Emma glanced at her husband, but Jon was smiling, apparently pleased with the opportunity to continue his pummeling.
“You have obviously misunderstood the situation,” Hector shouted as he swung wide, missing Jon completely.
“I don’t think so,” Jon countered, jabbing a punch to Hector’s midsection. Winthrope let out another loud grunt and doubled over in pain.
Gasping for air, he gestured toward Emma. “Tell your husband that you are unharmed.”
Emma shrugged and crossed her arms. Hector was bleeding from the nose and lip and she felt a primitive sense of satisfaction at the sight.
“You were hardly willing to release me when I asked,” Emma said. “In fact, you held my arm rather tightly.”
Jon’s expression darkened further. “Are you hurt, Emma?”
Emma hesitated in replying just long enough for Hector to receive another well-placed blow. He pitched forward and this time when he hit the hard floor, he didn’t rise again.
Jon came to Emma’s side and wrapped his arms around her. She gratefully pressed herself against his chest, sinking her face into the curve of his neck. Then they both turned and stared down at Winthrope.
Hector winced and gingerly ran his fingers over his jaw as though testing it. Emma could see a large bruise forming under the streak of blood that had dripped down to his chin from his split lip.
Grunting in pain, Hector labored to gain his feet, a look of frustration shining in his eyes. His breathing was loud and harsh. In contrast, Emma noticed that Jon scarcely appeared winded.
“Lady Kendall and I have shared a mutual affection for over a year.” Hector sniffled loudly, pulling away the handkerchief he had pressed to his nose. His color paled when he saw the amount of bright red blood on it.
“She was forced to marry you after you ruined her,” Hector continued, his face twisted with overblown arrogance. “If not for your interference, she would have happily married me!”
“Never!” Emma shouted, outraged at that ludicrous notion.
“You don’t mean that,” Winthrope said, stepping forward, his swollen lips meshed together.
Apparently having heard more than his fill from Hector, Jon reached out and grabbed him by the cravat, lifting him off the floor. “It’s over, Winthrope. If you ever approach my wife again, I will make you sorry for the rest of your days in ways that you can only imagine.”
Winthrope’s eyes bulged. Jon opened his hands, and Hector dropped to the floor, barely managing to stay on his feet. Without another word, he hurried away, glancing back several times as though he expected he would be followed and further thrashed.
Emma sighed and leaned against her husband. “I always thought he was a pompous windbag, but this behavior was beyond anything I could have predicted. Carter used to tease me that Winthrope was enamored of me, but I never suspected that his delusions ran this deep, especially since I never once encouraged him.”
“I would make a quip about your irresistible allure to all men, my love, if I were not still so damn angry. I fear I quite lost my mind when I caught sight of you struggling to get out of Winthrope’s embrace.”
“My hero.” Emma placed her hand on his.
Jon dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I shudder to think what might have happened if I hadn’t come looking for you.”
“I don’t believe that I was in any real danger. Well, except for having to endure one of Hector’s kisses.” Emma did shudder at that possibility.
“I must erase that horror from your mind immediately.”
Jon captured her lips with a series of light, almost lazy kisses. Emma strained upward to deepen the contact and he gladly obliged.
There was something different about his kisses, she realized. True, they were still passionate, still had the power to weaken her knees and flutter her stomach with excitement.
But there was more. They were filled with love and hope and dreams. They meant forever.
To both of them.
Two months later
The August sun crept up in the sky as the crowd gathered at the edge of the field where the stalks of wheat were full and bursting. After instructing everyone to stand clear, Jon and Mr. Norris positioned the reaper on the opposite side.
Emma and Lady Sybil, hands tightly clasped, took several steps back. There was a loud bang when Jon started the steam engine at the rear of the apparatus. Slowly, the gears of the reaper began to move. When they were spinning at a consistent rate, Jon stepped onto the platform and carefully steered the machine into the field.
The noise grew louder as the sharp, heavy blades swung back and forth, slicing through the thick, high stalks. By the time Jon reached the end of the field, the machine had cut a swath of wheat twelve feet wide. The stalks were piled neatly in a row, waiting to be gathered and threshed.
