A Second Chance at Love, A Regency Romance (A Danby Family Novella) (4 page)

Danby Castle loomed grey and forbidding on the horizon, a proper castle in every sense of the word. Why, there were even pikes for some unruly ruffians' heads. Emily swallowed and grasped drowsy little Rose more tightly. The setting sun glinted on a dusting of snow that softened the castle's stark lines, but even so, Emily felt a kinship with all those who had affronted the House of Danby long ago. She was returning as Philip's intended, but had been the cause of his ruination for many years. And she was newly widowed. And she had a small child. And she was completely destitute. 'Twas highly unlikely that the Whittons would welcome her with open arms, no matter what Philip said.

As if reading her thoughts, Philip squeezed her hand. She smiled, but only for his benefit. It was quite likely that Lord Norland or the duke himself would banish her from Danby forever. If they did, why, then she would just have to make her way over to Uncle Arthur's house, and hope for shelter there.

The carriage pulled around to the front of the castle, and Emily peered at its imposing façade from the window. "Don't worry. It's only home." Philip laughed. "Nothing to be so nervous about, sweet Emily."

Giles opened the carriage door and extended his hand. "We got you here just in the nick of time, my lord. The duke wanted you here by the twenty-fourth, and here you are in time for supper on the twenty-third."

"True, Giles. I'm going to take Mrs. Barlow in to meet my family. Bring our trunks inside when you have time." Philip alit from the carriage and swooped Rose into his arms. She settled against his shoulder with a happy sigh and closed her eyes. Emily watched them with a full heart, but also a feeling of loss. Without Rose, she had nothing to hide behind or stay occupied with while Philip introduced his family. In truth, it was like charging into battle without a shield.

Once inside, Philip immediately began stomping up the stairs. "We'll go see Izzy and Emma first, Emily. You remember them, of course."

"Yes, of course." Philip's twin sisters were closer in age to Emily, and a good six years younger than Philip. They had the most ingenious habit of stumbling upon Philip and Emily in heated embraces back in those days. Heat rose in Emily's cheeks. Drew, Philip's older brother, had the good sense to knock most of the time.

As they turned onto the landing, an elderly servant rushed forwards. "Lord Philip!" she cried. "Thank heavens you are here! Your father and mother will be so happy to see you, and of course, the duke—"she broke off uncertainly, staring at Emily.

"Mrs. Ealey, this is my fiancée, Emily Barlow. You might remember her as Emily Ware." Philip patted Rose's shoulder and turned slightly towards Emily as he spoke.

Mrs. Ealey bobbed a slight curtsy. "Welcome, ma'am."

"Make sure her room is made ready, and put a cot in there for the little one," Philip instructed. "I'll see Father and Mother after I've seen my sisters."

"Of course, my lord." The housekeeper bustled away, the strings of her bonnet flying.

Philip knocked on a door. "Izzy, are you there? Open up!"

The door flew open, revealing a pretty girl with auburn hair and brown eyes. "Philip! You scoundrel! How happy I am to see you!" She paused when she spied Rose asleep on his shoulder. "What on earth?" she whispered.

He pushed past her into the room, beckoning Emily to follow. Her mouth dry, Emily swallowed nervously. She'd have to explain herself, and soon.

Philip laid Rose on Isabel's bed, covering her with the counterpane. Then he turned to his sister. "You remember Emily Ware, don't you?"

Isabel studied Emily, as she would study a book of science in the vast Danby library. "Of course," she responded coolly. "How do you do, Miss Ware?"

Emily bobbed a curtsy. "Very well, thank you, Lady Isabel."

Philip made an impatient gesture and sat on Isabel's vanity bench. "Listen, enough of the formalities. She's Mrs. Barlow, as you bloody well know, Izzy. But now she's going to be mine. At last." He grinned at Emily, a boyish smile that made her heart race. "That's her daughter, Rose, asleep there. Soon to be my daughter."

Isabel regarded her brother carefully, as though looking for a sign or symbol in his visage. "This is good," she pronounced, guarded happiness in her words.

"Yes, it is," Philip rejoined. "Where's Emma?"

