His obsequious smile made Emily even more nauseated. Doctor indeed. He was barely more qualified than a leech. But his words had the desired effect. In mere seconds, he was the only man left…and he was looking at her in a way that made her remarkably uncomfortable.
She looked around for someone to rescue her and suddenly found herself eye to eye with Alexander.
Panicking, she turned back to Albert and said, “I believe you are right, Doctor. I am feeling a little light-headed. I think I will go see what became of my friend and depart for the evening.”
Albert’s beady eyes narrowed perceptively. “Oh, do not go now that I have you all to myself. I think it is high time we got to know each other better. I am on the hunt for a new bride, as I am sure you are aware.”
Emily had heard that, yes. She had also heard that his first wife had died during childbirth. It was rumored that the midwife had warned the doctor that his wife would not survive another pregnancy, but her counsel had been ignored. She had also heard that the good doctor had a predilection for some perverseness in the marital bed.
So, while she didn’t want to give credence to gossip, Emily also didn’t want to spend any more time encouraging the man.
“Are you?” she said as lightly as possible. “Isn’t that lovely? But I am afraid I would not be a good match for you. I am far too…ah…emotional to be a, er, doctor’s wife.”
She tried to edge away, but Albert grabbed her arm.
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? Perhaps we should nip out into the hall so that I may have a little taste?”
“Albert, please release me,” Emily said with more than a tinge of desperation.
“Not until I get a little of what you have been offering.”
“I have offered nothing, sir,” Emily replied, taking umbrage. “I was simply being nice. Now let me go.”
She yanked herself out of his grasp and fell backward into someone. Looking around, she saw that it was Alexander.
“Oh, Alexander. I am so sorry. I, uh—” She broke off and looked back at Albert, who was glowering at her with such anger, she shuddered.
…
Alex took one look at the situation and immediately became incensed. Emily looked terrified. And from what he know of Albert Poulett, she had every reason to be. The man was not kind to women. They were chattel to the likes of him.
“Emily, stand aside,” Alexander growled as he pushed her toward his young friend. Alastair was watching the whole thing with rapt attention.
“Oh, Alex no. Please don’t make a scene,” Emily begged.
“Don’t worry. Doctor Poulett and I are just going to have a little chat.”
If Emily had any other objections, Alexander didn’t hear them. He had already moved on to Albert.
“Poulett,” he said affably, “I do believe you are bothering the lady.”
The older, pudgier man grinned. “They always like to cry foul, but you know they prefer a man who knows what he wants.”
Alex crossed his arms. “I think it is time for you to go.”
“And give up my prize? I don’t think so, Bredon.”
The doctor reached out a hand to Emily and, when she refused to take it, he attempted to brush past Alexander so that he could once again grab her.
Alex stuck out his foot, while at the same time bumping Poulett in the shoulder. The combination threw the heavier man well off-balance, and he fell sideways and into the refreshment table. His weight caused the table to give out beneath him and the punch bowl was launched into the air as the surface became a catapult.
Its contents, and even the bowl itself, landed on Emily.
Drenched from head to toe in pink liquid, all she could do was stand there frozen in shock.
Alexander was appalled. What had he done? Could he do nothing right around this girl? God must be having a great laugh at his expense.
Albert Poulett took one look at the outcome of his fall and quickly got to his feet and walked away. Alexander was sure that the man would no longer be bothering Emily, but he was equally sure that she would not be thanking Alex for his help any time soon.
As if on cue, Emily said gravely, “Alexander Bredon, if I never see you again, it will be too soon.”
With that, she turned on her heel and headed to the nearest exit. Hannah and Sarah joined her halfway there, and that was when Alexander realized that the punch bowl event had garnered the attention of the entire room. Even the musicians had stopped to see what was happening.
William came to his side and said, “I believe it is time to call it a night, brother.”
“Amen to that,” Alexander replied. He turned to Alastair. “Are you ready to go, Ali?”
Alastair grinned and said, “Yes, sir. This has been the best night ever. I am quite sure I will never forget it.”
Alex was rather sure he wouldn’t, either.
Chapter Twelve
Much of grace is how one reacts to the surprises in life.
~The Duke of Lancaster
“A-a-a-choo! Ugh,” Emily said, after sneezing for what must have been the hundredth time that day. “Alexander Bredon, I truly hate you.”
She shook her fist at the window, willing the gesture to somehow reach her nemesis.
Emily had been sick for two days now, ever since the soaking at the Manley musicale. She still couldn’t believe such a disgraceful thing had happened to her. And while somewhere deep inside she knew it wasn’t Alexander’s fault exactly, she was too ill to give him any credit for coming to her rescue.
Even worse than having a horrible head cold, Emily was distraught that she hadn’t been able to check the churchyard for a reply to her latest letter. She had suggested they actually meet, and she was driving herself crazy wondering how the proposition would be accepted. She hoped he wouldn’t find her too forward. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she wasn’t a perfect lady.
She blew her nose in a way that belied her previous thought, but she assured herself that even Lady Lancaster was less than a perfect lady when sick.
