Roderick
shook his head. "Never mind. Yet I must say that Jared's wealth is not in
question at all. But enough about him. We have Em to worry about and must make
our way to London. Each of you can bring your list of suitors to me, and I will
make the final choice. In the meantime, I will contact Jared about watching Em.
Never fear, he will keep scoundrels like Fennington at bay." A small laugh
escaped him. "Of course, one of you could stay and watch her if you
object."
All
faces turned pale at the thought of guard dog duty over their stubborn sister.
"Quite
so," Roderick said with an amused snort. "Not an agreeable post for a
sibling. Besides, we will need everyone's effort to search for a husband before
the Season is out."
"What
about Em's say in this?" Stephen asked.
Roderick
rose. "In the end, she will be thankful. We must find her a husband before
some rapscallion marries her for her money and ruins her life."
Stephen
crossed his arms over his chest. "Tell me, your mighty dukeness, how do we
know our guarding earl will not go after her for himself? I, for one, would not
trust any man between the age of fifteen and seventy-five."
"Believe
me," Roderick said, "Jared may be a rake, but he will have no
interest in Em. She is by far too independent for his taste. The man favors
submissiveness in a woman. His late wife was evidence of that. Heard she bowed
to his every whim."
Stephen
frowned. "The devil, Roderick! Tastes change. I daresay, one look at our
Emily can turn the tables on any man."
Clayton
grimaced. "For once, Stephen has a point here."
"Don't
like to agree with baby brother," Marcus said in a disturbed voice,
"but can't be too careful. Can you believe Wendly and Fisk have been
asking about Em? Good cardplayers, but blast, don't want them coming anywhere
near our sister."
Roderick
stiffened at the mention of the two well-known rogues. "If those peabrains
come within a foot of Em—"
Marcus
laughed. "Told 'em so myself. But back to our devoted earl who owes you a
favor. His wife may not have been as meek as you say. Mayhap she was just like
Em."
"No
need to worry," Roderick said, smiling. "Jared and I have a similar understanding
of women. Though I love Em with all my heart, independence is not a quality
either of us would wish for in a wife. Believe me, the man would never consider
to look upon Emily as anything more than a sister."
"And
pray, why is that?" Stephen asked skeptically.
"Because,
gentlemen," Roderick grabbed the port on the nearby sideboard, tilted a
good amount of the liquid into his glass, and gave his brothers a swift salute,
"I would kill him."
Chapter
Two
W
ould he never have any peace? Jared
James William Ashton, the sixth Earl of Stonebridge, sat in the small library
of Hemmingly Hall, perusing the missive he had been sent by the Duke of Elbourne
only two days ago. Jared's vow to distance himself from Lady Emily had died a
quick, agonizing death the minute he had broken through the duke's wax seal.
Muttering
an oath, Jared reached for his glass perched upon the massive desk holding
stacks of papers pertaining to his recently inherited estates. It was but ten o'clock
in the morning, and the aged bottle of brandy that he had confiscated the
previous evening from his aunt's cellars was three-quarters gone. The best his
employer had, good French brandy, Agatha's new butler Filmore had proclaimed as
the elderly man escorted Jared to the cellar.
Jared
took a sip of the amber liquid and held the drink up to the dusty light
streaming through the fourteen-foot-high windowpanes. Zeus. It was excellent. French
brandy, most likely smuggled in from Dover. How the devil his aunt had
obtained an entire box of the sacred liquor was beyond him.
He
leaned his head back against the cushions of his chair and closed his eyes, his
lips hinting at a smile as he thought about smuggled goods and Aunt Agatha. Ridiculous
thought.
The lady
had no secrets from him, even after all these years. Though he adored her, she
was a woman with a glib tongue, a fact he never forgot, and smuggling at
Hemmingly was the type of information he would have eventually intercepted with
his clandestine activities on the Continent the past few years.
A crisp
spring wind howled past the windows of the mansion, pulling Jared back to the
problem at hand. He dropped a narrow gaze to his desk, his fingers curling
tightly about the duke's letter. With a feeling of foreboding, he threw the
cream-colored paper into the glowing fire behind him and sighed.
There
was no question about acquiescing to Roderick’s wretched request, even though
the duke had no idea of Jared's past with his lovely sister. But Jared owed the
man his life, and honor demanded that he assist the duke in this infernal plan
to find Emily a suitor.
It
seemed absurd really. Jared knew he would be the last man in England the lady
would ever want to see again. Moreover, the blasted request had come at the
worst time. He had his daughter Gabrielle to think about now, not to mention
his ward, Miss Jane Greenwell, his very reason for returning to Hemmingly.
