Lady of a Recluse Earl

by Mirella Tinley

  “Sister, never mind the dull locomotive man downstairs—did you give Mr Smith the letter?” Emmy pressed, wanting to jump straight to the important items of discussion.

  No matter how intently her mother threatened her, she was already determined not to marry James.

  Nora nodded. “I did.”

  “And?”

  “And… he seemed most pleased by it,” said Nora, feeding Emmy just a titbit of hope. “So pleased, in fact, that I have promised to return tomorrow to retrieve any letters he may have chosen to write to you.”

  Emmy grinned from ear to ear, disbelief washing over her. “You would do such a thing for me?”

  “Perhaps there was something in what you said before I left,” Nora replied cryptically, a small smile playing upon her lips. Even so, nothing could remove the flicker of anxiety that drifted across her features.

  Emmy did not think her sister was even aware she was making such expressions of deep-set worry.

  Just then, they were disturbed by a knock at the bedchamber door.

  Lady Nightingale popped her head around, peering into the room beyond. Before she even opened her mouth to speak, Emmy knew what her mother was going to say.

  “Darlings! The lord has arrived, and I would be most grateful if you could find yourselves in the drawing room within the hour,” she instructed.

  “I shall send the maids in to see that you are properly dressed for the occasion, and we must do something about the state of your appearance, Emmy. I cannot have you stepping in front of the lord looking as though you are a moment from death’s door.” She scrutinised her youngest daughter with a jaded expression.

  “Surely that is because I almost was, Mama,” Emmy retorted mischievously, garnering a stern look from her mother.

  “Be that as it may, Lord Fitzroy has travelled all this way, and I will not have him disappointed,” Lady Nightingale demanded. “The maids shall be up presently, so I suggest you get out of bed and start making yourself presentable.”

  With that, she disappeared back out into the hallway, her loud voice ringing through the hallways as she called for this and that to be done.

  Emmy wondered what the viscount must make of it, knowing he was causing such a furore.

  Likely, the dim suitor would not even notice, wandering obliviously through the halls of Davenham Park, barely acknowledging the presence of staff on his way.

  “Whatever shall we do, sister?” said Nora glibly, her gaze turning toward the window.

  Outside, the afternoon was flowing into the first hint of evening, meaning dinner and entertainment would soon be upon them.

  Emmy had other ideas. “I shall barricade myself inside this room until I feel quite well again,” she said firmly.

  “You are welcome to join me, or you may depart and leave me to my endeavours. I shall not be offended if you choose the latter—it is not you that Mama wishes to parade around.” She flashed an irreverent grin.

  Nora laughed heartily, glancing at the door.

  There was an ancient lock in place upon it, with the key still in the keyhole, though it was almost entirely ornamental these days. It had not been used in many moons, as nobody dared invade the privacy of another member of the household, with the exception of Nora and Emmy.

  “Do you think perhaps the lock still works?” Nora asked, hurrying over to the bedchamber door.

  Watching intently, Emmy shuffled down the bed, ensuring she could get a better view of what her elder sister was up to. She was crouched on the ground, in front of the keyhole, jiggling the antique key this way and that, the golden tassel swinging to the same rhythm.

  Finally, there was a loud clunk as the key turned in the lock, keeping Lady Nightingale from getting in.

  “It works!” Nora shrieked excitedly, before hurrying over to where Emmy sat. “Are you well enough to turn it once I have departed?” she asked, handing over the ancient key.

  “You are choosing to face the lion’s den?” Emmy sighed, disappointed that her sister would no longer be there to keep her company.

  Nora nodded. “Indeed, I must. Mama will be far more lenient if one of us is present,” she explained.

  “I realise I am not the intended, but this viscount shall have to make do with the company of an old married woman instead of a bright young thing,” she teased, though there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. It flickered there every time she spoke of matrimony.

  “You are a brave warrior,” Emmy joked in return.

  “The very bravest,” Nora replied, flashing her sister a broad smile. “Now I must be going before Mama returns. Turn that lock, and do not open it for anyone but me.”

  With a cheeky grin, Nora darted across the room, giving Emmy a joyful wave before disappearing out into the hallway beyond.

  Emmy sat back against the stack of cushions, expecting the familiar, agitated rap on the door from her mother’s knuckles.

  However, it never came. Whatever conversation Nora was fielding James Fitzroy and the rest of the family with, it seemed to be working.

  With the swift exit of her sister, Emmy soon found she was able to sink back into the soft warmth of the bed without feeling a twinge of paranoia that Lady Nightingale would come knocking.

  She thought about what her sister had said about taking letters between herself and Mr Smith, and her heart began to beat quicker, almost to the point where Emmy feared she might be feverish again. Her cheeks were flushed with pink, her fingers trembling at her lips, her eyes wide with excitement, her lungs positively breathless.

