by Allison Lane
“It seems so fragile! Why does it not blow over? It must be taller than St. Paul’s.”
“It is shorter than it looks.”
“But—” She counted. “There are ten floors, plus that spire.”
“Perspective, Em. Each level is progressively shorter, making the building seem taller than it is.” He sounded exasperated.
She gave up on conversation. He had certainly displayed a different side of his character in the last fortnight. Away from society’s gaze, he became moody and unpredictable, mired in thoughts far more serious than most gentlemen entertained. Whatever quarrel was occupying his mind left no room for her.
It boded ill for the future. Could she tolerate a lifetime of silence? Or a lifetime of never knowing which face to expect? In five days, this man would be her husband. How could they manage if he would not even speak to her?
The questions rolled around her head, pausing long enough to stab her temples on each lap. The throbbing set up a sympathetic roiling in her stomach, made worse by each jolt of wheels across ruts.
Swallowing hard, she forced the doubts aside. Seeing Jacob last night had reminded her that this was her only course. He had treated her no differently from Sophie, laughing over the latest gossip, congratulating Sophie on her prospects, and demanding details of the house Charles had purchased. He was so obviously content with his life that Emily had nearly burst into tears. How could he accept being tied to a girl who wanted only his money and position?
Her bravado collapsed as Charles turned through Richmond’s gates.
What if Harriet was right? What if Charles had proposed as a favor to her brother? Richard had expressed fear that she would never find a suitable match – not to her, of course, but overhearing his words to their mother had hurt. And Richard knew their financial position even better than she did, so he might have stepped in to make sure she was settled. Charles might have agreed out of friendship without really considering the matter until it was too late.
Yet what could she do? If would be a terrible blow to her family if she called off her betrothal.
The very fact that she’d put the thought into words startled her, for she hadn’t consciously considered it. Yet she did not see how she could spend her life with a man who didn’t want her.
Many women do.
She clenched her teeth, but it was true. Aristocratic marriages were seldom made for personal reasons. Lords enjoyed many privileges, but the price of privilege was duty. She had a duty to her family to wed well. Her duty to Charles was to provide an heir and run his household. It was a system that had worked well for centuries.
Despite her childish dreams, love had no place in society, though most couples formed congenial relationships in time. She should count her blessings. Charles was an admirable man and an excellent catch for the insignificant daughter of an impoverished viscount. He would accord her respect at home and in public. Whatever he did in private was none of her business, so she must stop fearing that wedding a lady who did not love him would blight his life.
If she hoped for a comfortable future, she must put the last of her childhood dreams behind her. Immediately. The humiliation of spinsterhood and the pain of living next door to Harriet justified accepting any offer, even one from a man far worse than Charles.
“We are here,” he announced as his groom rushed to hold the horses.
He lifted her down, then led her to where servants were laying out lunch. Three other couples had already arrived.
Smiling up at him, she commented lightly on the herd of fallow deer watching their progress. It was a beautiful day.
Her temples pounded harder.
* * * *
Two hours later, Emily accompanied Charles on a stroll along the riverbank. Food had settled her stomach and diminished her headache.
Much of the park lay well back from the Thames, its highest point a hill from which both St. Paul’s and Windsor were visible on clear days. Like today. She had hoped to take in the view, but any walk with Charles was good. He’d not sought to be alone with her since his mother’s ball.
“You seem excited today.” He smiled as they rounded a clump of trees and turned along a worn path. Swans glided downstream, oblivious to their presence.
“Not exactly.” She lifted her face to catch the breeze, wishing she could remove her bonnet and feel the wind in her hair. “But fresh air is wonderful. I am weary of coal dust and smoke. Richmond is a lovely park.”
“True. But it does have dangers. Stay on the path,” he cautioned as it curved. “The river erodes the bank at this point so one never quite knows where it is safe to walk.”
“Do you come here often?”
“Half a dozen times a year. As you said, it is nice to escape town, especially in August. London becomes quite stifling then.”
Richard had mentioned the summer heat when he first moved to town. In recent years, he’d passed those weeks at house parties or home at Cherry Hill. But Charles had a job.
They walked in silence for several minutes.
“Oh, look.” She pointed to a clump of yellow flowers at the base of a rock between the path and the river. “Buttercups. Is it safe to pick some?”
“As long as you’re careful. In fact, you might want to rest here a moment. I just remembered that Larkin is leaving early. I need to speak with him. Would you stay here until I return? I won’t be long.”
“Take your time. It’s quite peaceful.”
“Thank you. Just don’t walk nearer the bank than the rock. I don’t wish to haul you out of the river.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
He laughed, then kissed her lightly on the cheek and headed back, taking a shortcut through a stand of trees.
She frowned, for his kiss had been no more exciting than the ones Richard used to give her when he left for a new school term.
Stop this!
She stared at the shifting light patterns on the water, forcing her mind back to duty. Tomorrow she would hire upper servants for her new house and talk to Gunter’s about food for her wedding breakfast. Or perhaps her new cook could lend a hand.
