The Duke and I: A Forever Yours Novella

by Reid, Stacy

  “Why do you allow your circumstances to define you and the possibility of us?”

  “I only protect my heart from the pain of your eventual pity and derision. Of your eventual resentment if I am unable to provide you with an heir. The doctors said with the back pain I’ve suffered from the accident and still suffer, even if I were to fall with child, I might never carry that child to full term.”

  His face went blank, but not before she saw the flash of raw emotions in the depth of his eyes. Emma’s breath hitched, and her heart slammed into her throat.

  “Do you truly think my love, admiration, and respect would be so inconstant? Do you think I am so puffed with vanity of myself and my position in society that I cannot adore and admire the woman you are, as you are? Do you think me so without substance and heart?”

  The sudden emotional distance shook her. “I did not mean it like that, Elliot.”

  “Then how did you mean it?”

  Perceiving that she had offended his pride and possibly wounded his heart, she made no reply, for her throat was too tight. A muscle jumped in his jaw at her silence, then a smile of icy disdain curled his lips.

  “I understand now, Emma. I’ll not bother you by renewing obviously unwanted and distressing sentiments.”

  His words shattered something deep inside of her, and the indifference in his voice flayed her.

  “I will see you home.”

  They left, and she walked ahead at a jerky pace. Her legs knotted, and she stumbled, and then strong arms were about her as he lifted and walked with her toward the boat bobbing atop the placid water. Emma cried unashamedly. His eyes held a piercing sadness as he stared at her, and she was vaguely conscious that her throat was slightly raw. They made it to the boat and settled in. She could not row, only sobbed.

  “Elliot…” She stuffed a fist in her mouth, not understanding the tearing pain ripping through her heart. His eyes were so indifferent. As he rowed, he watched her as though he waited for something. And she had no notion what.

  Today had shown her so much what their life could be like, what she had always dreamed it could be, fun, sensual, an entwining of souls. She wanted to see his face each night before she fell asleep, and she wanted to wake nestled in his arms. If only that were possible.

  “You will let me know if you find yourself with child.”

  Fear and hope darted through her in equal measure.

  “If you are we will marry…for the sake of our child.”

  She nodded mutely. Her despair deepened, and she rested her forehead on her knees and wept for losing what she had so badly desired for so many years, but had been too terrified to reach for.

  Chapter 11

  Elliot stood in the forecourt of Bellview Manor and watched as the door gently closed on Emma’s retreating back, his chest tight, his heart racing. She’d said no…again. He’d been prepared for her rejection, but it still hurt like a brutal punch to his gut. It had been a mistake to touch her, to smell her, to taste her skin, and slide into her, to take pleasure from her. How she had taken him just now had been the most satisfying experience of Elliot’s life, yet the most hollow and heartrending. Emma’s eyes offered everything to him and promised nothing. He never thought it possible to feel the emotional pain that had cut into him like a knife just now. He tried to reason around the awful feelings seething in his gut and could find no relief. What a fool he had been to think her coming to him at the masquerade meant more. What a fool he had been to allow her back into his heart after all the years of rejection. Elliot sheathed his emotions in ice, burying the disappointment burning in his gut.

  Every instinct clamored for him to barge into the manor, snatch her into his arms and never let her go. Instead, he turned and moved toward the stables, calling for his horse. He would have to let her go. It was impossible to fight for someone who would forever push him away. Enough was enough. Yet the very notion of truly losing her settled against his heart like a boulder. He faltered, slapping his hand against his forehead, lifting his face to the sky, desperately seeking the warmth of the sun to melt the cold, hollow knot of loss wrapping around his heart.

  It was difficult to move, to breathe, to imagine a future without her, to think clearly. Cursing his weakness, he mounted his horse and rode home, blanking everything from his thoughts, only feeling the wind on his face as he rode. Several hours later he rested at an inn, where his assurance it was not necessary prevented the proprietor from trying to remove a couple with their children from the establishment’s best room. Elliot took a much simpler room with a narrow cot and tried to sleep. He failed abysmally. He could find no peace.

  After another few hours of restlessness, he departed the inn and continued towards his estates. He rode through the night, the cold nipping at his bones, his superfine jacket inadequate protection against the chill of the night. But he was undaunted and continued traveling, thankful for once since he’d left Emma, visions of her did not haunt him.

  The sun had risen, and lit the land in rays of sunshine when Elliot arrived at Glenhaven Manor quite surprised to see at least six ladies strolling across the lawns, their parasols open to protect their delicate skin from the sun. He handed his horse over to the stables and made his way to the main house. The butler, Andrews, opened the door before Elliot knocked. He faltered as the gentle playing of a pianoforte echoed through the long hallway of the manor.

  “Andrews, what is going on?”

  The butler cleared his throat. “The duchess is in residence, along with a few young ladies, Your Grace.”

  He handed over his top hat, and then made his way to the parlor. His grandmother did not reside with him at Glenhaven, at least not since she’d opened the dower house over two years past. Nor did she arrive without informing him, nor did she extend invitations to ladies to visit his home.

  Reaching the drawing room, he pushed wider the ajar door and stepped inside.

  “Grandmother.”