  Nora’s altruism could only mean one thing—she liked Mr Smith, however fearful she might be of Emmy’s attachment to the quiet man in the woods.

  That was one hurdle Mr Smith had passed with flying colours, and Emmy could not be happier.

  Nora’s opinion meant the world to her, and if Nora had continued in her dislike of Mr Smith, Emmy knew the affection she had come to feel for the blue-eyed man would have been forced to dwindle.

  She did not like to say ‘love’; it was much too soon for such things, given there was still so much she needed to learn about Mr Smith, but her fondness towards him grew with every day that passed, and every thought she spared on him… which was countless.

  Drifting off into a peaceful slumber, Emmy found her dreams shifting and flowing around the image of Mr Smith perched on the rocky ledge, the spray soaking his bare chest as he shaved his jaw beneath the tumbling falls, the flash of the razor-blade almost dazzling her eyes. She did not think she had ever seen a more perfect vision, save for the sight of him carrying her toward the house, his strong arms around her, his striking blue eyes looking to her with such care that she had felt like the most precious creature in the world.

  She envisioned him sharply dressed in a shirt and tailcoat, a silk waistcoat hugging his toned frame, with neatly buttoned trousers and a sturdy pair of boots upon his feet and a top hat upon his head.

  Even though the vision was a pleasant one, she much preferred the loose style he already possessed, one a little rougher round the edges than that of most of the men she had come across in her lifetime.

  She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him in a hat. Instead he let his brown curls do what they wished, tousling messily across the top of his head.

  With a half-smile, she wondered what it would be like to run her hands through those ruffled locks. Emboldened, she thought about holding his face in her hands, her mind musing upon what the rough stubble of his beard would feel like beneath her smooth, delicate skin. She thought about the delicate kiss he had placed upon her forehead and wondered what it might feel like upon her lips instead. It was an improper notion, to be sure, but she simply could not help herself. She had felt his arms around her and been wrapped up in his caring embrace. In truth, she wanted more.

  Emmy was not completely ignorant to the ways of the world, having buried her nose in countless romance novels, but she knew the real thing was not quite the same as the likes of Mrs Radcliffe would have
young ladies believe. There were intrigues and intricacies with which she was not au-fait, being a single woman of good breeding and fine position, but she was smart enough to know that the way she felt when she thought of Mr Smith had something to do with it all.

  Even after she was married, Nora would not speak a word of the secrets of married life.

  What happened behind closed doors stayed behind closed doors. No matter how Emmy implored her sister to tell her what such things entailed, Nora would not disclose a word; she would simply go quiet and change the subject, a bright crimson flush coming to her cheeks. It was not a soft, pretty blush, but the deep red of pure embarrassment and mortification.

  Dwelling upon it in her half-asleep state, Emmy couldn’t understand it. In relation to the sensations she felt pulsing through her veins, it did not make sense, that feeling of embarrassment and humiliation.

  The impulses she was feeling toward Mr Smith felt entirely pleasurable, if a little peculiar and alien. Never before had she experienced such tremors and stirrings within her body.

  Albion had certainly never made her feel that way, though she had cared for him deeply.

  Worrying that perhaps she really was growing feverish again and the sensations and shivers were merely symptoms of another bout of illness, she pushed all thoughts of Mr Smith from her mind, though it was a hard task to do.

  With all trace of him gone, for the time being, she allowed sleep to come.

  A sudden bang at the bedroom door jolted Emmy out of her slumber. Her eyelids shot open.

  The bang came again.

  Hurriedly, Emmy scrambled out of bed, still somewhat disoriented and paused beside the door.

  “Who is it?” she hissed.

  “Nora!” her sister replied.

  With a turn of the hefty key, Emmy let Nora back into the room. Checking the clock on the mantelpiece, she saw that several hours had passed, though it had only felt like moments to her.

  After turning the key once more, Nora took Emmy’s hand and led her back to the bed, tucking her back in beneath the sheets.

  “So, how was the viscount?” Emmy asked.

  Nora pulled a face. “As dull as Francis remembered him to be. Honestly, I do not believe any of us were able to get a word in edgeways! It was all talk of locomotives and the ‘Steam Age’ and endless chatter about his skill with a shotgun,” she remarked. “I think even Mama began to think him uncouth after the fourth discussion about which birds have the finest trajectory when shot straight out of the sky.”

  Emmy chuckled. “Then do you think Mama will send him on his way?”

  “I doubt very much whether she thought him that uncouth,” Nora sighed. “No, despite his peculiarities, he is still in possession of very fine lands, a grand house, a good title, and an excellent income of £6,000—which he was eager to divulge to us all on no less than a dozen occasions.”

  This time, it was Emmy’s turn to pull a face. “Do you think he shall stay on here awhile then?”

