A Scandalous Proposal

by Julia Justiss

  Andrew’s wild, carefree scapegrace of a brother married? ’Twas hard to conceive. “Delighted to meet you, ma’am—and congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” The tall woman nodded but did not smile. Her eyes returned again to her husband’s hand at Emily’s shoulder. “So you are the lady we’ve been tracking over dusty roads in every manner of poorly sprung conveyance for half a year?”

  “You’ve been searching for me?” she echoed, astonished.

  At his wife’s frosty tone, Rob only laughed. “’Tis a good thing I was forced to sell out. I’m afraid my Nat would never have made a soldier’s bride. And how could you not expect me to hunt for you as soon as I was able, dear friend, my brother’s wife, the woman who tended my wounds and pulled me back from death?”

  He released her shoulder and his tone lightened. “You’d covered your tracks well, though. We’d only just begun to make progress, but I’d given Nat my word after six months I’d bring her home.”

  “Mistress, que barulho,” Francesca said as she backed into the room, heavy tray in hand. She turned, spied Robert, and her face lit. “Roberto, meu amor! Como está?”

  “Francesca!” Robert sprang over, dispensed with the tray and enveloped the maid in a hug. In a rapid spate of Portuguese the two exchanged greetings. Then, wrapping one arm about Francesca, he walked the maid over and put his hand back on Emily’s shoulder.

  “Come to the town house for tea. You must send for your things and stay with us. And where is my imp of a nephew?”

  The town house? Chill foreboding dampened her joy. “We cannot! Your papa would never…where is your papa, Rob?”

  A look of bitterness passed over his face. “Papa? You do not know? Indeed, we do have much to discuss.”

  At that moment the new sales girl came to the door, her hands full of hats. “I fetched these bonnets from the window, Lady Maxwell. Would you like to inspect them? And his lordship?”

  Slowly Emily turned toward Robert. “His lordship?”

  Robert gave her a rueful flicker of a smile. “At your service. Papa and your dear eldest brother-in-law both died of the same fever last winter, God rest their black souls. And as Alastair’s wife never managed to pop out a son, the honors of the estate fell upon lowly me.” He laughed shortly, the sound not pleasant. “Is that not rich? They are both writhing in their graves, I’m sure.”

  Too surprised to utter a word, Emily merely stared. Her father-in-law dead. Dead, no longer a threat to her. He cannot take Drew. Her son was safe.

  While her rattled brain tried to absorb that incredible information, Robert’s austere face softened to a grin. “But enough of that—I’m hungry for my tea. Pack up the tray, Francesca. In the carriage you can begin to tell us all your news. And explain how I spent seven months scouring every alley and byroad in Spain only to find my precious lost sister-in-law in a London shop.”

  A week later Emily reclined upon a satin-striped settee in the sitting room of an elegant guest bedchamber at Maxwell’s Rook. In true military fashion, Rob had overridden her protests that she could not possibly leave London with her collection incomplete, and had carried all of them—herself, Francesca, Drew, his tutor and the tutor’s family—off to the Earl’s country estate. She needed rest and fresh air, he insisted, and they all needed time to become reacquainted.

  She’d barely had a day to turn over her sketches to the chief seamstress, gather clothes and scribble a note to Brent before Rob packed them up and bore them off.

  With staff officer efficiency, Rob arranged for every comfort—baskets of food and pots of tea for the carriage, hot bricks for their feet, warm meals and heated private chambers at every stop. Sometimes, when she’d catch a glimpse of him in profile, he reminded her so keenly of Andrew that her heart turned over. She wasn’t sure whether it was balm or torture to be living in his house.

  Aye, his house now. ’Twas the first time she’d seen the inside of Maxwell’s Rook, but she vividly remembered her only previous glimpse of the crenellated fortress set high on a hill, the mullioned windows of its Elizabethan wings gleaming like feral eyes in the near darkness.

  Andrew had left her at the gatehouse, the gatekeeper and his wife fussing over the intended bride of their forbidding master’s much-loved youngest son, while Andrew went to inform his father of their upcoming marriage.