But to
make matters worse, no one in England knew he had a daughter, and until Jared's
life was deemed safe from a certain Bonaparte agent, no one would discover his
secret about Gabrielle until his affairs were in order.
A
muffled grunt sounded from the corner of the hearth, turning Jared's head.
"What
the devil are you whining about now, Nigel?"
Jared's
massive dog and companion of the past two years lifted its huge brown eyes and
let out a dismal howl as it peered at the duke's now ashen-edged paper curling
into flames.
"Sorry,
old boy, seems we are to be sent on another mission, and this one may be the
hardest one yet."
Nigel
lifted up onto his mammoth paws and gazed at the brandy bottle resting on the
desk. Another bark.
Jared's
lips curved into a sardonic smile. "Ain't no use for it, boy. Your brandy
days are over. Don't need you sick on me like you were in France. Later we'll
sneak into the kitchen and confiscate one of the beefsteaks Cook was saving for
dinner. What say you to that?"
Nigel
hung out his large pink tongue and wagged his tail.
Jared
laughed and raised his glass to his dog. "Here's to your beefsteak with
all the trimmings and to a suitable husband for Lady Emily." Another bark.
Jared
swallowed the remainder of his brandy and turned a grim face toward the hearth.
Memories of the old duke's rejection still burned in his brain as if it were
yesterday.
Do
not say one word to her, my boy. Dare to push this any further and I will see
Emily married to Lord Whitefield faster than Prinny can spend ten thousand
pounds.
Jared
tightened his hold on his glass. Whitefield had been at least seventy if a day.
Although
the duke's threat had never been carried out, another one had taken its place,
that of blackmailing Jared into another marriage and sending him away, so he
could never have Emily. Ever. She had never known the truth.
At the
time of Jared's proposal, the duke's motive for revenge bordered on the
ridiculous. But to Daniel Clearbrook, the late Duke of Elbourne, the reasons
were nothing to laugh about. It seemed that long before Jared had been born,
Daniel's heart had been broken when his offer for a certain woman had been
adamantly rejected by her father.
Jared
set his glass on the desk, his lips thinning in anger as he dropped his gaze
toward the ashes of Roderick’s letter. How ironic that the lady in question had
been Jared's mother, Miss Elizabeth Garland.
The late
duke had told Jared the facts without blinking. The refusal had been based on a
feud that had begun years ago when Daniel's father, then the Duke of Elbourne,
and Elizabeth's father, George Garland, had fought a duel over a card game. Jared's
grandfather had lost a finger in the scuffle, which had hurt his pride more
than his flesh.
Unaware
of the duel, Daniel Clearbrook, a marquess at the time, and from what Jared
could deduce, a man that was proud of his station in life, assumed the Garlands
would welcome his marriage proposal with open arms. It seemed to Jared that
Daniel had loved Elizabeth from afar and sought her hand the day after he had
danced with her twice at Almack's. The refusal from Jared's grandfather was a
blow to Daniel's pride. He would be a duke someday, and no one refused a duke.
Jared
realized that Daniel had never forgotten the deep humiliation he'd felt that
day, and when he became the Duke of Elbourne, he had used his power to the
fullest.
Nigel
barked and Jared looked up, his lips slipping into a bitter smile. He had
realized too late that his naïve offer for Emily's hand had twisted the knife
deeper into the duke's heart, reminding the man of his past, of his loss, of
his broken pride.
Indeed,
Daniel had sought his revenge well.
But
Jared was no longer the stupid boy who had fallen in love with the duke's only
daughter. It had been a foolish dream. A mistake he would never make again.
Love like he thought he had with Emily was an illusion. A folly of the younger
set.
He was a
score and six now, a seasoned man of the world. A man with a duty toward his
title, his daughter, his ward, and his country. In the past three years, he had
seen more than most had seen in a lifetime. Lady Emily was only another duty to
fulfill, and he must remember that no matter what the price.
Outside
the Elbourne mansion, heavy rain soon slowed to a mere drizzle, while inside a
lone candle flickered beside Emily's bed as she thrust her fist against her
pillow in frustration. What did she do to ever deserve this?
The last
few days she had suffered such a string of annoying speeches from her
well-meaning but ninnyhammer brothers, concerning her duty to honor their
choice of a husband, she thought she was going mad. But today, she realized
they truly meant it.
Jupiter
and thunderation! Did they think she had wool for a brain? Did they think for
one solitary minute that she would let a man dictate to her what her life
should be? Did they truly think she would allow them to choose a husband for
her? How foolish did they think she was?
She gave
the pillow another punch. She would travel to her great aunt's in Yorkshire
before she let the unthinkable happen. If she must marry, she, and no one else,
would choose her husband.
