by Lyn Stone
“An excellent idea, ma’am,” she said to Lady Elizabeth, whose presence surrounded Emily in the form of gowns bearing the remembered scent of lilacs.
Emily laughed at herself as she dressed, amused by her fanciful invention. She needed a boon companion and had chosen the most illogical, of course. The countess would do just fine. “Just stay close by,” Emily beseeched, “or else I must talk to myself.”
Humming under her breath, straining to recall the notes of something other than the hymns she played every Sunday, Emily headed for the music room. If she remembered correctly, she had once seen a piano in there.
Chapter Six
Nicholas wondered if he could have avoided mutiny these past two weeks if Emily had not been at Bournesea. The men, already chafing at the inactivity under quarantine, jumped at her suggestions as if they were mandates from the Queen herself.
Scouring and polishing came naturally to most of them since they had been charged with keeping one ship or another spotless for most of their lives. But who on earth would have thought the sea dogs would take to gardening the way they had? Who would credit how they had scrubbed themselves to a fare-thee-well each morning and arrived, hair slicked down and clothing relatively clean, to hear her Bible reading from her perch on the first floor balcony?
But the music was her crowning touch, Nick thought with a smile. She played beautifully and welcomed the accompaniment of Brian Somer’s concertina as the men joined in the singing. The woman constantly amazed him, and he was not the only one so affected. The men adored her.
The first week had been hell, at least for him. Each time he touched Emily, came close enough to inhale her sweet essence, or merely watched her from across a room, he felt drawn to do things he knew she would not welcome. A chaste kiss, perhaps she would tolerate without upset, but Nick knew he would never be able to stop with a kiss.
She had grown too desirable to resist. Knowing that her innocence was his for the taking, his by right, made it even more difficult to set his longing aside than when he’d been a randy young buck who thought himself in love.
Therefore, for the second week of their confinement at Bournesea, he had purposely kept himself as far from her as space would allow. Still, her music found him, its sinuous, haunting curls of temptation beckoning him closer and closer until he found himself caught fast in her spell, his body wild to make her his.
Tomorrow he would be free to leave at last. The quarantine would be over. What a relief that would be to put a full day’s journey between them.
She would be eager to take Joshua to her father and visit at the vicarage. Nick planned to go to London to settle matters with his solicitors and also explain to Worthing that he had married Emily and why. The last was no chore to be anticipated with any relish, but it must be done. After that, he would remain in town for a while and give Emily time to settle her father and Josh into the manor permanently if she wished.
Tonight, he had ordered a feast and a celebration to commemorate everyone’s good health and success in avoiding an epidemic. No one else had fallen ill with cholera and the three who’d had it were now fully recovered.
At the moment, he needed to speak with Emily to see whether she needed help with last-minute arrangements.
He left his study where he spent most of his time and headed for the ballroom. She was there, as he knew she would be, festooning the place with greenery gathered by the men.
“How grand,” he said, observing her handiwork. “I wish you had more flowers to work with, but those in Mother’s garden have scarcely budded as yet, despite all your efforts.”
She tossed him a casual smile as she twisted a strand of ivy around one of the pedestals holding a pot of gentians. “Yes, roses are what we need,” she told him. “I do wish I had some from Father’s garden. We have real beauties there now.”
“I could send someone for them,” he offered.
“No, these will be fine.” She stood back and admired the arrangement she had created. “Simple, but elegant. What do you think?”
“Beautiful,” he assured her, knowing that not a man in the place would care a jot for flowers when they could look at her. Nick smiled at her appearance now, however. Blond curls rioted from beneath the atrocious mobcap she wore and her gown was the same sad-looking thing she had worn the day she sneaked in the back gate. A streak of soil decorated one side of her face.
She grinned. “I must look rather a mess,” she said, wiping her hands on her skirt.
“Charming in your dirt,” he replied, wishing he dared tweak her impudent little nose. “Take a few hours to bathe and rest before the gathering, why don’t you? I’ve sent Joshua to collect your father. When they return, I’ll entertain them until you come down.”
“Thank you, but I shan’t be long getting ready. I’m so excited!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands together and whirling around to give the ballroom one final check. “Our last day! Can you believe it?”
“None too soon to suit me,” he said with alacrity. “By the way, I’ve asked Lofty and Simmons to assist you in moving your family’s possessions here while I’m gone. Will you need more help than that?”
“Gone?” she questioned, her eyes wide. “Gone where?”
“Town,” he replied. “I have business to conduct that has waited too long as it is. Estate affairs, and so forth. Things left undone since I inherited. Political matters, as well.”
Emily frowned as she walked over to stand closer. “You’ll be quite busy, then. It is the height of the Season, isn’t it?”
Nick nodded. There would be social occasions he should not miss if he planned to make any use of his title in the coming years. He would need to establish himself, show them what sort of man he was, and gain friends if he meant to create any influence at all. What good was being a lord if one didn’t fulfill the governing duties that went with it?
Emily brushed her hands together as if dusting off her worries. Her chin rose and set with determination. “I shall be ready,” she announced.
Before she closed her mouth Nick was shaking his head. “Not this time, my dear.”
