Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (15 page)

Chapter 19

My Dearest Drake,

Forgive me for not writing. I fell from a tree and my arm
was dislocated. It was dreadfully painful. I now understand why mother said ladies should not climb trees. So, I have climbed my last tree.

Ever Yours,

Emmaline

She wished it were raining.

And she hated the rain.

But today the sun’s bright rays were so abundantly, well,
bright
, and it was making it difficult for her to remain buried in her cocoon of covers, pretending it was still time to be abed.

Anything so she didn’t have to face the inevitable confrontation
with her brother.

After
the tumultuous exchange between Drake and Sebastian that previous evening, Sebastian had chosen to let the matter rest. Emmaline had been dealt a reprieve. Alas, today was the day she visited London Hospital.

Emmaline sighed.

The last thing she wanted to endure was a closed carriage ride with Sebastian. She considered postponing her trip until tomorrow. That would allow her a brief reprieve from—

“My lady?”

Her maid, Grace, hovered in the doorway.

Emmaline
waved her in.

Grace hurried over to Emmaline’s armoire. “His Grace wanted me to remind you
of your visit to London Hospital.”

Emmaline scrubbed her hand across her eyes. “Was that all?”
If she knew her brother as well as she believed she did, then there was certainly more.

Grace’s hand
, which had been ruffling through Emmaline’s row of day gowns, paused. “He also instructed me to tell you—” she cleared her throat, “—that you couldn’t hide in your room forever. His Grace’s, words, of course.”

“Of course.”

Grace returned her focus to her efforts at hand. She apparently would rather choose to ignore Emmaline’s stinging sarcasm.

Oh, he was an insufferable bother.

Tossing the covers aside, she flung her feet over the side of the bed and jumped to the floor. “Help me dress, Grace.”

The ever diligent Grace was already crossing the room with an ivory silk organza creation draped over her arms.

Emmaline allowed her maid to assist her out of her nightgown and into the lovely gown. She stood in front of the floor-length ornate silver mirror, trimmed in roses not really seeing Grace’s final efforts.

What could she possibly say to Sebastian that would make any sense? How could she brush aside his very legitimate concerns of her betrothal, when she herself saw merit in them? In four months she would be one and twenty, and another year would be behind her, leaving her still unwed.

Grace cleared her throat. “My lady?”

Emmaline jumped. “Ah, yes, thank you, Grace.”

And because Sebastian was correct and she couldn’t stay in her room forever, she left the sanctuary of her chambers.

She found him waiting
for her at the base of the stairs with a book tucked under one arm, and checking his watch fob.

He spied her coming and slipped the piece back into his jacke
t. “I took the liberty of selecting your reading selection for the men today,” he said by way of greeting.

He held up the maroon leather volume up for her inspection.

She read the title. “Byron,” she murmured. “I thought you found all poetry to be rubbish.”

She accepted his arm and accompanied him to the carriage. He waved off the groom and handed her up himself.

“I decided to delve a bit deeper to see what it was that so fascinates you…about poetry, that is. I maintain my earlier position. Most of the stuff is useless drivel.” Emmaline was astute enough to detect the subtle nuances of her brother’s casual conversation. She remained silent. “But then there is Byron. Rather smart, if not an odd fellow. Do you know what he once said?” Sebastian didn’t wait for Emmaline to answer. “I do detest everything which is not perfectly mutual.”

Emmaline’s gaze snapped out the window.

Folding her arms, she braced for the onslaught of his lecture. She waited. And waited….

But he didn’t add anything furthe
r.

Nary a word.

Somehow that unspoken disappointment was far greater than if he’d come out and reprimanded her.

Sebastian earned points for not making any mention of Lord Drake on their carriage ride to London Hospital. He even dutifully carried the basket and books into the ward without being asked, pausing beside various hospital beds to speak with the soldiers.

He took his leave, and Emmaline finally settled into her comfortable seat beside Lieutenant Jones.

Jones greeted her with a slight inclination of his head. “My lady.” He motioned to the empty spot
beside his bed. “What did you bring?” He nodded to the bundle in her hands.

Emmaline flashed him a smile.
She found peace in being with the men here who were a bit rough around the edges and had the false edge of Society’s veneer dusted free. It was refreshing.

“Byron?” She opened the volume and fanned through several pages before settling on, “The Lady”.

“Are you anyone’s lady, my lady?” Jones interrupted.

