He was still smiling, still drinking coffee, another cup with additions. “It won’t hold up in court, minx, and you know it.”
“But it might hold up in the newspapers. If you don’t agree to marry me, I’ll see that all of London laughs at you. And if you don’t care, think of poor, worthy Thornton, or Nadine, what a scandal in the family could do to her chances of making a good match.”
One side of his mouth quirked up in a lazy smile. “Blackmail, Sparrow?”
She jumped up and stamped her foot. “I’ll do it, Smoky, so help me I will.”
The other side of his mouth joined in the humor, and she sat down again. They both knew she never would. Emilyann shrugged and smiled back at him. It was a good try, and she wasn’t finished yet. Smoky sat quietly in a state of happy relaxation, enjoying the play of emotions across her face and cheerfully awaiting the next round of machinations. He did not have to wait long.
“You know, Smoky, Stockton is going to rack and ruin without you. Old Mr. Taylor, your estate manager, is going deaf, and even if he could hear, there’s nothing he can do without money. He can’t buy equipment or stock or seed or food for the workers’ families when times are hard. I’ll come into a great deal of money when I marry, and possibly more if there is an heir to my father’s dukedom. Even without, think of all that could be done with a fortune.”
“From blackmail to bribery, eh?” he teased. “You must have spent time with my sister. She’s always writing that I should marry an heiress so she can be presented at court with all the pageantry her mercenary little heart desires.”
“Of course I know about Nadine’s wish to go to London for her come-out. The whole county knows about it And that’s another thing, Smoky. Not just the money, but your sister is getting a sorry reputation, and your younger brother is going to need some occupation, surely not as a scholar, and your properties need someone to oversee them while you are gone. I could help.”
“She’s right, Ev,” Geoff put in, giving up the pretense of not listening. “The place needs a lot of improvements, and I’ve got some capital ideas about modernizing. Been reading the farm journals, you know.”
The captain opened his eyes wider. “No, I didn’t know. From what I heard, you never read anything at all.”
“That’s just school. But the agricultural experiments ...”
“See, Smoky, you don’t even know what’s happening at home.”
“Don’t start spouting about my selling out, either of you. I heard all I need to hear on the topic from Thornton. And I know little brother is returning to school so he learns more than to be a farmer.”
“Too late,” Geoff brightly declared. “They won’t let me back in. So if you marry Emmy, the two of us can take care of the estate and you won’t have to sell out at all.”
“Thank you,” Stokely said dryly. “The way the two of you handled this mingle-mangle, there will be nothing left to come home to. And what’s this about Nadine? I thought Aunt Adelaide had the chit in hand.”
So they told him about Nadine’s flirts: the gardener’s boy, the parson’s rector, Squire Dickerson, and how whenever Nadine was likely to create a scene Aunt Adelaide would “go off.”
“Gads, Dickerson’s fifty if he’s a day! You mean she just leaves the chit to make micefeet of her reputation?”
Emilyann was giggling. Smoky was rubbing that scar on his jaw. “She don’t go off visiting,” Geoff had to explain, “she ‘goes off’ in a near constant swoon. Always manages to land on a sofa or chair, too.”
When they were finished laughing, Emilyann addressed him again: “You see. Smoky, you need to get your house in order, and I can do it”
“But those are all the wrong reasons for marrying, poppet. It’s not like buying a pair of shoes or hiring a housekeeper.”
“But you are my only hope, Smoky. I have no other choices.”
“You always have choices,” he told her, reaching to pat her hand. Then he suggested that since it was almost dawn anyway, Geoff go fetch them some hot rolls from the bakery a few blocks away.
“What, and leave you two alone?”
“It’s a little late for propriety’s sake, bantling,” Stokely told him, tossing a pouch of coins.
“Who cares for propriety? I’m just worried you’ll murder each other.”
“Well, little one,” Stokely asked after the door was shut behind Geoff, “have you used all your ammunition?”
Blue eyes twinkled up at him. “I haven’t tried tears yet.”
