Abducted By A Fiery Lady (Historical Regency Romance)

by Ella Edon

  Emilia hurried down into the hall, heart beating in alarm. Her white dress billowed out behind her as she ran. She entered the parlor, where Hestony sat waiting.

  “Cousin?”

  “Emilia!” Her cousin embraced her. “I was so worried! I couldn’t possibly not call on you. You seemed so distressed earlier.”

  “Oh.” Emilia swallowed hard, feeling embarrassed. “Well, I suppose I was. Thank you, cousin,” she added, as her cousin embraced her again.

  “Nonsense! What sort of friend would I be, if I could ignore that?” Her cousin shook her head in dismay.

  “Thank you,” Emilia said again. “Shall we go upstairs to the drawing-room?”

  “Yes! Let’s.” Hestony nodded emphatically. “I’m learning a new piece – a Beethoven – and I’m having ever so much difficulty with the left hand. Mayhap you can help me get it right?”

  “I don’t know.” Emilia shrugged dubiously. The last thing she felt like right now was working through a Beethoven sonata – her mind was far too unsettled and weary.

  “Well, we can try. You have such a good ear for music, cousin! I envy you so much.”

  Emilia found herself responding in monosyllables as Hestony talked on about the recital the previous evening, and what Miss Whitsun, the famous heiress, had worn, and who had talked to whom.

  “…and I did beg Mama to buy me an ostrich-feather plume, like Lady Margaret wore! But I don’t think she will agree with me.”

  “Sorry?” Emilia blinked, as her cousin finished the sentence. “What was that?”

  “Emilia!” Hestony frowned. “You are distracted today. You must be very worried. Whatever is the matter, my friend? I must admit, I was quite frightened of him – that horrid man.”

  “He is a horrid man, yes,” Emilia agreed. It was a relief to be able to talk about it to somebody who at least met the duke. “And I was scared, too.”

  “Oh! My poor cousin.” Hestony took her hand. “Is there anything we can do? If I asked Benjamin to, he’d take his friends around to the duke’s home and give him a thorough berating on your behalf!”

  Emilia smiled tenderly. “There’s no need for that yet, cousin. I assure you.”

  “Well, if there is, do tell me!” Hestony declared, taking her hand and squeezing her fingers. “I’d be all to happy to do so.”

  “I promise.” Emilia nodded. “Thanks, cousin.”

  “No need. Oh! Good gracious! Is that the time?” Hestony looked up at the clock. “Well, I declare! Should we work through that piece quickly? Mama will be expecting me for dinner at seven, and it’s only half an hour from now.”

  “I would like to help,” Emilia explained cautiously. “But truly, I am too tired to be much use to you.”

  “I understand,” her cousin assured her. “Well, then. I should go. But please— If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to come and find me. You are too much alone up here with Uncle Barton. You should come and join us at the house more. We’re ever so merry.”

  Emilia smiled pallidly. “Thanks, cousin,” she repeated. The thought of an evening in lighthearted company felt wearing. She appreciated the invitation, though. Perhaps her cousin was right. It would be good to get more often into society.

  As long as I don’t meet Luke there.

  She wasn’t sure what she would do.

  “I’ll see you soon, then, cousin,” Hestony promised, standing and giving her a friendly smile. “We’ll look forward to it. And perhaps you can help me beat Merrill at cards. That would be a grand sight to see!”

  Emilia nodded. “Yes. I’ll see you soon.”

  When Hestony had gone, she returned to the drawing-room and sat there a while, alone. Her mind was full of confusing thoughts. What could she do? A part of her still refused to believe the incident had truly happened. The duke couldn’t possibly have said that! It was a diabolical plan.

  “But he said it. And Hestony can confirm it really happened.”

  She really had traveled to meet the duke in private, and he really had set forth that terrible agreement.

  “I need to speak with Father.”

  She walked lightly up the stairs towards his chamber.

  Passing the office, where – until this morning – Luke had been held, she noticed the door was open, the evening sunlight shining in and making a square on the hall carpet. She felt as if she hadn’t seen the door open for an age. It seemed so strange.

  Luke Preston has gone, leaving my whole world altered.

  She suppressed the thought angrily, telling herself it had no logic.

  “Father?” she called.

  “Daughter!” Her father was seated at his desk, and, seeing her, he stood up. He winced, and walked slowly to the door. “This is a surprise! Were you looking for me?”

  “I was, Father,” she said, waiting in the doorway. “If you’re busy, though, I’ll…”

  “No, no!” He waved a hand, beckoning her to one of the two chairs. “I am not in the least busy – you know I’m never too busy for you, sweetling. Now. What did you want to tell me?”

  Sitting in the velvet chair where, vividly, she could recall Luke sitting, only just yesterday, Emilia swallowed hard. “Not a lot, Father,” she began.

  Where did one start, telling a much-loved parent that somebody had asked to barter you for their troubles? Emilia licked her lips nervously.

