Lady of a Recluse Earl

by Mirella Tinley

  “I will not reveal your truth again, sister,” Emmy promised, before letting her gaze trail back toward Albion’s headstone. “It is something about this place, Nora; it brings out a candour in me. Sometimes, I feel it is almost as if Albion is standing beside me, goading me to say these things, so I might put the world to rights. He always said that about me, do you remember?”

  Nora nodded sadly. “I do recall the way he used to tease you for wanting to solve the injustices of this world. Before he left, he used to say that all the British Army needed was you at the helm, and the war would come to an end in mere moments. Do you remember? He said Napoleon would run for the hills with his tail between his legs after only a handful of minutes in your presence,” she said, her voice filled with admiration. “He called you his ‘little Amazon’, if I am not mistaken?”

  Emmy smiled. “He did! I had almost forgotten that.”

  It was strange how many things she was forgetting about Albion, of late. He had barely been gone a year, but it felt like a lifetime ago that the messenger had come to shatter the lives of so many.

  In that moment, she was grateful to have her sister by her side, to remind her of all those wonderful anecdotes, so she could keep them refreshed in her mind a while longer.

  “He was a very shrewd man,” sighed Nora, taking Emmy’s arm, “and he certainly understood you, to the very core of your being. You are an Amazon, beloved sister. You must never let anyone diminish you, in any way. I would implore you to marry for love, or as close to it as you can manage. Do not fall into the same snare that I have, destined to endure an existence wholly free of passion or adoration.”

  Emmy looked up into her sister’s dark eyes and saw there were tears in them. “Oh, Nora, is it really so bad? Is there nothing you can do? I did promise Baron Hodge would have me to answer to, if he was not everything you wanted from a husband. Are you finally willing to allow me to fulfil my vow?”

  Nora chuckled lightly. “Oh, Emmy, you never fail to bring a smile to my face. These are just the words of an emotional woman who is feeling the loss of a dear friend… But I would have you heed them, nevertheless. Do you promise me you will not settle for anything less than you are worth?”

  “I suppose it depends on the value Mama has placed upon my head,” Emmy teased, eliciting another laugh from her elder sister. It was a sound Emmy loved to hear, and she was all too happy to make sure Nora stayed in high spirits for as long as she remained within the grounds of their family home.

  “I mean it, Emmy, you must find love!” Nora implored, whilst she struggled to stifle a giggle. “One of us, at the very least, must be permitted true happiness. After the suffering you have endured this year, at such a tender young age, surely you are deserving of that bliss.”

  Emmy shrugged. “We must leave it to fate, sister. I have come to learn that the future cannot be controlled, and the more you try to envision it, the more likely it is to slip away from your grasp.”

  “Oh, Emmy,” Nora whispered, her voice rich with emotion. A single, crystalline tear rolled down her perfect, alabaster cheek. “Would that I could take your pain away.”

  “It will fade,” Emmy promised. “It will fade, as everything about him his fading. But you see, Nora, what pains me the most is that I did not know how fortunate I was to have him until he was taken from me.”

  Without another word, Emmy rose from the stone bench, still clutching the bouquet of bright flowers she had brought, and knelt down beside the patch of ground where Albion had been brought to rest. She lay the flowers at the foot of the headstone, removing the ones that had all but decayed away. Holding the macabre spray in one hand, she placed her other on the cold, hard stone and leant in close, pressing her lips brazenly to the spot where his name was engraved.

  As she pulled away, she whispered to him. “You are missed, Albion… You are missed, and you are loved.”

  The time for mourning was over. Lady Nightingale would not have another moment of it in her home. She had already said as much, on many an occasion, but Emmy had not listened. Until that moment, she had not been ready to give up the ghost of her fallen fiancé. Now, however, she knew her choice in the matter had come to an end.

  The ball was taking place in just under a fortnight, as May turned into June, whether she liked it or not. With it, the first taste of the summer season would be upon them, and Emmy knew this dance would only be the first of an endless string, until a suitable husband was plucked from the masses.

  Yes, it was time to face the music.

  Chapter Three

  The Ball

  Chapter 3

  Cheshire, England, June 1816

  Evening had fallen upon the day of the Nightingales’ ball. A blanket of stars glittered overhead as the carriages began to arrive and circle the driveway in a steady flow.

  Torches had been lit all along the road that led to up to the grand entrance of Davenham Park, and several flickered in the grounds too, illuminating the year’s exquisite blooms.

  Lady Nightingale had just had the summer gardens re-landscaped, and it was all she could talk about as she breezed from family to family, welcoming them into her humble home.

  It had been a surprisingly warm, late-spring day, and the ladies fanned themselves furiously to keep the remnants of the oppressive heat at bay. As if answering their prayers, a cool breeze whipped up around the gardens, almost like it was exhaling a sigh of relief. From the exquisite rose beds, a rich perfume drifted up, the sweet aroma wafting towards the house, where the windows were ablaze with light. Laughter and music trickled out through the open doors, the curtains billowing from the ballroom.