"That's
Lady Heathfield
to you, Philip. She was married just yesterday."

Philip grinned. "And you, Izzy?"

Isabel turned a delicate shade of pink. "I am to marry Damien Lockwood on the morrow."

"Lockwood, that jester? Ah, Izzy, what a time you shall have. And so both of my sisters have found their happily-ever-afters." Philip clasped her in a warm embrace, and Emily smiled. There seemed to be so much joy in this forbidding castle. If only she would be allowed to share in it.

Breaking away from Philip, Isabel turned to Emily. "Oh, Emily, how glad I am that you found my brother."

The door to Isabel's room opened abruptly, and Isabel's twin rushed into the room. "Philip!" Emma cried, nearly knocking him over with the force of her embrace.

Philip hugged her back, and then set her on her feet. "Listen, you beggars," he responded, "Whatever the past was, it's over and done with. And Emily is mine now. She'll be a Whitton as soon as I can arrange it." He turned his intent gaze on Emily, and she gave a shy smile in return.

"Emily Ware?" Emma asked, her brows drawing together in confusion.

"Yes," Isabel jumped into the fray. "She belongs to Philip now. And that's her little girl over there, sleeping. Isn't she sweet?"

"A perfect lamb," Emma pronounced. She glanced quickly at her sister—a glance that seemed to communicate something privately between them. Isabel nodded and turned her gaze on Philip. Emma smiled. Heavens, it was like being in a foreign country and not knowing a word of the language. Whatever transpired, Emma seemed satisfied. She embraced Emily, calling her "Sister."

"You can arrange it quickly, Philip," Isabel broke in. "Uncle Henry is with Grandfather now, and he has a stack of special licenses. I'd lay odds there's one with your name on it."

"Special licenses?" Philip ran his hands through his hair. "Is that how you two light skirts are getting wed so quickly?"

Emily gasped, but the two sisters just laughed, apparently used to Philip's brazen ways. "And you, sir? Might we ask why you need to wed so soon?" Emma teased him, causing perspiration to break out on Emily's brow. It would take a while to get used to this type of joking.

"Because I need her. You both know that." Philip swatted Emma's arm and headed for the door. "I'm off to see if Uncle Henry really has a special license for me." He turned at the threshold and aimed a glowering, heated look at Emily. "You be ready as quickly as possible." With that he turned on his heel and left.

"But she can't be married in all that black! It's unlucky," Emma moaned, crossing over to Emily's side.

"Oh, I can't leave off mourning," Emily demurred. "I've only been wearing it for four months."

"That's long enough," Isabel stated flatly. "Emma, go and get your pink gown…"

"With the darker pink ribbons?" Emma finished. "Of course. It's perfect. It will highlight the glorious color of her eyes."

Emily submitted to the twins' ministrations, allowing her widow's weeds to be stripped from her body and permitting Emma to weave a garland of pearls in her hair. As she sat at Isabel's dressing table, her eyes clouded with tears as she regarded her reflection. "Lady Isabel, Lady Heathfield," she began.

"Stop! Isabel and Emma," Isabel replied, sticking a final hairpin in place.

"I just want to say how sorry I am—" Her voice broke off, tears threatening to pour in earnest.

Emma sat beside her on the bench, patting her shoulder. "The moment I saw Philip, I knew he had changed," she said softly. "He's happy now, and you made that possible."

Isabel nodded. "Whatever the past was, it's over and done with. There's no need to beg our forgiveness. Now for heaven's sake, don't cry. You don't want your eyes to be all red at your wedding, do you?"

With a laugh, Emily dried her eyes. Then, rising, she walked to Isabel's bed, where Rose still slept. Gently touching her daughter's forehead, she smiled at the two sisters. "I am so grateful to have this wonderful family."

"So let me make sure I have heard this correctly. You want to marry a penniless widow, and one with a small child at that?" Father brought his hand down on the desk, but Philip refused to jump. He'd been called on the carpet many times during his youth, and the ducal study no longer inflicted cowardice in his being. He shrugged. "I wish to marry Emily Ware. She got away the first time. I shan't let her go a second. Uncle Henry, you have a license, do you not?"

