by Abby Ayles
“Good morning, sister,” Marcus said.
Emma could not believe her eyes. Marcus looked as healthy as ever.
She embraced him tightly.
“Marcus, you look wonderful,” she said.
Marcus laughed.
“I feel every bit of it,” he said. “In fact, I have some wonderful news for you.”
“Well, come in and tell me,” she said, ushering her brother into the drawing room.
Lydia was already waiting with wine and a bottle of their father’s brandy.
“This is all we have, Miss Baker,” Lydia said, her face apologetic as she placed the tray before them.
Marcus smiled warmly at Lydia.
“This is fine, Lydia,” he said. “It is so good to see you again.”
“It is wonderful to see you so well, Mr. Baker,” Lydia said, curtseying.
“Please, won’t you join us?” Marcus invited. “I would like you to share in this news, as well.”
Lydia smiled.
“Thank you, Mr. Baker,” she said, taking a seat.
“What is all this about?” Emma asked.
Marcus smiled.
“I have recovered enough to come home,” Marcus said, glowing. “And I will be taking over the finances again. So, you will no longer have to worry about a thing.”
Emma blinked, surprised. This was the very thing for which she had hoped for so long. She had been terrified of losing Marcus, and almost as fearful that she would end up in the poor house without his assistance.
However, now that he was well and would be taking his rightful place as head of the family, she found herself feeling apprehensive. What would she do with herself now?
“Emma?” Marcus asked. “Did you hear me?”
Emma gave her brother a warm smile.
“Yes, and I could not be more thrilled,” she said, hugging her brother again. She hoped that she would, indeed, learn to be as happy about the change in circumstances as she assured her brother she was.
One thing was certain, however. She was very glad that Marcus was well again, and that she would get to spend much more time with him again. She had missed him so and been so afraid of losing him.
She smiled at him again, more genuinely. “When will you be coming home?” she asked.
“I already am,” he said with another laugh. “I have most of my things still here. Everything at the country home was all things I used while I was so sick, and would likely be best disposed of, rather than brought into the house.
“And, once I get the finances back in order, I can replace any of the things I’ve left.”
“Mr. Baker, this is wonderful news indeed,” Lydia said, gushing. “It will be so good to have you home again.”
“It is already good to be home,” Marcus said. “In fact, I believe that I will get started now. I shall be in the study if you need me, Emma.”
Marcus made this last statement with the happiest smile that Emma had seen in months, save for the ones she had seen him giving Rosaline. His happiness was contagious, and she hugged him again before he vanished into the study.
“Would you like me to keep you company?” Lydia asked, gesturing to the wine, which none of them had touched.
“No,” Emma said quickly. “If you do not mind, would you go make sure that we have enough food for supper tonight? I believe that I will read in my room for a while.”
Lydia nodded, obviously excited.
“Right away, Miss Baker,” Lydia said.
Once Lydia had gone, Emma sighed. She was retiring to her room, but she was not of any mind to read. She needed to sort through her thoughts. She was happy, to be sure, but everything was happening so suddenly.
As she climbed the stairs, Marcus came out of the study. In his hand, he held a stack of unopened letters.
“Do you always throw away letters before reading them?” Marcus asked. His tone was light, but his face was concerned.
Emma hurriedly grabbed the letters from Marcus.
“There is nothing I have to say to Lord Ashfield,” she said, feeling her face flush.
“Is he giving you further trouble?” Marcus asked, his own face beginning to redden.
Emma hurried to calm him. She did not know how sudden stress might affect Marcus, with him so recently recovered.
“I have not read any of the letters,” she said. “But I am certain that he has better things to do than to write me just to continue to berate me.”
She tried to smile as confidently at her brother as she could, but she did not, in fact, completely believe her words. However, she needed Marcus to believe them, so that he did not get upset and risk falling ill again.
Marcus studied her carefully for a moment.
“Well, if he does cause more trouble, you will let me know, won’t you?” he asked.
“Of course, I will,” she said, smiling again and touching her brother’s arm lightly.
Satisfied, Marcus nodded and returned to the study. Emma breathed a hushed sigh of relief and took the letters to her room, where they stayed hidden, but not forgotten, for a few more days.
Toward the end of the week, Emma’s restlessness at having so little to do with herself and her curiosity over the letters got the best of her.