  Emmy was still upstairs, watching the arrivals from the window of her sister’s former bedchamber, attempting to postpone her own entrance until the very last moment. Nora had been urging her for the last half an hour to hurry downstairs, before their mother came looking for them, but Emmy had duly ignored such a plea.

  “I doubt if anyone will have even begun to dance yet, sister,” Emmy said, in response to Nora’s latest request that they go down before they were too much missed.

  “Emmy, we must go! Mama will be in such a rage if we do not greet our guests,” Nora insisted. “Or should I say, your guests.”

  “That is precisely why I am determined to remain up here, where I am safely out of the way of fawning suitors,” Emmy retorted, flashing her elder sister an irreverent grin.

  Just then, a movement at the far edge of the house grounds caught her eye. A gasp tightened her throat, almost choking her, as she saw a familiar figure striding across the lawn.

  “Whatever is the matter?” Nora cried, the strange sound bringing her over to where Emmy perched in the window seat.

  For a moment, Emmy almost thought she had seen a ghost. The figure emerging through the torchlight of the gardens had looked so like Albion, but now she realised it was only Ambrose. In truth, Emmy had not expected the middle Wyndham brother to take up the invitation that Nora had sent, but here he was, moving confidently towards the house, dressed in all his finery.

  “Oh, Emmy, I am so sorry,” Nora whispered, putting her arm around Emmy.

  “It was foolish of me, Nora. My eyes were simply playing cruel tricks on me,” she said sorrowfully, squeezing her elder sister’s hand for comfort. “But, since he has already requested the first dance, I suppose I should not keep our company waiting much longer.” Her mood brightening with the thought of dancing with Ambrose. At least, in his arms, she would not have to worry about mingling with anyone else.

  Nora smiled, evidently relieved by this turn of events. “Certainly, we must not keep anyone waiting any longer,” she agreed, though Emmy caught a strange expression flickering across her sister’s beautiful features. There was fear in her eyes, but Emmy could not pinpoint the cause.

  Holding tight to Nora’s hand, Emmy pulled her sister towards the door of the bedchamber, pausing for a moment in front of the looking glass to check her reflection one last time. For
once, she looked as though she might almost be in the same league as her elder sister, though Nora still radiated with a transcendent beauty that Emmy knew she could never hope to replicate. Still, she looked more elegant and refined than she ever had before. Her dress was of a coral muslin, with a silk under-dress of the same shade and a deep scarlet ribbon below the bust that made her figure look very shapely indeed. The whole dress was embroidered with tiny, golden flowers, and the flattering, capped sleeves were edged in the same deep scarlet as the ribbon that showed off her shape.

  In her painstakingly curled hair—that had been piled delicately on top of her head and styled in the latest fashion—tiny seed pearls rested alongside minute wildflowers the maids had picked that morning. Yes, she looked very well indeed, if she did say so herself.

  Nora, meanwhile, wore a beautiful gown of jade-green brocade, with an embroidered golden ribbon below the bust, which matched the edges of the capped sleeves.

  Thankfully, this time, Emmy could see no bruises on the exposed skin of her sister’s frame, though she did appear to be a little slimmer than usual, which worried Emmy somewhat. Nora was not the kind of woman who could afford to lose even a small amount of weight. Even so, her elder sister looked impeccable, the fabric moving with her body as though it were liquid. Around her neck she wore a striking necklace made of gold filigree, which connected large clusters of diamond and peridot, and there was a matching bracelet draped elegantly across her slender wrists.

  Indeed, that evening the two of them made quite the pair.

  After brushing down the front of her gown to remove any last-minute creases, Emmy dragged Nora out onto the landing, and the two sisters made their way down to the ball. Turning the corner that led to the top of the grand staircase, they almost rushed headlong into their mother.

  “There you both are!” Lady Nightingale cried, holding her hands up in despair. “What on earth are the pair of you doing up here, dawdling in such a manner? There are guests to welcome, and they are arriving in droves. All at once. Can you believe such a thing?” she muttered. “Goodness me, you would believe it was Oxford Circus if you were to take a look at outside. Here I am, causing myself a mischief by running hither and thither to greet everyone, whilst the pair of you are idling away up here. Honestly, you would think I had paid little attention to your education, the way you are behaving. Now, attend to your duties!”

  “Of course, Mama,” said Nora politely.

  “Yes, Mama,” said Emmy, decidedly less politely.

  Lady Nightingale narrowed her eyes at Emmy. “If you embarrass me, you shall feel my wrath, dear girl. You may be my daughter, and I may love you, but you are not above a disinheriting.”

  Emmy stifled a laugh. “Of course, Mama. I shan’t embarrass you.”

  “See to it that she doesn’t, Honora,” said Lady Nightingale, her gaze snapping back to her eldest. “Oh, and you’d best not to tarry much longer. Your husband is searching for you.”

  Nora’s face went pale. “Yes, Mama,” she murmured before hurrying down the stairs, pulling Emmy along after her.