The brazen question caused Emmaline to stumble in her recitation.

Jones smiled broadly, displaying a row of crooked teeth. It had been three weeks since he’d first smiled and spoken to her, and yet Emmaline was still startled by the transformation of the soldier she’d known for three years.

“Easy enough question,” he teased.

Emmaline troubled her lower lip. Yes, for most it was an easy enough question. She chose to break with the strictures on what merited appropriate discussion. “I’m betrothed,” she said at last.

His brow wrinkled and he shoved himself up with his only elbow. “So you’ve got yourself a gentleman?”

She managed a small smile. “I’ve got myself a gentleman.” Unused to speaking freely about her betrothal to Lord Drake, she hesitated. “He was a soldier. He also fought on the Peninsula.”

Jones’ eyes widened the same way she imagined they would if she’d proclaimed diamonds were falling from the sky.

“You’re marrying yourself a soldier?”

“I am.”
Or she was supposed to. She couldn’t go and explain the complicated aspects of her and Drake’s relationship.

Jones gave an approving nod. It seemed she’d risen even more in the man’s estimation.

He whistled between his teeth. “You found yourself a fancy bloke who fought in the war, too? Not many lords were giving their lives, my lady.”

Not many of them had been running away from a childhood betrothal, either. “No, no they weren’t.”

Sensing Jones was far more curious than any time in the three years she’d known him, she decided to share this personal piece of herself. “He is the Marquess of Drake, he fought—”

The man’s shocked gasp cut into her words. “
Lord Drake is your gentleman?”

Emmaline blinked, unprepared that this man should know him. She leaned forward in her chai
r. “Did you know of him?”

“Know of him? I served under him,” he said, his eyes round with amazement. “My battalion was hit hard. We lost our commanding officer. The
captain was given control of our battalion.” His eyes took on a far-off quality that suggested he was seeing things Emmaline didn’t want to see. “He’s a hero.”

Yes, Drake was a hero. She’d read that in every last smattering of articles she’d collected on his accomplishments. How funny this stranger should truly know, firsthand, what Drake had seen and done.

She continued to aggravate her lower lip. “W-what was he like?”

Jones didn’t respond right away. Instead he studied Emmaline
with a near overwhelming intensity.

This time it was her turn to
try and tamp down the awkwardness brought on by the conversation.

How odd to finally realize the discomfiture she must have caused Jones with her probing questions these past years.

“He’s a good man,” Jones said quietly.

“Yes.” That wasn’t really the bit of undisclosed information she’d been seeking from Lieutenant Jones.

He must have suspected as much.
  “After the Battle of Salamanca, the French left Madrid and Wellington marched us into the city.” Lieutenant Jones glanced down at his hands. “He left three divisions to guard the capital and then marched the rest of us to Burgos. The captain led us in that march. We came to a scorched field. There was this mangy pup. Emaciated thing. All bones. Whimpering. A step from death. Literally.” He tried to grin but it failed, resembling more of a twisted grimace.

Emmaline thought to the well-nourished, loving hunting dogs and pugs her family had over the years. Then she tried to envision the poor, neglected creature described by Jones. Her heart hurt for the poor little fellow.

“As we marched, that mangy dog followed the captain’s horse until the captain drew his horse to a halt, and scooped up the flea-ridden creature. He nursed that old dog back to health. Gave the dog half of his own rations. Ate right out of the captain’s plate, he did. Drank his water.” He shook his head, as if still dumbfounded. “Never would have imagined a fancy lord would share food from his own plate with a filthy dog. Named him Valiant. That dog followed him everywhere. There wasn’t much to laugh about then, but we used to laugh about it.”

Emmaline’s heart hitched.

God help her, she loved Drake. She loved him with a desperation that made her want to fling down the book and run out of the hospital and find him.

She tried to imagine Drake riding beside some of the men here
in the hospital, bantering back and forth. He was such a proud man. So very serious. Emmaline couldn’t reconcile the Drake she’d come to know with the one being described by Jones. “I imagine Lord Drake was not pleased with the ribbing he received?”

Jones slashed his one hand through the air. “Aww,
he took it all in good humor. Men respected him for that. You know, being able to laugh at himself and all.”

Emmaline sat back in her chair.
“I don’t understand why he didn’t return with Valiant….” Her words trailed off when Jones looked away.

“Lieutenant?” she asked hesitantly.

Jones remained silent.

Don’t do it
, she willed herself.
Don’t ask.

