A Second Chance at Love, A Regency Romance (A Danby Family Novella) (3 page)

"Come with you? To ask the duke's help?" Emily glanced up at Philip hopefully.

He sat back, as though disconcerted by her response. "I suppose so. Your aunt and uncle live close by, after all. I could deliver you to their home, and you could come to Danby to speak with Grandfather—if that's what you truly wish."

"Oh, Philip. Thank you so much." Emily reached out and took his hand. "The journey won't be half so tiresome if we can travel with you. And I will feel better about asking the duke myself rather than begging intermediaries to do so."

Philip closed his eyes and brought their joined hands up to his lips. "Then it is settled."

Emily tried to free herself. That sounded so final, as though she had agreed to something she didn't fully understand. "Philip, please. We shouldn't even be here like this. You make me—uncomfortable."

He opened her hand, his mouth gently teasing her palm. Shivers ran up her arm, causing her shoulders to jerk. "Good," Philip rejoined. "Then we have something in common. You make me uncomfortable too."

With her free hand, Emily clutched her shawl more tightly. "I am afraid I gave you the wrong impression, Lord Philip, by allowing you to kiss me earlier. I-I'm not…" Emily trailed off uncertainly.
That kind of girl?
She always seemed to turn into that kind of girl around Philip Whitton. His hold on her sensibilities was nothing short of remarkable.

"Call me Lord Philip one more time, and you will answer the consequences,
Mrs.
Barlow. I'd chuck the bloody title into the sea if it would change anything. If it meant not spending the last two years in torment."

Anger surged in Emily, bubbling to the surface. What, after all, did the coddled grandson of a duke know of suffering?  "Torment? What torment? Didn't you say you had been abroad? Where were you, then?"

Philip's head snapped up and he regarded her evenly. "Rome. I was studying music."

"How bad could that have been?" Emily stared at him, confusion overriding anger. Honestly, Philip had grown up with such luxury, such privilege. What did he know of penury? Most people would give their last pound for a trip to Italy—all expenses paid, surely, thanks to the duke.

He finally let go her hand, and bereft of his touch, her own hand was icy cold and trembling. "It was bad enough." He sighed. As if casting aside an unwinnable argument, he sat back, leaning against the bedpost. "Rose is sweet," he muttered.

Ah, there was Philip again. The same abrupt changes in topic, the same quick flashes of temper followed by mellow introspection that had marked his personality as long as she'd known him. "Thank you. She is a darling."

"Two years old, you say? You must have had her very quickly after your marriage." He scanned her face carefully.

Heat suffused Emily's cheeks. "Yes, I did. Charles wanted a family very quickly."

"And…so close on the heels of our own affair…" He trailed off, but the intensity of his dark gaze made Emily catch her breath.

"We never let things go that far, Philip. You and I both know that." She kept her tone quiet and even, the same voice she would use when comforting Rose after a fall.

"I would have gone further." The words had a slight edge of challenge.

"Oh, Philip, I would have too." The admission took a burden off her heart. It didn't feel sinful to confess the depth of her feelings to her former lover—no matter how scandalous they were. "But—"

"No." Philip held up a hand to stop her. "Just let me have that."

They sat together in silence for a moment, and he rose from her bed. "Emily, we will travel together to Danby. Whenever you're ready to go, we'll go."

She nodded. A brief pang of regret clutched at her chest once more. Why not give in, just once, to impetuous desire? Why not follow her heart for once, instead of her head? But Philip was already on the threshold, his tall frame filling the doorway.

"Good night," she whispered as he closed the door.

The next day, Emily determined to be as industrious as possible, packing up her few belongings, making sure Anna had a place to go, and preparing Rose for the journey. The Duke of Danby was waiting for Philip, and delaying his journey would be beyond rude. Philip seemed content to play with Rose and offered to take her into the village for a few sweets. Glad of the opportunity to work without distraction, Emily shooed them off and tugged Rose's trunk out of the barn.

