"And I am to believe you to be a disinterested party?" There was sharp amusement in her high pitched voice. "I assure you, my lady I have no intentions toward Lady Emily myself. I have long wished to make amends with your family. I regret that I could not tender my apologies to the earl himself."
"He would have had you whipped from the house had you dared. You are fortunate that I am more generous in nature than my late husband." Her eyes narrowed to slits that nearly disappeared between brow and cheek. "It is a strange time you choose to make amends, if you ask me. So, if you traveled these many dusty miles to apologize, then I say to you, let your actions show your words to be true. Stay away from Emily; she has had troubles enough these last few years. To be seen with you would finish any hope she has of repairing her reputation."
True enough. It was why Valentine had never sought her out to apologize for humiliating them both, and risking her reputation with a failed elopement. Still, this close he was grateful for the reminder. Society had become more careful of conduct recently, the young queen's new husband did not approve of frivolity, and thus neither did she. "I would lay down my life before I would bring harm to your daughter. I feel I have the method to make amends to you all. That is why I have come."
"Indeed?"
"I cannot think you realize the reputation of the man you have chosen for your daughter"
"And you are one to judge that?"
"I have heard rumors — "
She interrupted imperiously "I put no stock in the whisperings of silly persons of no consequence."
Then she had heard them? He wished he could tell from her expression, her movements, anything, about whether she would actually risk her daughter's life for a prestigious marriage. And the marquess of Granbury was a prime catch, indeed, if only his heart was not as black as his boots. He said simply, "I know of three which are true."
Her brows rose. "Indeed. And I am to take your word for it?"
He could not help the flush which crept up his neck. Would he never live down his impetuous mistake? "I did not expect you would. I have brought you proof." He made a movement to remove the letter he had brought, but she held up her hand to stop him.
"No. You have played your last trick to ruin my family. You are not going to cause my daughter to lose her last chance to restore her reputation and her place in society. It is bad enough that she has to endure whispers of an attempted elopement, two engagements in which her affianced died, and an entire year of mourning for her father before she can yet be decently wed. Emily will marry in a month's time, as soon as the mourning period for her father is over. No trick of yours will stop that."
"Emily's life is in danger! Is all you can think of her reputation?" As soon as the words crossed his lips he wished them back. "Pardon me, my lady."
Her eyes narrowed and her hand reached for the bell pull. "Your actions reveal your true nature. If you are seen here again, your greeting will be harsh, I can assure you."
"I wish only to protect Lady Emily."
Her eyes gleamed with malice. "If that is so, then I assure you, you must never see Lady Emily nor speak to her again. I am informed by your sister Miranda that Julia has hopes of an engagement to a young viscount. I can assure you that, one word from me into his mother's ear, and her hopes will be dashed. Think of your family as you claim you have been doing, and let me take care of mine."
Juliet. He met the countess's eyes briefly, wondering if her threat was as badly aimed as her knowledge of his sister's name. But no. She understood power, and she was sure of herself in this. Juliet, who had happily enumerated her viscount's laudable traits only last week, would find him and his mama turned cold to her if he did not leave the castle immediately.
He had muddled things yet again. Would he never be done hurting Emily? The countess would perhaps have listened to another, but not the man who had tried to elope with her daughter. If only the duke and Miranda had not been abroad when he received confirmation of the worst of the rumors. The countess would have heard the duke and duchess out. In the midst of his desperate casting about for someone who might gain her trust, the butler appeared, but before a footman could be called, Valentine departed. He would hope that the letter he'd dispatched to the duke, calling him back from his travels, would find him and bring him here as soon as possible. It was the only thing he could do now. Pray God he had not left things too late.
He had cantered halfway down the long drive, his anger fueling the length of his strides, before suddenly halting. Her mother would not hear his objections, but could he leave now without at least attempting to alert Emily to the serious danger that faced her if she chose to marry Lord Granbury? Though it was the one thing he did not wish to do, he supposed he must at least try to see her directly. To give her the letter and let her make her own decision about her fate. To reassure her that he would ask the duke to intervene with the countess. It was his duty, his obligation to her for the disaster he had brought into her life.
