by Matilda Hart
“Dinner will not be served for another few hours, my lady. You can rest in your bedchamber until then.”
Emilia hurried away, glad that it was only her maid who had found her drowsing in the drawing room. Other women would have been found drowsing over their knitting at least, but she was not one for the womanly arts, though she could knit, if pressed. And her singing voice was delightful, or so she had been told by a doting father. Her playing at the pianoforte was mediocre at best, and she happily gave that activity over to any of the many women who would willingly sit to show their prowess for the men seeking a wife willing to play only the piano, and mother to their offspring.
Sleep eluded her, though, once she retired to her bedchamber. All she could think of was being pressed into marriage to a man whom she knew too little about, and who had as yet to sound any seductive note in her ear. Shouldn’t a man courting a woman at least attempt to find ways to please her? The Duke had done nothing of the kind with her, even going so far as to laugh at her. It was not to be borne. She lay therefore, worrying over how to make good her escape.
She wore the green silk to dinner that evening, knowing how it made her blue eyes stand out. Her hair she had managed to curl so that it was an almost riotous mop around her head, but becoming nonetheless. She again applied a spot of color to her cheeks and lips, and declared herself ready when her father knocked and informed her that he was there to escort her down to the dining room. When she opened the door, his eyes lit up. Emilia was foolishly pleased that she had lifted her father’s mood, although guilt ate away at her because she knew that this was just a ploy to get him and the Duke to relax and not pay too keen attention to her. When they least expected it, she would bolt again.
She had an aunt who lived in Holland...perhaps Emilia could send her a missive to the effect that she was about to embark on a European tour and wished to spend some little time with her. She ruminated on that, wondering how she would get the letter mailed, as they walked down to dinner. Nearing the dining room, she could hear the voices of her host and hostess. The Duke said something which made his sister and brother-in-law laugh, and then as she and her father walked in, they sobered, making her wonder if the joke had been at her expense.
“Ah, good evening, Lord MacNeil, Lady Emilia,” the Duke greeted them. “Shall we sit down to dinner?”
Emilia noted that she and her father sat across from each other she next to the Duke’s brother-in-law, her father next to his sister. She was far enough away from the gentleman to be able to observe the way he engaged those nearest him in conversation without disrupting the flow of talk at the table. And yet she had the sense, and the courses were served and plates removed, that he was fully cognizant of everything that was being said around him. She found his smile for his sister to be full of indulgent affection, his chuckling with his in-law to be heartily friendly, and his laughter with her father of the sort one expects between equals. Only with her did she sense a modicum of reserve, and his gaze, when his eyes chanced to meet hers, was aloof at best, and disinterested at worst.
The thought that she had somehow offended the man confounded her, because it now appeared that she would be treated with only the most basic courtesies, and only the others would see the warmth of which he was capable. That it rankled to be so treated only served to upset her more, and she was barely able to finish her dinner. She refused a second glass of wine, and once they repaired to the drawing room, she likewise refused any further refreshment. It seemed the Duke wished to keep her at a distance. She was more than willing to oblige him. At the earliest opportunity, she would strive to put as much distance between them as she was able. Her father’s frowns of disapproval at her subtle withdrawal did nothing to deter her. It would not be the Marquess who would have to bear the cruel coldness of a disinterested husband.
“Do you still plan to return to Scotland on the morrow, my lord?” the Duke asked into a lull in the conversation.
“Indeed I do, Your Grace. Our business is concluded, and I am certain that I will be the recipient of glad tidings very soon.” The Marquess turned a meaningful glare on his daughter before continuing. “In the meantime, there is some business which I have been neglecting at home to which I must return post haste. I am grateful to Your Grace for your gracious hospitality and understanding.”
The Duke looked over at Emilia before replying. “It is the least I can do, my lord. I am happy to be of service.”
Emily could take no more. She rose to her feet, managing to avoid stumbling in her haste to be gone.
“I beg your pardon, but I am feeling unwell. I would like to retire now, Papa.” She studiously avoided the Duke’s gaze, and prayed her father would let her leave without any comment.
“I will come in to check on you before I retire, my dear,” he said, nothing in his tone giving away the fact that he was warning her against trying to escape, because he would be coming to see her.
Grinding her teeth together, she wished everyone a good night and walked out, managing to make it to her bedchamber before balling her hands into fists and pounding them into her pillows. Alice’s arrival a moment after her tantrum began did not stop her from throwing herself head first into the mound of pillows and screaming into them, letting all the anger and fear burst from her. Her father had neglected to inform her that he would be leaving so soon, but it was all to the good, she would make her first attempt at escape on the morrow. She would not stay in a house where she was seen as ‘business’, or some kind of chore to be done as a service to anyone.
