by Reid, Stacy
She was the second daughter of a gentleman, the viscount Sherwood, and Elliot was the son of the local doctor. He’d always treated her with kindness and pleasant sweetness, never objecting as her brother had done when she insisted on riding astride in breeches with them across the fens or swimming in the lake in her chemisette, their laughter ringing across windswept grasslands. He hadn’t thought her improper or ill-bred as her brother had often lamented, but had merely encouraged her to be daring and true to her own nature.
She had been fifteen at the time, to Elliot’s nineteen, and had been quite desperately in love with her brother’s friend. She had known without a doubt he was the man she would marry, and had believed he felt a similar attachment.
Life had seemed happy, then the curricle race had happened, and everything had been unbearable for months. When Elliot had asked her to marry him while she lay hurt in bed, with pity in his eyes, she had said no for she had loved him too much to saddle him with a broken wife. He’d asked again, and she’d said no. She’d cared deeply that the two doctors her papa had consulted with, had declared the possibility of her never walking or having children because of her injuries. Her family had objected most passionately for he’d had no connections and wealth and had aspired to visit Edinburgh to study and become a doctor like his father. That aspect hadn’t mattered to Emma though. He had renewed his offer several times over the next few months, and she had refused until he had stopped asking.
Then a few months later what had seemed like an army of solicitors and the Duchess of Hartford had tracked him down to Devon. Her Elliot had been the next in line for a dukedom.
‘Don’t forget me,’ she’d whispered fervently when he had been collected by the duchess whom Emma had dubbed the dragon.
‘Will you…remember me?’ she had asked with such aching sadness.
He’d given her a brief, wordless nod. Instead of walking away he stood for a timeless moment. “Wait for me, promise.”
Her heart had soared with gladness. “I will,” she’d replied, though knowing in her heart once he glimpsed the world before him, he wouldn’t care to remember the broken daughter of an impoverished viscount. Eager to keep her promise to Elliot, she had written to him often, but he had been an indifferent correspondent, only replying to a few of the dozens of letters she had posted to him.
Of course, he had become imminently suitable to her family after it was confirmed he was the next duke of Hartford.
And now he was about to announce to polite society his intention to take a wife.
Emma made her way down the quiet hall at an unhurried pace. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, resting her head briefly on the banister. Why did her heart feel so laden with grief and regrets? It had taken years before she had been able to imagine a future without Elliot. She’d already made plans for her life, and she would see them through. If only before she left for America, she could dance with him, just once, or perhaps even kiss him, and perhaps just a bit more.
The thought arrested her.
What if…?
And suddenly she knew. Before she departed the shores of England, before she lost him forever, she would have one moment of sin, of stolen pleasure, and irresistible passion.
Instead of ascending the stairs, she made her way to the music room where her younger sister Maryann played the pianoforte. Emma entered, and her sister glanced up.
“Oh dear, you have that rebellious look in your eyes.”
“I need your help, and I only have a week to prepare.”
“Of course, whatever you need,” she said with all the loyalty of a sister who loved her dearly.
She would attend Lady Waverly’s house party, or better, the masquerade ball customarily held at its conclusion. “We will have to be very discreet.”
Maryann’s eyes widened, and one of her hand fluttered to her chest. “Oh, dear.”
Emma would avail herself of its advantages, namely pursuing a sensual encounter with the duke of Hartford. The very idea was positively indecent, shocking, and scandalous, but there was a chance to experience something that she’d always wanted.
Emma could only hope afterward she would not be left in ruined disgrace.
Chapter 2
Elliot George Winthrop, the ninth duke of Hartford had made time to take afternoon tea every Tuesday with his grandmother, the Duchess of Hartford, for almost eight years, and he could not recall if he had ever seen her display an expression of shock, or pleasure for that matter. It was remarkable that he couldn’t remember if a smile had ever appeared on her lips.
As it were, the teacup was arrested half way to her lips. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve decided it is time for me to find a duchess.”
His grandmother was now little more than a flesh covered skeleton, although her snow-white hair was impeccably styled under a Brussels lace cap, which Elliot knew must have cost a pretty penny. She was dressed in lavender silk trimmed with black ribbon bows, which denoted half mourning although her elder son had been dead eight years. She lowered the cup to the small and elegantly designed table before her. She gripped her walking cane, her bony fingers curling like claws over the head of the cane positioned at her front, and lion gold eyes, very much like his, stared at him assessing his reasons.
“And what has brought this on?”
“You’ve stalwartly impressed on me for years that it is my duty to the title since you restored me to my proper place,” he said repeating the very words she had used over and over. He managed to keep his tone from revealing a trace of irony or sarcasm.
Elliot had decided to marry and had never had an aversion to the state. He wanted to do it now because he’d been feeling restless, dissatisfied with business, the social whirl of the ton, and the usual debaucheries and activities in which he had indulged for the last several years. He had found himself of late, yearning for the simple life he had left behind.
She is going to America soon…
He felt impatient, mostly with himself, for being stuck on Miss Emma Fitzgerald.
