorry if it displeases you, Your Grace, but I am quite determined. I mean to be James's wife."
Harry's brows lowered. "Thus far, I have refrained from asking to speak to your father. If he approves of the match, then of course, I have no objection. But I cannot imagine he would be pleased to hear you are writing to a man you are not even engaged to. How old are you?"
"I am almost one-and-twenty."
"Not quite of age, then. You cannot marry without your father's permission."
"Not in England, perhaps." Emily clapped a hand to her mouth. She had not meant to reveal so much.
To her surprise, Harry gave her a look not of disapprobation but of pity. "That is beside the point. I am sorry to tell you that James is no longer in London. Whatever passed between you, I think you must now consider it at an end."
"Not in London?" Emily repeated faintly. "Where has he gone?"
"That, I will not tell you. It is for the best, Lady Emily. We both know your father would never agree to the match." Harry put a hand on her shoulder. The gesture was almost brotherly. It cut Emily to the quick. "As long as you agree to forget your silly notions of running away, I promise I will not say a word to your father. I've no desire to cause you further pain. But if I suspect that you are attempting to renew your relationship with James, believe me – I will not hesitate to reveal everything."
So James was gone. He had left without a word to her – without saying goodbye. Well, what more could she expect? It was she who had told him their friendship was over. It was she who had heard him speak words of love and given him nothing to hope for in return.
"Courage, dear girl," said Harry softly. His voice was heavy with sympathy. Emily lifted her eyes to his and found an understanding she had not expected. She wondered what the Duke knew of broken love. "You will survive this. Nay, I expect you will even be happy again. Forget James. Think of your future. That is the best advice I can give you."
"I thank you for it," said Emily.
Harry bowed. "Then I will take my leave. I wish you a pleasant evening, Lady Emily. I hope we shall not have cause to speak of this matter again."
This time, Emily remembered her curtsy. The Duke was not nearly so frightening as she had imagined. "Let me assure you, Your Grace, it is already half-forgotten."
She stood in the dimly-lit drawing room a long while after he had left. Her mind was in too much turmoil to re-join her family.
James was gone. She had to find him. But how?
There was only one friend who might help her. A friend who already owed her a favour.
Emily smiled to herself, despite the aching in her heart. She felt well enough to return to the dinner table with a smile. She even enjoyed the mysterious air she adopted to tell them, "Oh, the Duke of Westbourne did not want anything of consequence."
She had a plan.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Emily peered upwards from her carriage window as the turrets of Westbourne Hall came into view at the top of the hill. It was a sprawling, glowering building of dark grey stone. The weight of its history and its ancient name pressed down upon her, telling her to turn back. Warning her to give up her quest.
She was defying two powerful Dukes by daring to enter Westbourne Hall that day.
But she would not turn back. The man she loved was inside that building, and she intended to find him.
Late summer rain began to splatter on the steps leading up to the enormous wooden door. Emily bade her footmen wait with the carriage and hurried across the courtyard, lifting her cloak up over her head against the shower.
Her heart pounded as she raised her hand to knock on the door. She had no idea what she would find inside the Hall. She had no reason to expect a warm welcome.
Only the intense pressure in her chest, the feeling half like pain and half like pleasure, forced her onwards. She knocked firmly, the sound frighteningly loud against the backdrop of silence and soft rain.
To the devil with the Dukes – Westbourne and Rawly both. Let Society whisper what it wanted. Let her be ruined forever, if ruin was what it took.
Emily had made up her mind.
After the butler showed her in, she only had a moment to wait inside the echoing hallway before she heard footsteps running towards her.
She knew it was him by the way her entire body flushed with heat.
James. Her James.
He swept her up in his arms the moment he reached her. She had time to notice how pale he looked, how haggard. He must have passed as many sleepless nights as she had.
Now they were together. The pain was at an end.
"Emily, Emily," he groaned, murmuring into her neck as he held her against him. He breathed deeply, as though he could inhale the essence of her, take it deep inside himself so that he never had to let her go again. "What are you doing here? My sweet, mad girl, what have you done?"