“Heaven help me from the heavy artillery! Truly, though, Sparrow, I can fix things without such drastic measures. I can stay a day or two.” He held up one graceful hand. “Old Hooky won’t be best pleased, but the Corsican won’t run over the allied forces without me there, at least not for the time it would take to see your Mr. Baxley and put the fear of God into your uncle and that jackanapes Bobo. I have friends about, men who have served with me, who would be eager to look after you. I’m sure I could locate other officers’ wives who would be willing to act as chaperone, you know, be hostess for a season or two. As for the other, my family isn’t your responsibility. The war won’t last forever, then I’ll come take charge. I’m not entirely below the hatches, you know, despite my father and old Taylor. So you see, you don’t have to worry about anything; you don’t have to fear anything.”
“I wouldn’t be afraid, Smoky, but I still wouldn’t be free either. I couldn’t travel or pick my own friends or purchase a horse for myself or even make sure my money is invested properly. Don’t laugh. I’ve had nothing to do this past year but study such details. You’ve always made your own choices; why shouldn’t I? I don’t mean to set myself up as some independent eccentric, I just want to make some of the decisions in my life, just till you come home.”
“I see what it is, you want the convenience of a spouse’s name without having to put up with his daily presence. How fortunate your chosen husband is a soldier with a war going on.”
“Don’t tease, Smoky. I am serious.”
“I know you are, pet, that’s what worries me.” He studied his fingernails. “What if you, ah, fall in love with another man while I am gone? You are young, you’ve never been out in the world. Maybe your head is filled with romantic dreams that could come true one day. It’s entirely possible. What would you do then, leg-shackled to an old war-horse?”
“More likely you’ll fall in love with an opera-dancer or something. Don’t look daggers at me. I know all about those things. And I have thought it all out. We could get an annulment when you return if we find we do not suit. After all, the marriage will not have been consummated, will it?”
Smoky choked. “It most certainly will not!” The idea of bedding this tattered waif was thoroughly unappealing, nearly indecent.
“Well, that’s all right, then, as long as Uncle Morgan thinks it’s a real marriage. He’ll know I spent the night here, and with your reputation ...”
“My reputation is for a deal more discrimination, miss, and no, we shall not discuss opera-dancers and the like. Annulments indeed. What a topic for a delicate maiden. Who knows, you might get lucky and end up a widow.”
“Smoky! Don’t even joke about that!” She jumped up and took his hand between her grubby ones and knelt at his feet. “You have to come home.”
“Of course, the heir,” he said lightly, smoothing the irregular tousles of her hair. “Nice to know that someone will be praying for at least parts of me to come back intact.”
“Now who’s talking improperly?” she wanted to know, looking down to hide her blush.
He tilted her face up and, taking a serviette from the coffee tray, began wiping at the smudges there. “Is this what you really want, Sparrow?” A brilliant smile was his answer, blue eyes shining.
* * * *
“Good going, Emmy,” Geoff enthused on his return. Pounding his brother on the back, he chuckled. “I knew all along you would do it”
“So did I,” muttered the Earl of Stokely. He shrugged. “Well, let’s do it, then. You and I, Geoff, are about to go ruffle a lot of feathers. Nothing like shaking a flock of stuffy old men out of their beds. Great Zeus, solicitors and sermonizers, and the sun’s not even up.... And Rigg,” he called louder, “you can stop listening at the door and get out here on the double. You’ve got a harder job yet.”
The red-faced private stood at bandy-legged attention, eyes forward, chest out, even when the captain introduced him to the future Lady Stokely. His round chest swelled even more when his officer said, “Don’t worry, my dear, I’ve trusted Rigg with my life countless times. You can trust him.” But tears came to his eyes and the twin mustachios drooped when the captain gave his final orders: “Make her presentable, Rigg. I’ll not wed a hobbledehoy ragamuffin in britches.”
* * * *
A short time later, on what was the start of a gorgeous sunny morning, Lady Emilyann Arcott was finally wed to Captain Everett Stockton, Lord Stokely. The groom was attended by his brother, his solicitor, and his batman. He wore his second best uniform, and his eyes were only a trifle bloodshot. The bride was given away by Mr. Baxley, her man of business; her matron of honor was the vicar’s plump wife, who wept through the thankfully brief ceremony. The bride’s cheeks were red from scrubbing, and she clutched a nosegay of violets hastily purchased from an early morning street vendor. She wore an exquisite white lace mantilla held by an ivory comb—and the bridegroom’s lace-trimmed nightshirt. Her bare feet hardly showed.
