by Ella Edon
“What do you suggest we do? Father?” Emilia frowned.
Her father sat down again. Suddenly, he looked very old.
“What, Father?” Emilia asked. “What is it? What do you propose we do?”
“I was going to say, we should leave the city,” he said. “Go back to the countryside. Let this place to a tenant, let Herston Grange, as well to raise some funds. We could do with less staff, and find a smaller place to live. We could live, perhaps, in the little hall on my companion Ellingsfield’s lands. But then…” He trailed off, as though he were deep in thought.
“Then what, father?” Emilia asked, frowning. She’d taken a seat on the small chaise and she shifted, discomforted, left and right. It sounded like a fine plan….so what was his hesitancy for?
“I cannot do that to you,” her father said, shaking his head. “I would ruin your prospects. I can’t haul you from London, and make you live in penury in a borrowed house in the country! It would ruin your future.”
“Father, I could manage,” she insisted.
“No, daughter! I won’t hear of it! We’ll come up with another idea.” He shook his head briskly. “You have to stay here – this season, and the next! I won’t compromise you anymore than I already did. Now, though, I must go.”
“Father, you don’t have to go now.”
“I do,” her father insisted. “Croxley? Fetch my hat and coat.”
“Father…” Emilia frowned. He turned from where he stood in the doorway.
“What?” he asked.
“Do take care?” Emilia begged.
He smiled, stepping closer, as he patted her hand. “I will, daughter. It does me good to be doing something. It’s been too long since I felt this urgency about anything. No…it does me good. I shall see you at dinnertime. Unless you want to be there, of course?”
“Father, no,” Emilia said, a little shocked at the offer. She wasn’t sure if she could bear to see the Duke, ever again.
“Well, then,” He shrugged. Croxley was in the doorway, her father’s hat in one hand, and a long black frock-coat thrown over his arm. “I will see you at dinner,” her father repeated. “And, don’t fret. The Duke might be young, but I still know more than he does.”
Emilia nodded. “Until later, Father.”
Emilia waited, listening to his footsteps going down the hallway. Then she leaned back in the chair, looking out at the yellow sunshine, filtering through the net curtains.
“I can’t believe it,” she mused.
It didn’t quite seem possible that, finally, her father knew the truth. And, knowing it, that he had chosen to defend her, to protect her. She took a deep breath.
“Thank you,” she whispered with all sincerity.
It was right, after all, to have faith in love.
Standing up, Emilia drifted down the hallway, heading to the downstairs parlor. She passed June on the way. She was worried about her father – deeply worried – but she was determined to put the worries aside. She couldn’t stop her father from confronting the Duke. She would just have to find some way of bearing it.
“Milady! Have you any plans for today?” June asked, noticing her hesitance.
“Can you fix my hair?” she asked. “I think I’ll invite Hestony for luncheon.”
“Of course, milady!” June nodded eagerly. “How would you like me to style it?”
“I was thinking of something Lady Arwell had,” she said slowly. “A style with a chignon in the back, and loose sections in front. I found a similar picture in the Ladies’ Gazette.”
The easiest way to forget about her worries for her father was to simply set them aside.
“Of course, milady,” June replied valiantly. They both walked to her room.
After her hair was styled and she was dressed in a casual but elegant day-gown, suitable for a lunch party, Emilia turned to her maid.
“June?” Emilia asked. “Would you ask Croxley to have this message sent to Aunt Melior’s home, please?”
“Of course, milady. Milady?”
“Yes?” Emilia frowned. June looked hesitant, as if she wanted to broach something, but wasn’t sure what to say.
“The gentleman, who was here…” June looked down at her hands.
“Yes, June?” Emilia asked. Her heart was beating like a drum.
“Beg your pardon, milady, but…but he seemed a good sort to me.”
“I think you should be careful in offering such advice, June,” Emilia said, her voice breaking with her emotions. “Ladies very rarely have a choice in whom we wed.”
“Beg your pardon, milady. I shouldn’t have said.”
“It’s alright, June,” Emilia said quickly. “I appreciate your concern.”
June just looked at her, eyes round with hurt. She was more than simply a maid – she’d been a friend, ever since Emilia was fourteen and her father had deemed it right for her to have her own attendant. Emilia hated to speak so formally to her. But what could she say? The topic of Luke was one she couldn’t afford to think about.
She wanted to see him again so badly.
Emilia ran a hand through her hair, a small gesture of despair. “June…I simply cannot discuss Lord Westmore at present.”