He dismounted and sent the horse that he had let from the local inn back home with a sharp slap on its rump. He turned back, careful to leave the path and keep out of sight of any vigilant servants. With a sigh, he climbed a tree which gave a good overlook of the castle and the gardens which Emily had always been partial to. He did not think it necessary to watch the drive, for rumors had reached him that Lady Emily was a virtual prisoner here, though a petted and cosseted one. While she was not allowed off the grounds, the milliner, the seamstress, the bootmaker, all came to and fro to prepare her the finest trousseau for this latest wedding preparation.
If she did not show herself in the gardens before nightfall, perhaps he could determine which room of the castle was hers. He would not climb through the window, as Rapunzel's prince had done, but surely he could find some other way of gaining entrance in order to warn her? He remembered the utter venom of her mother's final words to him.
Would she truly ruin Juliet's chances? He could not be certain of anything except that he must warn Emily, and he must not be seen doing so.
* * * * *
"Have you taken leave of your senses completely?"
"I have only just returned to them, Mother." Emily had known this would be a difficult interview with her mother, but she could not understand the countess's sudden fury. Usually her temper was slow to build — she rarely expected her only daughter to defy her and it generally took time until she understood that Emily would not be easily swayed to the countess's way.
"You are to marry Lord Granbury in a month's time. He has been unbelievably patient to wait the year of your father's mourning for you, considering your past. Do you believe your reputation can stand another such scandal?"
"My failed elopement is only a rumor, Mother, it was never confirmed. Neither Valentine nor the duke would be so loose lipped! As for the deaths of my former affianced, that cannot be put at my feet. Lord Matterington was, after all, quite elderly and poor Dibby was in his cups from his first day in long pants — it is only a wonder that he did not tumble from his horse sooner."
"You are a fool if you think the rumors of that scandalous elopement are not heeded. And though you may well be blameless in the deaths of those poor men, your connections will never be forgotten. After all, most women manage to get themselves properly affianced and wed the first time they try. All Society waits to find out whether this marriage happens or not. And you want to call it off because you do not like your groom. Nonsense."
"There is something evil about the man, Mother, not just unlikable. I believe he is dishonorable."
"Has he done something to make you believe such a thing?"
That was the problem. Granbury had been nothing but a gentleman. There was no reason for her skin to crawl when he was near. But it did. She could not see that argument swaying her mother, however. "No. It is a look in his eye. A way of speaking that seems to make things more confusing rather than clear, as they should be." She set her lips stubbornly, determined to make her mother understand. "I want an honorable husband. One that I can trust. One that I can come to love." Like Valentine. Not that her mother ought to hear her say such a thing out loud, else she'd likely lock her in her room and hold the ceremony tomorrow lest Emily find some way to escape.
"Honorable? My dear, there is no such thing as an honorable man. You are much better off with a title and a fortune." She paused and peered sharply at Emily. "Has something happened . . . recently . . . to make you change your mind so disgracefully?"
Emily squirmed under her mother's gimlet glare, wondering what awful thing the countess suspected her daughter of this time. "No, Mother. I have only just got over my grief at Father's passing." Suddenly, she thought of something that might sway her mother. "I do not think Lord Granbury is half so fine a man as Father was."
The countess sniffed and brought a lacy handkerchief to her mouth. "It is a shame that your father had no son to carry on the line. Your Cousin Harold is no match for the late earl."
"Yes. And Cousin Harold seems to have no respect for you, Mother. He cannot be the earl that father was." Emily hoped that this last line would deter her mother from her interrogation as it was her fondest habit to denigrate poor Harold, whose only sin was to have inherited the earldom and it's entailment upon her father's death.
Unfortunately, her mother was not to be waylaid. "Your father, dear man, put all faith in Lord Granbury, Emily. I should think you would be ashamed to second guess his decision now, when he cannot guide you with a father's wisdom."