Husband.
The very word made her throat tighten with pain.
Turning
onto her back, she picked up the book of Wordsworth poems that lay on her
nightstand and opened to the first page. "To the woman closest to my
heart," she read softly, vividly recalling Mr. Jared Ashton and his
deceitful lies.
A
painful twinge stabbed at her heart. He was an earl now, Lord Stonebridge. A
title that made no difference to her in India or in England. Though, when she
had heard of his wife's death, she had instantly felt a pang of sympathy for
the man. Except he did not need her pity, not after the way he had played her
the fool.
Stop it,
Emily. Jared never loved you. Never. You were a fool. A fool. A fool.
The
words repeated in her brain like a horrid chant, never ending. With a snap, she
closed the book, furious at herself because she was not able to forget the handsome
cad or his chaste kisses, even after three long years.
"Emily,
dearest?"
Emily
started at the scratch on the door and quickly pushed the book beneath her
pillow. "Come in, Mama."
The
comely dowager scurried into the room. Her red velvet robe swished about her
slender ankles while Egypt relaxed in the lady's still youthful arms, purring
like a newborn babe. Frowning at her daughter's supine position, the duchess stroked
the cat's milky fur and leaned forward. "Are you ill, child? Or is it this
wretched storm that bothers you so?"
"Nothing
but a headache, Mama." And a house full of obstinate, opinionated
brothers.
Her
mother rested a cool hand on Emily's forehead. "Not crying over what your
brothers said to you at dinner tonight? I daresay, they have been rather
forceful the past few evenings, but you must realize they are only concerned
about your future."
Forceful?
They were tyrants! Emily scooted off her bed, fighting back the rage that
consumed her. "I know they are concerned, Mama. But I beg of them to leave
well enough alone. I am a grown woman, and they seem to think me a mere
child."
The
duchess chuckled. "Oh, they are males, my dear. A bit overprotective, I
fear. And I do admit I would like them to find a suitable husband for you, but
I will not force you to marry. However, I believe it is the female mind that
causes your brothers genuine discomfort." Her eyes twinkled. "You
know it is our secrets that scare them silly."
Secrets?
For a moment Emily thought her mother was speaking of her past with Jared.
"Mama, I may have some secrets, but I am twenty years old." And no
longer a fool.
"Well,
dearest, believe it or not, they have an odd notion that you might elope with
Mr. Fennington. The man is a drunk as Roderick said, and that quizzing glass
vexes me to no end."
Dumbfounded,
Emily threw a hand to her breast. "Fennington and me?" The notion of
the idiotic man posing as a possible husband to give her independence had
crossed her mind, but she certainly would not elope with him.
Emily
struggled to hold in her fit of giggles. "Oh, Mama. I am not eloping to
Gretna Green with the man."
"I
believe you. But your brothers have their notions, you know. They are thinking
of sending you on a little trip. I think it might be good for you, Emily."
Emily's
bubble burst. "Oh, no, Mama. Please. I won't run off."
And that
was a fact. She could never elope. She was not one of those heroine's in a Mrs.
Radcliffe novel. She was the daughter of a duke and must act appropriately—in
public that was. In private she had her own secrets. Her work with the war
effort had been the only thing that had kept her sane the past few years. Only
a few people knew about her liaison with Whitehall, and she intended to keep it
that way.
"I
know you have no wish to leave, dearest," her mother went on, "but
your brothers are adamant. They mentioned something about Miss Agatha
Appleby's. I could fight them on this, but I think it might be best for
you." The duchess stroked Egypt's back. "I do believe this time of
the year Agatha is staying at Hemmingly. You have enjoyed staying with her in
the past, have you not?"
Emily's
heart leapt. Of course. Why had she not thought of it sooner? Agatha would help
her make sense of her future. The planning was perfect, brilliant in fact.
"I adore Agatha."
Her
mother swallowed. "Yes, well, perhaps during your stay, your brothers will
find you a suitable husband. You might even come to love the man they choose,
you know. But remember, dearest, love is more than a feeling. I should know.
Sometimes people do not love you back, but it still can be love."
Tears
came to her mother's eyes, and Emily instantly felt a prickle of guilt. Her
father had always been kind to her mama, but as the years progressed, Emily
noticed it was not a marriage based on love or even mutual trust, but a
marriage of convenience, nothing more, at least from her father's side.
"Well
then, that's settled. Your abigail will pack your bags, and you will be leaving
Elbourne Hall as soon as we can make arrangements." She kissed Emily's
cheek and sighed. "Never fear, I have told your brothers to look for an
earl and no less, unless he is that elusive Black Wolf, then, of course,"
she gave a giggle, "I would make an exception."