The Reunion

by Sara Portman

  The lightness of his teasing after the shock of his story took Emma off guard because she caught herself almost responding with an easy laugh of her own. She coughed instead.

  “I must say,” Aunt Agatha interjected. “That’s an astonishing story. I gather you plan to bring your mother and sister back to England, now that you’ve inherited?”

  His voice was small when he answered. “My mother passed away last year. It is only Charlotte who will be returning to England. She is my sister and the daughter of a duke. She deserves to take her place here.”

  Emma wasn’t quite sure what to make of all this. She supposed she would have to rethink at least some portion of her resentments toward the Duke of Worley. She could see how he might owe a greater loyalty to his mother and sister than to the fiancée he barely knew and never wanted in the first place. Still, he’d been incredibly hateful when they were introduced. He’d handled the situation poorly, by her estimation, and one could not forget her reputation had been irreparably damaged. Most importantly, she still didn’t want to marry him.

  “I suppose I understand, Your Grace, why you felt you had to disregard our engagement at the time. I don’t see, however, what this has to do with me currently.”

  He turned to her with a pleading expression. “Charlotte needs a champion, Lady Emmaline. Her background is unorthodox. Her true identity will be questioned and vicious rumors will be circulated. She needs more than me to take on the gossips. She needs you as well.”

  Emma glanced at her aunt to gauge her reaction to this nonsense. What could he be thinking?

  “That’s the most backward idea I’ve ever heard.” She adjusted herself in her seat. “If you require a fiancée with social clout, I assure you, I wield absolutely none. Thanks in no small part to you, if I may speak plainly.”

  “You’ll be a duchess. You’ll have all the clout in the world, provided you’ve the strength to demand it.”

  “I will not be a duchess.” She said it to the duke, but her eyes implored her aunt for just a bit more help. “It’s insupportable that you would want to marry me, Your Grace. I believe the total amount of time you’ve spent in my company is only now approaching an hour.”

  “You make a strong impression.” He laughed when her brow lifted. “Oh, come now, Lady Emmaline. It’s not as though I’ve claimed to fall in love with you in the span of an hour.”

  Aunt Agatha rose from her seat and looked about the room. “Emma, I expect your uncle must be wondering where we’ve gotten off to.”

  “Certainly not,” Emma said to the duke, ignoring her aunt. “You should know, however, that I am not without genuine suitors.” She couldn’t meet his eyes as she made the claim.

  She could feel his stare boring into her profile. “Is that really what you want?” he asked. “Living in relative poverty with an old man, caring for someone else’s children?”

  Emma and her aunt both gasped at once.

  “What do you know of it?” Emma demanded.

  “You can’t possibly claim to be in love with this Greystoke character,” he said, practically spitting the name as he spoke it, “and I don’t accept it as a valid objection.”

  She pivoted in her seat to face him, too offended to find his proximity intimidating. “Very well, then. What will you accept as a valid objection?”

  “Please, both of you,” Aunt Agatha interrupted. “Let’s not be too hasty in deciding what’s best for everyone.”

  Her aunt’s suspiciously neutral comment garnered Emma’s full attention.

  “Perhaps we should continue this conversation after we’ve had some opportunity to think things through and Emma has had a chance to confer with her uncle,” Aunt Agatha proposed.

  The duke nodded. “I believe your counsel to be wise, Lady Ridgley. It is clear to me that your niece doubts the sincerity of my intentions. As I promised earlier, I will call upon you tomorrow to present her with a betrothal ring that was once my grandmother’s.”

  He stepped to where Emma sat and took hold of her hand. “I look forward to more demonstrations of your attributes tomorrow afternoon, Lady Emmaline.” With a nod to her aunt, he released her hand and was out the door before she could object.

  Silence hovered between the ladies for a time. Emma spoke first.

  “He is the most arrogant man. He just assumes I’ll be happy to marry him.” She plunked her hand into her lap, frustrated with herself that she hadn’t gathered her wits quickly enough to snatch it away from him. “You’ll notice he offered no apology for the way I’ve been treated throughout this situation.”