When her father stopped in to see her later, she pretended to be asleep, and he left, telling Alice to be sure to wake her in time for breakfast as he wanted to speak with her before they descended together. She did not sleep well after that, and when morning came, she was awake before Alice, who helped her to dress, and then went away while she waited alone for her father. His knock came an hour after she was ready, and she invited him in, remaining where she had gone to stand by the window as he walked into the room.
“I must leave you today, Emilia,” he said. “I know that this is not what you want for yourself, but you must understand that I have to do what’s best for my children. The Duke will take very good care of you. And you will be perfectly safe from any untoward advances that he might wish to make, as you can see.”
“I’m sure the Duke has no interest in making advances to me of any kind, untoward or otherwise, Papa. That is one thing that I am sure we can both rest easy in knowing.”
Emilia found herself profoundly frightened at the prospect of being left alone in a stranger’s house with only one familiar companion. It made her sad to think that her father thought more highly of his plans for her than of herself, and she knew that nothing she said would make him change his mind, or help him see that he was wounding her more deeply than he could ever imagine.
The Marquess seemed dubious of her pronouncement, but refrained from commenting on it. “Let us go down to breakfast. We must not keep our host waiting.”
She stood and let him lead her down to the drawing room where the Duke and his family were waiting. Mr. Johnson walked in behind them, and Emilia took a seat as far from everyone as she could find, after pointedly serving herself a slice of toast, a boiled egg and some tea. The conversation flowed around her, but she heard none of it, and when at last the seemingly interminable meal ended, she stood with the others and walked with her father out to the carriage that was waiting to take him and his solicitor back home.
“I wish you a safe journey home, Papa, and hope to see you again in happier circumstances.”
Emilia let her father hug her, though she did not return the embrace, and she waved a little sadly as the carriage drove away. She stood there, watching it until it disappeared before turning her steps to the gardens. She could not face going back in just yet to be with people who did not care about her. She wandered around aimlessly, stopping to sniff the air and wishing that she could make a posy for her bedchamber, to ch
eer her up. A sound made her turn and she saw an older man approaching whom she did not know.
“Would ye like a few of the flowers, m’lady?” he asked, and when Emilia nodded, he asked which she would like to cut.
Once he had made her a small bouquet, he turned to leave, and Emilia stopped him. She needed a moment of connection with a human being who was not expecting impossibilities from her.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“I’m Hopkins, ma’am. The gardener.” He smiled at her and then walked away.
Chapter 6
Emilia took her treasure back indoors and bumped into the one person she most wanted to avoid. She drew herself up, trying to keep as much distance between them as she could, and holding the bunch of flowers before her like a shield.
“Ah! I see you’ve met Hopkins!” The Duke’s voice was quiet, and he did not seem to object to her having made free with his flowers.
“Yes. He very kindly offered to cut a few of the roses that I admired in my walk.”
“If you like, I can have a new bouquet delivered to your room each week, my dear.”
Emilia stepped back. She did not want any kindnesses from this man. And she certainly did not wish to feel any attraction to him, so whatever it was that made her skin feel as though it were on fire when he touched the petals of a flower and his fingers made contact with hers would have to end. She would not allow herself to be persuaded by an attraction that should not happen.
“Thank you, Your Grace, but that will not be necessary.” She stepped away, intending to escape to her room, but his voice stopped her.
“If you could spare a moment, Lady Emilia, I would speak with you.”
Emilia turned back, smiling nervously up at him, needing to disguise the depth of her discomfort from him.
“Please join me in the drawing room. Eleanor is already there, engaged in knitting woolies for the baby.”
He turned and walked away, expecting her to follow him, and though she fumed, she did as she was bid and walked in behind him. He showed her to a chair on the far side of the room, away from the chaise on which his sister reclined.
“Regarding our engagement, I wish to make some plans.”
Emilia’s heart stuttered in her chest. Plans? Her father had been gone but a few hours and already the Duke was making plans? Did he not think it a bit hasty, given their too short acquaintance? She asked him as much in a hushed whisper, her outrage hard to hide.
“As I understand it, Emilia,” he stared back at her unblinkingly when her sharp gaze rose to meet his at his familiar use of her name, “we are already engaged. Anything I plan to do now is merely to enlarge our acquaintance, before the nuptials, which must occur within the next three months. To what exactly are you objecting?”
“It must be plain to you, Your Grace, that I do not hold you in that affection which it seems to me necessary for any marriage to succeed. How can we plan for a union where one of the parties at least is unwilling?”
The Duke eyed her inquiringly. “Your father has told me of your attempts to get out of our engagement. I must ask why.”
Emilia took a moment to hope that his interest in her reasons might mean he would listen to her and perhaps release her from an obligation she had not asked for.
“Please do not think that my objections are to your person. I have no wish to marry anyone, Your Grace. I have never wished it. I enjoy being an independent woman. I have no wish to end up as some sort of trophy on a man’s arm, to be out on display for his friends, and to be the receptacle of his seed so as to bear him offspring who will become more important in his life than I ever will be.”