  “You can tell me,” her father assured her, lowering himself back into the seat again, wincing as his back caught. “You know I’ll understand. Or do my best to. Is it Huller?”

  “Huller?” Emilia frowned, straining to recall the name. She remembered a face, a drawling voice, last time at Almack’s. “No, father! I’d almost forgotten about him.”

  “Unmemorable, eh?” Her father chuckled.

  He looked so amused that Emilia found her own eyes twinkling, fit to match his own. “Oh, Father.”

  “Well? What? You said the fellow was uncouth. And I agree. Terrible hand at bridge. Anybody so careless with their cards is no good.”

  Emilia closed her eyes briefly. She did wish her father was less obsessed with cards. Why did everything in their lives have to come back down to the card-table, and who did what when?

  “I can imagine,” she said neutrally.

  “Well, if it isn’t that, then what? Daughter, you’re not…” He paused. “I hope those lines of worry on your brow are not on my account?”

  Emilia shrugged. “No, Papa. It’s just, well…things.” She swallowed hard as her thoughts raced.

  Things like me being a bargaining-tool in both our futures. There are so many advantages, for both of us, if I could just…well…be that. But I don’t think I can do it. Not now…

  “Yes. Things,” he said. He was looking out of the window, not at her, his eyes fastened on the yellow line of sunset showing there. “I wish I could be of more help to you, my daughter. Your mama would be so much better help than I.”

  “No, father,” she said, seeing his eyes growing misty.

  “I know it’s true.” He fixed her with a stern eye. “Don’t you ‘Oh, father’ me…it’s quite true.”

  Emilia nodded. “I suppose.”

  “I have been a terrible parent,” her father continued relentlessly. “But I love you, my dearest Emilia. I love you and I want you to be happy. Never forget.”

  “I know.”

  His eyes held hers, and on top of the desk, where Luke’s hands had rested, his fingers folded over hers. His touch was fever-hot, the skin like dry parchment. Emilia felt a fresh tug of despair.

  “Father, you should be in bed. You’re so unwell.”

  “Nonsense,” he said, and in that confident smile, she saw more of the father she remembered: upright, strong, unafraid. “I’m recovering nicely. Let the doctor and Croxley argue about my need for bed-rest and tincture of alum and Heaven alone knows what else. I can still mind my own business better than either of them can mind it for me.”

  “I know.”

  They
shared a special smile. The house was silent, though they could hear the distant sounds of people talking in the street outside and, inside, the swift click of Croxley’s indoor-shoes on the tiled floor of the hallway.

  “Seven of the clock, eh?” Her father raised a brow. “Dinnertime, I suppose. I should probably go and see what special penance Croxley has sent up for me from the kitchens.”

  “Father? They have been feeding you…?”

  “I’m joking, my sweetling,” he said, sunken cheeks lifting with his smile. “I assure you they fed me. I shan’t starve, I promise. Ah!” he added, looking up at Croxley in the doorway. He was carrying a tray, Emilia noticed, on which reposed a salver covered with a lid.

  “A word, Mr. Croxley,” she murmured as she passed him on her way out.

  “Very good, milady.”

  When he’d delivered the tray to the earl, he bowed to Emilia, who waited out of earshot around the corner.

  “Soup, Croxley?” she challenged. “Is that all you’ve been feeding the earl?”

  “He requested it, milady,” he said gravely. “Said it’s all he has a fancy for right now.”

  “And you listened?” Emilia rounded on him. “What did the doctor say?”

  “He said, make sure he eats something, milady. I reckoned it was best to obey the earl’s commands on what that something is.”

  Emilia shut her eyes, trying to shut out the image of her gaunt, pale father. He needed something solid! Something nourishing. Letting him get away with eating gruel was not doing him good.

  “Next time,” Emilia stated authoritatively. “Consult me, please. I am sure we can get something more substantial into my father.”

  “Very good, milady.”

  Emilia strode off, feeling a strange rage that she couldn’t explain. As it wore off, she realized what lay beneath it: She felt absolutely helpless.

  I don’t have any idea how to look after a sick man! How would I know? I don’t even know what’s ailing him, and I absolutely don’t know how to resolve the matter of his debts. Even were I to know, I can’t make the servants listen to me, as well as carry out my bidding.

  “Maybe my cousin is right,” she thought aloud. “Mayhap it would be better to ask Aunt Melior to look after Father. She’s older and wiser than me.”

  The thought was not a pleasant one. Melior was strong and definite in nature. She did have a tendency to make everyone do what she felt was best for them – whether they liked the idea or not. Emilia shook her head.

  “Father would hate that.”

  She looked round her bedroom again, her eyes falling on the gifts from her father, particularly, the beautiful Venetian glass vase. He was a free spirit, an adventurer! She could not tie him down and make him follow Melior’s dictates.