She
had to know what happened to Valiant. It was a piece that explained what had transformed Drake into the very serious man who was now unable to laugh with ease or sincerity. “What happened to Valiant?”

Jones looked
away with a sad shake of his head. “Not a story fit for a lady’s ears.” He also clearly respected Lady Emmaline too much not to share with her what he knew, because he sighed and continued. “After we were forced into retreat, Wellington spent the winter reorganizing the forces. Whenever there was a battle, Captain Drake would find a tree far from the battle, and tie that dog up. Battle of Vitoria was a big one.” It had been the one that ultimately crumpled Napoleon’s forces in Spain. “We were in some serious hand-to-hand combat with the Frenchies. That dog, my lady, must have known his master was going to need him, because he gnawed through those ropes and wandered amidst the battlefield with that chewed rope still bound around his neck, searching everywhere for the Cap’n.”

Emmaline’s eyes slid closed as she battled back a wave of pain
. She loathed the question stuck on the tip of her tongue. “Did he find him?”

Intuitively she knew that he had.

Jones nodded again. “Found him fighting two Frenchie bastards. Pardon, my lady,” he hurried. Red infused his cheeks.

“Fine, fine.” She felt the same way about the men who’d tried to kill Drake. She urged him on, needing to hear, needing to know.

Jones went on. “That dog,”

Valiant, she silently corrected. His name was Valiant.

“Launched himself at one of the bas—uh, Frenchies, who had his knife at the captain’s throat. Grabbed onto his leg and bit, tearing at the man’s breeches. It allowed Captain Drake to…, to…take care of the other man. But the other fellow, well, he grabbed that rope and wrenched that dog’s neck. Broke it just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

Emmaline’s eyes slid closed as she imagined Drake standing there, fighting for his life, and seeing his faithful companion killed in front of him.

Just like that.

Chapter 20

My Dearest Drake,

I think it unfair I cannot have a dog
of my choice. When we are married, you have to promise me we might have a dog and that I may choose its breed. I think I should like a Shetland Sheepdog….perhaps we can even have some sheep.

Ever Yours,

Emmaline

Drake strode down the pavement ignoring the curious stares and whispers being directed his way by the lords and ladies
who strolled down the street. His Hessian boots drew to an immediate, jarring halt when he reached his destination. With purpose, he stomped up the townhouse steps, and tucked the wriggling bundle of fur into the crook of his left elbow.

He
slammed the knocker with his right hand, while holding onto the four-pound devil in his opposite arm. The pup sunk razor like teeth into the flesh of his fingers until Drake winced as a hot trickle of blood dotted his flesh.

Drake raised his fist to again pound the
wood panel when the door opened.

He fished a calling card out of his pocket around the squirming mass and handed it to the blank-faced butler. “Lord Drake to see His Grace.”

The staid man studied the card, and then peered down a hawk-like nose at the yapping pup. He wrinkled his nose disapprovingly. “Right this way.” He turned, as if expecting Drake to follow.

Drake was ushered
into the Duke of Mallen’s library.

Mallen lifted his eyes from the papers he had been studying but didn’t bother to rise. “Drake, this is a surprise.” His tone said it was not a happy one.

“Mallen.” He set the pup on the floor and the little beast set to work chewing the edge of Drake’s boots. He winced. “Your sister sent me a dog.”

Mallen’s head quirked to the side. “A dog?”

Said dog scrambled up onto one of the two leather-winged chairs facing the Duke of Mallen’s enormous desk, and yapped at the befuddled peer.

“The pup seems to be a good judge of character,” Drake drawled
beneath his breath.

Mallen’s brows converged in one, annoyed line. “Your dog is
going to destroy my chair.”

Drake glanced down to see the mangy beast
who was using all his energy to dig a hole through the surface of the leather. “It’s not my dog.”

Mallen shoved his seat back, scraping the dark wood of the floor, and
stood. “You barge into my home with...”

The
door opened and the Duchess of Mallen sailed into the room which sliced into Mallen’s scathing diatribe. “Lord Drake, how very good to see you.” A smile wreathed her ageless face.

“Always a pleasure and honor.” Drake’s attempt at politeness was ruined by the
dog that jumped off the chair and ambled back over to him. The mangy thing stood on hind legs and began to scratch at the fabric of Drake’s breeches.

“If that were true, I’d imagine we’d see
you more frequently, Drake.” She glanced down at the puppy and let out a sound of happy surprise. “Oh, you’ve brought your dog.”