"There was something I forgot to tell you," she answered, stopping between each word to let him kiss her with a hunger that stirred her to the core. "I could not let another moment pass without you knowing that I am in love with you. So I followed you here."
"How did you find me?" James asked. Emily was finding it difficult to follow the conversation. James's hands were exploring the small of her back, moving to caress her arm, her neck, and it was all she could to do to keep breathing.
"Susan told me. She didn't want to. She thinks it's madness to defy my father."
"She's right." James froze, his hands stopping their desperate motion. "Emily, she's right. You should not be here. The consequences..."
She pressed a finger to his lips. "They are nothing compared to the misery of a life without you."
"But Emily, without your father's permission..."
"Take me to Gretna Green."
A moan of contentment escaped James's lips.
"Take me to Gretna Green," she repeated. "It's all I want."
James took her left hand in both of his and dropped to his knees. It took a moment for Emily to realise what he was doing.
His face was cast into a perfect drama of light and shadow by the storm-light falling from the windows. He looked like one of the Renaissance paintings in the Royal Academy; a true work of art. Emily took a deep breath as she tried to memorise every contour of his perfect face.
She knew she would remember this moment forever.
"Emily Albemarle," said James, his voice husky with longing. "Will you marry me?"
She only nodded. All words had deserted her.
James rose again, taking her back into his arms, and kissed her with a tender restraint that left her legs shaking.
"By George," he said, "we will not have much, but we will be happy. I will make you happy every day for the rest of my life. Hang your father and hang your fortune. You are mine."
"James Marsden!" A shriek of horror rent the air between them. Emily tried to tear herself away from James, imagining all manner of terrors, but James held her tight.
"Are you ready to meet my mother?" he whispered. "No matter – I'm afraid there's no way of avoiding it." He pressed her hand quickly to his lips and turned around. "Hello, mother. I'd like to introduce my fiancée."
"Your what?" For all her anger, the woman standing before them had a kind face. She was short, a good two heads shorter than her son, and was carrying a basket of needl
ework which she seemed on the brink of dropping in shock.
James placed his hand protectively against the small of Emily's back. "Emily, this is my mother, Elsie Marsden. Mother, this is Lady Emily Albemarle."
"An Albemarle!" his mother repeated in wonderment. "Good grief!"
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Ma'am," said Emily.
"How long have you been engaged?" Elsie asked. The poor woman looked as though she were about to faint.
"Only about thirty seconds or so," said James airily. "Naturally, we wanted you to be the first to know."
"But this is wonderful news!" Elsie's hands flew to her cheeks, letting the basket crash to the floor. "My James, getting married! I never thought I'd see the day!" She opened her arms to Emily. "My dear, let me embrace you! Welcome to the family!"
Emily gladly let James's mother kiss her on both cheeks. "Engaged!" Elsie kept repeating faintly. "James, engaged! Only think!"
"Did you manage to pack anything before you left London?" asked James, watching his mother's raptures with a mixture of bemusement and satisfaction. "I'll have a servant take your bags upstairs."
"What are you thinking of?" his mother demanded. "Surely you don't intend for Lady Emily to stay here while you're still unwed?"
Emily had rather hoped his mother would place no objections. After all, once word came out that she had chased a man to Larksley, her reputation was already in tatters.
"No, no," cried Elsie, rapping James on the knuckles. "She must stay with William and Celia. They are only down the road, you know. It's so important for newlyweds to have a little home to themselves. Oh! We shall have to look up a cottage for you and James! How charming!" She hesitated, glancing at Emily in sudden nervousness. "Unless... are you planning to go and live with your family, my dear? I'm sure your father the Duke must have plenty of property."
Emily shared an awkward glance with James. She did not want to start off her acquaintance with her future mother-in-law with a lie. "We haven't yet discussed it with my father," she said awkwardly. That, at least, was true.
James's mother frowned, the light dawning. She touched Emily's cheek. "My dear, are you yet one-and-twenty?"
Let the Lady Decide Page 14