  “Well, Francis and Jasper seem keen to put his boasts to the test,” said Nora with an apologetic shrug. “And Papa seemed interested to hear more about the locomotives, though I found myself bored half to tears. So I do believe he shall be staying with us awhile to get better acquainted with the gentlemen of the house.”

  Nora gave a knowing look that Emmy understood all too well.

  The whole point of James Fitzroy’s visit was for him to get better acquainted with Emmy herself—the rest was just a ruse.

  Suddenly, she felt like the poor, hunted duck about to be shot out of the sky.

  There was no telling where she would land.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thoughts

  Chapter 17

  Mr Smith sat out on the stone bench beside the hermitage, awaiting Nora’s promised arrival.

  It was a balmy day, with spring turning into summer, but the woodland remained cool, giving some shelter from the creeping heat.

  He had already been up for some hours, having risen with the dawn, though he hadn’t been able to sleep much anyway, in anticipation of the letter he might receive from Emmy’s fair hand.

  All through the fitful slumber he had endured, she had haunted his dreams. In that limbo, he had held her in his arms again and felt the pressure of his lips against her skin, only to wake and find it wasn’t real. Despite himself, he wanted it to be real.

  It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t proper, and it went against every fragment of penance he was seeking to gain, but he could not rid himself of the thought of her… Nor did he want to. To his mind, such an angelic creature could do him no harm.

  Nora arrived shortly before ten. Her eyes darted this way and that, her gaze flitting over her shoulder every so often, as if she feared being followed. Mr Smith could not blame her—she was taking a big risk in being the go-between, taking and delivering direct from his eager hands.

  “I shall bring my sister’s response when I can, Mr Smith, should my beloved sister request it of me,” said Nora curtly, taking the proffered letter from Mr Smith in a hurried, absent fashion, as if the thing were riddled with bugs or searing hot to the touch.

  It was evident she was in a rush to be back out of the woods and into the safety of the house.

  “This is exceptionally generous of you, Lady Hodge. I am eternally indebted to you for your kindness,” Mr Smith replied, pressing the letter to his own breast.

  “I would just ask that you be as decorous as I believe you to be, Mr Smith,” she remarked, not unkindly. There was something akin to a plea in her voice, which Mr Smith understood entirely.

  It was a fear borne of sisterly affection, should a much-beloved sister end up broken-hearted… or worse.

  “I would not see Miss Emmeline harmed in any way, shape, or form. Lady Hodge, I promise you that,” Mr Smith encouraged, gesturing toward the letter in Nora’s hand, more emphatically this time.

  “I would never seek to tarnish her. She is a rare pearl, and I shall treat her as such. There will be no word from me which crosses far over the line of propriety,” he promised.

  It was not entirely true, given that there were things he wished to say to Emmy—and had already said—that were not quite correct, but he figured that was where his affections superseded his firm restraint.

  Love conquered all, after all.

  “I pray that you do not, Mr Smith,” said Nora wearily, before turning on her heel and departing the cool glade where the hermitage stood.

  She paused at the edge of the rocky outcrop, metres from where Emmy had tumbled into the water.

  Turning, she looked as if she was about to say something, her mouth half-opening, but thought better of it. Giving a strange curtsey, she disappeared, leaving him to wonder what it was she had been about to say.

  Whatever it was, it could wait. In Nora’s hands, she held a letter intended for Emmy, and that was all that mattered at that precise moment in time.

  Sitting down on the chair beside his fireplace, he opened up the letter that Emmy had already sent to him and read the contents within.

  He had intended to burn it instantly but had found himself unable to do the act.

  Dear Mr Smith,

  I was much surprised by the receipt of your letter, though it cheered me in a time of great boredom and ill-health. I do not find your words unseemly. Indeed, in knowing the innate draw of my own compulsions and impulses, I find your boldness to be a wondrous thing.

  You have enlightened me to my own way of thinking, where before those doors were closed to me.

  As you have requested, I have burned the evidence of your letter, though I was loath to do so. It did bring me such great joy, though I am certain I have every word memorised.

  I am indeed on the road to recovery, and thank you for your kind words.

  When I am well, and time permits, I shall come to you to show you the extent of my restored vitality. Perhaps, with renewed companionship, we shall endeavour to diminish that void you have felt in my a
bsence. In doing so, we shall undoubtedly diminish the void I have felt also.

  In truth, I have felt your spirit keenly, watching over me, keeping me safe. You call me a ‘sweet angel’, yet you are the one who is guarding my soul and my health, keeping it in the light.

  One day soon, I hope to repay you and find myself in your company once more.

  My thoughts are always with you.

  With affection,

  Miss E.

  Buoyed up by the words on the page, Mr Smith committed the contents to memory before finally placing the letter in the flames of the fire, where it crumbled to ash.