Authors: Lynne Barron
“I’m certain I would hate it even more.”
“I’ve a mind to help you,” she said, her words slipping into the slow drawl, part Irish brogue and part southern belle, that never failed to send desire thrumming through his blood.
“Help me, will you?” he asked, copying her cadence.
“Someone must,” she replied. “Lord knows you’re likely to make a muck of it if left to your own devices.”
Nick stopped walking, threw his head back and roared with laughter. Emily was right, he’d made an absolute muck of his courtship of this complicated woman.
“I’m that sure I don’t know what has you hollering like a loon, but just stop it right this instant before someone comes along and decides it’s the bin for you,” she admonished but Nick didn’t miss the humor sparkling in her eyes.
“The bin?” he asked as he tried to gather his wits.
“The loony bin,” she answered.
“Ah that bin,” he murmured, thinking an asylum just might be exactly where he belonged for thinking he could simply woo Emily Calvert, kiss her into submission.
“Come along then,” she said, tugging on his arm to get him moving once more. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll help you to find a nice little heiress, perhaps not one with red hair but surely one with a store of useless knowledge.”
“I’ll not have her if she isn’t in possession of a tangle of fiery curls and emerald eyes,” he declared with a wolfish grin.
“Nonsense, I have it on good authority that Englishmen prefer golden curls and china blue eyes.”
“Not this Englishman.”
“Now then, Aunt Margaret is expecting another herd of broad mares in three days’ time,” she replied, ignoring his softly spoken words. “If I know my Aunt, and believe you me I do, this lot will be superior to the first, seeing as how she only invited them as window dressing.”
“Figured that out, did you?” he asked.
“As soon as I met them. Although I was thrown off by the inclusion of Miss Sanderson.”
“She’s here for Carmichael.”
“And a lovely match they’ll make,” she agreed. “Especially as he isn’t in need of her fortune.”
“Is that why you don’t want to marry me? Because I am in need of your fortune?”
Emily’s astonished gaze flew to his. “I’m not so naïve as to think that matches aren’t made every day with an eye to financial gain. On both sides. I only meant that Adelaide Sanderson will not have to wonder if it’s her fortune or her person Lord Carmichael wants.”
“I want both. No, that’s not right. I wish it weren’t so, but I need your fortune. You, I want.”
“It’ll pass,” she replied airily. “Once we’ve matched you with the perfect wife, I’ll become a distant memory. Years from now, if you remember me at all, it’ll be to laugh about how you kissed me in the stables thinking I was the stable master’s daughter.”
“If you say so,” he agreed amicably, knowing she was wrong. She would never be a distant memory. He was going to have her. He was going to win her and he was going to marry her.
He just had to figure out why she did not believe they would be happy and convince her otherwise.
Oddly enough it was his sister-in-law Joan who opened his eyes to the herculean task he’d set for himself.
Joan was standing on the wide porch that fronted Lady Margaret’s stately gray-stoned mansion. She watched them approach with a smile on her flushed face.
“Can you believe how cold it’s become?” she asked. “Why, just yesterday it felt like autumn and now I’d swear winter is upon us.”
“That it is,” Emily agreed as she breezed in through the door Jackson held open. “I’m for a steaming hot bath. I’ll see you both at dinner.”
Nick waited for Joan to precede him into the foyer, gave his coat to the butler and followed her into the front parlor.
“She’s a lovely lady,” Joan said as he took a seat next to her on the settee before a roaring fire.
“Yes,” Nick agreed, but his mind was not on the lady next to him. It was following the lady he intended to make his wife.
“Not outwardly, “Joan said. “Oh, that’s not to say she isn’t pretty!”
Nick looked at his sister-in-law’s blushing face and chuckled.
“That’s not what I meant at all. She really is quite arresting. Not pretty in any sort of customary way. She’s too…”
“Bright.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly.
“Sultry.”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know anything about that,” she exclaimed, giving his arm a swat.
“Take my word for it.”
