It was, frankly, annoying.
Many of her peers had unkind things to say about her, however. Quite a few of the eligible young ladies whispered about how Emily was aloof and prudish. Of course, the ladies were jealous of the attention Emily received, but Alexander still enjoyed hearing how she appeared standoffish and judgmental. The truth was, Emily rarely spoke unless she had something to say, and she suffered no fools. At least not for very long. That plus her unrivaled beauty made her intimidating to men and women, alike.
Of course, Emily seemed to have no end of things to say to, and about, him.
Alex knew better than most that he and Emily brought out the worst in each other. The dislike had started ten years ago and had only grown since then. Honestly, he had never expected to see the little girl who had so maligned his manhood again after that day long ago. It was only very bad luck that they seemed to be thrown together every other week on some adventure or another. He blamed Lady Lancaster ultimately. On the one hand, he thought the Garden Society was rather clever. Those ladies had certainly saved him from the gallows when his worst decision to date had landed him in hot water, but he rued his connection to the group every day since then. Every new “mission” meant he would be recruited by that blasted duchess (to whom you couldn’t say no) and would find himself working with Emily Moss, yet again.
The only thing that kept him from throttling Emily on a regular basis was the knowledge that he could put her in her place with a well-timed insult to womanhood. Truth be told, he had outgrown the archaic belief that the female of the species was in any way inferior to males. In fact, the Society had shown him that in many ways women were superior to men. But the look on Emily’s face every time he said the slightest insulting thing was truly priceless. He took great satisfaction in getting under her skin, because she was constantly worming her way beneath his.
Her every look, every word, rubbed him the wrong way. Her mere presence reminded him of the ridiculous boy he had once been. The one who had insisted he was a man when he hadn’t even known the meaning of the word.
Honestly, though, Alex had no idea why Emily seemed to take such pleasure in his faults. He knew very well why he didn’t like her, but he could never figure out why she had taken such a dislike to him. Most women found him handsome and charming.
Unfortunately their contentious relationship had had the most unusual side effect. It seemed that no matter where he was, if Emily entered the room, he would know. Whether he could see her or not, the air around him would get electrically charged—as if a lightning storm was brewing—and he would know she was near. It was annoying.
In any case, he had taken to avoiding her since she had returned from helping Sarah and David with the Potters.
That had been a crazy mission for Lady Lancaster’s ladies. Who would have thought an earl would go through so much trouble to hide and then reveal his will? The case was convoluted and in some ways very sad, but after what was quite the wild goose chase, the group had once again emerged victorious.
Ultimately, the Garden Society did good work, and Alexander was proud to be involved in the venture. He knew that his brother and his friends had taken a while to come to terms with their respective spouses being part of such a group, but even they eventually saw how much the Society helped people. Much of the reason he had grown up so much in the last year was the result of being included in some of the missions. When he looked in the mirror, he was no longer ashamed of the man before him. He was a better friend, brother, and person than he had been just twelve short months ago.
For a long time, he had resented his older, perfect brother William. When he was young, he had felt his brother had kept him from having a relationship with his father. He would often escape to the graveyard and rant and rave to his father’s headstone about the injustices being dealt him. It was on one such visit that he had had the altercation with Emily. Later, he had been astonished to find out the elder Earl of Pembroke had been a drunk with a penchant for beating his wife and eldest son. William had done everything in his power to protect Alex, including ensuring he was sent away to school and kept there even during holiday breaks. It wasn’t until well after their father had died that Alex had learned the truth, but by then he and William had been locked in a battle of wills that Alex had been reluctant to give up. There was safety in his anger. It was an excellent excuse to continue his abominable behavior and push people away. It was hard to get hurt when you didn’t let anyone get close.
But that seemed like a lifetime ago now.
His relationship with his brother was improving every day, and William had even given Alex his own small estate in the country to run. The responsibility turned out to be just what Alex needed. He was finally feeling like his own man and seeing his lands flourish…and it was more rewarding that he had ever imagined.
However, there were times he felt like he needed someone with whom he could really talk.
William was a wonderful brother, and David and Simon would never turn away a friend, but they were all happily married now, and Alex felt loathe to take up too much of their time with his relatively unimportant problems. And, while he was half courting one or two eligible ladies, he didn’t feel as if he knew them well enough to bare his soul.
He had, therefore, gotten into the habit of writing down his thoughts. Occasionally, he would read his scribbles aloud to his father’s grave. The man may not have been the hero Alex had always imagined him to be, but old habits were hard to break.
That had changed a number of weeks ago when Alex had come to his father’s grave with yet another letter. Unfortunately it had begun to rain before he had had the chance to read it, and on a whim, he decided to leave the note in the cupped palms of an angel statue that was nearby. The figure had the obligatory wings and tiny hands that were held together in endless prayer; however, while the chubby little fingers and the base of the hands met, the palms bowed out just enough to allow a note to be slipped inside and be perfectly protected from the rain.