  Emmy frowned, wanting to drag Nora into one of the rooms she knew would be empty so she could have a more intimate chat about what was going on with Hugh Hodge, but it was too late.

  The guests were pouring in through the entrance, and they caught sight of the two Nightingale sisters, calling out to them as they entered. As honorary hostesses, they were duty-bound to welcome as many as possible before the evening got properly underway. No, a discussion about Hugh would have to wait, much to Emmy’s chagrin.

  She had never seen her sister so afraid, and she needed to know what frightened her.

  After an hour spent by the front entrance welcoming guests, Emmy was ushered into the ballroom by her mother. She tried to grasp for the hand of her elder sister, but Nora was otherwise engaged, deep in conversation with her husband and some of his friends. And so, she found herself alone, pushed headfirst into the lion’s den.

  The band had started up, and the dancing was about to begin.

  The first was a quadrille, and a lively tune began to flow from the musicians’ instruments, inspiring the gentlemen to ask the most appealing ladies in the room if they’d like to dance. The master of ceremonies rushed to-and-fro, in something of a fluster as he proceeded to introduce people who had never previously met but might take to the dance floor with one another.

  As she entered, Emmy saw a swarm of gentlemen begin to make a move towards her, encouraged by the pushy hands of eager mothers and fathers. In a panic, she scanned the crowd for the face of Ambrose. He stood by the fireplace at the far side of the room, sipping from a silver chalice. As his eyes locked with Emmy’s, a smile spread across his face. In a matter of moments, he was by her side, holding out his hand for her to take, forcing the oncoming suitors to retreat.

  She laughed nervously as they slipped into the dance. There was too much expectation upon her shoulders, and she didn’t like the weight of it. Every time she moved, she could feel the eyes of everyone in the room watching her, judging her, assessing her for marriage. It made her skin crawl and her stomach turn, her mind unable to gain any joy from the dance, though she usually loved to dance.

  “Ignore them, Miss Emmeline,” Ambrose urged, as they stepped towards one another, pressing their palms together.

  “I would, Mr Wyndham, but it is so hard when they are looking so intently,” she replied with a forced smile upon her face.

  “They should be ashamed of themselves, Miss Emmeline,” said Ambrose. They danced around each other, their shoulders briefly meeting.

  “They cannot help themselves, Mr Wyndham. They are wolves, and I am fair game,” she remarked as they came back together again, their palms pressed close.

  Ambrose’s expression darkened. “In everything but name, you are a widow, Miss Emmeline. They do not show that suffering a scrap of respect, and it enrages me.”

  Just then, the music came to an end. Emmy stepped out of the dance, not wishing to join the next one, though she hinted subtly that Ambrose should follow her. There was a comfort in his presence, as though he could somehow shield her from the watchful eyes of the room.

  Keeping a chaste distance apart, they stood beside the fireplace, both of them sipping champagne from the silver chalices brought around on a tray. Taking a large sip, Emmy felt the sparkling liquid slide down her throat, warming her stomach and loosening up her tense muscles. It was precisely what she needed, though she knew she shouldn’t drink too much. Her mother’s words circled on repeat in her mind, warding her away from any potential embarrassments she might cause.

  “This is the way of the world, Mr Wyndham. I must endure it, or it will consume me whole,” Emmy sighed, taking another sip of her drink.

  “I hope it is not impertinent of me to say, Miss Emmeline, but did my mother not send word to Lord and Lady Nightingale?” asked Ambrose, his manner suddenly bordering on jittery.

  Emmy frowned. “Word? Whatever do you mean, Mr Wyndham?”

  Ambrose took a long sip from his chalice. “Again, forgive my impertinence, Miss Emmeline, but I was under the impression that several letters had been sent to your mother and father, proposing me in place of my brother? I understand that it is not ideal in any respect, but I would endeavour to be as excellent a husband as my dear brother would have been to you.” He paused for breath, as he was rushing his words. “My mother is keen to see it happen, and I would be only too happy to oblige, if you would have me.”

  Emmy stared at Ambrose in open-mouthed shock. She had heard of no such letters. Even if she had, though another Wyndham was infinitely preferable to a sea of unknown bachelors, she could not quite believe what was happening. It appeared that Ambrose Wyndham was on the precipice of a very muddled proposal.

  Suddenly, it all began to make sense. In an entire year, she had never bumped into Ambrose beside his brother’s headstone. In an entire year, he had never made an effort to come to Davenham Park. In an entire year, she h
ad received no word from the Wyndhams. Now, following gossip of a ball at Davenham Park, and with the threat of potential suitors looming, Lady Wyndham had moved to strike.

  It wasn’t Ambrose’s fault, per se, yet Emmy couldn’t help feeling her chest tightening with anger. Ambrose was a good man, but he didn’t care for her feelings any more than the other gentlemen in the room did. He was after the prize, and she was it. Lady Wyndham had evidently instructed him to track her down and make himself the most appealing man in the vicinity. Emmy could not believe it.

  True, he looked like Albion, but Albion would never have stooped so low.