His grandmother’s back straightened, and her jaw tightened. “I do not believe that for a minute. Have you gotten someone with child?”
A startled laugh escaped him. “No, madam. I am very careful in that regard, and I must say I find it decidedly inappropriate to have a discussion with you about my conquests.”
She shot him a reproving glare. “Then what has brought on this decision?”
“I’m simply interested in a finding a woman who I would grow to love and have children with.”
She regarded him with a most unpleasant expression. “Do not be foolish,” she snapped, her eyes glaring her disapproval. “Love has no place within a marriage alliance. That useless emotion has been the downfall of many fine families. I do hope I have taught you better than that.”
“Love is essential to me. My parents were devoted to each other. I admire and yearn for the kind of attachment they had.”
The duchess’s eyes grew chilled as they often did at the mention of his father, her second son who had dared run away to pursue his passion by becoming a doctor and then had the awful gall to fall in love with a lowly vicar’s daughter. She had never forgiven him and had only deigned to acknowledge Elliot’s father when her eldest son had died without issue, and worse, with the dukedom on the brink of financial ruin.
The dowager’s lips pressed together for a moment before she said with icy imperiousness, “You will not repeat George’s mistake. You’ll select a lady from an estimable family, with a dowry fit for a duke, and in possession of a reputation that has never had a hint of scandal attached to it. I will only give my stamp of approval then.”
George. Even the name of his father on her tongue seemed strange. She had cut him from all aspects of her heart and always left the room when Elliot tried to share stories of his family and how happy his father had been with his mother. It was as if she resented the very notion that he could have been contented away from the wealt
h and privilege of being born to a duke and duchess.
The first time he had mentioned in polite company that his father had been the local doctor of their village, she’d almost had apoplexy. Elliot didn’t believe she had quite forgiven him for that faux pas nor had she ever ceased to deplore that it was his business acumen which had rescued them from financial ruin. He would leave an inheritance to his heir of which he had reason to be proud. He had been unprepared for the duties that came with the title, but he had never been the sort for flinching away from responsibility and hard work. Those business dealings supplemented the somewhat meager widow’s pension she formerly had to keep her household. With the dukedom in debt, she had not been too proud to accept his plebian earnings to pay her own debts. Nor had she sniffed at his offer to give her an additional allowance to make her life easier.
“My father loved my mother, it was never a mistake when he defied conventions to follow his heart and passion,” he said mildly. “If you had witnessed their contentment with their lot in life, I daresay you would have thought the same.”
“You disappoint me,” she said, her voice low. “I do hope you are not thinking of approaching viscount Sherwood’s cripple—”
The delicate handle of his teacup snapped, and he shot her an icy glance. “I do not care who you are, you will be civil if not in thoughts, at least in speech and manners always concerning Miss Fitzgerald.”
His grandmother’s lips parted, but she did not speak.
“If she would have me, I would take her to be my wife, my duchess within a heartbeat, but it is she who will not have me.” And he had too much pride and dignity to ever approach Emma for her hand in marriage again.
“She is not acceptable,” the duchess said coldly.
“If you will excuse me, grandmother, I have business matters to attend,” he said with icy politeness and stood.
“Impertinent.” Her lips formed in a moue of distaste, as she had always done whenever he implied he worked. How it had confounded him in those early days when she’d ordered him to abandon those unworthy pursuits, and as duke, he need not lower himself so. Elliot had thought it ludicrous and continued with his investments and business holdings to her distress. How she had loathed that it was those investments that had made the dukedom solvent once more.
He made his way from the drawing room without further ado. It made no sense for him to even kiss her cheeks in adieu, she had never displayed any warmth towards him. Elliot truly fully understand why his father had run away from this life, and hidden the connection even whilst he lay dying. He had been there, holding his father’s hand when he had taken his last breath, and he never mentioned he was the son of a duke, and that Elliot had another family elsewhere. The relationship had been filled with such acrimony and disappointment, his father had preferred for Elliot to think he was alone. He had lost his mother only two years before his father, and they had never been blessed with another child.
Those days had been filled with grief, the only hope and the little warmth he’d had in his life had come from his friendship with the honorable Anthony Fitzgerald. He hadn’t allowed a distinction of rank to mar their friendship. Not that Elliot could say the same for Anthony’s parents, they had always had a thin veneer of courtesy when they spoke with him, and he had been quite conscious he had not entirely belonged to their world. And also, there was Emma…
A pounding ache went through his heart, and he swiftly buried the pain. He would not think of her, not now, now when it had taken him so long to accept that she was not for him and never would be.
She had kept him at a distance with the pain and sadness in her eyes, the refusals on her tongue, and her determination not to see him in the early days after her accident. He had believed she thought him unworthy of her as the daughter of a viscount, but that he could not credit for she had never treated him as inferior before. He’d then surmised it was her parents’ influence, but their entire manner towards him had decidedly changed when he was revealed to be the heir to the dukedom of Hartford.