  “Oh, Emma.” When Aunt Agatha faced her niece, her pale eyes were brimming with unshed tears.

  “Aunt Agatha.” Emma rose and rushed to her aunt’s side. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m only annoyed at his arrogance. I know he’ll see reason eventually. Everything will be fine.”

  “My dear,” Aunt Agatha said, brushing at the tears that leaked. “I didn’t plan to be a countess. I knew I was marrying a second son when I married your uncle and he wasn’t supposed to inherit. I never needed any of this.” She waved her hand as though indicating the Fairhaven’s study, but Emma knew her meaning to include her own home and the life of a peer in general. “When he did inherit the earldom, the most precious part of that estate was you. God never saw fit to give us children, but you’ve been like a daughter to me.”

  Emma reached for one of her aunt’s hands and squeezed it. “You’ve been like a mother to me.”

  Aunt Agatha reached up to brush a hand along Emma’s cheek. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “Having you with us has been wonderful for me. I’ve been in no rush to send you off to someone else’s household.” Her hand fell and her gaze followed. She shook her head softly. “I think perhaps I’ve been selfish and shortsighted.”

  “But you haven’t, I…”

  “Hush now, Emma, and let me finish.” There was a quiet strength behind her aunt’s words, and more assertiveness than Emma was accustomed to seeing from her.

  Emma nodded and did as she was told.

  “Your uncle will not live forever. This cousin from Yorkshire, whom we’ve never even met, will inherit and what will that leave you? Nothing but that lonely cottage and an old maid’s existence? I should have worked harder to secure a good marriage for you. In that one respect, I fear I’ve failed to meet my obligation to your parents.”

  Emma was overcome by the extent of her aunt’s affection—and troubled by the guilt she’d never meant to inspire. “Aunt Agatha, you mustn’t speak this way. You haven’t failed at all. I love my cottage and I’m so very grateful for all that you and my uncle have done for me—grateful that you stood by me, when I fear I’ve been an embarrassment to you.”

  “Do not even think it. Of course you’ve never been an embarrassment. I only want what’s truly best for you—to see your future secured as your parents tried to do when they lived. Now the duke has returned.” Aunt Agatha’s grip on her hand grew tighter. “The very man your father chose for you. I can’t help feeling this is my second chance, Emma. I owe your parents to see this marriage through.”

  Emma was at a loss. See the marriage through?

  She sat. The movement wasn’t studied or graceful. She just plopped onto the settee as though one moment she had a pair of useful, sturdy legs and then she didn’t. Everyone, it seemed, wanted her to marry the Duke of Worley. How could she possibly fight them all?

  Chapter Five

  “I don’t believe you.”

  John leveled Brydges with a beleaguered glance from across the breakfast table. “Then it appears you are in agreement with my betrothed,” he said, listening to how his words echoed in a room far too cavernous to be simply a breakfast room. Worley House had seemed…smaller…before.

  “Why the devil would you want to marry a woman who despises you?” Brydges asked, allowing his silver to clang to his plate.

  Why did everyone fail to understand? “I’ve given myself very little time to ma
rry an appropriate woman. I am currently affianced to one. It is the most expedient solution.” He placed his own fork gently. “She is still smarting from my abandonment, but I am sure that will pass once she has time to consider my reasons. After all, I am here to make good on the commitment, am I not?”

  Brydges sat back in his chair and considered his friend. “It is clear you have not spent the past four years in London ballrooms. You underestimate the capability of a scorned woman to hold a grudge.”

  “I’m sure she will she see reason. I am only expecting that she be amicable, not that she fall madly in love with me. Lord, no one wants that.”

  John certainly didn’t want that. In truth, he couldn’t even risk it.

  “I think you are one who will not see reason,” Brydges claimed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Currently, she hates you. If she comes round now anytime soon, it will most likely be to grasp at the chance to become a duchess.”

