Authors: Sherry Gloag
Vidal's Honor (25 page)
The servants had whispered about it all day. Emma tried to ignore them, but the guilty way they jumped apart from each other every time she happened upon a group of them didn't make it easy. After running into gossiping servants in the kitchen, the dining room, and the drawing room, she finally took a novel and found a quiet corner in the library.
However, she soon found that while she could escape the household's mutterings, she could not escape her own thoughts.
“Foolishness,” she admonished herself. “He didn't return for you. You wouldn't want him if he did.”
With a self-satisfied nod of her head, she turned her attention back to her book, and reread the page in front of her for the eighth time. After the tenth time, she put the novel aside with a heavy sigh. Perhaps she should go for a walk.
“Lady Emmaline,” the butler said from the doorway. “You have a caller.”
A caller? She hadn't had a caller in over five years. Not since
he
left.
She stood and tried to cover her excitement. “Who is it?”
“His grace, the Duke of Salle.”
Her knees grew weak. Henry? Here? At her home? Her heart raced as she imagined what he wanted.
From the doorway, the servant watched her with barely concealed curiosity. Summoning all the inner strength she had, Emma sat back down.
“Oh.” She took her book off the table and opened it to a random page. “Please inform his grace I am indisposed.”
“My humblest apologies, my lady, but he has already conversed with your mother.”
“Of course he has,” she muttered under her breath. Whatever he was, Henry wasn't a fool. He knew the quickest way to a single woman was through a desperate mother. Looking up at the butler, she replied, “Very well. Tell his grace I will be in shortly.”
She walked to the morning room, her mind occupied with deciding upon a plan. She would welcome him back to England. She would murmur niceties about the weather and how delighted she was to see him again. Then she would be overcome with a headache and excuse herself. She would not stare at him. She would not let his smile wipe every bit of sense out of her head. Most importantly, she would not forgive him.
He was talking with her mother, his back to the door, when she entered. Her presence remained unnoticed until her mother spied her over his shoulder.
“Emmaline. Do come in.”
Henry turned and their eyes met for the first time in over five years. Those years had been kind to him. He had grown into a man. Gone was the gangly boyishness she remembered. His eyes searched hers and she wondered what he saw. How she appeared to him since the last time they were in each other's company.
He approached her, running a hand through his tousled blond hair, and an unsure smile on his face. His voice was thick and coarse when he spoke, nothing at all as she remembered him sounding. “Lady Emmaline.”
She dropped into a curtsy. “Your grace.” Her voice sounded calm to her ears and she lifted a silent prayer of thanks. She waved in the general direction of the couches. “Would you care to sit?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He followed and sat down once she did. Emma saw from the corner of her eye that her mother had taken a seat near the door to sew.
“Welcome back to England, your grace,” Emma said.
Over the last five years, she had played over and over in her mind what would happen if Henry ever returned from the Continent and they found themselves together. Now that it was actually happening, all her memorized lines flew straight out of her head. The only things remaining were nonsensical pleasantries.
“Thank you. It's nice to be back.”
He had grown into an imposing man. Now that she saw him more fully, she could tell. With broad shoulders, wide chest, and head held high, he was every inch a duke.
“I was sorry to hear of your father's passing.” She felt certain if his father hadn't died, Henry would have remained far away from England.
“He lived a full life.”
They had become strangers over the last five years. She no longer knew him. This man who had once been her close confidant, and later her downfall, was now a stranger. It was rather sad if she thought about it long enough.
“Pleasant weather today,” she said.
“Yes, quite.”
A silence followed, so complete she thought if she listened hard enough, she could hear her mother's needle push through the cloth.
It wasn't just sad, though, it was painful. Sitting with him, so close yet so distant, was a mockery of all she had lost.
They spoke at the same time.
“Your graceâ”
“Emmalineâ”
She waved at him. “You go.”
Uncertainty crossed his expression and she wondered if he felt guilty. “I wanted to⦠I suppose âapologize' is an understatement. I came to see how you fared. How life has been for you.”
She narrowed her eyes. The ever-present anger at her situation, the anger she usually kept under lock and key, buried deep inside her soul, started to boil.
“How do you think I fared? Was there any doubt in your mind how life has been for me?” She leaned closer, spoke low so her mother wouldn't hear. “I am most well, your grace. As you noticed when you entered this morning, I am not sure what to do with myself, what with all these suitors hanging around. I receive so many party and ball invitations, I'm busy every night of the week. Of course, once there, my dance card is always filled. You mustn't concern yourself with how I've been.”