Her maid nodded again, but Emilia thought she heard her mutter something under her breath. It was only as she drifted down the stairs to the dining-room that she realized what June had said – it was: typical lovers.
She blushed. In one sense, it was amusing – it was quite wonderful, to think that her love for Lord Westmore was so obvious that even her maid had immediately guessed. But in another sense, it was offensive to think she’d been so easily read, and possibly judged for it.
Lunch with Hestony was subdued – her cousin chattered on about the ball and about the costumes, and how wonderful it had been.
“I danced so much! Oh, Emilia! Was it not wonderful?”
“Yes,” Emilia agreed. “Very wonderful.” She wanted to cry.
It was wonderful because I was with Luke Preston. And now I might never see him again.
Her father’s plans for their future, his immediate danger – they were at the forefront of her mind, along with the awful fact that there was still the option of marrying the Duke. Was she being a fool for not taking it?
“Emilia? Is aught the matter?” Hestony asked, giving her a concerned glance.
“No…I’m just tired.”
“Of course! It was a long ball! And I only got to sleep at two o’ clock, I was so excited!” Hestony grinned.
Emilia just nodded and looked at her plate, prodding at the carrots soaked in gravy. She tried to focus on her cousin’s cheerful words and forget about her father’s danger.
It was later, as she sat in the drawing-room, practicing the pianoforte, that June came in.
“Milady?”
“June! What is it?” Emilia shot to her feet. Her father! He was hurt. He was in danger. He’d been wounded…
“A message, milady.”
“Is it about Father?” she demanded.
“I don’t know, milady,” June said. “I was told it was for you.”
Emilia nodded and held out a hand for it, frowning as she studied the plain envelope. Where had it come from?
“Thank you,” she murmured as June stepped out. She slid her finger under the flap and opened the small letter with a trembling hand.
Lady Emilia, the bold, stiff script stated, my offer for your problem still stands. If you wish to reach an amicable agreement for your father’s situation, I suggest you meet with me alone. Your father’s method of negotiation is original, but unproductive. Yours faithfully, AKC
Emilia felt her fingers go nerveless, almost dropping the paper to the floor. What was he saying?
She ran downstairs to the entrance-hall.
“Croxley?” she called. “Croxley…is Father back? Have you had word from him?”
The butler was crossing the room, heading for the servant’s door. He raised a brow, frownin
g.
“His lordship is expected back at four,” he said. “Why, milady…?” He frowned.
“I think he may need my assistance. Fetch the coach.”
“Milady?” The butler was looking at her with concern, as if he thought her plan was dangerous.
“Summon the coach, Mr. Croxley, if you please.”
Emilia turned away, a frown creasing her brow.
Father. What has he done?
She headed out onto the grounds, the letter still clutched in her fingers. She couldn’t stop thinking about the words and what they might mean. Original, but unproductive. What had her father done? A part of her dreaded the possibility – nay, the likelihood – that he had challenged the Duke to a duel. Her father was incredibly impulsive, prone to all manner of rash decisions.
“It would be so like him,” she thought aloud.
“Milady?” Harris called. “Ready to go?”
“Thank you, Harris. I am.” She nodded.
“Everything alright, lass?” he inquired.
“I’m fine, thank you Harris. Just…take me to Elsmoor House. Please?”
“Of course, milady. Off we go.”
The coachman took the reins after she’d climbed in, and they headed off through the streets. London was not particularly crowded at this time, and Emilia watched the streets and buildings pass by without paying much attention. She was focused on her father and what might have happened to him.
He had planned to come back home at four, clearly. It was not quite three o’ clock now, so they might meet up at the Duke’s home. What would she say?
“I don’t know what he would think about me coming to check on him.”
She wrung her hands, feeling a deep sense of distress.
“Elsmoor House, milady.”
“Thank you, Harris.”
“Shall I stay here, milady?” Harris asked.
“No, Harris. You can return at four, to fetch his lordship and I. My business will likewise be concluded by then.”
He frowned but nodded. “Very good, milady.”
Emilia looked up at the building with a worried frown. The building was a tall sandstone edifice, stylish and pale brown, filled with spacious windows. It should have been light and reassuring, but in fact, it was oppressive.
Emilia walked up the steps, her tummy in a knot. When she reached the top, she knocked on the door. A butler opened it. He regarded her with surprise.
“I am Lady Emilia Herston, daughter of the Earl of Mowbray. I have an appointment to see his grace, the Duke of Elsmoor.”
“I’ll go and tell him,” the butler said. He bowed and closed the door. A moment later he was back. Emilia felt her stomach twist with nerves as he cleared his throat. “His lordship is waiting for you.”