"But mother, Lord — "
" — your intended," her mother finished with heat. "I am determined to see you do not let this attack of vapors ruin your last chance at a respectable place in society. Believe me, you will thank me later." She yanked the bell pull with a distracted air. "Soames, send for Letty please." She glanced at Emily. "Go to your room, child. I will send Letty to you with a hot posset and some cakes. I expect your nerves will be restored by tomorrow and we can discuss this matter more reasonably."
Emily knew her mother's tactics well enough by now. Whenever her daughter showed any sign of disagreement, the countess ignored the fact that Emily had a maid to tend to her needs, and used her own personal maid, Letty, to reinforce Emily's status as child. It irritated her that she should be treated like a recalcitrant infant instead of a woman on the verge of marriage. "I will not marry him, Mother. I intend to tell him so myself, if you do not."
Her mother's eyes gleamed for a moment, then she bent her head and put a hand to her temple. "We'll see how you feel tomorrow, my dear."
Emily turned away. A hot posset was her mother's solution to all ills. But there was no point in arguing further tonight. Tomorrow morning her mother would see well enough that she meant what she said.
"Here you go my lady." Letty held the noxiously sweet posset to her lips, but Emily took the cup from her and set it back on the tray next to the plate of cakes.
The maid frowned. "Your mother says to drink it all up, Lady Emily."
Emily sighed. "I will, Letty, I will." Her own maid, Nancy, would not have insisted in such a bossy manner. But Letty would report back to her mother, so it was wisest to comply. She picked up the cup and pretended to sip, just so that the maid would leave her.
Letty nodded and departed. Emily felt a moment of relief as she set the cup back down-until the sound of the key being turned in the lock froze her.
Swiftly she went to the door and tried to open it. She had not imagined the sound. Her mother had ordered Letty to lock her in. She lifted one hand to pound the door and demand it be unlocked, but stopped midway. It would do no good. Outright opposition only made her mother more stubborn.
She sat nibbling at a cake and staring at her door, deciding what this new move indicated. Had her mother taken her threat to break her engagement more seriously than usual? Had she already determined to move the date of the wedding up?
It was more than possible. Since her father's death, her mother had become fixated on Emily's upcoming marriage. All her hopes and dreams seemed pinned on it, now that her own husband was gone and she was merely the widow of an earl. Cousin Harold, who had taken over the entailment, had both his own mother and a wife, and Emily's mother had quickly learned what the death of her husband meant to her social status.
But the year was nearly up. Surely her mother could wait one more month in order to avoid the slightest cause for malicious gossip? Any girl who married too hastily would have the gossips counting months. She shuddered at the thought.
Children. Even if one wasn't likely to arrive scandalously early, she would no doubt have them. Lord Granbury's heirs. She had not even been able to make herself use his Christian name, Francis, and she was now to have his children? It was unthinkable.
Emily tossed the cake back upon its plate and began to pace. She would have to escape. But to where? Her parents had chosen Scotland for her exile with good purpose. Her friends were far away. Miranda would have come to her aid, but she and the duke were blithely enjoying a trip through Paris and Germany at this very moment. Who else had the courage to defy both her mother and Lord Granbury?
Valentine.
She wondered at her own daring for a moment, even as she savored the name. He would help her, though she could not, she warned herself sternly, expect him to have the same feelings for her that she still held for him. Not after his marriage last year. For a moment she nursed the ache in her heart that remained as painful as it had a year ago, when her mother had told her of the marriage. If not for that news, she would never have been so weak as to have accepted Lord Granbury's suit.
But no, no excuses. She had thought she would not mind a sensible marriage since she could not have Valentine. That did not excuse her failure to recognize that Lord Granbury was not the man for her, despite her father's appreciation for his title and wealth. She was no brainless chit; she should have been more careful, no matter her grief. Once agreed to, an engagement was not lightly broken, even if the groom's smile made the bride wish she had fleas and several missing teeth so that he'd turn his attentions elsewhere.