"I do." The vicar sat back and rolled his eyes at Grandfather. "Moreover, my own daughter has arrived tonight from France, and I should like to see her at some point this evening. If we can hasten this along."

"Well, then? Is it settled?" Philip shifted impatiently in his chair. "I want to wed her tonight."

A clear, feminine voice piped up from beside Father's chair. "Darling, are you absolutely sure? You were so devastated before." Mother gave him the same look she would give him when he was a child, and had fallen and scraped his knee. It was her "be brave, but I love you" look, a mixture of stubbornness and tenderness.

"Mother, I beseech you. She makes me happy."

She nodded, satisfied, and sat back in her chair, placing her hand on Father's arm.

There was a slight knock on the study door, and Father hastened to open it. Emily stood on the threshold with Rose, clad in a filmy pink dress that made her look like she had as a girl. Philip swallowed, consuming her with his eyes. It was as though the past few years fell away. And if Uncle Henry would hurry up, he could begin proving that fact to his bride again.

"I felt I should introduce myself and my daughter," she explained quietly, bringing the still-drowsy Rose into the room. Rose yawned and rubbed her eyes. Mother leapt from her chair and swept Rose in her arms, coddling her and talking to her in a sweet, high-pitched tone. Emily smiled and came to stand by Philip's chair. He rose, embracing her, turning her towards the duke. "Grandfather?"

Grandfather nodded at Uncle Henry, who retrieved a piece of foolscap from the desk drawer. With a flourish, Uncle Henry added Emily’s name to it handed it to Grandfather, who smiled at both of them, a merry twinkle in his faded eyes.

"All this nonsense. Over the Ware gel."

The Whitton School of Music

London, England

December, 1813

"All right, students, that's good enough for today." Philip put aside his bow and violin and stretched his arms. "Have a nice holiday, and we will convene again after the New Year."

His students, half a dozen of the finest violinists a man could hope for—well, violinists under the age of ten, that was—began packing their cases. The hubbub in the room rose as they tugged on their coats and gloves. "Merry Christmas, milord," "Happy holidays to you, sir," they mumbled, filing out of the classroom to the foyer, where servants and the occasional parent waited to take them home.

"Class is over, darling?" Emily bustled into the room, tidying up the bits of sheet music strewn about. Her increasing middle made it difficult for her to bend over, and he rushed to help her.

"You should be resting, sweet Emily. I can clean things up." He kissed her forehead.

"Nonsense," she trilled. "It's good to stay active when one is increasing. Besides, I have a letter for you." She waved it at him, and he beckoned her to sit down. "It's from Danby."

"I see." He unfolded the foolscap, flicking a glance at the ducal crest. "It's Grandfather again. Swears he really is perishing this time. He wants the whole family to convene at Danby for the holidays."

Emily sat down, fanning herself with a scrap of music. "Well, shall we go?"

He folded up the letter and cast it aside. "With you increasing? I should think not." Besides, he was ready to spend a cozy fortnight in the arms of his wife, with snow drifting down and hot cider mulling on the stove…"This weather reminds me of last year, when we first made love."

She swatted at his arm with the sheet music. "Philip, darling. We must focus. The duke is getting older, and this may be his last time to see us—and he is beside himself with pride about the music school you've started. And you know how much your mother dotes on Rose. I'll be fine. Let's join the rest of the family."

He nodded. "Very well. But I am determined to be alone with you at some point during this holiday season, family or no family."

His wife lowered her eyelids to coquettish half-mast. "Honestly, my lord. At least all of your siblings have learned to knock—and most of them are occupied enough on their own."

Philip threw back his head and laughed. "True,
my lady.
Very well, we shall have our Christmas at Danby. It doesn't matter to me where we holiday, as long as you are there with me." For in Emily, temptress, muse, wife, lover—he found all that he had been seeking, all that eluded him those many years ago when he nearly ended his life. He bent down, taking her lips possessively, hungrily, as he had when he was a teenager exploring passion with her for the first time.

"Sweetest Emily."