Drake sighed. “He’s not my dog.”

She either failed to hear him or chose to ignore his response, for in a very un-duchess-like move, the Duchess of Mallen went down on a knee and called the scruffy black dog over. The puppy yapped, and proceeded to run in circles around her. “My, you are full of energy,” she cooed, occasionally landing a pat.

The pup eventually tired of his game, and instead of sitting for the duchess, returned to Drake and plopped down atop his boots. The creature’s eyes fluttered heavily, before he emitted a contented sigh, and fell into a deep, snoring slumber.

The duchess gracefully rose and crossed over to Drake. She claimed his hands in hers and leaned up to kiss him on each cheek. “It really is wonderful to see you, Drake. How is your father?”

Drake had been raised a gentleman and was therefore able to momentarily forget the four
-pound reason for his visit.

“He is well,
Your Grace, thank you for asking.”

She rang for refreshments.
“I must say, I’m thrilled to see you, but surely there must be some other reason for your visit?” She softened the searching question with a wide smile.

Drake started.
It was Emmaline’s smile.

Mallen reclaimed his leather seat and motioned to the puppy. “He’s come to tattle on Emmaline.”

The duchess blinked in confusion, wide hazel eyes moving from her son to Drake.

“I did not come to tattle.” Drake shuffled on his feet, momentarily displacing the pup. The beast was a resolute one
, for he climbed right back up onto his perch and gave what Drake swore was a disapproving look.
Great now the dog is put out with me as well.

Mallen smiled. “Oh good, then. He came to thank Emmaline.”

Before Drake could disabuse him of the notion, Mallen rang again. “Have Lady Emmaline summoned immediately,” he said to the servant who entered the room.

The servant bowed and hurried to do
the duke’s bidding.

“Of all the preposterous things,” Drake said under his breath, shifting the dog from his feet.

The pup’s eyes flew open at being jarred, but then he gave a high-pitched yap and found a renewed burst of energy. He began running circles around Drake, who momentarily followed him with his eyes before getting dizzy, and forced himself to look away from the pup’s display.

“Did you call me preposterous?” Mallen snapped.

“Why yes, I did.”

Mallen’s chest puffed out. “Don’t call me preposterous.”

“I’ll not take orders from…”

The Duchess of Mallen clapped her hands together once, then twice. “Gentlemen, please. Remember you are men.” She focused an overly long, disapproving look on Drake.

He resented being made to feel in the wrong. Noble young ladies did not, under any circumstances, send gifts to unmarried gentlemen—even if they were betrothed to the gentleman. It simply wasn’t done. This, however, hadn’t simply been a gift. Why, she’d sent round a dog.

You didn’t send someone a dog. You just…well, you just didn’t do it.

Emmaline sailed into the room. “You wanted m—” Her glance alighted on Drake and an enchanting smile wreathed her face. “Oh, hello, my lord!”

He bowed. “My lady.”

She wore that same silly, straw wide-brimmed hat she had worn in the gardens. The same one he’d torn from her head and tossed to the ground before he…

Her whiskey-colored eyes fell to the black pup. The little devil
jumped at Drake’s legs again, clearly asking to be picked up.

“You’ve met him! Isn’t he precious? Aren’t you precious?” she said in a high singsong voice. She gracefully sank to her knees, sending her pale blue skirts fluttering, similar to the way the duchess had moments ago.

Only this time, thank God, the infernal beast went gladly over. Emmaline scooped him up and allowed him to lap her face with his rough, pink tongue.
Lucky fellow
.

“Aren’t you sweet? Do you like your new master? I’m sure he’s taking wonderful care of you.”

Drake blinked several times. Why did he feel as though he’d stepped on the stage of a great farcical comedy of which he was the lead actor but didn’t know his lines?

“Lord Drake has come to say thank you, Emmaline,” Mallen called from behind his desk. His expression indicated he was enjoying the exchange far
more than Drake.

“No, I haven’t. I have come to return him,” Drake bit out. As if understanding those hurtful words, the black puppy whimpered and flipped onto his back, sidling back and forth on the Aubusson carpet.

“Never say you are displeased with the little fellow.” Mallen pressed a hand to his chest in feigned astonishment.

“I wouldn’t say I
am
pleased with him,” Drake snapped.