Giles, Philip's manservant, was in the barn, helping the coachman ready the carriage for the morrow. He offered to help Emily bring the trunk up to Rose's room, and she accepted his help gratefully. As he toted the small burden up the stairs, Emily studied him. He seemed a good and loyal servant—someone who cared for Philip during what he called those two years of torment. What tragedy had Philip suffered? Surely this man knew. The question that had puzzled and angered Emily since her discussion with Philip suddenly bubbled to her lips.

"Giles, what happened to Lord Philip?" She peered into his ruddy face and sat down on Rose's cot.

If her brazen question took him off guard, he was too well-bred to show it. He deliberately set the trunk down, dusted his hands on his trousers, and then turned towards Emily. "He didn't take your marriage to Mr. Barlow too well, ma'am."

"Tell me," she urged, clenching her hands around the wooden footboard.

"He tried to do away with himself." The words rushed out, as if a dam had broken free. "Tried to hang himself. Lady Emma, she found him, started screaming for help. I came and cut him free."

The ground shifted underneath Emily, and she clutched the footboard to keep from falling down. Giles seemed to be standing very far away, all at once.  Her breath came in shallow gasps.

Giles continued. "He was in a bad way. His family didn't know what to do. So the duke decided to send him to Italy to study music. But he's been living in a fool's paradise. Wine, women, song. Even started taking opium. I've tried to stay with him, tried to help him, but he was too far gone when we were in Rome. I think that coming home will be good for him."

All the energy and the anger drained away from Emily, leaving her shaken and weak. Her hands, still clutched around the mahogany footboard, trembled violently. She licked her lips, but when she spoke, her voice betrayed a tell-tale crack.

"I had no idea."

"The family kept it very quiet, ma'am. Are you all right? You look awful pale." He tugged at his cravat and then shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I'll be fine. It's just—I didn't know." She looked up at him, tears pricking her eyelids. "Thank you for telling me."

"Of course, ma'am." He turned to go, and then paused in the doorway. "You'll have to forgive my boldness, but I don't believe in hiding things like others do. All the women he had in Italy—they looked like you. I don't believe he's ever gotten over you."

Something had happened when he had taken Rose into town. Emily was pale and distracted, her eyes suspiciously reddened at the supper table. True, this was her last night in her own home. Anyone would be downcast under those circumstances. But her trembling hands and ghostly pallor indicated something deeper.

Giles was also acting suspiciously. Already a man of few words, his manservant was positively silent all afternoon and completely absent at supper.

Philip spent most of the meal in watchful stillness, observing Emily as she helped Rose with her food, and noting how very little Emily herself ate. When Emily excused herself to bathe Rose and ready her for bed, Philip wandered into the library. Picking up his bow, he played softly until the library door opened, and Emily stepped inside.

"I should say good night, now, Philip. We have such a long journey tomorrow."

He set the bow and his violin down and beckoned to her. "Come, sit. You look very unwell. Are you all right?"

She crossed the room and sank onto the settee, giving him a wan smile. "Oh, just nervous about travel. That is all."

He sat across from her, peering intently into her face. "You know everything. Giles told you."

Tears pooled in her eyes, and she turned her head away. "Oh, Philip. I am so terribly sorry."

He said nothing. What could he say? In some respects, he was embarrassed that Emily knew. On the other hand, it was a relief to have everything out into the open. He handed Emily his handkerchief, and she sobbed in earnest.

"I don't blame you for hating me as you did, Philip. I had no idea what you suffered. All I can say in my defense is that I was trying to do the right thing. I wanted to strike out on my own, to have a home and a secure place in society. I-I felt the difference in our stations was such…I should have followed my heart, not my head."

That last phrase, uttered in Emily's tearful, broken voice, gave Philip the first bloom of hope he'd felt in years.

"Emily."

She looked up at him, sobs still catching her breath.