  Nevertheless, she didn’t know if she had another option. She could either carry on here, doing her best to look after her ailing, indebted father on her own, or she could break her silence, humiliating her father in a way he might never forgive.

  Her mind whispered to her, treacherously, that there was a third option. She could visit the duke again, accept his terms.

  “No. No. I cannot!”

  She shivered at the thought, closing her eyes to shut out the horror. Every fiber of her being protested against it. She couldn’t possibly try that! She knew very little of marriage, but the little she did know suggested that trying to share it with the duke would be abomination.

  “Lady Arundel married someone she barely knew.”

  Young women of her age did that all the time. They had been raised to expect it – she hadn’t. Her father had raised her to expect what he’d experienced: a marriage of love.

  “Emilia Herston,” she said to her reflection, “you are three and twenty. Not eighteen. Perhaps it’s time you grew up.”

  She felt her eyes dampen at the thought. Dreams of princes and happy-ever-after were for little girls. She was a grown woman, with an ailing father! She had to be sensible.

  She reached for her handkerchief, blew her nose fiercely, and tried to harden her heart. Looking in the mirror, she dabbed away the tears. Her hand touched her cheek, and she was reminded, overwhelmingly, of the moment when Luke Preston’s hand had touched her there.

  “I wish he was still here.”

  She stuffed her handkerchief fiercely into her pocket, with a bitter laugh.

  “He must be so pleased to get away! At least you needn’t fear any trouble from that quarter!”

  She would more likely than not never see Lord Westmore again. The thought did give her an idea, however, sparking on a memory of her cousin’s words.

  “June?” she called, pulling the bell-rope.

  “Yes, milady?”

  “Help me dress for dinner? Something formal. I’m going to visit Lady Hestony for dinner.”

  There was always a fourth option: get married to somebody else. Not his grace, the Duke of Elsmoor, but some other wealthy prospect, who would be able to settle their difficulties.

  Yes, her cousin was right. It was about time she went out into society.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Meeting in the Afternoon

  “Luke, you really ought to get out and about more often,” Canmure suggested as they walked down the hallway at Rumsgate House. “It’s been an age since you were ill, and it’s time you got back into the habit of socializing.”

  Luke rolled his eyes. “It’s been two days since I was sick,” he pointed out.

  “That’s as may be,” Canmure stated. “My objection still stands.”

  “Yes,” Luke agreed lightly, “it probably does.”

  Canmure said nothing, just scowled at him. They were walking down the hallway towards the front door, where Canmure had arranged the coach to collect them. They were heading into town. Luke sighed. With a longsuffering mien, he shrugged on the coat held by Canmure’s butler, and together, they headed out towards his coach.

  “I’ve been meaning to take you to this new coffee-house for a while,” Canmure confided as they rolled through town in the coach. “I have a mind for you to meet Ettie and her circle.”

  “Ettie,” Luke said carefully.

  “Yes.” Canmure was red in the face now, looking out of the window as the street rolled by. “Ettie Harway. I met her at Ascott last Season.”

  “Ascott.”

  “What the Deuce is the matter with you?” Canmure snapped. “Do stop talking in monosyllables! Sorry, Luke,” he added. “I’m just feeling awkward, you know.”

  “I understand,” Luke said softly.

  He did know – all too well – the way his friend must be feeling. From the sound of his voice when he said her name, he’d already guessed Ettie Harway was a significant acquaintance for him. He recognized all too well the symptoms of falling in love – awkwardness, moodiness, quiet contemplation with a funny smile.

  Now Canmure has finally caught it, too. I wonder how many of the rest of our circle is moping about over a girl.

  It was strange to see Canmure – completely unromantic, even in their Cambridge days – falling for a young woman. He felt abruptly guilty – his friend must have trusted him a great deal, to confide even this much of his new situation.

  “I hope I didn’t spoil the afternoon,” Canmure added quietly. “I hoped we might have fun. I thought that…” He paused and shrugged. “No, better not.”

  “You thought what?” Luke asked ominously. “Tell me, Canmure! Or I shall assume something worse, whatever you were planning to say.” He fixed his friend with a firm stare.

  “Well,” his companion shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I assumed that, well, mayhap it would be best to get you out of yourself and met somebody new. You’ve been odd of late, and I reckoned it was on account of Stella Longfield. Ettie’s one of two sisters, and…”

  “I don’t need matchmaking,” Luke stated firmly. “I can manage that quite well on my own.”

  They rolled on in the coach in silence.

  “Sorry, Luke,”
Canmure said at length.

  “Don’t mention it. I’m sorry, too.”

  “Don’t be.”

  They both leaned back in their seats, a state of mutual trust regained.

  As the streets of London flew past, Luke stared out of the window. It was strange to see it all again – London, bustling with life and color. His mind was not, however, on the bustle and throng of people, the hawkers, flower-sellers, and actors advertising the evening’s drama. His mind was crowded with thoughts.