  She would never forget the look on his face, cold and scarred as those ancient stone towers, when he returned with his father’s refusal. After scarcely a word, he’d ridden off with her. Neither had ever looked back.

  ’Twas a moment before she realized Rob must have entered, for he stood at the foot of the sofa gazing at her.

  “Thinking how much has changed?” he asked softly.

  “Y-yes. How different it was six years ago.”

  “Aye. We were both on the run from Papa, fellow outcasts—he for marrying you, me for buying us commissions in Wellington’s army. Disowned for fighting the French instead of dutifully hunting heiresses to swell the family coffers. We swore a blood oath the night after your wedding, Andrew and I—did you know?”

  She shook her head. “We vowed to watch out for each other—and you,” he continued. “All for one, and such.” His amused voice grew serious. “I mean to honor that vow.”

  “Rob, I’m enjoying my holiday, and ’tis wonderful for Drew to be part of a family at last, but I cannot remain here, hanging on your coattails. You know what I’ve become. ’Tis not fitting for a shopkeeper to be living with the Earl of Maxwell.”

  “You are family, Ari. Come, I know how difficult it is to accept, especially for you. Going from your father’s household to the catch-as-catch-can atmosphere of an army on the march, and then—” He took a deep breath. “I cannot imagine how you scraped along after Andrew was wounded, after he…But wait a moment.”

  Holding up a hand in a restraining gesture, he walked over to rummage in the drawer of the nearby desk.

  Remembering the days of short rations, haphazard shelter, odd dinners concocted of army grain, foraged fowl and confiscated French wine, she had to smile. She’d been sometimes terrified, occasionally hungry, but never bored during her vagabond life with Andrew. Whatever happened, she’d had his voice to tease her out of annoyance, his arms to snuggle in at night, his unfailing love to give her courage, to make every sacrifice, every hardship worthwhile.

  Her smile faded as Rob handed her an object he removed from a large leather portfolio.

  “Andrew’s pistol! Where did you get it?”

  “From the local lord near the village where he’s buried. Don Alvarez would have nothing to do with me until I convinced him I had no ties to Papa. I bought back several items.”

  Assailed by memories of the last time she’d seen it, with shaking hands she took the weapon. “Thank you, Rob. I’ll save it for Drew.”

  Close her eyes and she could hear it still—the shallow huff-pant of Andrew trying to draw breath into his damaged lungs. She’d hoped to carry him to medical treatment, but by the time they’d reached the village nearest where their party had been ambushed it became evident to move him further would be to kill him outright.

  So they’d stayed. Sometimes the villagers, sympathetic to the plight of the English soldier and his lady, would leave food on their doorstep—eggs, milk, once a chicken tied by a cord on its leg to the door knocker.

  Despite that her small store of funds was soon exhausted. She’d sold her jewelry first, then Andrew’s horses and rifles. Then the pistol.

  Tears welled up and she swiped them away. “He complained so little, though I knew he was in constant pain. One day he begged me for this that he might end his life and release us all. I was so glad I’d already sold it.”

  Silently Rob took several other items from the satchel and laid them on her palm.

  “His insignia,” she whispered, touching the glittering bits of braid, gold and silver lace with a reverent fingertip. Each pin and ribbon, epaulette and fastener had meant food, blankets, fuel
for their tiny fireplace. “I sold the last gold button from his tunic to pay for his funeral,” she murmured.

  “There’s one thing more,” Rob said, his voice strained as he handed it to her. A thin gold wedding band.

  Her vision blurred as she took it, held it up to read again the familiar engraving: “Today and forever—Andrew.”

  “I didn’t want to sell it, I swear! But it’s all we had left.”

  “I know that, Ari! I’m not blaming you. I know you had to be one meal from starvation to have parted with his ring.”

  Still she felt a need to explain. “I used the money for paints for Don Alvarez’s portrait. Later, when I…I had more funds, I tried to buy it back, but the goldsmith said some purchaser, a stranger, had already taken it away, he knew not where.”