The delicate scent of buttercups tickled her nose. Birds trilled from the trees. The balmy sunlight and glistening water relaxed her, letting her mind wander – organizing her own home … another court presentation once she was wed … an unwelcome reminder that Harriet would attend the Cavendish rout with them tonight … a wish that Sophie and Ashington had accompanied them to Richmond, though that might have annoyed Charles. His acceptance was still too new to trust.
The ever-changing patterns of light mesmerized her, reviving memories of the best moments of her life – waltzing until she floated among the stars … laughter that lingered hours after parting … deep drugging kisses that involved so much more than a meeting of lips … drowning in eyes that glinted sapphire blue no matter how much she tried to make them green…
Her fist crushed the flowers.
What was she to do?
* * * *
Jacob trudged along the path, wondering for the thousandth time why Richard had insisted that they drive to Richmond today – using Jacob’s curricle, no less. Granted, London grew wearisome at times, but he’d just spent a week in the country. Now that Harriet was gone – his footman had watched her climb meekly into the carriage at dawn – he wanted to concentrate on Parliament. Immersing himself in work was the best way to put this disastrous Season behind him.
Playing the carefree friend with Emily last night had been so hard that he’d decided to skip the rest of the social Season. With Emily taken and Sophie on the verge of a betrothal, his obligations to the Beaux were over. By next year, his role as a confirmed bachelor would be so established that he would no longer be tempted.
“I’m worried about Emily,” said Richard without warning.
“Why?”
“She isn’t herself lately.” He waved a hand as if uncertain how to express his thoughts. “I’ve never seen her this
quiet. It’s as if she’s hiding a mortal wound. I’m afraid that Charles coerced her into this betrothal. She will never renege on a promise directly, but I fear she might throw herself in the river rather than wed him.”
“Absurd. She would never distress your family.” But his heart clenched. The oddest people turned to suicide. His mother—
But Em had sworn that his mother was innocent, and she’d been right. His aunt had confirmed it, adding details that left no room for doubt. And in debunking his fears, Emily had made it clear that she considered suicide the height of dishonor. He tried to explain, but Richard cut him off.
“Under normal circumstances, I would agree. But even the most levelheaded person can break if the stakes are high enough. Look what happened to Rothmore after he lost everything to Alvanley.”
“Rothmore was drunk and stupid. He’d been hounded since birth by a disapproving father and a harridan of a mother, who reminded him constantly that he would one day be responsible for eleven females, then intimated he would make a muck of it. When he lost everything, he couldn’t face her with the truth.” And if Rothmore’s father had entailed his estate like any sensible man, the family would have been protected, as his had been after his great-grandfather’s stupidity.
“But that’s exactly my point with Em,” insisted Richard. “Mother has been telling her for years that she would have but one chance to wed. Failure will keep her at Cherry Hill, condemned to spinsterhood. Why wouldn’t she believe it? She knows Mother can never survive another trip to town. This one has weakened her considerably.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you. That doesn’t matter at the moment, though. It’s Emily I am concerned about. Harriet deflected several suitors, stripping her court of everyone but Charles.”
Guilt slammed through Jacob’s chest, muffling Richard’s words. He’d driven off several men himself, including the very eligible Larkin. Such acts should have told him from the beginning that he was in love with her. His blindness had forced her into Charles’s arms.
Richard was still speaking. “I can hardly share my suspicions with Charles, but I am truly worried, Jacob. You must help me jolly her out of her megrims before she does something stupid.”
Jacob nearly groaned. The last thing he needed was to seek out Emily to lighten her spirits.
He’d barely survived last night’s ball, for he’d been aware of every breath she took, even when he was looking at Sophie. But Richard was right. Emily was not her usual self. He’d assumed she was merely tired, or possibly hurt by some jibe of Harriet’s, but now…
“I’ll do what I can, but it would be better if she put off marriage until she finds someone she cares for.”
“A nice idea, but she would never consider it. You know she takes honor as seriously as any man.”
Jacob’s heart sank as he stifled an offer to take care of her. He had no evidence that she would accept him.
Richard continued. “But thank you for helping me. She is with a group just over the next hill. It should be a pleasant outing, but her eyes looked odd when she mentioned it. I’ve never heard her speak of rivers in quite that way. I can’t risk losing her, so we can watch from that grove of oaks and make sure she is safe.”
So that’s what this was about. Richard was crazy if he thought spying on his sister was a good idea. But before he could protest, Richard grabbed his arm.
“My God,” he hissed sharply. “She’s going to jump.”
Eyes closed, Emily was rising from a rock perched a dozen feet above the water. Currents had undercut the bank to a dangerous degree. She stepped closer, then closer yet…
“Get her away from the cliff,” hissed Richard. “I’ll fetch help.”
Before Jacob could respond, he was gone.
Emily stretched her arms up and forward, as if to dive into the river. Another step would hurl her over the edge.
Jacob’s disbelief vanished. She was truly contemplating suicide.
Afraid to shout lest he startle her, he sprinted forward, circling so he could approach between her and the water. If she flinched, he must be in position to catch her.
He hadn’t gone three steps before the ground collapsed, plunging him into the river. Water closed over his head.