“Five minutes!” Squire Hornsby shouted excitedly. “It would take a skilled worker with a sickle half the day to cut the same amount by hand.”
The machine chugged closer and Emma could see Jon’s eyes narrowing with concentration as he made a wide turn. She held her breath, releasing it only after he had successfully completed it. His face broke into a wide grin when the reaper headed back to the field to make another pass and harvest the next section.
The turning mechanism was one of the gears Jon insisted needed further refinement and she was so relieved that it had cooperated during this all-important demonstration.
He was disappointed that he had not been able to successfully incorporate the thresher section of the machine and it had taken her and Mr. Norris over a week to convince him that a steam-powered reaper alone would still be of great value.
And they were right! Jon cut the engine when he arrived at the end of the field and jumped down from his driving perch to the near deafening sounds of cheers and applause.
Everyone ran forward to congratulate him and Mr. Norris and ask an endless stream of questions.
“I don’t know why you have been so anxious,” Lady Sybil admonished when she and Emma joined the crowd. “Your machine worked flawlessly, Jon.”
“It’s extraordinary,” Carter exclaimed. “I want to know how soon you can build one for me.”
Dorothea reached over and gave Emma a big hug. “You must be so proud.”
“I am,” Emma replied, her cheeks almost hurting from the width of her smile.
Looking over the heads in the group, Emma met her husband’s eyes. It made her heart sing to see him so pleased and happy.
That night, after the celebrations had ended, Emma carried a cloth-covered canvas into Jon’s bedchamber. Curious, he knotted the belt of his robe and followed behind her.
She brought it to the brightest spot in the room, propped it in the middle of a chair, then turned to him anxiously. “I have something for you.”
“So I see.”
“I hope that you like it.”
Without further ceremony, she yanked the cloth away. Jon’s breath caught and for a moment he was utterly speechless as he beheld his wife’s painting.
The machine was beautifully majestic, almost poetic. The shafts and gears vibrated with life, evoking a sense of power and dominance. But it was the likeness of the man standing beside the metal that robbed Jon of speech.
’Twas him.
Not precisely the man Jon saw when he looked in a mirror. Emma’s version of him showcased a man spectacularly self-assured and striking. There was more than a hint of sensuality in the strong hand braced on the largest iron wheel and a captivating sense of mystery and allure in his secretive stare.
The connection between subject and artist was palpable—Emma’s love and admiration of him was immediately obvious. A childish grin stole across Jon’s face. This painting made the portrait she did of the earl seem pale and weak by comparison.
He cleared his throat. “I confess to feeling rather godlike when I gaze upon it. Is this truly how you see me?”
“No. It captures but a small part of my fe
elings and admiration.” A nervous uncertainty glinted in her eyes. “Do you like it?”
“How could I not.”
Emma let out a long sigh of relief. Jon put his arms around her and held her tight. He felt a tide of elation flood through him. The success of the reaper today had been the realization of a dream, but the love and devotion of his wife—
Ah, now that was a miracle.
Epilogue
Four years later
The sweet scent of lilacs drifted through the garden, twitching Emma’s nose. She paused as a sudden wave of nausea overcame her. Clutching her middle, she abruptly sat on the nearby stone bench, anxiously waiting for it to pass.
Sir Galahad lifted his head from the bush he was exploring, and looked at her curiously. Face contorting in discomfort, Emma somehow managed to swallow back the rising bile. Sensing her distress, the dog came quickly to her side, sympathetically nuzzling her hand with his snout.
“No worries, boy,” she said, pressing her hand over her flat stomach. “I’m not ill. Just in an interesting condition, as they say.”
She pulled in a deep breath and felt a silly grin bloom across her face. A babe. She had confirmed it with the doctor this very morning and promptly burst into happy tears at the news. After four years of marriage, what she had feared would never happen was finally a reality.
She and Jon were going to be parents!
Thankfully, he had been so consumed with his latest project that she had been able to hide from him her lethargy, retching in the mornings—and evenings—and sudden exhaustion. Fearing to raise and then dash his hopes, she had not wanted to say anything until she was absolutely certain.
Sir Galahad’s tail started wagging and he emitted a friendly bark. Emma raised her head and watched the loyal beast make a mad dash toward the man walking their way.