Marry in haste; repent at leisure. But in the middle of a war? Captain Lord Stokely spent the first hours of his marriage giving orders, deploying his ragtag troops, and signing papers. He affixed his name to the marriage license, a settlement deed, a new will, a quitclaim to his wife’s property, and a power of authority, all in Emilyann’s favor. He also sent off notices of the wedding, details omitted, naturally, to the newspapers, his brother Thornton, and, with great satisfaction, Emilyann’s uncle, Lord Aylesbury. Next he saw his child-bride off on her way home, in a carriage, in a dress, with his brother, a maid, and a draft on his bank.
Her readymade dress was at least two sizes too big, the best poor Rigg could do—hell, cannons and bayonets were less scarifying to the bewhiskered batman than frippery doodads and snooty dressmakers. The front was looking better to him all the time. Emilyann’s bonnet was an atrocious concoction of feathers, flowers, and fruit, but she wore Smoky’s gold signet ring on her wedding finger and a brilliant smile on her pixie face as she listened carefully to his firm instructions about her future conduct.
“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Stokely congratulated himself and Rigg, whose hands were still shaking. “We even brushed through in plenty of time to meet the ship at Portsmouth.”
He hardly gave another thought to the matter, beyond a few chuckles, until rejoining the army and reporting back to his commander. Word of the nuptials had already reached him, and not for nothing was Wellington called the Iron General.
“I don’t like it, boy, do you hear me? I don’t like my junior officers involved in any havey-cavey affairs. You knew that when you signed on, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It looks bad for the army, bad for the country, bad for me, do you understand, Captain? My men don’t rape and plunder; my officers do not ruin gently bred females and get wed in hole-in-corner fashion!”
“Sir, it was nothing like that. In truth, it was quickly decided, but there was a long-term understanding.”
“And the gel ain’t breeding?”
“Certainly not, sir.” Stokely stood even straighter. Gads, did the old man think he was a child molester?
“Harrumph. She better not be or I’ll have your resignation on my desk before you can say Jack Rabbit. I don’t like my officers married even, don’t like ‘em distracted, don’t like ‘em overly cautious. She ain’t goin’ to be hangin’ on your coattails, weepin’ and beggin’ you to come home, is she?”
“No, sir. My Em is pluck to the backbone. She has plenty of bottom.”
“I don’t like creatin’ widows either, by George, and I hate like hell makin’ orphans. You’re a damned fine tactician, boy, one of the finest, but I won’t keep any man at the front whose mind ain’t on the job to hand. There’s too many other lives at stake, you know.”
“Yes, sir. That is no, sir. Thank you, sir. My, ah, wife is well provided for and shall not cause me any concern which might interfere with my duties.”
“I ain’t seen the woman yet who didn’t ... but you remember what I said. Carry on, Captain.”
Stokely saw no cause for concern. He did not feel any different, being leg-shackled, nor was he crushed by any mounting responsibilities. Sparrow and Geoff would play at handling things, and he would take care of everything else when the fighting was done. A soldier learned fatalism early, never making too many plans for when the war was over anyway; too many of his friends wouldn’t be going back home at all.
No, things had worked out for the best, and the captain saw no difficulties. He had given Sparrow explicit instructions: do not overspend what the estates could hope to pay back in the near future, for he would not live off her wealth; do not go near her uncle; stay away from public appearances until he was there to help her take her rightful place in society.
If she followed his directives, there would be no problems beyond minor childish scrapes, and he could proceed wholeheartedly with the job of defeating Bonaparte. Why should he worry? He was an officer in the army. Everyone obeyed his orders.
* * * *
It took Emilyann longer to get around some of Smoky’s mandates than others, and some lapses were not entirely her fault, like seeing her uncle. She had to retrieve her parents’ portraits and her clothes, didn’t she? And Jake, and her mare, and a little bit of her pride. She waited to be sure Uncle Morgan had Smoky’s letter and the London papers with her wedding announcement before visiting with Geoff and Nadine and two grooms.
Smoky needn’t have worried: Uncle Morgan had been passed-out drunk for three days. She gathered her belongings, offered positions to any of the staff who wished to join her, and left her hastily engraved new card, one corner carefully turned down to indicate that Lady Emilyann, Countess of Stokely, had called in person. Let him swallow that!