by Ella Edon
If Henry had not been in shock himself, he would have mustered the courage to at least feel sorry for her. As it stood, he found himself in the same trap of duty and obligation. Truly, his father had simply put him out to stud. He and Lady Emma were two sides of the same coin.
Now the only question that remained was how they would navigate their marriage of convenience when the convenience clearly did not belong to either of them?
Chapter Five
Emma sat at the small dining table in Elesmere Hall that had been set for her wedding breakfast. The large floral arrangements were trimmed in bright orange and blue silks that matched the livery. And while Emma could suppose they were the colors that would be associated with her now, they were the opposite of what she would have chosen for herself, and in direct contrast to the somber feeling of the whole affair.
The wedding itself had been a quick, silent affair devoid of any emotion, at least from the bride and groom. She had fulfilled her obligation and now Emma was a wife. She looked down at her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
A wife, she thought. Do I look any different?
She looked around the room of well-wishers. It was mostly made up of the well-connected country families that she and Blackmoor had grown-up around, but she would not consider true friends. She wondered if they saw her in a different light now? They would now have to treat her according to the increase in her station. Not only was she a wife but also a Marchioness, and at some point, if she lived long enough, a Countess or Duchess. But did they truly see her differently?
“You seem lost in thought, my dear.” The Earl of Drysdale came up behind her so suddenly that Emma had to fight the urge to jump in alarm. “Are you not enjoying your wedding?”
Emma could not remember a time where the Earl had said more than three words to her.
“As much enjoyment as one could hope for, My Lord.” She looked down again at her hands. As a child when her family visited Drysdale Castle, Emma had spent most of her time either in the nursery or out and about on the grounds. As a daughter she enjoyed much more freedom than an Earl’s heir would, yet she had always been intimidated by the Earl. Even though he and her father shared the same title, the Earl of Drysdale was considerably more powerful and wealthier.
“My lady, you and I will have a fortuitous relationship this season,” the Earl replied.
“How so, my Lord?” His tone had been dark, and Emma could not help but take his statement as some kind of threat. Yet, she was unfamiliar with why the Earl would be threatening her at all.
“I knew you were an astute girl,” he replied taking her hand. She fought the urge to pull back and run. “Now that you are the lady of the Drysdale family, you will have certain responsibilities.”
“What type of responsibilities?” She searched the room, looking for her father or Blackmoor, anyone who could break into their conversation. Yet, both men were engaged across the room. She willed one or both to look up at her.
The Earl smiled as if he were a barn cat who had just snared his dinner in the form of a delectable field mouse.
“Nothing too harrowing, my dear. In fact, I rather think you might enjoy it.”
“Your grace!” Emma looked down, warmth creeping up into her cheeks. She could not believe what she was hearing, was the Earl really propositioning her, on her wedding day, to his son? What kind of debauchery had her father sold her into.
“Oh, calm your fears, dear,” the Earl replied laughing. “While you are indeed beautiful, I have no need to cuckold my heir. I’m speaking of political relationships.”
“Political relationships?”
“Yes. You see I need you to befriend the new wife of a political rival,” he said. “Once you do this, you will insert yourself into her day-to-day life, and bring me information as I request it.”
“I’m afraid I’m no good at political intrigue, your grace. I have no skill for it. Perhaps there is another you can ask?”
“I don’t think you understand, Lady Blackmoor.” His use of her new married name was in no way comforting. His grip on her hand tightened, letting her know that he was not one to be trifled with. “I have your father’s fate and reputation in my hands. I’m not asking, dear. I am telling you how you will continue to pay off his debts.” His voice became gritty, as if he was clenching his teeth, but Emma was too angry and scared to look at him directly. Instead she kept her eyes forward still hoping beyond hope her father or Blackmoor would come to her aid.
“I thought my marriage to your son was the payoff of his debts.”
“Ahh, in money, yes,” the old Earl replied. “I have no problem writing your father a check but his reputation, now that is what I cannot guarantee fund in perpetuity."
The Earl moved closer to her, a smile on his face. "I know something that would bring ruin to your family name, forever. "
Emma looked around, she saw Lord Blackmoor talking to her father, but he seemed to look her way at intervals. Her heart beat very fast. "What do you mean?"
The Earl grinned. "I have letters, between your mother and her old lover. Some stable boy. She had loved him but could not be wed to him. Imagine what would happen, my dear Lady Blackmoor, if ever those letters were to be let out, for everyone to see."
Emma felt the colour drain from her face. "I do not believe you. There are no letters. Mama would never."
"It matters not to me whether you believe or not. But, if you disobey me, ever, then you shall know whether I speak the truth or not. For not only shall you see the letters, your father and the entire ton will as well."