  The chattering ceased, and four pairs of hopeful eyes turned in his direction. He was familiar with Lady Felicity, and Lady Olivia, both ladies from estimable family. The other two ladies seemed familiar, but their name escaped him at the moment. His grandmother stood, her lips firmly pinched, but there was some measure of a smile in her eyes.

  Was she pleased to see him? Strange that, for she was an utterly humorless lady.

  Swift introductions were made, and the ladies dipped into elegant curtseys. Their eyes held hope and expectations he did not understand, and a sliver of alarm went through him. His grandmother deftly and delicately dismissed the lot, and Elliot closed the door as the last lady exited.

  “What is going on?” he asked without preamble.

  She sat in the chair closest to the windows, her cane clasped in her hand, appearing like a queen on her throne. Her chin lifted. “These are the leading young ladies from the ten finest families in London. I’ve signaled your intention to select a wife by inviting them to Glenhaven Manor, you will select a wife from one of these ladies,” she said imperiously.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I am partial to Lady Lavinia, she is very accomplished and poised, well-mannered and genteel. Plays the pianoforte with admirable skills, and her needle point is excellent.”

  “I see.”

  “You will sit beside her at tonight’s dinner, and you will signal your interest which she will be very grateful and—”

  Elliot laughed. His grandmother scowled, and never had he seen a more ferocious image. “Forgive my unexpected humor, I meant no insult. I simply had an unexpected realization.”

  “One you will no doubt share,” she said frostily.

  “It is always honorable and worthwhile to fight for that which is worthy,” Elliot murmured. “A notion my father taught me from as early as I can recall, and I seemed to have forgotten it over the years. I do hope they will not suffer any embarrassment when I send the ladies home. I am not interested in marrying any of them.”

  She surged to h
er feet. “What nonsense. You must marry and produce an heir.”

  “I hope with my heart I will have that happiness.”

  A frown chased her brows, and golden eyes narrowed. “You are the duke of—”

  “Of Hartford, I know,” he murmured. “I will marry no other woman while I love another.”

  His words settled into the fraught silence. Elliot placed a hand on his chest. He’d not know he would have made that admission, and inexplicably it felt gloriously right. “I love Miss Emma Fitzgerald, with all parts of me. I’ve loved her for ten years, and I have foolishly let my pride stand in the way of chasing her.”

  His grandmother's eyes widened in evident shock. “Chase her?” she whispered furiously. “You are the duke of—”

  “Of Hartford, I know, I suppose all the ladies of society are supposed to fall at dukes’ feet, and we do not pursue them?”

  Her outrage was apparently too great for a rebuttal.

  “I love Emma Fitzgerald,” he said again. “I’ve finally allowed myself to imagine a life with her, and I cannot let her go. She does not want me, in fact, I offered for her yesterday, and she rejected me, for the fourth time.”

  Profound relief glared from the duchess’s eyes. “Sensible girl, she is unsuitable.”

  “I should never have left,” he said, walking toward his grandmother to stand in front of her. “I foolishly left her when she needed me the most. A wounded animal fights those who try to help them, and I never realized that’s what Emma did. She was hurt, profoundly, and the more I pushed to be there for her, to make her my wife so I would always be there for her, the more she pushed me away. I gave up on her,” he said hoarsely, unashamed of the burning in his eyes. “I gave up on her, and I never saw it, I gave up on us.”

  His grandmother remained stiff and disapproving, but he did not care.

  “I will never give up on her again or on our love. If she travels to America, I will take a ship and follow her. I am but a shadow of the man I want to be without her, and I suspect, she is just as wounded without me.”

  He bent and pressed a kiss to his grandmother’s papery cheek. Elliot smiled wryly at her shock. “Thank you, Grandmother, for thinking of my future. But I’ll marry no woman unless it is Emma Fitzgerald.”

  Then he turned and exited the drawing room, planning his campaign to win his love.

  * * *

  Emma reposed on the chaise in her room, gazing through the window, not seeing the wild beauty of the land in springtime. At first, she’d cried, then did some gentle stretches on her leg, then read, anything to wrest her mind from the tormenting memories of the last few days, but the pain and tension had not dissipated.

  Three days had passed since she saw him last, and it felt like a lifetime.

  She had refused him out of sheer fear he would find her lacking. That when he saw the mess of scars on her legs, she would see pity in his eyes. She was a damn coward. Saying it in the most disparaging way she could think of did not make her feel better. She was truly aching down to her bones. All she could see was the raw flash of pain in Elliot’s eyes. It haunted her. She’d hurt him when he deserved nothing of the kind. Earlier he’d looked at her as if he loved her with every part of his soul.

  Oh, Elliot.

  She’d only spent a few hours with him and had been branded, and she wanted a lifetime more. A knock sounded on her door, and she jerked.

  “Yes?” It was impossible to soften the abrupt nature of her demand. Partly because of her turmoil over Elliot, and partly because she had insisted her parents not invade her space after having to assert her right to privacy when they had bombarded her earlier. Mamma and papa had been fueled by Aunt Beatrice’s fanciful account of Emma’s attendance to Lady Waverly’s ball.

  “It’s Maryann,” her sister said before opening the door and entering.