You ask in vain, for I’ll never consent to marry you…you, Elliot, deserve so much more than a cripple for a wife.
He hadn’t been able to dent her surety that he would come to resent her. Elliot had wept with her when she had told him the doctors said she’d never walk again, but he had still wanted her to be his wife. His admiration hadn’t dimmed, she, however, had maintained an air of civil friendship, even in the many letters she had written to him. There was no longer a sense of romance, the invitation to courtship, which had led him to risk the chance of kissing her lips. A decision he had relished and regretted in equal measures since their current state, for the memory of it haunted him too much.
But avoiding her had proved to be easy, for she was never in society. Whether it was her choice or not, he would never know, even though he understood it. The polite world had no use for broken things. Everything had to be pretty and perfect and estimable for them to find worth. All the unpretty things, the broken things, and the inestimable were discarded.
Instead of heading to his studies, he made his way outdoors and toward the large lake toward the eastern section of his estate. Glenhaven was a majestic building set in perfectly landscaped grounds. The frontage of the manor was Palladian in style although it covered a building that had been started in Elizabethan times. Hartford had not been a dukedom in those days, the family had risen under King James although the reasons for the gift of the title was another matter that his grandmother sought to avoid discussing. The estates had been somewhat rundown and neglected when he first became Duke, but now looked well-tended and profitable which Elliot was pleased to admit was true.
Picking up a few stones, he skipped them across the waters of the lake admiring the ripples on the surface. It was going to be a long night. He would not sleep. There was no sense in trying. Not when he had just seen Miss Emma Fitzgerald. Hauntingly lovely, enticingly exquisite and with her large sad eyes. For tonight, tomorrow, the day after that, and then even the next day he would dream of her, crave to kiss and touch, and then the need would fade, he hoped. That always happened, and it was one of the reasons he had avoided their country home, Bellview Manor for it would mean subjecting himself to the torment of wanting her, and knowing it was never to be.
* * *
Emma was on the verge of doing something truly wicked.
She thought such an acknowledgment would fill her with dread. Instead, fevered anticipation sifted through her body as she slipped dark-apple-red dancing slippers onto her feet. She ran a fingertip over the straps crisscrossing her ankle, enjoying the supple feel of the delicate material.
“Are you quite certain?”
The soft question from Maryann, had nerves erupting inside Emma. “I am more certain than I have ever been. I need to do this, so I do not spend the rest of my years filled with abject regret. I already have more than I can bear. I promise you Elliot will not know it is me, and it will be only for tonight,” she reassured Maryann with a smile, though nervousness knotted Emma’s stomach.
“You must perceive the advantages of an eligible marriage. A union with Lord Coventry would render you a countess. You’d have a far greater allowance than I do, surely a carriage of your own, and you will be the mistress of your own home. Tonight…tonight if you do all I am thinking, you will render yourself unmarriageable.”
“I do not wish to marry the earl. Everything else I can acquire with my inheritance from my grandmother.” She cleared her throat. “And you forget I may not be able to bear issue.”
“The doctors also said you would never walk again, Emma, and here you are.”
Here you are. How simple it made the painful years of screaming and struggling to walk, the agony when her legs would fold beneath her, and the horror that would ice through her stomach as her leg muscles knotted and cramped. How she had fought and cried against her parents’ orders to not walk but to stay in bed and use a Bath chair. They had even taken her stick, hating that
she hurt herself with every effort it took to try and stand.
And it was for that very reason she would be directed only by her own desires, for if she had not clawed, prayed and pleaded with God, fought her parents and even Anthony, she would still be imprisoned by her infirmities. Life offered no certainties, and for once she was prepared to live on the dangerous edge she had admired others for living on.
Elliot would soon be married, and she would soon be on another continent. They might never meet again, and she would forever dream of him. Unless she took a memory of him when she left, and not just any memory would do, something sweet, and passionate, and something wonderful. That stark, blinding truth had been whipping through her mind for almost a week now, and she had done everything possible to prepare for tonight. She would have one chance to experience something…anything with Elliot, before she walked away from everything she had ever wanted and known she would never have.
The thrill of something positively improper, unexpected and wicked had tingled along her spine. She needed this, not just to taste passion with her duke, but to step from the cage her family had designed and kept her in for years. I am five and twenty. By all accounts a spinster, and unmarriageable, even without her scars and limitations. There were only a few options available to women in her position. She could wait…wait to die, wait to live…or she could act.
Emma had decided to act.
She just wasn’t sure how to make her sister understand the driving force behind her decision. Maryann had been questioning Emma’s sanity since she’d confided her too daring plans.
Maryann reclined in the chaise lounge, her hand rubbing her well-rounded stomach. “How I wish you a happiness like mine,” she said with a sigh. “I confess I do not wish for you to leave us, I am quite attached to you my dear Emma, and you will miss the arrival of your niece or nephew.” She pursed her lips. “I am nervous Papa or Anthony will discover. I have observed that Papa can be frightful in his anger at times.”