Her heart beat increased. That was not possible... Her mama would never. No!
She wanted badly to not believe him, but his relaxed mien proved to her that anything was possible. Her heart broke into a million pieces. If truly her mother had had an affair, did that mean that she was not her father's child? The endless possibilities and scandals that those letters could bring, and the distress it certainly would cause her father made her nearly tear up.
“How could you!?” she snapped now glaring at the man. “You are his oldest friend?”
“Friends come and go my dear, but power, now that is something that is forever.” He released her wrist and Emma instinctively rubbed the spot where he had held her tightly. “Once we are in London, you will seek an introduction to the Duchess of Loringham, Lady Rachel Allen. That's all you need to know, for now. As we progress, I would expatiate. But I want to make it quite clear that you answer to me, Lady Blackmoor. You will do what I ask of you, with no intruding questions."
Emma had never heard of Lady Rachel Allen and had no idea how she would be able to secure such an introduction, but she also knew better than to try and point that out to the Earl. She simply nodded, fighting back tears. Who could she turn to for help? She was sold as a bride and now being forced into political blackmail. It was a dangerous game that she had no business being involved in. She thought about Lord Henry, her new husband. How much of his father’s plan was he aware of? Could he potentially help her? Then she remembered how even as a boy he was always at his father’s side, and now that his mother and her own were dead, he would be even more so attached to Drysdale. At best he would be no help at all, and at worst he knew of his father’s plans for their union. She was only a pawn in their game and she was being used.
The Earl stepped away from her and Emma let out the breath she had been holding. She felt the sting of fresh, hot tears beginning to well in her eyes. It would do no good for her to cry now, in front of all their guests. How strange to be in a room full of people and yet, she was completely alone. She turned toward the balcony, perhaps it would do her some good to take in the Spring air.
* * *
Henry had no idea what the Earl and Countess Sinclair were talking about, but he nodded and smiled, and kept up the pretense of being deeply involved in the conversation, all the while watching his bride intently.
“Of course, yes my lord. It was a lovely ceremony indeed.”
Countess Sinclair was speaking, and Henry nodded again unsure if she was talking about his and Emma’s ceremony or another wedding? How long had he been standing there?
“Yes, yes, of course.” The ceremony itself was a mind-numbing experience. Not that he minded being the center of attention, and he had to give his father, as well as Emma, credit for they kept the timetable prompt and there was no undue frivolity. The only part of the day, thus far, that Henry had real objection with, aside from not being able to choose his own bride, was the garish decoration in the main dining hall. He never understood his father’s need to flaunt the ducal colors. It was quite unseemly. Now, however, he watched as his father was in a deep discussion with his new wife, and he found himself growing ever curious as to what the devil they could be talking about.
He took his leave of the Sinclairs and moved toward the head table where Emma was now standing. His father was holding her wrist, and Henry swore she looked afraid. He, more than anyone else, knew how dangerous his father could be.
If he hurts her…Henry thought with a newfound entitlement. It seemed the simple act of marrying the girl had caused Henry to become rather protective.
“Ahh, my new son-in-law,” He was stopped by Elesmere, who seemed much more jovial than the event called for. “What is the rush, have a drink with me to celebrate this fine day and the joining of our families.”
“My Lord, if you would but excuse—“
“Nonsense,” Elesmere continued on, directing Henry away from the main table and back toward the buffet table for a glass of punch. He looked back only to see Emma had disappeared. “I wanted to talk to you, my boy, about all this nasty business with your father paying my debts. It seems he still has not had a moment this morning to deliver the bank notes as promised, and I thought perhaps if you spoke with him, tugged on his ear a bit, he may be more inclined to move on our…um… arrangement.”
Henry bit back the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. Money, yes, it would do him well to remember this whole farce of a marriage was based on money. His father had it, and her father needed it.
No wonder Lady Emma looked as if she wanted to run away. He felt the same. Henry scanned the room and saw that Emma had not left, but rather she was headed toward the terrace.
“My Lord,” he said, more sternly than he had ever addressed one of his elders before. “I would like to take my leave to see to my wife.”
Elesmere looked stricken. “Yes, yes, of course.”
He quickly made his way in the same direction keeping his head down as to not get drawn into any other unwanted conversations. The one benefit of being considered particular by his father’s friends was that when Henry wanted to, he could quite easily fade into the woodwork.
As it stood at that moment, he very much wanted to fade away, but only as far as the terrace. He wanted to speak with Lady Emma. Now that he had given her his name, there was no longer a threat of scandal. Perhaps they could reach some kind of understanding, a way to live as a married couple, as a convenience. He would need an heir, and that would have to be addressed, but his father was quite far away from death’s door. Perhaps, if she were agreeable, they could wait a bit on the particulars of children.