Lungs bursting, he forced his way to the surface and gasped for air. But he couldn’t stay afloat. The river was shockingly deep at this point. Currents sucked at his leaden clothing. His boots could have anchored a warship.
* * * *
A shout pulled Emily from her reverie. She’d been too lost in dreams of Jacob’s arms to realize that she had stood, reliving their most recent embrace.
A splash drew her eyes upstream. Someone had fallen in. Charles?
She was whirling to run for help when a head broke the surface.
Jacob.
“My God.” He couldn’t swim. They’d laughed about their mutual lack of ability after he’d pulled her from the lake—
Do something!
The current would sweep him past in seconds, but the bank was too high to reach him. Cursing, she rushed down the hill to where the bank was lower.
He again broke the surface. His arms flailed wildly, but his soaked clothes would drag him down, as she knew all too well. She would never forget how her gown had nearly drowned her that day.
He was too far away to catch, and moving farther out every moment. The current swept away from the bank.
“Kick!” she shouted. “This way!”
He must have heard her, for he turned toward her voice. But the current was too strong. He would never make it.
A branch lay under a willow tree farther downstream. Where she found the strength to lift it she didn’t know, but somehow she flung one end into the river.
“Grab this.”
“Too heavy,” he gasped. “Pull you in, too.”
“Grab it! If you don’t, I’ll have to jump in after you. You know I can’t swim!”
He splashed harder, catching the end and nearly pulling her over. He was heavier than he looked.
Emily braced her heels on an exposed root and leaned back against the trunk. “You have to pull your way along the branch, Jacob. I haven’t the strength to drag you.”
He managed, though the effort was nearly too much for him. When he tried to stand, he fell.
She waded out to hold his head above water and help him to safety. They collapsed on the bank.
Jacob didn’t move.
“Jacob!”
Her hands frantically searched for injuries. She found no obvious broken bones and no blood. But he remained inert.
“Jacob! Wake up!”
His chest rose and fell, so he was breathing. Tearing off her bonnet, she set an ear against it, reassured when she heard his heart.
“Damn you, Jacob! Wake up!”
She brushed the hair from his forehead.
His eyes flickered open.
“Are you all right?” Her fingers found a scrape along one temple.
“Out of breath.” He struggled to sit, then frowned. “You should be whipped for taking such a chance, Em. You might have drowned.”
“If you were dead, it wouldn’t matter.” Tears flooded her cheeks as relief shattered her barriers. “Did you expect me to sit here and wave as your body floated past?”
Jacob was so shocked at her admission that he barely registered her sarcasm. She cared!
His resolutions dissolved as he pulled her into his arms.
“Em!” Rolling her beneath him, he plundered her mouth. Her taste exploded on his tongue, recalling the orchard, Lady Debenham’s garden, and every erotic dream that had plagued his sleep in the weeks since. All the love and passion he’d been suppressing roared out, doubling and redoubling as she melted beneath him. Her lips molded his. Her hands pulled him closer and closer yet, flooding his senses. Heaven could be no better than Emily’s arms.
Suddenly she gasped, shoving him away. “What are you doing?” she demanded, shock blazing
in her eyes. “Harriet will be furious.”
“Wha— Harriet has nothing to do with us.”
“Don’t lie to me. She told me about your betrothal weeks ago.”
“What?” He sat up, horrified to see that she was serious. “That scheming little witch!”
“Don’t deny it. I know you wanted to announce it later, but she told me the whole story.”
“What story?”
She scowled. “How your parents arranged your betrothal before you left India, but you wanted her to have a Season before you made it public in case she changed her mind. She—”
“Enough.” Jacob held her head so she had to look at him. Fury burned so hot, he nearly strangled on it. So that’s how Harriet had forced Emily onto Charles. “Every word is a lie, Em. Yes, Harriet is betrothed. To a sergeant she knew in India. I accepted his offer yesterday. She left for Yorkshire this morning.”
“She’s gone?”
“Gone. As for her tale, my family left India six months before she was born. Captain Nichols was already dead. His wife was my father’s mistress. I didn’t know of Harriet’s existence until two months ago.”
“You can’t mean…” Her eyes widened.
He nodded. “She is my father’s bastard. My half sister. A half sister I wish to hell had never been born. Her mother caused endless trouble twenty years ago, and Harriet is causing worse today.”
“But why would she claim—” Again she stopped.
“Greed. Like her mother, she covets money and power. I should never have introduced her to society, but I’d made the arrangements before I knew anything about her beyond her birth date.”
“Which told you her parentage.” Her hand lifted to cover his.
He nodded. “It wasn’t her fault her mother was a slut. I thought I owed her something in deference to our shared blood.”
“She didn’t know, did she?”
He shook his head.
“So everything was lies?” asked Emily. “I can’t believe it.”
“Everything. She’s no lady, Em. I doubt she would recognize truth if it slapped her face.”
“What happened, Jacob?” She struggled to her feet.
He shook water from his hair, then led her away from the river into a sunlit dell that captured enough warmth to keep them from catching a chill. With luck, its seclusion would prevent anyone from seeing them – his clothes had soaked the front of her gown, making it obvious what they’d been doing. “I told you my father was a murderer.”