She picked up the next letter in her bundle. She had been passing the time by rereading once again all the notes she had received from her secret friend. With each passing paragraph, she was more and more convinced that this could be the man for her. There was not a word he had written with which she did not agree or sympathize. He had even lost a parent, just as she had, though it seemed his relationship with his father was more complicated than hers had been.
She looked forward to hearing more about it…more about everything.
She sighed and lay back with closed eyes. Clutching the letter to her chest, she imagined what it would be like the instant they laid eyes on each other. It was sure to be magical.
“Emily? Are you asleep?”
Emily shot back up to the sitting position, heart pounding. She looked over to her doorway to see Hope standing there.
“Oh, Hope,” she gasped, “you startled me.”
Hope grinned. “I’m sorry. That was not my intention.”
She moved into the room and sat on the edge of Emily’s bed. “Your aunt did tell you I was coming, did she not?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Emily replied, gathering up all her used hankies and other various detritus. “Thank you so much for stopping by.”
“No one has heard from you for more than a day,” Hope said, removing her gloves carefully. “We are all beginning to worry. I brought you some chicken soup. Rose has assured me that there are no actual restorative properties to any type of broth, chicken or otherwise, but my stepmother swears by it. I have left it with your cook.”
Emily chuckled, but it came out more as a wheeze and snort, which served only to make her laugh more.
“As you can see,” Emily said, once she had caught her breath, “I am still alive, if not precisely well.”
“I will be sure to let everyone know. Was it the punch, do you think?”
“That produced this cold?” Emily asked.
“Yes, I believe so. I blame Alexander, of course.”
“Of course,” Hope agreed, then she paused. “Although some might say Dr. Poulett had a hand to play in the mishap, as well.”
“Yes,” Emily sighed, “and that would be very true. I have just settled into such a lovely stew regarding Alexander, I don’t care to be distracted by logic.”
Hope nodded. “Very good, then. We shall change the subject.”
She looked around at all the paper on the bed. She picked up a sheet and perused it quickly.
“Your secret gentleman?”
Emily nodded, trying to figure out why she felt guilty…or was it ashamed? She grabbed the page from Hope’s hand.
“I was just reading through them again to try to see if there is any clue as to the writer’s identity.”
She collected the rest of the letters and worked at putting them into a neat pile so that she could put them away.
She stopped when she felt Hope’s hand on her own.
“Stop, Emily. You don’t need to hide those from me. Maybe I can help?”
Emily blushed. “I don’t know why I did that. I know I can trust you. This is just, well, an unusual situation, and I am afraid I don’t quite know how to handle it.”
“It is the most unusual courtship of which I have ever heard, true, but you are rather unusual yourself. You deserve a unique and wonderful love story worthy of everything that you are. Society may see you as the most beautiful debutante of the season, but we—your true friends—know the truth. You are also the most selfless, charitable, caring soul in existence. And you have three times the brains the rest of those silly girls do. When you meet a man who can match you wit for wit and can also love as deeply as you do, this turmoil will be worth it.”
Emily looked at Hope with all the gratefulness in her being. “Do you think such a man exists?”
Hope smiled. “Oh yes, Emily. Your perfect love match is out there somewhere. I am sure of it.”
“Thank you, Hope. You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”
“My pleasure,” Hope replied, reaching out her hand. “Now let’s take a look at those letters. We are sure to learn something if we put both our minds to it.”
Passing the bundle over, Emily realized she didn’t even care if they could find out something new about her invisible correspondent. Having Hope there was the best medicine she could imagine. Truth was, she felt better than she had in days. She even thought she could eat some of that soup Hope brought.
…
An hour and two bowls of broth later, Emily and Hope were saying their farewells.
“Thank you so much for the soup, Hope. I feel remarkably better.”
“My stepmother will be gratified to hear that, although I suspect Rose will still be skeptical about the curative powers of chicken soup.”
Emily grinned. “Not everything in life can be learned or explained in books.”
“Bite your tongue, Emily,” Hope replied, laughing. “Rose would expire if she ever heard you say such a thing.”
“Then it’s a good thing she is not here, isn’t it,” Emily said with a wink.
Hope smiled conspiratorially. “Yes, a very good thing.” She walked over to the door, stopping as she reached it. She turned around.
“Before I go, may I give you a piece of friendly advice?”
“Please,” Emily replied, spreading her hands.
“After reading those notes from your cemetery man, I can see why you are drawn to him. He seems as much in need of someone to love as you are…”
“But?”
“But,” Hope continued with a little grimace, “don’t put all your eggs in that basket, just in case it doesn’t turn out the way you hope. There are real, warm-blooded gentlemen around every corner, and any one of them could be a better match for you than the vague outline of a man you hold in your hands there.”
Emily glanced down at the stack of letters she was holding. She opened her mouth to respond, but when she looked back toward the door, Hope was no longer there. She rather thought that was a good thing, because to be honest, she wasn’t even sure what she was going to say. Hope was right. As much as she wished the man she pictured in her head was a real fairy tale prince, more likely than not he was not even close to her imaginings. Who could be? The man of her dreams was just that…a dream; perfect in every way. But real life had proven that nothing was ever truly perfect.