Jon.
Even after all this time, the sudden sight of him still managed to take her breath away. He bent and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then touched the corner of her mouth tenderly with his thumb.
“Mother told me that I would find you here. I have come to escort my lovely wife to luncheon.”
Emma’s stomach lurched at the notion of food or drink. Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes briefly, then felt Jon’s hand on her back.
“Are you ill?”
Her gaze flew upward. “Yes—well, no. I’m feeling a tad nauseous, that’s all.”
His brows knit together in worry. “You should have told me sooner that you weren’t feeling well. I’ll have Hopson send for the doctor immediately.”
“No.” Emma wrapped her fingers around Jon’s arm to restrain him from hurrying away. “I’ve already seen the doctor this morning.”
“Why wasn’t I told?” Jon asked, his voice rising with concern.
Emma grimaced. This was not the way she had intended to share her news. “I’m with child.”
Jon blanched. “What?”
“You heard me correctly, my love,” Emma whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek. “We are going to have a baby.”
The lines of concern vanished and Jon’s face filled with such tenderness that she had trouble controlling her emotional sobs. The tears tickling the back of her eyes began falling freely. Jon folded her into his arms and Emma cried against his shoulder.
A moment later, he pulled far enough away to allow his eyes to skim excitedly over her frame. “Oh, Lord, Emma, you should have told me sooner. Last night in bed . . .” His voice faded away.
“Are you embarrassed about something, my lord?” she teased through watery eyes.
“Damn it, Emma, I was too rough. I should have been more careful. Trust me, from now on I shall be. Unless we should cease marital relations entirely until the child arrives? I’ll have to consult with the physician.”
“You will do no such thing!” Emma cried, slapping his shoulder. “Besides, I already asked the physician and, uhm . . . he said it was, uhm . . . fine.”
“Who is embarrassed now, Lady Kendall?”
“Oh, Jon, we are a well matched pair.” She met his eyes and they gleamed with an underlying intensity of emotion. “I’ve never felt this happy in my life. It almost scares me, for I fear it shall vanish.”
“There are no difficulties in life that we cannot conquer if we face them together, my love.”
Comforted by the strength of his words and the conviction in his voice, Emma captured his face between her hands. “I love you, Jon. Very, very much.”
“And I adore you.” His expression turned reflective. “I can’t help but wonder, what would I do without you?”
“Lead a dull, reclusive life as a brilliant inventor?” she ventured with a smile.
“Most likely.”
* * *
Thomas Gabriel Edward Bur well arrived in this world on a snowy winter afternoon, a week later than the physician had predicted.
His grandmother’s eyes filled with tears of happiness, his aunts and uncles cheered, and the servants smiled when his lusty cries were heard belowstairs. But it was his parents who shared the greatest euphoria, over the moon to have a healthy child of their own to love and cherish.
Four weeks later they all gathered together in the village church to celebrate Thomas’s next milestone. The future viscount slept through his baptismal ceremony, barely opening his eyes when the holy water was gently poured over his head.
His proud grandmother carried him out of the church and his two aunts hovered.
“Your sisters and my mother are in yet another scuffle over whose turn it is to hold our son,” Jon observed as they prepared to enter the carriages.
“I’m rather impressed with how righteously indignant your mother can get whenever Gwen or Dorothea tries to take the baby away from her,” Emma said with a grin. “Though I’m sure they know she is exaggerating her ire, my sisters have difficulty denying her.”
“I find Gwen’s strategy of constantly reminding everyone that she’ll be returning home soon, so she should be allowed more time with him than the others, rather brilliant,” Jon commented. “And it appears to be working.”
Emma grinned as she noticed her eldest sister had prevailed and was now cradling the babe in her arms. “I fear that young Thomas will be spoiled rotten well before his first birthday.”
“No doubt.”
They paused together, hand in hand, to take in the picture of their son surrounded by such a loving family. Emma’s eyes suddenly welled with tears.
“I love him so much, Jon. He is, without question, my greatest accomplishment.”
“Our greatest,” Jon said tenderly. “And he has already brought us more happiness than we ever dared to dream.”
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