“She is bright. She just shines. My goodness, her hair in the sunlight is positively brilliant. And her eyes, the way she looks directly at you when she speaks. And what a beautiful sun-kissed complexion she has, although if she continues to forget her bonnet she’ll soon be covered in freckles.”
“Yes,” Nick would like to see every one of them, up close.
“But it’s more than that,” Joan continued, warming to the subject. “Did you know she speaks four languages? And has studied astronomy and anatomy? She runs her father’s horse farm for him and has for years. He’s busy with his cotton trading and railways. She knows all about local healing plants, local to the area around the Chesapeake Bay, that is. Oh, and she knows how to cook! Have you ever heard of such a thing? A lady puttering around in the kitchen?”
Nick laughed at her enthusiasm before saying, “I didn’t realize you and Miss Calvert knew one another well enough for her to enlighten you as to her many talents.”
“We don’t,” Joan admitted with a giggle. “No, Emily wouldn’t go on so about her accomplishments. If anything, she’s wont to play them down. Hiding them under a bushel, Mr. Calvert says. He said some fool put the silly notion into her head that gentlemen prefer a quiet lady, one who doesn’t show her wit.”
“Hmmm, I wonder who could have told her that.”
“I think it was Mr. Calvert himself, but don’t tell him I said so,” she replied. “Oh, and she set up a school for the servants and those slaves whose masters will allow them to attend. And she has organized a group of ladies, and I must say Mr. Calvert winked when he said ‘ladies’, who sew clothes for the poor.”
Joan was ticking off Emily’s accomplishments on her fingers. Literally.
“Are you by any chance trying to steer me in Miss Calvert’s direction?”
“Certainly not.”
“There’s no need, you know.”
Joan stilled beside him, her gray eyes fixed upon his face.
“That’s just it Nicholas, “she replied slowly. “I know you are considering her as a wife, you said as much just two nights ago. But the thing is…”
“The thing is…” he prompted when she hesitated.
“I’m not certain you truly understand just how perfect she is for you.”
“Perfect, is she?” he asked with a laugh.
“For
you
,” Joan stressed. “Emily is perfect for
you
.”
As he’d been thinking the very same thing, Nick said nothing. Joan had a point to make and sometimes it was best to let her get to it in her own way.
“I know your father and Lady Margaret are pushing you to make a decision quickly, that our current difficulties require swift action.”
“Sadly true.”
“But don’t you see? I think you may have to choose whether you will marry quickly or you will marry Emily. I do not believe you can do both.”
Nick felt as if he’d been punched in the gut as he recognized the truth in her words.
What had Emily said when he’d asked her if she truly planned to remain unmarried?
Maybe I will and maybe I won’t. But whatever I do, you can be sure I’ll be doing it on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean
.
Emily had a life in Maryland. She had two brothers and a sister she loved. She managed a horse farm. She’d set up a school for the servants and slaves. She was afforded freedoms there that she could never have in London as the wife of a gentleman.
She would be forced to give all of that up, and more, if she chose to accept an Englishman’s offer of marriage. She would relinquish her fortune into the hands of her husband, just as she would relinquish her name, and her body for that matter.
She wouldn’t make such a sacrifice lightly nor would she make a decision quickly. Certainly not in the week and a half that remained of Lady Margaret’s house party.
Nick saw clearly that he had three choices.
He could give up on Emily Ann Calvert and find another heiress to marry.
He could invest months his family’s financial situation could not afford courting her, allowing her to come to know him, convincing her that she needn’t sacrifice all of it, and that he was worth those sacrifices that could not be avoided.
Or he could seduce her and snatch the decision away from her.
“Ah, shit,” he whispered.
“Just so,” Joan agreed, a flush stealing across her cheeks.
Chapter Fourteen
Emily awoke at dawn the following morning to find a fine frost covering the gardens stretching out behind the house. She opened the window and sniffed appreciatively of the crisp morning air, leaning forward to look to the west at the little gray-stone dairy barn nearly hidden by the fog billowing on the breeze.