  She waddled over, her stomach seeming impossibly larger in the couple days she had been gone. “When you did not come down for luncheon I felt concerned. Is all well?”

  “I…yes.”

  “Your eyes are suspiciously puffy and red,” Maryann said climbing atop the bed and reclining against a few pillows.

  “The duke visited while you were in Bath.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “He knew it was me…at the masquerade ball.”

  Maryann’s eyes widened, quite dramatically. “Upon my word, however did he discover?”

  “He said,” Emma cleared her throat, and shifted from the windows to face her sister. “He said he knew it was me, the moment he saw me.” She closed her eyes, tilting her head onto the cushion. “I’ve missed him so, Maryann. He is different. Harder, more elegant, he wears authority like a second skin.”

  “Well he is a duke now,” her sister said archly. “The dowager duchess’s tutelage would have been thorough.”

  “I want to know the man he is today.” Emma hungered for the long walks, the reading by the fire, playing chess, and then the wicked kisses. “When he told Anthony of his intention to marry, I do not believe the duke thought I was a candidate. My heart is so afraid it is because of my wounds he didn’t seem to reconsider me, but I must logically think it was because I rejected his offer of marriage three times.”

  Maryann gasped. “I thought he only approached papa once.”

  “The other two were private meetings between the duke and I.” It was impossible she could fall more in love with him.

  “Emma, you are crying.” She gasped, raising her hands to her cheeks.

  “What is it?” Maryann’s voice was low and undemanding.

  “He has renewed his sentiments, and I said no once more…. but I wanted to say yes.”

  “You are afraid.”

  “Yes.”

  “I must say I’ve never thought you would be afraid of anything,” Maryann said softly. “You were so brave after the accident. How you fought to walk, to live, how you never gave up hope. I never realized you were frightened to love.”

  Emma swallowed past the tight knot in her throat. “Yes.” She laughed shakily. “And how very silly it is of me, for I have lost him. I never had him, for I never gave him a chance.”

  “Do you love him?” Maryann asked, sympathy glowing from her eyes.

  “More than anything else. And I have done so for years. I want him with everything in me. He rouses my passion, my joy for life,” she said, a flush rising in her face. The weight that lifted from her shoulders on her declaration was glorious.

  “It sounds like you already know the answer to your fears, Emma.”

  Maryann pushed from the bed, ambled over and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Do not dawdle too long.”

  “I will never be right for him regardless of how I feel.”

  Maryann stared at her with a mess of emotions on her face, but she remained silent.

  Elliot, I miss you. Oh, to be in his arms again. Emma ached with exquisite longing. A state she would forever exist in once Elliot was not by her side. She closed her eyes allowing the memories of the years gone by to wash over her senses. She had always shied away from them, hating how they reminded her of the broken, hollow creature she had been. She had been bedridden for months, and the doctors had held no hope she would ever walk again. But why hadn’t she made an effort to see him once she had healed? Why hadn’t she trusted in the love that shone from his eyes?

  She allowed all the memories to wash over her, the pity from her family, the sobs of her mother, how invalided she had felt, their refusal to assist her to relearn to walk, insisting she should listen to the doctors and not her own stubborn heart. Only her sisters had aided her in the secret of their rooms. If her family had loved her and had been so ashamed of her, how could Elliot have borne it?

  She covered her mouth, her eyes staring sightlessly out the windows. How could she have judged him by their standards, how she had had been convinced all her doubts had been justified when he hadn’t returned to court her again? Emma had never been a coward, and it hurt, soul deep, that she h
ad been afraid to love for so long.

  * * *

  The very next day a single, white rose was delivered to her. Emma knew it was from the duke, and the relief that had surged though her heart had been telling. There had been so many questions in her heart, so many doubts as to her suitability when he had not renewed his sentiments. And those doubts had only cemented over the years to a sort of acceptance that he too must have realized she would not be worthy of being his duchess.

  The second day a book of poetry by John Keats arrived.

  The third day a pair of silken stockings arrived, a shocking present for a man to send to an unmarried woman and they were not even formally engaged. If her parents discovered the gift, they would demand that she return them. A dangerous thrill had burst in her heart at his scandalous gift. And on the fourth day, he sent a song of some sort, a terrible rude one, but it made a laugh hiccup from her. With trembling fingers, she had folded the paper as if it were precious and stored it in the top drawer of her writing desk. The fifth day she got a pearl seeded comb for her hair with the most elegant design.

  The sixth day a personal invitation to a ball arrived from Lady Sterling, and Emma knew it was the duke’s influence which had allowed it to happen. Her family had not been invited to that auspicious event in years. In fact, Emma couldn’t recall if they had ever been to Lady Sterling’s annual spring ball. Her mother would be overjoyed.

  And then she would adamantly insist Emma was not to attend.

  She must comport herself accordingly and never shame the family. Those had been the stringent repeated words of her mamma and papa since her carriage accident. She hadn’t attended the theater, never visited Covent Gardens, or attended any rout parties. Comporting herself correctly according to her mother had been to hide from society, not bringing the polite world’s attention to the fact the viscount and viscountess Sherwood had a crippled daughter.