She tucked the letters into her dress pocket and prepared to go to the park. She had decided that it would be best to read them away from home, especially if the contents of the letters were, in fact, upsetting. She would not hide them from Marcus, but she could tell him the gist of what they said after having disposed of them.
Marcus had left earlier that morning to discuss some business matters in town, for which she was relieved. She was already nervous about reading the letters, and she knew that Marcus would see and sense that. She would have no answers to any of his questions until she had read the letters.
The ride to the park felt extraordinarily long. She kept feeling the letters in her pocket, questioning whether she was doing the right thing. She wondered if she owed it to Francis to even bother reading them, or if she should just dispose of them without wasting her time.
Curiosity began to overrule her apprehension, however, and by the time she had reached the park, she was more determined than ever to read them. After all, no matter what they said, it was up to her whether she responded.
She chose a nice, shady spot beneath a large, beautiful tree. She spread out a blanket and took a deep breath.
The first letter she read sent the air rushing out of her lungs:
Dear Emma,
I do not even know where to begin, and I do not blame you for having not written back. I have been an utter fool. I know that I have no right to do so, but I am writing once again to beg your forgiveness.
I was undeservedly horrid to you, and I wish every day that I could take back all the awful things I said to you. I wish more still that you were still here.
I miss you more with each passing day, and it pains me that I only have myself to blame for it.
I understand that this may come far too late, but I want to marry you. To hell with the consequences. I love you, Emma. You are the only woman with whom I wish to spend the rest of my life, and I do not care what my father-in-law has to say.
You are more than worth making sacrifices in my business. My money, my title, none of it means anything without you. You were the one bright thing in our lives, and I want nothing more than to have that once more, forever.
I know that I also have no right to ask of you any favors, but I need to hear from you, even if it is to say that you never want to see or hear from me again. I need to know that you are well and that my letters are reaching you.
I also want you to know that I am sincere about my feelings for you and my desire to marry you. Please, Emma, say something to me. Anything at all.
All my love,
Francis
It took Emma several passes to read the letter fully. She felt certain that she was reading it incorrectly, so she kept rereading it. Even once she understood th
e letter well, she became convinced it was some sort of trick.
She opened letter after letter, trying to remain angry with him and looking for some indication that she was right, but each letter was sweeter and more sincere than the last.
In one of the letters, which Emma assumed must have been the first one he wrote, Francis explained that he now knew she was not a thief, and that she was not to blame for having ever been dishonest with him about her brother.
He apologized very emotionally, and Emma thought that she could see dried tear stains on the page. Despite the heartfelt words, however, Emma could not be sure that he meant what he said.
What if he was simply talking about marrying her because he felt guilty?
On the trip home, conflicting thoughts flooded Emma’s mind. What if he was being sincere? Could she, in fact, forgive him?
But what if he was not? She knew she could not forgive that. She had already suffered so much because of him, and she would not let him hurt her again.
However, she missed him fiercely and, at last, she decided that it was worth it to take his word for everything. For now, at least.
As soon as she returned home, she wrote back to Francis. She resisted the urge to confess her feelings to him, despite how desperately she wanted to. Instead, she simply told him that she might have a solution to his problem with his father-in-law.
She added that she needed to hear his apology aloud, rather than in a letter before she can manage to forgive him for what he did. She thought for a moment, then asked Francis to meet her at the park from whence she had just returned that coming weekend.
With trembling fingers, she signed the letter and sealed the envelope. Then, before she could change her mind, she rushed to get it sent.
Chapter 34
Francis reread Emma’s letter, barely concealing his joy. He had not truly believed that she would write him back, though he had had no plans of ceasing his letters to her.
Even though she had said that she had not yet forgiven him, she had still responded to him. Better yet, she had agreed to meet him.
And, he had to admit, he was more than a little intrigued by her assertion that she had the solution to his problem. Did that mean that she also wanted to marry him?
Francis shook off the idea. He could not hope for so much all at once. He had already well overstepped his bounds by asking her to speak to him.
He knew, as he had told her, that he had no right to do so. For now, it was enough that she was willing to see him and give him the chance to apologize face to face.
His excitement turned to nervousness as the day approached to meet Emma. What if she had only agreed to meet him so that she could give him a piece of her mind in person?
“What if she did?” Francis asked himself aloud. “Do I deserve anything more?”