"Don't cry anymore, darling." He knelt beside her, brushing her tearstained cheeks with his fingertips. "Ever since I met you, when I was a lad buying sweets at your uncle's store, I've been trying to get you to follow your heart. I've been trying to show you how I feel. I want to show you how there is no difference between us, no boundary keeping us apart." He traced her beauty mark. "Come upstairs with me."

A kaleidoscope of emotions cascaded through Emily as Philip carried her up the stairs. What if she gave in and lost all hope at respectability? But then, she had shared a carriage and a home with him for days. Surely polite society would assume the worst by now, even if they never made love. But relinquishing that one shred of civility was frightening. She clutched Philip's collar as he opened the door to her room. And what if, once they made love, he decided that it was enough? He was so impetuous. Surely his lust would be satiated, and he would be done with her for good.

He laid her down on the counterpane, then turned back to lock her bedroom door.

"Philip."

"Yes, sweetest Emily?" He began taking down her hair, hairpins springing away from his gentle touch. The feel of his hands on her scalp made her close her eyes, and she pressed her head harder against his palm.

What was she trying to say? "Ummm." Oh, yes.  She opened her eyes and looked beseechingly at him. "Philip, how can I be certain that you will still love me after we've done this?"

He looked at her as though she'd slapped him. "Emily, stop talking. Please. Give me this one chance, darling."

"I'm sorry." Her eyes drifted closed, as he undid the tapes of her dress and allowed it to slide into a pool on the floor. Pushing her onto her back, he loosened the laces of her slippers and drew them off, one by one. Then his strong hands fumbled with her garters, his slightly callused fingers making her jerk slightly as they caressed the sensitive skin of her thighs.

"Undress me," he commanded. She opened her eyes and sat up on the bed. With shaking fingers, she untied his cravat and unbuttoned his shirt. Heavens, how muscular his chest was. Tentatively, she traced the muscles of his abdomen with one finger.

"Dear God. Take off the rest before I explode," Philip ground out between clenched teeth. She slid off the bed and tugged at his boots and socks. She reached for his trousers and he groaned. Her eyes widened at the bulk underneath. She had felt Philip before, years ago, but never seen him. And he seemed very large just now.

Working quickly, she unfastened his trousers and held onto him, gently stroking as he had taught her to those years ago.

He pushed her hand away and then removed her chemise. A few of the stitches ripped at his rough touch. They sat, panting, on the bed. This was as far as they had ever ventured before. She gazed at her lover, and with dawning amazement, realized all she had carelessly thrown away for security and society. Leaning closer to him, she gently traced his neck with her lips, making a path of small kisses where the rope must have burned him so many years before. Tears stung her eyes. How close they had come to never being together.

Philip groaned, and taking her by the shoulders, pushed her back onto the pillows.  "I want to show you what we can be, with nothing between us. In here, society means nothing. We are equals now. Skin to skin and nothing more." He bent his head, taking one of her nipples into his mouth. His hands roamed down to her core, stroking her until she arched off the bed and sighed his name in a pleading tone. The cool linen rasped against her back as he entered her fully. Emily gasped. The difference between lovemaking with Philip and with Charles was incredible. Where Charles had been shy and hesitant, Philip was bold and uninhibited. 'Twas a little frightening to be so thoroughly loved, and yet, so infinitely right.

She clasped her legs around his backside, encouraging him as they found a rhythm together. Threading her fingers through his wavy blonde hair, she sighed his name. He dipped his head, plundering her mouth in the same way he plundered the rest of her, until she was engulfed in a release she hadn't felt in years.

"Philip," she whispered, not wanting to cry out and break the spell.

With a jerk, he poured himself into her. "Oh, God. Sweetest Emily."

She lay still, stroking his muscular back as she stared at the ceiling. Philip was right. He always was. And yet—how could they be together like this forever? A thought formed at the back of Emily's mind. She had the solution, as brazen as it was. And yet—would Philip agree to it?