  “Don Alvarez had an agent purchase all Andrew’s things, apparently. I suspect he wanted to give them back to you for Drew as a wedding gift but you…didn’t fall in with those plans. Only by insisting Andrew’s son should rightfully have them did I convince him to sell them back.”

  Slowly she slid the ring on her finger. “Thank you, Rob. For finding it. For f-forgiving me.”

  “Damn, there’s nothing to forgive!” he exploded. “You should never have been reduced to that! ’Tis all Papa’s fault, and your hard-headed father’s. Well, I’ve the money and power now, and I mean to see you have everything that should have been yours from the beginning. Wealth, comfort, your proper place in society—

  “Don’t even say it!” He held up a hand to forestall her protest. “I care not if you mucked out stables and serviced the whole French army. Andrew would have wanted you restored to society, to the place you abandoned for him. He would have insisted. Can you deny it?”

  That being unanswerable, she gave him none.

  “I know how you feel,” he continued, his tone coaxing now. “How I felt myself at first. As if it were somehow a betrayal of all we’d fought for, a capitulation to Papa, almost, to enjoy being comfortable and wealthy. But such reservations are silly. We are what our character shows us to be—fine clothes, elegant dwellings and deep pockets are not the true measure of a man. Is that not one of the principles over which we fought with Papa?”

  “I suppose. But the world is more likely to share your father’s opinion of me than yours.”

  “We’ll just have to change it then, won’t we? Because I won’t give you up, Auriana. I’ve lost Andrew. I won’t lose you as well. You and Drew are my family, and you stay.”

  A family. A place to belong. How long had it been since she had known either? While she had Andrew the lack had not mattered.

  She recalled happy days in Portugal and Spain, Rob talking and laughing, sharing their frugal meals. She thought of bringing Drew permanently into such a community of caring. Rob was offering what despite her deepest love she could not otherwise provide for her son.

  Emotion clogged her throat as Rob held out his arms. Tears blinding her now, she came into them.

  After a moment he released her. Emily looked up—into the face of Rob’s wife. From the unhappy expression on her pale countenance, Emily knew she had witnessed their embrace.

  Rob casually draped an arm over his wife’s shoulder. “Nat, I’ve been telling Ari she and Drew must make their home with us now.”

  Was there a moment of hesitation? “Yes, of course. Blood relations—” Rob’s wife stressed the word “—belong together.”

  And Emily was a connection, linked to them only by marriage—was that what her sister-in-law was implying? Tempting as it was to accept Rob’s offer, she’d not do so at the cost of his wife’s hostility.

  “Natalie, you must make him see that a shopkeeper—a former shopkeeper,” she acknowledged, at Rob’s immediate protest, “does not belong in the household of an earl. ’Twould cause no end of comment and embarrassment.”

  Her sister-in-law opened her lips, then closed them. “I’m sure Robert knows what he wants,” she said at last.

  “I cannot impose so disgracefully on your kindness. Besides, I rather enjoy running the shop, and my house in London is perfectly charming.”

  “Keep the shop—you can still design,” Rob offered. “Or go back to painting portraits—you’ve a dab hand at that. But here or London, with us you stay.”

  He gave his wife’s shoulder a shake. “Come, Nat, you must help me convince her. We’ll see you established among the ton, never fear. Nat’s not yet been formally presented as my countess, but—ah, I have it! We must give a grand ball and introduce you both together!”

  Emily’s jaw dropped and Natalie looked stricken. “Present me? Rob, you’ve taken leave of your senses!”

  Perhaps the devil-may-care soldier hadn’t been entirely tamed, for that dangerous sparkle that in times past had heralded some act of recklessness was gleaming in his eyes. “I’m Earl of Maxwell now. You are my sister-in-law, widow of a soldier who died fighting for England. Who has better right to mingle with society’s elite?”

  “And what of the London matrons I waited on, who bought my hats? You think they will invite me into their drawing rooms or call in mine? I’d be a laughingstock, Rob. They would never—”

  “Maxwells have defended England since the days of the Conqueror. I may be new to the title, but I daresay none will dare snub me.”