  “She is hardly a social climber,” John pointed out. “She is the daughter of an earl.” He shook his head. He was not asking Brydges to marry the girl.

  “Yes, but you very nearly ruined her. Don’t forget her most likely prospect before you arrived was hardly a peer of the realm.” Clearly recovered from the initial shock of John’s revelation, Brydges turned back to the table and recovered his fork. “She may very likely choose to become a duchess over becoming nursemaid to a brood of someone else’s children, but that does not necessarily mean she will be an ally to you or your sister.” He leaned in more closely and leveled John with one of his rare, serious gazes. “If she is the sort to allow a title to sway her, then she is the sort to be offended by your sister’s common life in Boston.”

  John considered this logic. He picked up his tea cup and swirled the liquid in it before drinking it and setting it with deliberately finality on the table. The man’s point was valid. Hell, even Brydges didn’t fully understand just how common Charlotte’s life had been in Boston. But Charlotte would arrive soon. There was no time for second guessing.

  “If Lady Emmaline is the type to be concerned about titles and such,” he said, “then she is the type to be concerned with protecting family reputations and avoiding scandal. Regardless of her purpose, our desired outcomes shall be the same.”

  “Your desired outcome for Lady Charlotte?” Brydges asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And what of yourself? Marriage is a long business.”

  John hesitated. He and Brydges had been friends for years and discussed a great many things, but love and marriage were not typically among them.

  “I prefer a wife with whom I will be amicable. Any man would. I do not expect—or even desire—a grand love affair.”

  To what positive end would that take him? Ceding common sense to passion had proven disastrous for his father’s family. It had turned his father into a fool.

  No. Not a fool. Fools were ridiculous but benign. His father had become something else entirely. Hateful. Destructive. Obsessive. Unseeing.

  Loving a woman beyond sense had ruined his father and, in turn, ruined the woman and her children. No. John had no desire for a passionate affair of the heart. His purpose was to make recompense for this father’s failings, not repeat them.

  “I can’t help but feel you are making too great a sacrifice. Surely Lady Charlotte, the daughter of a duke, can make her entrée into society without your marital martyrdom.”

  “You will not sway me, Brydges.”

  “What does Lady Charlotte think of all this? Is she truly that concerned with her ‘place’ as you say? She should know better than anyone that titles are no way to identify worthy men. Your father wasn’t worthy of any of you.”

  “The debt owed to Charlotte has nothing to do with titles. It has everything to do with the life she should have led-- a life of ease and abundance, with parties and dresses and the petty cares of young girls who have never known true hunger or toil. Instead she…” John pushed his chair abruptly back from the table and stood, feeling every inch of his resolve as though it were an iron frame over which his body was formed. “The success of Charlotte’s debut and acceptance in society will begin the restoration of years of neglect and it will impact her far longer than this first season. There will never be a question again of Charlotte’s legitimacy. She will be launched into society by her own family—by none other than my own wife. And that shall be Lady Emmaline Shaw.”

  * * *

  The afternoon following the Fairhaven ball, Emma sat in the drawing room reading a book while Aunt Agatha embroidered a cushion. It was a quiet, domestic scene and, quite possibly, the first truly awkward moment Emma had ever shared with her aunt. Their respective occupational ruses aside, there was no doubt as to the true purpose for finding themselves in the drawing room at that time of day. Nor was there any doubt as to the reason why Aunt Agatha had clearly taken extra effort with her appearance since the morning.

  Even Emma could not deny there had been care behind the selection of her dress and the arrangement of her hair. Her aim had been to appear appropriately—but not enthusiastically—dressed. She felt she had achieved the desired effect, though she had in a moment of vanity chosen the most flattering from among the appropriate options.

  They were, of course, awaiting the arrival of a caller. Emma found herself unable to focus on her book, anticipating instead the inevitable confrontation when the Duke of Worley arrived with his grandmother’s ring. No doubt he would arrogantly expect her to slide it right onto her hand and bless her good luck for having gotten it.