Alex had had the brief thought that perhaps the angel would carry his note up to the heavens and deliver his questions to God for him. Perhaps God could lead him to the answers he sought out in his letter.
Lately I have been wondering when it will be my turn to find love. My dearest friends have found their perfect matches. It has given me hope that there may be one such match for me.
More than that, I need someone with whom to simply talk. The last year has shown me the type of person I want to be, but I am practically invisible to my family. Not because they don’t care, but because they are happy and ignorant of my plight. I am very sure that if I were to ask for an audience, I would never be turned away. But how can I intrude on such a blissful time for them?
My friends are in a similar state of content. I am the last of my group to settle down. That is no one’s fault but my own. I very possibly could have been betrothed a number of times over by now, but the person I was then would not have made a good spouse. Now I think I am ready, but I fear a lack of viable options. I have seen true love in each of my friends. It is no less than I want for myself.
Could such a thing be out there for me? Am I worthy yet? Oh, how I wish someone would tell me. And if the answer is no, how can I become so?
That had been what was on his mind then and pretty much every day for the last few months. So he had left his queries to God in the hands of a cherubic messenger.
It had been a silly act, but he couldn’t help but check the statue the next time he was in the cemetery. He supposed he thought that if the paper was somehow not there, it would be a sign. But of course there was a note there.
It was not his note, however.
It seemed someone else had found his missive and decided to respond to him. The response had been terribly heartfelt, and Alex had gotten the impression that this person was as in need of someone to talk to as he. He was also quite sure the writer was a woman. Her letter had read:
Dear Soul,
First of all, I am in complete understanding of your plight. I, too, am the last of my friends to marry. And as much as I am thrilled for them, I am feeling a little sorry for myself. I am the youngest of my girlfriends, so perhaps such lamenting is premature, but I cannot seem to help myself.
I also lack a confidante. Like you, I do not want to intrude on my friends’ new lives, even though I am sure they would be pained to think I feel I cannot go to them. Beyond not wanting to burden them, I also know that if they knew of my predicament they would want to “help.” I can only imagine the sheer number of men I would have to dance with to appease their desire to see me “happy” as well.
I used to think finding a husband was as simple as checking off a list.
- Is he of proper standing?
- Has he the income to support a growing family?
- Has he received the blessing of my family? Do we get on reasonably well?
It was merely academic.
But I see how happy my friends are; what true love really is. And as much as I hate to say it, that is what I want, too. It is no longer good enough to have mutual respect for each other. I want the enduring love.
As you can see, I could have written your letter. And while I cannot with any certainty tell you if you are worthy of the love you seek, I think simply asking the question is a sign that you are.
Please forgive my unsolicited intrusion.
Yours…
And that was the beginning of a burgeoning friendship.
Every few days they would exchange notes by way of the little statue. He wasn’t sure what he expected to come of the correspondence, but at the very least he had found someone with whom he could share his deepest concerns and desires. It had been and continued to be the most unexpected revelation.
Alex heard a twig snap somewhere nearby and realized he hadn’t moved a step during his musings. Lost as he had been in his thoughts, he hadn’t even noticed that Emily and her maid had turned back and were now approaching him once again.
As much as he hated to admit it, the beauty of the day paled in comparison to the woman coming toward him. The breeze was lifting her shining hair away from her face and framing it to perfection. Her cheeks remained slightly flushed, and her lips were parted as if she were still recovering her breath. He felt his heart leap, and he silently berated himself.
Her beauty aside, there was nothing about Emily he even remotely liked, but he could admit it would be easier to hate her if she weren’t quite so pretty. Adopting what he hoped was a look of nonchalance, Alex crossed his arms and raised a brow. If he couldn’t do anything right in her estimation, the least he could do was annoy her to no end.
He was pleased to see a flash of irritation in her greenish eyes, but she seemed determined to say whatever had brought her back to him nonetheless.
“I failed to give you proper thanks for returning my ribbon,” she said stiffly. “It was horribly rude of me, and I would like to apologize.”
Alexander felt as if one could knock him down with a feather.
“Wha—? I, ah, mean thank you,” he stammered. “You needn’t have, er, come back to, ah…”
Alex trailed off in confusion. An apology was the last thing he had expected from Emily. It was, in fact, only one of a handful of times she had ever treated him with any kind of respect.
Emily seemed satisfied with his befuddlement.
He swore he even saw her smile before she said, “Nonsense. I behaved abominably. I have now set that to rights. So, once again, I will say farewell.”
She was definitely smiling when she walked away from him this time.
That little minx, he growled to himself. She had come back with the intent to throw him off-balance. And he had not disappointed her. Would he ever learn to simply ignore the wench?
…
Emily watched Alexander stomp off from her hiding place behind a large bush. It had been very gratifying to see him fumble for words after her strategic apology.