Emmaline’s smile faded like the sun dropping from the horizon to usher in the night sky. “You cannot return Sir Faithful. Poor Sir Faithful.” She went over to the crestfallen pup and scratched his tummy. “Mean Lord Drake has hurt your feelings. Nasty, nasty man.”

Just then a tray of refreshments was delivered and set on the table at the corner of the room. Mallen chuckled. “Ahh, perfect! Refreshments to accompany this show.”

Drake glared at the other man
and then Emmaline’s words registered. A loud guffaw sprung from his lips. “Sir Faithful? Surely you jest? You have named the creature Sir Faithful?”

Emmaline climbed to her feet and planted her hands on her hips. “There is nothing funny about his name.”

Drake took a step forward. “No, there is nothing funny about his name. There is
everything
funny about his name.”

Drake rolled his shoulders and looked helplessly to the duchess and Mallen. Finding no help there, he jabbed a finger in Emmaline’s direction. “Nor for that matter can you go about simply naming other people’s dogs.”

“I thought you weren’t keeping him,” Mallen pointed out.

“Be quiet
.”

Drake, Emmaline, and the Duchess of Mallen ordered in unison.

Mallen crossed the room and scanned the array of sweets artfully arranged on the tray, before settling on a cherry tart. He took two bites and then popped the remainder into his mouth. “So much for being one of the most powerful peers in the realm. I don’t even have power in my own library,” he muttered around a mouthful of treat.

The duchess folded her hands and looked from
Emmaline to Lord Drake, a contemplative gleam in her eyes that Drake didn’t like in the least. Apparently smoothing over conflict was inherent in a mother’s nature.

“Emmaline, my dear, I’m afraid Lord Drake is correct. You cannot simply give him a dog. Especially if he doesn’t want it.”

Emmaline shot a look of hurt betrayal at the duchess, and Drake thought she might stick her tongue out at him.

The duchess turned to Drake. “And you, Lord Drake, it is hardly gentlemanly to return a gift.”

Emmaline’s expression turned victorious, and he gritted his teeth.

Drake could handle one small duchess. He inclined his head, his tone solemn. “Your Grace, you are indeed correct. It is an unpardonable affront to reject any gift. That was never my intention. I simply cannot bring this dog into my home.”

Emmaline and Mallen emitted matching snorts at his flowery speech.

The Duchess glared at the both of her children
and returned her attention to Drake. “I’m sure there is a solution so no one’s sensibilities are hurt.”

“Yes, there is. Lord Drake can keep Sir Faithful and say thank you,” Emmaline volunteered
. She crossed the room and selected a cherry tart before Mallen could finish off that particular flavor.

“I am not keeping him and that is final.”

Emmaline gave a flounce of her head.

Drake shot a hopeful glance in the duchess’ direction but it would appear her
efforts at restoring civility had collapsed.

Carrying the tart on an embroidered napkin, Emmaline crossed to Sir Faithful and offered the pastry to the little black pup.

Drake’s eyes slid closed. “You cannot feed a dog cherry tarts.”

Emmaline paused mid-motion
. Sir Faithful scratched at her hand, and she shifted her attention back to the pup. She popped a piece of the treat into his mouth and patted him on the head. “For someone who does not want him, you are fairly well-versed in how to handle his care.”

He took a step in her direction. “Anyone would know not to feed him des
sert treats.”

“Anyone would know Sir Faithful is a perfect name for a faithful dog.” She took a step closer to him until they were a hands-length apart, both breathing heavily,
the spectators in the room, once again, irrelevant to their exchange.

Emmaline’s lips parted. Drake’s emerald gaze dropped to those lips and
he forgot whatever words he’d intended to speak.

He studied Emmaline’s flushed
cheeks. She really was—lovely.

Even in her ridiculous, oversized hat.

Especially in that silly bonnet. It put wicked thoughts into Drake’s mind; he and Emmaline in an open field on a hot summer day. He would tug the article from her head and release the luxurious brown locks so they fanned about them…

A stream of something warm and wet snapped him from his reverie.

“Your dog is pissing on my carpet, Drake,” Mallen drawled.

Drake glared at him. “My dog is pissing on my
boot
.”

“Gentlemen, language,” the duchess scolded.

Emmaline clasped her hands to her chest and favored Drake with a radiant smile. “So, you are keeping him?”

Drake gave his clouded head
a shake. He’d never said that.

The duchess gave a little clap of her hands. “Lovely news! Then it is settled!”

And just like that it was settled.