  Emily clamped her lips shut, realizing too late that deferring to the opinions of the ton leadership, contemporaries of his detested father, was the last thing Rob was likely to do. No, he’d relish forcing them to meet him on his own terms. Which perhaps he now had the power and influence to effect—though she’d as lief not be cannon fodder in that battle. Nor watch her innocent sister-in-law suffer for choices she herself had made.

  “Of course they will welcome you,” she soothed. “‘Madame Emilie,’ who painted portraits in Spain and sells hats in London, is quite a different matter. I’d certainly not be invited anywhere upon my own account. And the whole business must excite gossip and speculation that cannot help but be painful to Natalie. You cannot ask it of her.”

  “Ah, my Natalie’s game for anything, aren’t you, sweet?”

  Her sister-in-law was twisting one pale blond lock. Her glance darted from Emily to her husband and back. Moistening her lips, she said in a colorless voice, “I’ll do whatever Robert wishes.”

  “That’s my girl.” Dropping a quick kiss on his wife’s cheek, Rob walked to the door. “So, there are no objections. You must excuse me—some bloody papers to sign. I’ve brought Hampstead—you remember him, Ari, my aide-decamp who lost an arm at Vittoria?—to be my secretary. Dashed good business, this being an earl. I’ve found positions for half a dozen men from the old regiment. As for the presentation, I’ll get Ned cracking on logistics and invitations and such. Everybody who is anybody in London will be there.”

  Rob clapped his hands, his expression gleeful. “Tear it, wouldn’t I love for Andrew to be here when we welcome all our rackety army friends to Papa’s marble mausoleum of a town house?”

  Still chuckling, he left the room. Natalie made as if to follow, but Emily reached out to stop her.

  Despite Rob’s insistence, ’twas all too apparent her sister-in-law was less than thrilled with her presence. Family for Drew or no, she’d not stay unless Natalie was able to accept them. Better to settle the matter forthwith, before the industrious Rob got his plans too far in train.

  “Please, will you not stay for tea? We’ve had little chance to chat, and I’d very much like to know you better.”

  Natalie looked as if she wished to refuse, but was too polite to do so. With obvious reluctance she replied, “Certainly,” and took the chair Emily indicated.

  “First, I wanted again to extend my good wishes on your marriage,” Emily said a few moments later as she handed her a cup. “The Rob I knew was ever a charming rascal, but absolutely adamant about wishing never to wed. You must be a very special lady to have changed his mind.”

  Surprise widened Natalie’s china blue ey
es. Obviously taken aback, she fumbled, “Th-thank you, I suppose. Though I must protest I am not in any way out of the ordinary.”

  “On the contrary. Rob described your journey, and I assure you I know exactly what sort of amenities an English lady can find in the villages you passed through. To have survived that odyssey with sanity intact you must be both resourceful and possessed of an excellent sense of humor.”

  Natalie’s stiffness thawed a trifle. “It was indeed an…adventure,” she allowed with a slight smile.

  Impulsively Emily reached over to clasp Natalie’s hands. “I’m so happy for you both! Rob is very special to me, one of my dearest friends, and I always wished he would find the right lady to love.”

  Natalie’s smile faded. “He certainly cares for you. I heard nothing for months but stories of beautiful, intrepid, resourceful Auriana.”

  Emily groaned. No wonder her sister-in-law suspected her a rival. What a great dolt Rob was!

  “Oh dear, how very tiresome of him. Military gentlemen, as you’ve doubtless discovered, like nothing better than to prattle on about comrades and campaigns. I suppose because with death all around, the bonds one forms with one’s companions become particularly strong.”

  Natalie merely nodded. Emily paused, considering. The lady obviously resented Emily’s hold on her husband, which was only natural. How to convince her now of what time would prove—that Emily posed her no threat?

  Again, perhaps ’twas best to speak frankly.

  “Forgive me for being direct, but I know you must be concerned about my relationship with Rob. I can only pray you believe that, though he is Andrew’s brother and the two are somewhat alike, my feelings for him—and his for me—are entirely fraternal.”

  For the first time, Natalie looked at Emily squarely, her eyes searching Emily’s as if trying to assess the veracity of that claim. “I should like to believe it.”