She swallowed, though her mouth had gone dry, and headed up into the house. The hall was small and exquisitely-tiled, the staircase tall and confined. When she reached the top, she paused, to draw breath.
Tiptoeing along, she waited at the door, peering in.
His lordship was bent over the desk, arranging papers. Emilia felt her heart start to thud. Where was her father? The Duke must have heard her, for he looked up.
“There you are,” he said. “Take a seat, for we have a great deal to discuss.”
Emilia stayed where she was, peering cautiously around the door. She felt like her feet had turned to lead. She didn’t have the will to take a step forward, not after looking into those hard, empty, gray eyes.
“Well, then.” He shrugged. “If you wish to stay there, we can go downstairs. I suppose there’s no reason not to talk below…”
“Why did you send for me?” Emilia asked.
He raised a brow. “Is there any doubt as to what I wish to discuss? Our approaching nuptials.”
Emilia felt her hair stand on end. “They do not exist.”
He shrugged. “Your decision.”
“Where is my father?” Emilia asked. Her heart started to thump. What had happened to him?
The Duke raised a brow. “I suggest you come and see.”
“What? Where is he?”
“We may have to take the coach to find him.”
Emilia stared at him in horror, and then the world went dark.
Chapter Twenty-One
In the Street
Luke looked down the crowded London street, scarcely noting the crowd around him. It was a pleasant day – mild and a little cloudy – but it was not the weather that dampened him. He felt strangely empty.
“Have you seen the display in Gainsbrooks’ shop?” a banal voice said in his ear. “Most charming.”
Luke raised a brow, surprised to hear anybody talking to him. He was floating in a gray nowhere, in which he was lost without direction. He had no idea what was the matter with him. He’d been feeling out of sorts all day.
“Is it?” he asked Canmure, who was walking alongside him. The pain in his joints seemed to be less today – he was walking without a limp, though he still moved slowly.
“Yes. Quite a dazzle. How did you manage to walk past without noting it?”
Luke shook his head. “My mind is elsewhere today.”
He couldn’t really partake of anything around him – his thoughts were all in another place. As he thought about it, he realized why. They were with Lady Emilia.
He couldn’t stop thinking of her.
There’s something bothering her. I just don’t know what it is.
He shook his head. He had to get to the bottom of it. He knew where she lived – or he reckoned he could find it again, anyway. If he had the faintest idea what to say, he would look in on her. He just didn’t know where he would begin.
As they walked along the street, they passed by his solicitor’s office. Luke tensed. He’d heard no word from his cousin recently. He paused in the doorway, playing with the idea of going inside.
“Waiting for something?” Canmure asked.
Luke shrugged. “Just a thought. One moment, Canmure.”
He went in and as he did so, he bumped into Mr. Emery. The man stared up at him, rapturously.
“Lord Westmore! A lucky coincidence! We were about to send you a letter.”
“Oh?” Luke felt his stomach twist. “Is it here?”
“Yes! Come in, do. Grand. You saved us the cost of forwarding it today.”
Luke rolled his eyes. Given what he paid Mr. Harville for his assistance, the thought of him begrudging a few pennies for forwarding the post was less than heartening. All the same, he followed him inside.
“Lord Westmore!” Harville greeted him with a professional-looking smile. “We are taken by surprise! There’s a letter for you – arrived this morning.”
“I know,” Luke replied. “Emery told me. Thank you, Harville.” He slid his finger under the flap and opened the letter, frowning at the address.
Cousin Hal. What has he to say?
His heart thudded with alarm as he scanned the page.
“Writing in some concern…word from my father…accounts running to a loss…please go as soon as possible to check what is amiss.”
He skimmed the words and his heart almost stopped. “When did this arrive?” he asked.
“Last week, sir. With all the confusion about your whereabouts, we had no idea where to forward it. We considered sending it to Westmore Heights in the country…”
“I should have seen this ages ago,” Luke said, frantically. How was it possible that they’d kept it from him for so long? It must have arrived shortly after his last visit! How could his solicitor not have sent it directly to the London residence?
“Apologies, milord,” Mr. Harville said delicately. “Given the sensitive nature of your whereabouts…”
“Sensitive nature!” Luke exploded. “I was here all along! I was ill!”
“Yes. I know now, sir,” Harville replied. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Fine. Sorry.” Luke said, looking down at his boot-tops. He felt contrite. “It’
s a shock, is all”.
“I understand.”
“Thank you. Should you have any more post from this address, please send it directly to the residence. My butler will take it for me.”