“Emma, Iâ”
“
Lady
Emmaline. To call me anything else would be gravely inappropriate. I wouldn't know what to do if my reputation were to be sullied.”
“
Emma.
There is nothing I can do to come close to making up for what I did all those years ago. If you would allow it, though, I would like to try.”
“What would be the reason? So you can feel better about yourself? I will not allow you to use me like that.”
“I don't wish to use you. I wishâ”
“I don't care to hear what you wish.” The anger coursed through her now.
Her mother glanced up from her sewing.
Emma took a deep breath and lowered her voice. “You may go back to your townhouse knowing I am quite well. I have accepted my place and station as a disgraced spinster. You should do the same.”
“Will you go for a ride with me tomorrow?”
She blinked several times. “What?”
“You. Me. Ride. Tomorrow.” The hint of a smile played on his mouth.
“I heard you.”
“Then why did you ask âwhat?'”
“No.”
“No, you didn't ask me what I said?” His smile was bigger, reaching his eyes and brightening his entire face. This,
this
was the Henry she remembered. The light-hearted teasing one. The one she had fallen in love with.
The one who had broken her heart.
She would not allow it to happen again.
“No, I won't go on a ride with you tomorrow.” To do so would be to open herself up, to allow herself to be vulnerable. She had done that once and look how it turned out. She was two and twenty, alone, and disgraced.
“I want to explain myself.” His eyes were still that odd combination of blue and green. She had never seen anyone else with eyes quite that color.
“Yes, well, if I've learned anything over the last five years, it's that we rarely get what we want.” When he opened his mouth to talk again, she continued, “Truly, your grace, I am very much content. Please leave me be.”
He didn't say anything, but she remembered well the look in his eyes. He was running through various ways to move forward and listing in his head the potential outcomes of each one.
When he stood, she assumed he had taken her word concerning her contentment. She stood as well, not knowing whether to be happy or sad.
It surprised her when he asked, “A deal then?”
“What kind of deal?”
He took a step closer and she inhaled the scent of him. Pine and musk, just like always.
“You ride with me tomorrow and if you wish for me to leave you be after, I will do so.”
She straightened her shoulders, recognizing it was as good a deal as she would get. “Very well. I'll see you tomorrow.”
****
When her mother heard the news, she clutched her chest and muttered assorted thanks to God.
“It's only a carriage ride, Mother.”
Five years ago, her mother had been distraught at the scandal that ended with Henry leaving for the Continent and Emma's fall from society. Putting her own feelings about the afternoon aside, Emma feared her mother would once again sink into despair by the time this business with Henry ended.
“Yes,” her mother said. “But his grace has just been in town for three days. He hasn't been seen around at all, and you are the only one he has paid a visit to.”
That her mother knew so much of the duke's comings and goings shouldn't have come as a surprise. As a countess, even one whose daughter was not viewed well in polite society, she was part of a large social network. A network that spent most of its time gossiping and match-making.
“Your father will be so happy.”
Her father spent most of his time at his favorite men's club. She rarely saw him and when she did, she could never tell if he was happy or sad.
She started to walk back to the library, but her mother's hand stopped her.
“Maybe he'll ask you to the Kringles' Christmas Eve Ball.”
With a sigh, she turned around and tried to gently let her mother down. “It is but a carriage ride. I am settled. I have no expectations of marriage or even attending the Kringles' Christmas Eve Ball. Please,
please
, don't wrap your hopes up in this.”
If she could only convince her heart of the same.
****
Living on the edge of society as she had for the last five years, Emma had not been on a carriage ride with any single man. Though she told herself over and over it was just a ride, the truth was it
was
a ride and it was a ride with Henry. Henry, who for all her statements to the contrary, still held a special place in her heart.
She dressed in her warmest pelisse, of a periwinkle color she liked to think matched the blue in her eyes. Peering out the upstairs window, she sighed. Likely as not, Henry wanted to explain his side of the story, to unburden his heart. She steeled herself for it, mentally repeating that she was happy in her station.
In the distance she saw the Salle carriage approaching. Henry looked particularly handsome. Breathtakingly handsome, if she was honest with herself. She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the cool window. What was she doing? Why had she agreed to open a wound thought long since healed?
One day, she told herself, it was only one day. A few hours. Then he would be gone. Forever this time.
She strolled down the stairs.
“Lady Emmaline,” Henry said with a bow when she appeared. “You look divine.”
She curtsied. “Your words are particularly sugary today, your grace. Any more so and I fear I would faint of their sweetness.”