  She was almost relieved when the expectant silence was interrupted by the entrance of the butler. With measured calm, she closed her book and laid it aside while Jenkins presented her aunt with a calling card.

  At Aunt Agatha’s nod, Jenkins left the room.

  Smoothing her skirt and straightening her posture, Emma took a deep breath to counteract the involuntary quickening of her pulse. She lifted her chin and faced the door with a careful mask of serenity as Jenkins returned.

  “Lady Blythe and Lady Markwood.”

  The tension drained from Emma’s shoulders. She chided herself for her anxiety. She had no reason to be anxious over the arrival of the duke anyway. He would come when he came and she would see the matter resolved.

  Aunt Agatha’s friends were shown into the drawing room, with Lady Markwood sweeping in first to greet Agatha and then Emma. She gripped Emma’s hands and peered into her face. “How are you managing, my dear?”

  “I’m fine, truly. Thank you for your concern.” She knew the ladies’ interest was rooted in kindness, but she felt no obligation to provide details.

  Lady Blythe was much more direct in her approach. “Well, has he spoken to you?” she asked after taking one of Emma’s hands in hers for a brief squeeze.

  “He has, actually.”

  When Emma said nothing further, Lady Blythe looked to Aunt Agatha who in turn looked to Emma to expound, but Emma remained silent.

  Lady Blythe’s expression darkened. “Well, then.”

  Both she and Lady Markwood shared the look of uncomfortable gravity one expects to witness at a funeral. Emma felt as though she were attending the theatrical final moments of her reputation and future prospects.

  Still, she was not of a mind to clear up any misconceptions despite the look she intercepted from Aunt Agatha. Doing so would only result in further debate, as the opinions of Lady Blythe and Lady Markwood would most assuredly mirror her aunt’s.

  “Please, be seated, ladies.” Emma certainly needed to sit.

  Lady Markwood perched at the edge of a chair. “I feel I should warn you, Emma, that you have garnered some interest among the gossips.”

  Emma graced her aunt’s well-meaning friends with a reassuring smile. “I appreciate your concern, but I believe that was perfectly clear to me last evening. I find it interesting, though,” Emma added, with only moderate success in keeping the sharp edge from her tone, “that the duke’s retu
rn has reminded everyone of my existence. It’s as though I only truly exist in relation to him. I am not Lady Emmaline Shaw, but rather the Duke of Worley’s infamously rejected fiancée.”

  Emma’s outspoken comment garnered no initial response beyond silence and awkwardness from the three elder ladies.

  “Nonetheless,” Lady Markwood continued eventually. “The vultures are circling.”

  Aunt Agatha rested a hand on Emma’s arm. “Perhaps, since we are among friends, you could share more of your visit with the duke, Emma.”

  Emma was saved from responding by another intrusion from Jenkins.

  “Lady Bosworth and Mrs. Woodley, my lady.”

  An almost imperceptible flash of annoyance crossed Jenkins habitually placid features as the two women pushed past him into the room. Jenkins had been a fixture in this house all of Emma’s life and she could guess the depths of his disdain for these two ladies who must have rudely insisted upon being immediately announced.

  A series of meaningful glances were exchanged among the ladies already present. Emma was acquainted with Lady Bosworth and Mrs. Woodley but, by design, she was not well acquainted. One as tall as the other round, the equally ill-mannered pair were usually found together and were notorious gossips. They had never, to Emma’s recollection, called upon either the present or prior Countess of Ridgley before today.

  Aunt Agatha rose to greet the newcomers. “How kind of you to call.” She said it through an expression of such sincerity, Emma wondered if perhaps her aunt could have been called to the stage under different circumstances.

  “We’ve been meaning to for so long,” Lady Bosworth insisted, “but you know…things.” She gave a limp wave of her hand as though to say, I’ve no intention of providing the rest of my thought, so go find it over there.