The sight of the fog rolling in reminded her of home, of winter mornings when she’d risen early to ride with Da. A wave of homesickness washed over her, bringing a sting to her eyes and a catch to her breath. She wondered if Charlie and Patsy were tucked warmly into their beds or out frolicking in the woods that dotted Emerald Isle Plantation. Perhaps Patsy was earnestly practicing her scales on the grand piano Da had brought home from Baltimore for the little girl when it became apparent that the boxy little pianoforte in the front parlor could not do justice to her musical talent. Charlie was likely in the library curled up on the floor with a book, his head resting on Samson’s back, one long gangly leg swinging in the air as he lost himself in tales of King Arthur or Odysseus.
“You’re up,” Tilly murmured as she entered baring a tray of toast and tea. “Are you meaning to ride this morning?”
“Have I missed Da?” Emily asked as she moved to take the tray from the girl.
“Went out not ten minutes ago, might be you could catch him.”
“No, I’ll have my tea and see if anyone else is up and about when I go down.”
“Mr. Nicholas is awake. Leastwise his man came up with a tray a few minutes ago,” Tilly replied with a wink.
“Oh, not you, too, Tilly,” Emily groaned as she pulled her night gown over her head.
“You could do worse, Miss,” Tilly replied before going into the dressing room to rummage through the tall armoire that housed her mistress’s clothing. “It’s bitter cold out. You’d best wear a guernsey.”
Emily eyed the navy blue wool guernsey her maid brought out to her. “A thick linen shirt under, please. That wool is terribly itchy against my skin. And my gray britches, I think. Did we bring Nate’s old frock coat?”
“I’ve already got it aired out and hanging on a peg downstairs,” Tilly answered. “But didn’t you promise your aunt you’d keep to dresses?”
“She promised to stop trying to marry me off,” Emily replied. “That lasted all of a day.”
Emily dressed in the warm garments while she drank her tea and nibbled at her toast.
“How’s your arm today?” Tilly asked.
“Only a little sore.” She rotated it around and really it barely pained her at all.
“Good thing that handsome man was there with you when you run into them beasties.”
“Yes,” Emily agreed as she tugged on her tall black boots.
“He’s a fine brawny one, Mr. Nicholas.”
“You’re not going to start in on his large hands, are you?” Emily asked with a laugh.
“Why ever would I go on about his hands?”
“I’ve no idea, but Maggie seems to think his giant paws are reason enough to wed him.”
“No, I’m of a mind you should marry him for his merry blue eyes and smile. He’s a charmer that one.”
“He’s certainly that,” Emily agreed. “Charms every lady he happens across, I’m sure.”
“Hope and Charity Gimble would eat their ruffled bonnets were you to bring that one home. He’d put their lily-livered men to shame. And wouldn’t Peter Marshall’s nose be outta joint to see you on his arm?”
Emily laughed at the image of prancing down High Street with her arm tucked into Nicholas’ and him smiling down at her for all the world to see before reality set in. “We’d not be in Buckstown were I to marry Nicholas. We’d be in London, living in that crowded, dirty city, with all those snooty ladies looking down their noses at me.”
“They’d never,” Tilly retorted. “Not with you being married to the son of a lord, why you’d be a lady just like them.”
“I don’t want to be a lady if it means being just like them.”
“Well, not just like them. You’d still be you.”
“For how long?” Emily asked. “Lord Talbot and Mr. Avery and Lady Avery, and Nicholas too, would want me to change, to be more ladylike, proper.”
“I don’t know about all that. It seems to me Mr. Nicholas likes you just the way you are.”
“Oh, sure, for now he does. While he’s trying to corner me in stables and behind hedges and up against trees stealing kisses and wooing my fortune right out of Da’s pockets. Believe you me, Tilly, once I uttered my I do’s, he’d be singing a whole different tune.”
“Maybe so,” Tilly replied doubtfully.
“No, I’ll be sailing home with Da in the spring, make no mistake.”
“Might be you’ll change your mind.”
“Not bloody likely,” she replied, borrowing one of Aunt Margaret’s favorite expressions.