And would she want someone perfect anyway? Or would she rather have someone perfect for her? She was beginning to realize that those were two completely different things.
A sound coming from her window drew Emily’s attention. It sounded like someone was trying to open it.
From the outside!
Considering her room was on the third floor, this revelation came as even more of a shock than just the idea of someone coming through her window. What if it were the thief returning?
“Emily! Open the blasted window,” a muffled voice said from somewhere on the other side of the curtains.
“Alexander?” Emily said, jumping out of bed and grabbing a dressing gown. She wrapped herself quickly, went over to the window, and peered out.
There, not two inches from the glass, was the face of the man she had been cursing most of the day.
“Alex! What do you think you are doing?”
…
Alexander let out an exasperated breath.
“What does it look I am doing? I’m trying to come through your window. Let me in!”
The climb from three stories below looked like a pretty easy feat. There was a nice strong tree growing up the side of the traditional stone house. There was even a rather wide, sturdy ledge running all the way around the building just below the windows of both the second, third, and fourth floors.
However, what seemed like a good idea when Alex was turned away from the Moss house after being told for two days now that Emily was not receiving visitors, had lost its appeal after waiting over an hour on a little outcropping of mortar while Hope and Emily visited, drank tea, and ate soup.
As a gentleman, he made a point of not listening in on their conversation. He couldn’t hear very well in any case, but from what he could see, they were just going over some papers or another. How such a seemingly boring task could take so long, Alex couldn’t fathom.
A lesser man—or perhaps a smarter one—would have given up after the first ten minutes, but Alexander had been trying to apologize to Emily since the morning after the party. And the story that she was sick seemed too contrived to be the truth. He was sure she was avoiding him.
Well, he was not going to let it continue. Until he could say he was sorry for his part in the fiasco at the Manleys’, he would not be able to sleep properly. At least, that had been the case thus far.
Emily was looking at him like he was crazy—a look with which he was very familiar—but that was all she was doing.
“Are you going to open the window or not?” Alex ground out.
“I should think not,” Emily retorted. “This is beyond the pale. Even if it weren’t most improper, I have no desire to speak to you.”
“Emily,” Alexander said slowly and clearly, “I have been out on this ledge for over an hour, and I will be coming into your room through this window whether you open it or not.”
He reached down and took off one of his shoes. He used the heel to tap meaningfully on the glass pane.
“You wouldn’t,” Emily gasped.
“I would,” Alex countered, narrowing his eyes.
Throwing up her arms, Emily said, “Fine, but I will happily toss you out the way you are coming in, if you dare try anything.”
“Noted,” Alex replied.
She opened the window and went back to bed to cover up again with her blankets. Alex noted the disarray of the room even as he put on his shoe and closed the window. There were bottles of various tonics on the bedside table and evidence of many half-eaten meals on trays in a pile by the door. Looking a
t Emily, he could see that the brisk October breeze was more than her sick body could handle, and she had begun shivering. The trembling was bad enough, but then she started coughing. One of those deep, gravelly chest coughs that indicated a serious cold.
“You’re sick!” Alexander exclaimed.
Emily gave him a withering glance from behind her handkerchief. “Is that your official diagnosis, doctor?”
The dripping sarcasm forced Alexander to explain himself.
“I’m sorry to state the obvious, but when your aunt told me that you were sick, I thought you had instructed her to do so. As an excuse to not see me.”
“Whyever would I not want to see you?” Emily replied with feigned innocence.
“You know very well why,” Alex retorted, wandering awkwardly around the small space. He had never been in a young woman’s room before. At least, not a young woman of standing. But now that he was here, he found he couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Yes, I do. Which begs the question…why are you here, Alex?”
“I came to apologize, naturally.”
Emily looked at Alexander as if he had grown another head.
“You went through all this”—she waved her arm wildly—“just to apologize? Next time send a note and some flowers. It would be easier on both of us.”
Alexander looked duly chastised.
“Had I known you were really, truly unwell, I would have done just that. In retrospect, this may not have been the wisest of actions.”
“Perhaps not,” Emily replied dryly. “What possessed you, Alexander? Why go to these lengths? I can’t honestly believe it is the reason you have given.”
Coming over to sit on the edge of the bed as Hope had done, Alex kept his gaze on his shoes as he shook his head.
“Frankly, I am not sure. I did come here to say I am sorry for what happened at the party the other night, but why I took it to this length? That is where I am unsure.”
…
Emily just stayed silent. Having Alexander this close to her—on her bed, in fact—was doing things to her emotions she didn’t fully understand. For the life of her, she thought she might want him to kiss her again. And she was suddenly very conscious of how she must look. Thank the Lord she was out of sight from the mirror. Better to live in a state of denial than be aware of how just awful she actually looked.
A Rogue for Emily (Lady Lancaster Garden Society) Page 12