“You wound me.” He clutched his heart. “Right here.”
She took her gloves from a side table and pulled them on. “From what I heard of your exploits on the Continent, most women were overtaken with your fine words.”
He held out his arm and she took it with a cautious hand. How strange to be touching him. Even now, after all this time, her belly fluttered at his nearness.
I'm not sure I can do this.
She glanced at him and saw he appeared unaffected by her touch. Very well, two could go at that. But her stomach continued to flutter, even as he helped her into the carriage. He went about checking the foot warmer and adjusting the blankets around them.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked.
How could she not be with him so near? She tried to look bored. “Yes, your grace. I'm quite comfortable.”
A look of irritation crossed his face but was quickly replaced with his typical easy smile. “Good to hear. Let me know if you get cold.” With that, he gave a click of his tongue and a snap of the reins.
They drove to the park. Henry waved to passing couples, presumably also out for a midday drive. Emma sat stiffly. She knew, with Henry by her side, that society would welcome her. But once he left, she would go back to being invisible. It would be for the best if she didn't grow accustomed to receiving anyone's approval.
The events of years past were like a wall between them, keeping them separate. Though he sat next to her, he might as well still be on the Continent. Yet he had been the one to ask her on a ride, so she would wait for him to make the first move at knocking the wall down.
It didn't take long for him to try.
“Emma,” he said when they had driven past the park's center. “My actions toward you were wrong all those years ago. I acted irresponsibly, not thinking what the result would be for you.”
She couldn't stand to look at him while he said such things. Instead, she focused her attention on the evergreens, the other carriages out, anything but him. “I told you, I am content.”
“You deserve more than mere contentment.”
She shrugged, but doubted the movement noticeable with the bulk of her outfit. “I am better off than many in my position.”
It was nothing more than what she'd told herself numerous times over the last five years. Why did the words sound empty when she said them to him?
“Let me improve your position. Marry me, Emma.”
The shock of his suggestion caused her to forget the passing evergreens and swing her head to him. “What?”
His smile appeared genuine. “Allow me to do what I should have done years ago. Marry me, Emma.”
It was possibly the very last thing she expected him to say. For two years after he'd left, she had imagined him saying those very words. She'd dreamed of him coming back to rescue her, to redeem her in the eyes of society. He would marry her, she would become a duchess, and together they would show the
ton
she was worthy.
Little by little, though, those dreams had died. Slipped away, packed in the attic space of her mind, and never cast again into the bright light of day.
So, unlike her dreams, she answered, “No.”
“Emma, please.”
“Don't âplease' me, your grace â”
“Stop âyour gracing' me."
“No. It's your title and the accepted way to address you. I will not marry you just so you can feel better about yourself. I deserve better. As do you.” Her words sounded weak to her ears. She hoped they sounded more determined to him.
He pulled the horses to a stop. They were at the far end of the park. Not in the direct line of traffic, but not secluded either.
He searched her eyes. “I remember a girl who used to call me Henry. Where is that girl?”
She couldn't endure the scrutiny. Not from him. Emma turned her head away. “She no longer exists. She is ruined. An outcast.”
“Emma,” his voice was soft and pleading.
She blinked against the hot tears filling her eyes. “She heard you had a delightful time on the Continent and hopes your exploits were worth the price of her rightful future.”
“Emma, look at me.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her to face him. “I was wrong. I was foolish and irresponsible. I hurt you and your family. Not a day went by I didn't hate myself for what I did to you.”
Her heart threatened to soften, but she held firm. “And yet you only returned when your father died and you had a dukedom to inherit.”
“I was a coward. But I am ready to face my mistakes. To try and correct them, if you will allow it.”
He was always too charming for his own good. To have that on top of being wealthy and good looking left a girl with no defenses. She felt her own start to crumble.
“Why?” she asked. “You could have any number of eligible girls. Why me?”
“Because you are the only one who knew me when I stood knee high and wore gowns.”
“That is a poor excuse.”
“I would say more, but I don't want to be accused of sugary words again.”
This time, she was the one searching his eyes. “I'm not agreeing to marry you.” She wasn't ready for that, wasn't sure if she would ever be ready for that. Not after all this time. “I am a spinster and, until you showed up, a content one.”
“Shall we agree to a courtship?”
“I'm not sure I'm ready for that either, but you may call on me.”
“I'll win you over yet, Emma.”
With a playful tilt of her head, she smiled back at him. “I'm a most stubborn woman, your grace.”
“Henry.”
A raised eyebrow was the only answer she gave him.