Nicholas was waiting for Emily at the bottom of the stairs, his powerful frame ensconced in tight buff buckskins that hugged his muscular thighs and a black coat over a crisp white shirt. He’d left off his cravat, baring his thick neck and she remembered running her hands over and around that neck before diving her fingers into his golden curls. He smiled up at her and Emily was struck anew by just how handsome he was, how large and masculine. Brawny, Tilly had called him. It was an apt description of the man.
“My man Martin said he saw Tilly bringing you a tray,” he said when she reached the landing and stood looking up at him. His eyes slid down her snug blue guernsey, past her hips in the form-fitting breaches and down to her booted feet. Her skin tingled at the appreciation she read in his eyes. “I had a hunch you’d not be able to resist galloping through the fog.”
“Think you’ve got me all figured out, do you?” she asked and couldn’t help giving him a wide smile.
“I wouldn’t dare to presume,” he answered as he waved her ahead of him and followed her down the hall where they collected their coats and hats from Jackson. “I doubt very much I’d have you all figured out if I lived to be a hundred.”
“And aren’t you full of compliments this morning,” she threw over her shoulder as she headed out the door.
She heard him bark out a laugh behind her before she hopped down the steps and onto the frosted grass, fog whirling around her legs.
“I’m convinced you are the only woman in the world who would recognize the compliment.”
“Some ladies might like to be praised for their grace or their glowing blonde ringlets or the moonbeams in their eyes.” Emily slowed her step, allowed him to come up beside her, and tucked her gloved hand through his arm. “I myself prefer to be praised for my agile mind and multifaceted personality.”
“That’s handy, as you haven’t a blonde ringlet in sight,” he replied, eyeing her hair pulled back into one long braid as they walked through the swirling mist across the stable yard. “And I’d more likely compare your eyes to emeralds, which is cliché to say the least.”
“And my grace?”
“You were certainly graceful as you swung up into that tree.”
“Oh, don’t remind me,” she groaned. “I had terrible nightmares last night.”
“You should have knocked on my door,” he offered. “I’d have let you crawl into bed with me.”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt you would.”
“All in the name of a good night’s sleep, of course,” he replied with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“You’re a rake.” She couldn’t hold back the giggle that escaped. He was a rake and more, the dratted man.
“I’d like to be
your
rake,” he replied, his warm honey voice heating her insides in the most peculiar fashion.
“Mine and who else’s?” she asked as they entered the dim interior of the stables. She looked up at him through her lashes expecting to find him smiling down at her. Instead, he regarded her with the oddest expression on his face. Surprise perhaps, or maybe dawning comprehension.
“What?” she asked when he only stared at her.
“Do you think I would be an unfaithful husband?” Nicholas stepped ahead of her and turned so that he blocked her with his broad chest.
“I’ve no idea whether you would or you wouldn’t,” she answered and it was almost the truth.
“But you suspect I would,” he pressed.
Emily considered evading his question, tossing out some teasing comment, and quickly rejected the idea.
“The thought has crossed my mind.” She looked up, met his intent gaze and held it with her head tilted back and her shoulders square and proud.
Nicholas looked down at her, his mouth set in a firm line, his eyes searching hers. Then he gave a small nod. “I see.”
Emily thought that perhaps he did see. He saw her, saw right into her heart, saw her greatest fear, her fondest wish. He did not attempt to convince her otherwise, and for that she was grateful. It would have been a futile effort, one that would have surely made hypocrites of them both.
She ducked around him and continued down the aisle to the last stall where Danny Boy waited impatiently.
“Would you like to ride him?” she offered.
“You weren’t planning to take him out?” he asked in surprise.
“He’s too much for me with my shoulder not quite as it should be.” She opened the half door and stepped into the black’s stall. “But he’s itching to be out I’ve no doubt.”
“Thank you,” he answered as he followed her into the stall.
“You’ll have to saddle him, and the gray mare two stalls over, if you don’t mind.”
“Is the shoulder paining you?” he asked.
“Not so much paining me, but I’ve not got the full range of motion back,” she explained.