As the days stretched on, he convinced himself that he, in fact, deserved no less. Part of him hoped that she would tell him exactly what she thought of him, even if she did end up forgiving him.
The woman with whom he had fallen in love would have no qualms about telling him what kind of ogre he had been. But another part of him feared that that strong, confident woman would never again be able to see him as anything but that ogre.
By the time the day of their meeting had arrived, Francis was a bundle of conflicting emotions. He tried rehearsing in his mind the things he would say when he saw her and forced himself to breathe slowly and think clearly.
He thought he could not possibly be more nervous than he was on the ride to the park. That was until he spotted her.
Seeing her face again caused his heart to pound and race out of control. He took several deep breaths, trying to retain the speech he had practiced.
He stepped carefully from the carriage as soon as it came to a stop near where she was sitting and walked toward her slowly, as though he was afraid he would frighten her away if he moved too quickly. Her eyes met his, and he had to fight a sudden, overwhelming urge to take her into his arms and kiss her.
As he approached her, he gave her a small but warm smile. She did not smile in return, but Francis thought he saw her eyes light up, if only for a second.
As she rose from the bench on which she had been sitting, Francis froze, all thoughts of the things he had planned suddenly gone from his mind.
“Hello, my lord,” she said, curtseying formally.
Francis struggled to find his voice.
“Emma,” he said, not caring about his public lack of formality.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet me here,” Emma said. Her voice was calm and natural, but there was no indication of the warmth or familiarity it had once had when she spoke to him.
It tore at Francis to think that he had done that to her, and he dropped to his knees. It was too much, and he could keep his feelings to himself no more.
“Please, Emma,” he begged, feeling a sudden flood of tears that he had had no idea had begun to form. “Please, forgive me.”
Francis kept his gaze toward the ground, too afraid of the expression. He now knew that her cool formality with him was far worse than her giving him a piece of her mind, and he could not handle seeing any more of that right then.
When he heard her dress rustle as she firmly placed her hands on her hips, he had to choke back a sob of relief.
“Well, you are making quite the spectacle of yourself, my lord,” she said firmly.
“I do not care,” Francis said, at last daring to look at her.
Her cheeks were flushed, and her jaw was set, but he could see the beginning of a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. Even if she was only pleased that he had been reduced to such behavior, that was alright with him.
“Your opinion is the only one that matters to me.”
“That is quite the opposite of the last thing you said to me,” she said.
“You do not know how tortured I am, recalling all the terrible things I said to you,” he said, not bothering to wipe the tears that had been falling.
“I believe that I know something about how the torture of those words felt,” she retorted.
Francis laughed. It was so refreshing to hear her sounding like herself that he could not help himself.
“And now you presume to laugh at me?” she asked, her voice shrill with indignation.
“How I have missed your direct manner of speaking your thoughts and feelings,” he said.
Emma stared at him. It seemed that, whatever she had expected him to say, that had not been it.
“Then I should think that you would love some of the other things I have considered saying,” she said.
“Any words you choose to give me would be heaven, Emma,” Francis said. “Just, please, let those words include giving me your forgiveness.”
Emma considered for a moment.
“For what are you asking forgiveness?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. He knew that they both knew why he was begging her forgiveness, but he was so grateful at that moment that he did not mind announcing his mistakes.
“For being such a cruel, unfair man,” Francis said. “For thinking the worst of you, calling you a thief, being capable of the terrible words I thrust at you and calling you such terrible, hateful names, and for thinking of ruining your reputation within the ton.
“I asked that you trust me, as I have always been able to trust you. But when you trusted me to have faith in you when you most needed me to, I would not. I was a fool, a cad and a beast. And, in truth, I likely do not deserve your forgiveness.”
Emma’s face remained largely unchanged, but Francis could see that her eyes were beginning to soften.
“On that much, I believe that we agree,” she said. “After the way you left things, you most certainly should not have my forgiveness.”
Francis nodded.
“However, if you find it in your heart to forgive me, and you can bring yourself to tolerate a boorish man like me, I would be honored if you would agree to spend the rest of your life wi
th me,” he said. “In fact, there is nothing in this world that I want more.”
Emma’s hardened expression began to melt at last.
“That is quite the proclamation, my lord,” she said, her voice steady, but no longer cold. “But how can you expect me to ever forgive you? And, even if I could, how could I possibly believe that you mean what you say now?”
To Francis’s surprise, he found his answer quickly.