“Yes, this time,” she argued. “Leave me here and I will follow you the moment you leave the gates. No idle threat, Nick.”
He threw out his hands in exasperation. “Can you not understand no when I say it? You are not coming to London!”
“Yes, I am.”
“Why, for God’s sake, would you want to?” “Not so much that I want to, exactly, but I must,” she declared.
“Oh, and why must you?” He really was interested to know why anyone would voluntarily go if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.
He hated large cities in general, London in particular. But then, Emily had never traveled, so she would not know the perils of unclean air and overcrowded conditions. Or the very real threat of being rejected by the Society she thought would welcome her with open arms.
“It’s no safe place, Emily,” he told her.
She smiled winningly. “You’ll take me along for protection, then. If anyone threatens you in the least, I shall beat him about the head and shoulders with my parasol. It’s a good sturdy one, too, with a thick, oaken handle.” She made two parries and a thrust with her imaginary weapon.
He laughed in spite of himself and shook his head. “Ah, Emily. You are one of a kind.” A firm hand was needed here. He sobered and cleared his throat. “But, seriously, you cannot come.”
“Facetiously, then, if you insist. But I will go to London, either by your side or in your wake.” She shrugged and tilted her head to one side, a challenge if he’d ever seen one.
“You vowed to obey me,” he reminded her gruffly. She held up one hand, her fingers crossed. “Not really.”
“That is so childish, Emily. You are a grown woman. Try acting like one.”
She swept right past him, her dusty skirts brushing his boots as she did. “Very well, but you must excuse me now. I have to pack.”
He whirled around
to catch her and missed. “Emily, you are not coming with me!”
“Behind you, then,” he heard her call as she hurried down the hallway to the stairs.
Damnation, the little hellion would drive him mad. But deep inside, he could not deny the hope that began to bud like the roses she tended. Apparently she planned to tend him, too, and inconvenient as it was in this case, he found he liked her proprietary attitude.
Because, if she cared that much, she surely would not make him suffer much longer in the state he was in. Perhaps she would decide to forgive him after all if he played his cards properly.
The worst of her anger seemed to have abated. Just because love did not exist was no good reason to deny themselves the comfort of…companionship. He smiled.
“I’m comin’ wi’ ye, m’lord,” Wrecker said, joining him, both of them looking up the stairs after Emily.
“Fine,” Nick said, bracing his hands on his hips. “Why don’t we make a damned parade of it? You have a reason, too, I suppose?”
Wrecker didn’t quail as many would have done after having suffered Nick’s fist in anger once. The man had not mentioned it since, and as far as Nick knew, had not taken a lesson from it, either.
“Ain’t none know Lunnon loik me, m’lord,” Wrecker told him. “Born and raised in th’ stews. Been all over th’ city since I was big enow t’ grab on to th’ boot when a toff’s carriage rolled by. Our lady’ll need me ta keep ’er safe and show her th’ ropes when you ain’t by, m’lord.”
“Your presumption astounds me,” Nick lied. Nothing Wrecker did surprised him at all. The man was either a cagey rascal or a dimwitted cluck. Nick suspected the first, since Wrecker usually said and did exactly what he pleased. “You think I will allow you to guard my wife?”
“Aye. She’s a angel fell down off a cloud, she is,” Wrecker declared softly, his gaze still on the spot where they’d last seen Emily. “I done ’er wrong, sayin’ all them things I said when she first come ’ere. I owe ’er for it.”
Nick didn’t disagree. He also understood that Wrecker had a reason other than reparation for his lecherous thoughts. The man fairly worshiped Emily now and made no secret of it.
“The captain will be sailing within the week. What of your berth on the Merry May?”
The seaman sighed, dragged off his moth-eaten cap with one hand and scratched his stringy hair. “Done wi’ ships, I reckon. I got a bit o’ coin put by and I’m thinkin’ you’ll pay me more, eh?”
Nick considered it. It never hurt to have an extra man aboard when traveling. And if Emily did any shopping or went about in the city without Nick, she would need a stout guard, as well as a guide. London could be confusing at best and dangerous at worst, especially for an innocent country miss who had never been there before.
Wrecker would defend Emily with his life, Nick was certain. Though he wasn’t much to look at, and not the brightest candle in the chandelier, the captain swore he was the most trustworthy as well as the strongest of the crew.
“Can you shoot?” Nick asked him.
Wrecker grinned. “Aye, but I be better with a blade.”
“Four shillings per week?”
“Five. I pulled in three as a rat-catcher at tharteen.”
Nick nodded. “Fair enough. Come with me, then. We’ll get you outfitted with your livery.”
He led the way to the attic rooms where he had stored the old earl’s clothing when he’d appropriated the master suite. There were no other garments at Bournesea that would fit Wrecker, large as he was. And Nick didn’t deny that he enjoyed the irony of clothing a lad from the stews of London in his father’s expensive woolens.
“Livery, sar?” Wrecker sniggered. “Yer havin’ me on, ain’t ye?”