Philip watched as the cold grey light of day began peeking through the drawn curtains. How long had he been lying here awake? He'd made love with Emily twice more that night, and had stroked her soft, wavy hair until she fell asleep. The rest of the time he had spent pondering. He was, for the first time in his life, impressed with a sense of purpose and meaning. Now that he had proven to Emily what they could be to each other, he was determined to make that union whole and perfect for the rest of his life. He loved little Rose, and wanted to be a father to her. His life path was clear, for the first time in ages.

There was a big house party waiting at Danby. Surely his uncle would be there. The whole family would be there, after all. His uncle was a vicar and could marry them right away. Yes, of course. Just two days more and he could wed Emily. Surely Grandfather could procure a special license.

He leapt up from the bed, hurriedly washed and dressed himself, and rapidly made preparations for the trip. By the time Emily awakened and dressed both herself and Rose, Philip already had the carriage hitched and their few belongings strapped to the roof. Giles and the coachman, yawning openly, waited patiently in the new-fallen snow.

Emily blushed a becoming shade of pink when she saw him again, and kept her eyes downcast. As he bundled her into the carriage, he squeezed her waist reassuringly.
This isn't over
, the pressure of his hands said.
We've only just begun.

The trip was uneventful, for Rose was engaged in watching the snow flurries as they drifted down and stayed put for the most part. Emily remained quiet and subdued. He tried to catch her glance—to communicate how he felt—but she kept her face stubbornly averted. When they stopped in York for the night, Emily stayed engaged with caring for Rose as long, it seemed, as she possibly could.

Waiting for her in the private dining salon, Philip consulted his pocket watch in irritation. She must know that they needed to talk. Why was she delaying something so ground-shaking, so important? He was about to storm up the stairs and retrieve her bodily when she finally made her entrance.

"How is Rose?" Philip asked, determined not to let his impatience show.

"Sleeping soundly. I vow this cold weather wears her out." Emily sat down at the table, smiling hesitantly as Philip poured the wine. He was about to speak when she beat him to the punch. "Philip, I would like to speak with you about last night. I've been doing a great deal of thinking, and I want to ask you something." She glanced up at him, her sherry-colored eyes wide and sparkling.

"Yes?" What on earth was she about?

"I should very much like to—I mean, I was wondering if you would like me to—Oh drat." She took a hearty sip of wine. "Can I become your mistress?"

Philip choked, the wine burning down his throat and into his nostrils like acid. He coughed and spluttered, tears beginning to form in his eyes. Emily came to his rescue with a few solid whacks on his back.

"Are you all right?"

He nodded, coughing a few more times. "Y-yes. You caught me off guard, sweet Emily."

"I'm sorry. But consider it, if you will. We can be together, and your title and my station in life won't mean a thing."

"They don't mean anything." Exasperated anger flared up in Philip's chest, causing his heart to beat faster. "Surely you know that after last night."

"I do feel it, Philip. But society takes a very different view. I am trying to find a way for us to be together within the rules we all must live under." A pleading expression darkened her eyes, and she clasped her hands together.

There was only one way to end this farce—the farce that had held them both captive for years, leading to a suicide attempt, a loveless marriage, and many wanton affairs. He stripped the garnet ring off his finger, the ring Father had given him when he left for Italy, and grasped her right hand. Then he placed the ring on her third finger. It was far too big for her, and he had to hold it to keep it from slipping off. "Emily Ware, I beg of you.  Marry me and put me out of this torment."

She gasped. "How can I? I've only been a widow these four months."

"There's one advantage to being a Whitton, even a fallen one at that. Society follows your lead, not the other way around." He drew her into his lap, and turned her face up towards his. "My uncle is a vicar, and Grandfather can get a special license for us. Who cares if you are a widow? You should never have married the blighter in the first place."

Emily laughed, her enchanting beauty mark dancing above her parted lips. "Only you would put a marriage proposal so brazenly, Philip."

He squeezed her tightly. "And your answer is?"

She glanced up at him, and the expression in her eyes made him catch his breath. For the rest of his life, he would endeavor to deserve that look, no matter what the cost.

"I shall listen to my heart. And it says—yes."