At first, she had really been angry with herself for feeling guilty about not thanking him for returning her ribbon, but then she realized acknowledging her bad behavior would probably shock him as much as her desire to do so had surprised her.
She wondered at herself, though. Why did torturing that man cause her so much pleasure?
It had been that way since he had reentered her life at the beginning of the year. Despite her near-instant love of her new friends, she was dismayed to learn Alexander was a dear friend of David Rochester, Hannah’s brother. She hoped the connection would not cause her to see him on a regular basis. Unfortunately, the very first case on which she would be asked to work was to save Alex’s neck from the hangman’s noose. He was not in trouble alone, of course. David and Simon Trumbull were also involved.
Emily found she was able to quickly forgive the other men their massive lack in judgment, but Alexander? Somehow she could not get past his part in the affair.
She had been aware of Alexander over the last ten years, of course. As she grew older, she quickly realized that she had been foolish to think she would never see him again. She was the daughter of a duke, and he was the son of an earl. At some point, once she came out into society, it would be inevitable that they would cross paths. But even before then, she heard about all the eligible gentlemen whenever she and her friends got together. Unfortunately, as much as she wished it weren’t so, Alexander Bredon always made the list. Emily tried to tell the girls how he felt about women. That those of the female persuasion were just pretty little baubles meant to be viewed but not heard or respected. But they didn’t seem to care.
To be fair, many of those girls believed the same thing. Ladies were not expected to learn much more than how to read, write, and work out basic arithmetic equations. Knowing how to paint, sing, play an instrument, or embroider were more highly prized than anything learned from books. Most girls of her set were interested only in how to run a household and raise babies. Very few wanted to know anything else, and those who did were considered bluestocking aberrations. God forbid a young lady might want higher education and to read something other than poetry.
Emily’s mother and father were different. They supported Emily’s desire to learn about science, history, and ancient languages.
After Alexander had told her she was “just a girl,” Emily had run to her father in tears, wanting to hear the truth. Was she really not as good as a boy? He had pulled her into a warm embrace and assured her that mentally she was just as capable as anyone else. He went on to say there were inherent differences between men and women, such as physical strength, but ultimately a woman could do almost anything a man could do and many things a man couldn’t.
Her mother was a bit more realistic and made sure to caution her daughter. If she had any hopes of being courted by an acceptable gentleman, she needed to appear not too educated and intelligent. Reluctantly, her father had to agree, but he did say he was eternally grateful that his wife had a good head on her shoulders and that he hoped society would someday recognize the advantage of marrying an educated woman.
Emily had decided then and there that she wanted a man’s education and a woman’s grace and inner strength.
Despite being a better person for the interaction with Alexander, Emily had not and could not forgive him for his attitude toward the fairer sex. If she had seen some sign that his opinion had changed over the years, she might have relented, but thus far all she saw of him was an immature buffoon. He may have been able to charm every other woman of her acquaintance, but she would not be swayed.
And while she may no longer feel the fleeting hatred of a young child, she knew she did not like Alexander Bredon. She longed for indifference, but, for whatever reason, he brought out a side of her she could not control. As petty as it seemed, she truly savored the times she could put the man in his place.
> Just a girl, indeed.
Shrugging, she decided not to let the man ruin any more of her day.
She had received another note from her secret correspondent—and that was far more scintillating to think about.
Chapter Three
The less traveled the road, the more great the reward.
~ The Duke of Lancaster
Emily waited until she returned home to read the latest missive from the man she thought of as “her mysterious friend.” She supposed she could have read it right there in the cemetery like she had the first one, but lately she liked to read them in the privacy of her room. It was a place where she could allow her mind to wander and her dreams to soar.
And with each new letter, she found herself dreaming more and more. Who could her mystery man be?
She had found the first letter weeks ago when she was visiting Meg’s grave, which she often did after talking to her parents. The note had been stuffed into the hands of the angel that graced her old friend’s headstone. She had almost missed it, but for a leaf that had blown from a nearby tree to land directly on top of the folded hands. Emily had reached up to remove it and it was then she noticed the edge of the paper.
The letter had been a collection of thoughts and wishes that had touched Emily’s heart. Like her, this man didn’t seem to have anyone with whom to share his deepest worries and wants. He seemed to have a number of friends and some family—though he never mentioned any names—but he hadn’t wanted to burden them with his own problems or even his dreams.
And they were such lovely dreams.
Emily had understood completely. With her friends all so happy and settled, she didn’t want to intrude with her own concerns or fanciful imaginations, either.
On a whim, she had taken the note and, in the privacy of her own room, she had written a response. She also mentioned no names, not even her own. She had only signed it “Yours.” The next day she had placed the note in the palms of the stone cherub and fled. She had had no idea what to expect next.
A Rogue for Emily Page 3