His eyes sharpened on her features as she stopped speaking. “Is this how you expect to be treated, Emilia? Like a vessel?”
“It is how I refuse to be treated, Your Grace. Surely you can see that our goals are incompatible?” She was willing to press her point home, if it would win her freedom.
The Duke rose to pace before her, and then she sat down again and said, “Has there been anything in my demeanor over these past two days to suggest that I would choose to treat my wife as a vessel for my seed, as you so indelicately put it? Do you have hard evidence of my interest in curtailing your freedoms?”
His voice was hard, and his questions were fair, which only made her angrier, because it made her appear to be unreasonable. She did now wish to examine the thought too closely. For so long she had been opposed to marrying a stranger, but with every conversation she had with the Duke, his character was becoming clearer to her. His voice brought her out of her thoughts.
“And as to the question of love, how do you suppose that love grows between a man and a woman? Do you assume that it is an automatic occurrence, and that without it marriage is doomed to failure? Did your father love your mother? And if you think he did, how did you come to that conclusion?”
Emilia hated how his questions battered at her defenses, chipping them away and gouging large holes in them. She felt exposed and immature and incredibly foolish. This was insupportable. She had entered into this conversation thinking to win herself an ally, but all she had managed to do was to create a greater divide between them, because it was clear that he did not think her reasons to be justified.
“I did not expect you to understand my plight, Your Grace,” she said wearily, ignoring his questions. “But at least you now know my feelings on the subject.”
He was silent a moment more, and then he said, “You would be wise to remember one thing about me, Emilia. I keep what is mine.” He stared at her intently as though to ensure that she understood his meaning, and then he ended, “The day after tomorrow we are invited to John’s home for dinner. I should like you to meet your future in-laws.”
Emilia did not respond. She had not missed the challenge in his declaration, and she would be the first to show him that she did not belong to any man. She had to leave before the morning. But as he knew of her propensity for flight, she would have to be very careful in how she proceeded. While Alice had been dressing her earlier, she had told Emilia that the housekeeper’s brother had been taken ill, and the woman was going to be visiting him that evening after supper. Mrs. Woods did not expect to be back before the following morning, and so breakfast might be delayed.
It seemed to Emilia that she might be able to get away, if she could only secret herself in the conveyance that the housekeeper would use to get her to her brother’s home. Emilia could not imagine that the woman would go any distance at that hour of night without some form of transportation. She would take herself to the stables when the house was asleep and discover the means by which Mrs. Woods planned to get to her brother’s house.
The rest of the day passed in high anxiety, with Emilia starting at every sound. She forced herself to eat something at dinner, so as not to raise an alarm among her new acquaintances, but she was well aware of the Duke’s constant regard. She found it difficult to disguise her distraction, but Neither Lady Eleanor nor her husband remarked upon it. Emilia managed to pay enough attention to hear that Lord Gillingham was returning to his home in the morning, to prepare for his parents’ arrival and to see to the final preparations for the dinner engagement the next evening. He would not return to Roxburgh Manor until the time for the wedding, unless his good wife went into labor before then.
Being careful not to raise anyone’s suspicions, Emilia forced herself to stay until the others were ready to retire for bed. She allowed the Duke to escort her to her door, and wished him a pretty good night. Before he walked away, he said,
“Remember, Emilia, I keep what belongs to me.”
His words sent an odd thrill through her, but she shook it off. There could be nothing between her and a man who saw her as a possession, like a prized painting. She was as clever as any man, as gifted on horseback, and passing fair in sword play. Say what she might about her father, he had indulged her every whim when she was younger, allowing her to learn from her male cousins, letting the groom te
ach her how to ride, allowing her to play with her friends in the village. Only when she reached eighteen had he begun to sequester her, and she began to wonder if that was why she was so adamantly opposed to marriage. He had insisted that the time for childish pursuits was at an end, and that she must sharpen her skills in the womanly arts, in order to secure for herself a suitable husband.
She had no time to consider that now. Whatever the reason that had started her down this path, she would see it through. She sent Alice away when she came to help her undress for bed, and waited only a few moments before stealing down the stairs and out through the door leading from the drawing room into the garden. The dew was heavy in the ground, and her skirts were growing damper at the hem, but she ignored the discomfort, making her way hastily to the stable. She could hear voices as she approached, and recognized the housekeeper’s among those whispering.
She crept closer, and saw the conveyance that would take the woman to her brother’s house. It was a large cart, of the sort used by farmers to carry their goods to market. Emilia supposed she would have to hide every part of her silk garments beneath the rough cloth she could see covering whatever was in the back of the cart. While they talked, she stole over to the cart, keeping as much to the shadows as she could, and once she was next to the back of the cart, she hopped up and slid her legs to the side. She could feel the delicate fabric of her dress hitching on the rough wood, but she ignored it. Now was not the time to worry about her appearance.
