James allowed a guffaw. “Guilty as charged,” he admitted, remembering his last encounter with the earl. As he always did, Torrington asked if James had finally married. When informed he had not, a sour expression and an admonishment had been offered along with a reminder that the earl had waited far too long to wed and had regretted it.
Up until this week, James had never paid much mind to the earl’s scolds.
“And you? Are you one of his many goddaughters?” James asked.
Emily shook her head. “Uncle Thomas has that responsibility.” Pointing to the book he held in his arms, she asked, “What do you have to bore yourself with next?”
He gave her a quelling glance. “Commodities,” he replied as he aimed the cover of in her direction. The title, Thoughts and details on the high and low prices of the last thirty years, was imprinted with gold foil, along with the author’s name, Thomas Tooke. “I don’t suppose you’ve read it?”
“Actually, I have. Father suggested it years ago.” When she noted his reaction of surprise, she added, “As a means of putting me to sleep. I had a terrible case of insomnia. Turns out, it was far more interesting than I expected, and I ended up finishing it without ever falling asleep once.” She sobered as she realized the time. “You’re not at the bank.”
“It’s Saturday,” he said simply.
“You don’t work on Saturdays?”
“I do not. Although having to read about commodities will be work for me. What are you doing today?”
“I’ve already gone over menus with the cook and the household schedule with Mrs. Elliot, so I was thinking of taking a turn about the back gardens. I’ve been on the lookout for the first sign of daffodils. The weather looks rather fine today. Would you care to join me?”
Glancing towards the windows and noting the unusual blue skies, James said, “That sounds like a much better prospect than reading about commodities,” he replied.
“I’ll get my coat and a muff and meet you at the back door,” she said, as she turned to make her way out of the library.
“Wait,” James said. “Where... where exactly is the back door? You know, I’ve never been given a proper tour of Woodscastle. ”
Emily inhaled sharply. “I shall have to remedy that when we return from the garden.” She crooked her finger and motioned for him to join her on the threshold of the library. She pointed down the passageway that began on the east side of the stairs and led past the entrance to the dining room. “There, at the end of the corridor.”
“Where you’ve been going after dinner every night?” he asked.
She nodded, surprised he had taken note. “Indeed. I like to walk after dinner. Get a bit of air.”
James suddenly regretted having turned down her invitation to walk with her the night before. His mind had been on a number of matters, not the least of which was her. Although her offer had been tempting, he hadn’t had the impression she really wanted him to join her. “So, do you always walk in the gardens at night?”
She allowed a shrug. “Usually. If it’s not too cold, or if it’s not raining hard, which I know makes it sound as if it never happens...” She arched a teasing brow.
“I’ll get my coat and hat,” he said as he gave her a brilliant smile, appreciating her sense of humor.
The two hurried off in opposite directions, although James paused on his way around to the front door and watched his hostess as she made her way toward the back door.
Despite the bell-shaped skirt of her bright navy gown, he could still admire her figure and the sway of her hips. He had been imagining those hips far too frequently these past few days. Imagining them without the skirt. Imagining her wearing nothing at all, her breasts free of stays and a chemise. Imagining her naked, beneath him, as he made love to her.
Had he really been so long without female company that he was forced to imagine his hostess in a compromising position?
Apparently.
Surely Emily would make a better lover than his mistress had been. He already knew she was better company than Marjorie had been. Emily had yet to show a disagreeable air. To put voice to a complaint about anything other than the time she had mentioned that one of her slippers was too tight during breakfast.
He could have countered with a comment that his trousers were too tight at the time—her delicate scent had wafted past his nose and set his mind to more carnal thoughts, but he had kept quiet.
What the hell was happening to him?
Four days at Woodscastle—not even entire days, given he was at the bank for most of them—and all he could think about was Emily.
Shaking his head in an effort to clear it, he took his greatcoat from the hall tree and was about to pull it on when Humphrey appeared as if from thin air.
“Here, sir. Let me help you with that. Miss Grandby is ready for you at the back door.”
Ready for me?
His mind immediately returned to the vivid image of her naked. The next thought of the butler helping to undress her had him snapping out of his reverie. “Already?”
At first, the butler seemed at a loss for words. “She is efficient, sir,” he remarked as he settled the coat onto James’ shoulders.
“Pray tell, how long has Miss Grandby been running the household?”
Humphrey gave it some thought and said, “About three weeks now, sir.” He handed the man his hat.
James was about to ask if that was all, but then he remembered the rest of the family had been gone to Derbyshire about that same amount of time. Apparently she had learned in her mother’s absence or been taught before Christiana Grandby took her leave with the rest of the brood. “Very good. Well, I guess we’ll be in the gardens.”
James hurried off to join Emily at the back door, and he grinned at seeing her bright red redingote. Should she ever be caught in a blizzard, she would be easy to spot. Her hands would not be, though, as they were hidden inside a white fur muff. A matching white hat covered most of her blonde hair.
Surprised at how his body responded to seeing her look so joyful, James was secretly relieved his greatcoat was long.