As he entered the terrace he did not see her right away. It was not until he heard the gentle rhythm of what sounded like sobbing that he realized she had positioned herself between two rather large potted ferns. Out of sight of any wayward guest.
“My Lady,” he said, approaching gingerly. She looked up. He didn’t think it possible, but the sheen of moisture caused by her tears made the amber of her eyes look even more golden. He quickly knelt down to her level and pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. “What did he say to you?”
He knew without a doubt his father was behind whatever it was that was troubling her.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, my Lord,” she replied, dabbing her eyes delicately with the linen before returning it to him.
“My father,” he said. “I saw him speaking with you and now I find you in tears, on our wedding day. He must have said something to cause you distress and I will rectify it.”
“I’m afraid you are mistaken, sir. It has simply been a trying morning is all. I’m afraid I was a bit overcome.” Overcome? Something flashed across her gaze, an emotion Henry could not readily name, but it was quickly replaced with something wary.
“Would you confide in me if it were otherwise?” It was clear she was not telling the truth. She did not trust him. Henry couldn’t blame her. Even to his own ears he sounded too formal, and not at all comforting.
“No, my Lord,” she said before turning away from him. He wanted to take her into his arms and tell her he understood. Were it possible he wanted to cry as well. But they were here, and as it was, they needed to make the best of it.
He looked at his pocket watch, it was almost noon. The damned wedding breakfast had gone on much too long.
“Oh, how I wish this breakfast would end.”
“Really?” She turned and gave him that same wary look.
“Really and truly,” he replied.
“I would also be happy if it were over.” It was the first real comment he had heard from her since arriving in the country the day before. His heart swelled. It was within his power to deliver her that wish, but would she think him weak if he gave in too soon? He was unsure how to respond, but perhaps it was better if she thought it was work that drove him instead of a need to see her dry her tears.
“I would much rather be at my…er… our… townhouse in town. I have correspondence to attend to, and meetings that have been put off."
“Oh, of course you must go,” she said, retreating from him again.
“Would you like to leave with me, my Lady?”
“What do you mean? That’s not possible.”
“It is absolutely possible. We are married. I mean, of course, we can take our leave,” he said, then hastily added, “Our life waiting in London. But, before that life begins, I'd like it very much if we, stay a bit more at Blackmoor Townhouse."
“Would that not upset your father?”
“My father can rot,” he said. “Let’s take our leave. No one could fault the happy couple wanting to be alone after their wedding. We do not need to leave for London so soon, Emma. We are newly weds and should be allowed a bit freedom before we perform our duties as Marquees and Marchioness.”
“That would be lovely.”
“Then let us go,” he said standing and reaching toward her. She reached out and placed her silk covered hand in his and he pulled her lightly to her feet.
She looked at him, her eyes no longer moist, and her lips curling ever so slightly upward in the corners. Henry thought it was the closest thing to a smile he was likely to get, and it made him swell with pride. He also could not wait to see his father's reaction, when he left for London and would discover that Henry had never arrived. He had only returned to his own home in Mayfair.
Chapter Six
Blackmoor Townhouse, Mayfair, England
It was a misconception that it rained all the time in the Spring in England. The sun had been shining for days and it had been extremely dry. A fine cloud of road dust covered their entire traveling party, not only the two trunks tied to the carriage, but also all through Emma’s skirts.
Emma had been in the carriage, but she felt bad for the coachman and footman that travelled with them as well as Blackmoor.
Blackmoor did not ride inside with her, instead preferring to ride alongside on his gray gelding. Emma didn’t mind. She was at a complete loss as to what she would say to him. He had been so kind to her on the terrace, but she was still wary. What did his kindness mean? She was not sure if she expected him to be like his father or not, but it was difficult to trust him. His behavior had been unexpected, though she was grateful for the escape.
“What do you mean you’re leaving?” her father had said.
“Father, I think I have fulfilled my duty, and
his lordship is eager to return to town.” She had tried hard not to betray the nerves she felt. She had no idea what to expect out of Mayfair and eventually London, and Drysdale’s words and expectations still weighed heavily on her mind.
“But I had so hoped you and Blackmoor would stay a few days at the manse.” She saw her father’s crestfallen face and tried to muster a small amount of sympathy, but it would not come. She found she could no longer trust what he said.
“Sorry, father,” she replied, giving him a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. “But I’m afraid I belong to Blackmoor now, and he needs to return to town.” Walking away, she felt no relief. Whatever her father had intended, the situation she now found herself in was entirely his doing and she would not easily forgive him.
The carriage slowed and came to a stop. Emma pulled back the velvet brocade draperies and looked out the window. It was clear they arrived in Mayfair, but they were not stopped in front of a house.