She waited while he saddled the horses and led them out into the yard.
“Will you give me a lift?” she asked and then fairly flew into the air when he grasped her about the waist and heaved her up and over Clover’s back. “Good Lord, Nick, you’re a strong man.”
“When I first saw you in the theater, I thought I was too big, too large and lusty for a dainty little thing like you,” he replied when he’d seated himself atop a prancing Danny Boy.
Emily dragged her eyes over his large frame, from his thick neck, across his wide shoulders and broad chest, down to his trim waist and powerful legs.
“I couldn’t imagine putting my hands on you,” he continued, his voice soft and warm, as he lifted his hands holding the reins, turned them this way and that. Emily followed the motion, her eyes riveted to those great big hands with their long thick fingers and rough palms. “I thought that if I ever took you to my bed I’d likely crush you.”
“Oh,” she whispered, heat washing over her.
“What a fool I was,” he said as he turned Danny Boy to walk him out of the yard and Emily followed him as if in a strange trance, a trance brought on by his deep voice and the images he evoked with his words. “You aren’t the same fragile fairy creature you were then.”
“No,” she agreed, catching up to ride beside him.
“I wish I’d known you were ill. Or that I’d seen beyond the illness. We’d be married by now.”
“Perhaps,” she replied, suspecting it was true. Had he not cried off the
Almost Betrothal
, she likely would have married him. Would he have seen what Aunt Margaret had failed to see? Would he have recognized her fall into the pretty blue bottle and sought help for her before she nearly killed herself?
“You’d be waking up each morning in my bed, well-loved and content.”
“Nicholas,” she protested weakly. “You should not say such things to me.”
He reached over and laid his hand over hers where it rested on her thigh. “I’m not going to give up.”
“You must.”
“I won’t.”
Emily pressed her heels into Clover’s sides and the horse jumped forward. Nicholas’ hand dropped away and she cantered ahead. But only for a moment, then he was beside her once more and they rode together in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
She wondered if he truly intended to continue in his pursuit of her and if so, why. There were any number of ladies he might marry, ladies who would bring generous dowries with them, ladies who would not bring frightening cravings and useless hopes for loyalty and devotion with them. She could not be this man’s wife.
The sad hard truth was that Emily was afraid to entrust her heart to Nicholas Avery. She feared that she would fall back into the blissful oblivion she’d found in Dr. Peabody’s Magical Elixir if she married him and he paraded a string of mistresses before her. She could never hope to hold such a man, to keep him by her side and in her bed. And if he learned of her addiction, if he discovered the weak-willed girl who lived within her, he would surely pity and despise her.
No, she would not relent. She could not. It would destroy them both.
It did not matter that she suspected she was falling in love with him. She would not allow it to matter. She would keep that secret close, bury it in her heart and guard it with her life. She would enjoy him, enjoy his teasing and flirting, his humor and intelligence, and the warmth that flowed through her when he looked at her with desire in his eyes. She would help him to choose a bride, one worthy of his good qualities and willing to look the other way when his eye wandered. And in the spring she would board a ship for the journey home.
In time she would forget Nicholas Avery, forget the way she felt in his presence, forget the yearning that overcame her just to look at him. And she would forget the time she’d spent drowning her pain and sorrow and humiliation in a ghostly laudanum fog.
“Tell me about Emerald Isle,” Nick said two hours later when they’d slowed their horses to a steady walk. The fog had lifted, leaving behind a wet wonderland of rolling green hills and shadowy woods all around them.
“It’s beautiful,” she replied wistfully. “Flatter than England, lusher, almost tropical in the summer. We’re only a few miles from the bay and what a sight she is. Miles of glassy green water as far as the eye can see, tall marsh grass and birds of every imaginable kind. And oysters and crab and fish. And deer. I was this close to bagging an eight point buck not long before we set sail. You might even say it was that deer that brought me to England.”
Nicholas lifted a brow in question.
“Oh, it’s a ridiculous tale,” she answered with a wave of her hand.
“I’m partial to ridiculous tales,” he replied.