“It’s a bit chilly, but it’s not nearly as cold as it has been,” Emily said as James opened the door for her and then offered his arm. Despite her words, their breaths appeared as clouds in front of their faces as they made their way along a crushed granite path behind the house.
“This must be quite impressive in the summer,” James remarked as he paused and took in the vista. Woodscastle’s parkland extended all the way to the tree line to the east, but its north and south boundaries weren’t readily apparent.
“It’s gorgeous when it’s green,” Emily agreed. “There’s some cattle, of course, and the horses. Father had stone fences built on the perimeter to help keep all the animals in.”
Not seeing any evidence of the fences, James said, “They must be covered with snow.” He noted the well-worn path that led into the gardens, the entrance marked by an arbor. Once they were under it, the path led off in two directions.
“Which way?”
“You choose,” Emily replied. “For the most part, it’s just a circle.”
When he noticed the direction of a few footprints in the snow, James led them to the left. Although no flowers were apparent, there were several rows of boxwood hedges to mark the edge of the gardens, and fruit trees stood in the middle of areas in which roses and other perennials had been planted. Several yews had been shaped into spheres, their positions suggesting the garden had been set up as a parterre. “A formal garden?” James guessed.
“Oh, hardly,” Emily replied as they made their way. “Mother likes it a bit messy, which is why it’s not symmetrical.”
“And if you had it your way?”
She angled her head in his direction, far enough so it nearly touched his shoulder. “I admit to preferring a symmetrical garden,” she said. “But one small enough that I could see to keeping it up if a gardener wasn’t available.”
“So you�
�re not afraid to get your hands dirty?”
“I wear gloves when I garden, of course,” she countered. “And you? Did you keep a garden in Bath?”
James shook his head. “I lived in bachelor lodgings near the bank. There wasn’t a garden anywhere nearby, but there were some beautiful places to walk and ride along the river.”
“Do you miss it? Bath, I mean?”
Inhaling slowly, James considered it odd that not once in the past few days had he given his former town a moment’s thought. He knew he wouldn’t miss the entertainments nor the bank—he had stayed entirely too long—but he had come to realize over the past few days that he didn’t miss anyone he knew there, either. “Not a bit,” he breathed.
“No one at the bank? Friends? Or your mistress?” Emily prompted.
The sound of a grunt preceded James’ response. He was about to scold her for mentioning a mistress—gently bred ladies weren’t supposed to know of such things—but her query hadn’t sounded the least bit judgmental. “What makes you think I had a mistress?”
Emily pinched her lips together, but only for a moment. “You are an unmarried gentleman. You held a position of some importance. I probably shouldn’t know of such things, but I am aware how rumors can ruin an unmarried man if he... if someone were to suspect...” She allowed the sentence to trail off and made a sound of defeat, deciding not to mention his brother, Henry, had at one time been the subject of such rumors. She had wondered at one point if they were the reason he had finally made known his feelings for her.
“Would you think that about me?” he asked, pausing so Emily was forced to turn and face him. “If you didn’t know me?”
For once, Emily was glad of the cold, for her blush was easily hidden in her otherwise rosy cheeks. “I would not, but I have known you since I was born,” she reminded him. “I cannot imagine not knowing you. Besides. I saw you kiss Ariel behind the stables,” she claimed, referring to her oldest sister.
“Wot?”
“Do not deny it.”
James resumed walking, although a bit slower than they had been going before. “I had a terrible crush on Ariel,” he admitted.
“Every young man in London had a crush on her,” Emily countered.
“How do you even remember that?”
She gave him a quelling glance. “I may have been very young, but I was not blind,” she replied. “There were young bucks calling at the house nearly every afternoon. Mother rarely had to bring flowers in from this garden because there was always a new bouquet of hot house flowers arriving for Ariel,” she claimed. “The same thing happened with Sarah. She basically had all of Ariel’s castoffs paying calls on her—”
“That’s not true. I knew better than to attempt a courtship with her,” James stated, hoping he didn’t sound too relieved at never having courted the second oldest daughter.
Emily was about to tease him, but something about his manner had her sobering. “It’s good that you did not. I have always felt sorry for her husband.” When James’ jerked his head, she added, “Nothing he does is enough. Sarah is never satisfied. Had you married her, you would have ended up in the poor house.”
His brows furrowing, James regarded Emily for a long time. “For a moment, I thought you might be jealous—”
“I am not. At least, not of her.”
“—But instead I’m left wondering if you wanted her husband for yourself.”
It was Emily’s turn to stop. James realized almost immediately that their conversation had veered into dangerous territory. Her expression conveyed as much anger as it did hurt.
“I was thirteen when they wed. The only man I had a crush on back then was...” She stopped and swallowed the last word. A wave of sorrow swept over her, and she struggled to breathe. She took a deep breath and said, “Was too old for me. But it doesn’t matter any longer.”
“Who?” James’ gloved hands gripped her shoulders. For a moment, he wanted her to say, “You.” Perhaps she had held a candle for him all these years. Perhaps she had put off suitors thinking he might one day pay a call on her.
Something deep in his chest constricted at the thought that she might actually feel affection for him. But seeing how the memory had her nearly in tears, he thought better of it. “Emily,” he whispered.