“Certainly not. You’ll need to look the part of a footman if you go about with the countess, won’t you? Might want to wash up a bit, too. All over and with soap,” Nick elaborated, looking at him meaningfully. “And have one of the crew give that mane and mustache a trim.”
Though Wrecker frowned, he agreed. “Wouldn’t do this bit for nobody else,” he muttered just loud enough to hear.
“Neither would I,” Nick admitted with a dry laugh. “If she were anyone but who she is, she would obey me and remain here where she belongs.”
Life could turn out to be so much more difficult for Emily in London than she envisioned. Either he or Wrecker could ensure her physical safety wherever she went, but who would shield her from the contempt she might suffer as a commoner turned countess? Should he warn her of that? Or should he remain silent and hope the slings and arrows would miss their mark?
Nick faced the remote possibility that there could be a scandal over his invalid betrothal contract. But he doubted that would come to pass. Worthing would be no more eager to instigate a sensation than Nick was. It could blacken both their family names. And Worthing, with a marriageable daughter and a socially active wife, had far more to lose in that respect than Nick.
However, the good opinion of those he must serve with in the House of Lords when he commenced his duties there did matter a great deal to him, Nick admitted.
Respect was one thing he had been determined to gain once he assumed the title. While it was true that anyone who had known his father would believe the man capable of forgery at the very least, they might decide Nick was no better.
Making accusations against his father and seeming to set aside a binding contract of such import might very well cause them to think that.
Emily’s regard mattered, as well. She had just begun to relent and perhaps forgive him a little. They might have a chance at a decent life together if she did.
Somehow he would have to persuade Worthing to keep the matter quiet if the man threatened to cause a stir. Nick wished he could isolate Emily against any stray gossip that might occur relating to it. But how was he supposed to do that when he couldn’t even keep her out of London?
He could not leave the explanation until Worthing came home to the country when the Season was over. That really would be unforgivable. He owed the man, and also Dierdre, the truth immediately.
That document lying in the desk drawer in his study promised to cause him no end of trouble. He would be glad to rip it to shreds once this matter was settled. Until then, he didn’t want to look at it again unless he had to. It represented all of the machinations his father had gone through to control Nick’s life. He made a mental note to retrieve the damned thing and place it in his satchel before leaving in the morning. His solicitor would want to examine it.
Wrecker broke into Nick’s worried thoughts with an observation. “Lady Em’ll knock ’em off their pins when they sees ’er in town, won’t she! Her and them fancy gowns.”
Nick clenched his eyes shut and shook his head. Here he was about to outfit Wrecker so he wouldn’t disgrace them once they arrived in the city, and he hadn’t given so much as a thought to Emily’s attire. How could he allow her, as his new bride and countess, to turn up in his mother’s frocks that were at least ten years out of fashion and a size too large?
Was he imagining it, or were his problems multiplying by the hour?
Emily bathed and dressed in record time. Lofton and Rolly had hauled up buckets of water to fill the copper tub for her. In less than a quarter hour, she had finished with that, donned a lavender georgette creation that did wonders for her complexion, and was working on her hair. The dampness of it aided her in arranging curls that would dry just so and stay put where she’d pinned them. She hoped.
How eager she was for the party tonight. Her father and Josh would be so proud of her for orchestrating her first real entertainment.
The men had brought a trunk from the attics at her insistence. Already, she had filled it with the countess’s clothing that would see her through their time in London.
How fortunate she was that Nick allowed her to make use of his mother’s things. If he only knew how much courage they gave her. Thank goodness she would look presentable for him.
“He must be worried I won’t measure up to the task,” she said to the small mirror perched on the dressing table. Emily forced a smile and raised her brows at her reflection. “But I shall surprise him.”
One errant curl suddenly tumbled from its pin and settled along the line of her neck. Emily sighed, started to repin it, then decided she liked the effect and left it as it was. “Not quite so severe. Yes, much better. Not so like the prim vicar’s daughter now,” she said with a laugh. “Lady Elizabeth, are you at it again?”
She jumped up from the small vanity chair and whirled around, arms out as if dancing with a partner. “So, what do you think?”
No one answered, of course, especially not the countess who had been dead these ten long years. But Emily liked to believe if the lady had been present, she would have approved. She certainly would have done more than slide the filmy lavender stole off the side of the bed so that it landed with a plop at Emily’s feet.
Executing a very deep curtsy just for practice, Emily scooped up the wisp of fabric and donned it appropriately so that it draped over both arms at the elbow. She was ready to meet anyone alive on equal ground, she thought to herself.
Pride goeth before a fall. The words echoed in her head like a dire warning. Not a caution from the imaginary spirit of the countess, however. No, Emily knew it was her own inner being issuing a reminder. Hadn’t she been conditioned to seek humility by a lifetime of listening to her father’s sermons? But try as she might, she could find no reason to deny things were going well for her.
They were going exceptionally well, she thought. She would be on her way to London tomorrow with her husband. Though he was not keen on the idea, she was not about to let him go alone. How would they ever come to terms with this marriage of theirs if they were not together? It would take time, especially given the set of problems they faced at the outset. They had time. And she would ensure the togetherness. All would be well eventually.