“He’s dead, so it matters not,” she said. “Besides, I learned I am probably better off without him.” She managed to paste a pleasant expression on her face and inclined her head. “Shall we?”
James blinked, stunned by her simple words and by how quickly she seemed to recover. “Emily,” he repeated in a whisper. “I’m so sorry. Whoever he was... he would have been very lucky to have you as his wife.”
Emily stared at James. How could he not know? But then, except for Lady Andrew, Henry hadn’t told anyone he had secured Emily’s promise to marry him. They’d had three weeks in which to spend stolen moments together. A few days ensconced in a family cottage, neither having told anyone exactly where they were. He was already showing signs of acute illness that last day, and by the time he had returned to Merriweather Manor, he’d grown too sick to share his news. Even his thought to marry in a civil service at his bedside was too much for him at the end.
After he had given her the betrothal ring, they had shared a bed twice whilst at the cottage—it was his right, her mother had explained. But then influenza soon had him housebound. A few days later, he was unable to leave his bed, and by then, Emily knew she wasn’t carrying his child.
The idea of becoming a wife and then possibly a widow in such short order held little appeal, especially since she wasn’t pregnant. Instead, the rest of the Merriweather Manor families had been ordered to stay away from Henry lest they, too, come down with the disease. With them safely ensconced in their own apartments and unaware of her presence, Emily had simply sat at Henry’s bedside and held his hand, sometimes reading to him and sometimes humming softly until he had finally died in the middle of the night.
She had wept that night, wept with grief as well as with relief, for she had come to learn far too much about Henry during those long days by his bed. He probably didn’t even know he was telling her his deepest, darkest secrets while fever literally burned him to death. He probably didn’t even know she was with him at the end.
When Emily had attempted to return the betrothal ring to Lady Andrew—she was sure it was a family heirloom and thought it best she give it back—the older woman had refused to take it. “It was his to give to the woman he loved, and he loved you,” Jane had said that day at the small cemetery behind Merriweather Manor. The two of them had been the last ones remaining by Henry’s grave. “He wanted you from the time of your come-out—before your come-out, I think—but he always thought he was too old for you. That you wouldn’t want him,” Jane had explained.
The words had come as a surprise. Although Henry had hinted he had waited for her to grow up before he made his intentions known, he had also said he feared Emily might marry another.
With four older sisters, each waiting until they were older to wed, Emily had merely bided her time thinking she might end up a spinster.
Perhaps Fate had intervened on her behalf. Intervened and then played its terrible tricks. She still wasn’t sure if she should be sad she was spared a life with Henry or if she should be glad. Either way, she knew she had to move on. She couldn’t continue moping about Woodscastle as if she’d lost her best friend.
Even if she had.
Given her inheritance, she could afford to do as she pleased, and so marriage had not seemed so necessary.
It still didn’t. Except she wanted a child.
The memory of having lain with Henry came to her late at night. She wondered if she would ever again enjoy the sense of security and joy she had felt whilst in his arms. The sense of being wanted. Of being needed.
“I wanted a child,” Emily blurted.
James stared at her in surprise, her words entirely unexpected. “Well, it’s not too late,�
� he murmured. “Is it?”
Emily rolled her eyes and resumed walking. “Of course not.” After a pause, she asked, “And you? Do you want a family?”
And there it was. The question that usually had James clenching his teeth and making excuses to take his leave. The query that had him avoiding the mothers of marriageable young ladies, even if it meant taking a longer route whilst shopping.
Except this time, the query didn’t rankle.
Perhaps due to the way she had asked it, or perhaps because he was no longer in Bath and those with marriage on their minds weren’t begging for his name on their proverbial dance cards.
If Emily had been the one to ask for a dance, though, he would have filled her entire card with his name, the two-dance limit with the same woman be damned.
“Oh, dear. I’ve gone and asked the question that does not yet have an answer,” Emily remarked as she stopped and knelt at the edge of a flower bed. From between the dried, crinkled leaves partially covered with snow, a few green shoots appeared. She pulled a hand from her muff and pushed away the dead leaves.
Allowing a sigh, she glanced up to find James leaning over her in an attempt to discover what she had found. His head was mere inches from hers, but his attention wasn’t on the new growth that portended a cluster of daffodils. He was staring at her.
“It had an answer. For a long time, it was a resounding no,” he murmured. He straightened, pulling her up with him.
Emily gasped when she ended up pressed against his front, one of her hands gripping his lapel in an effort to regain her balance. Warmth suffused her entire body as she stared at him. “And now?” she whispered, struggling to remember what it was they were talking about.
“I don’t know.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I... I don’t know.” When his eyes locked with hers, he must have seen what he was looking for.
An invitation.
For a moment later, his lips settled onto hers, her lips parted, and he kissed her quite thoroughly.
James reveled in Emily’s willingness, her eagerness, in the feeling of her soft lips against his, in the way she held tight to him as he deepened the kiss. Then he claimed her mouth with his tongue, and any ability he might have had to think or reason was lost.
The Puzzle of a Bastard Page 10
