“I'm feeling quite well. I... I see you brought flowers.”
“Indeed.” He extended the bouquet. “They are for you, of course. When Miss Dawson told me the meaning of red tulips, I thought they were very appropriate.”
“And what is the meaning of them? I'm afraid I have forgotten.” Before he could open his mouth, she held up a finger and said, “Wait... do not tell me. I would rather not spoil the mystery.”
Without warning, Robin sank to his knees, prostrating himself before her. “Miss Weaver, I know you wouldn't say it yourself, but your reputation was damaged by our last encounter.” He reached for her hand and pulled it toward his lips. “And I am the one at fault!”
She pulled her hand away before his lips could make contact. “W-well... it isn't anything worth quibbling about, I'm sure. Please. Mr. Cockburn.” She sighed his name. “Please rise from the ground.”
“I'm sure you know what I intend to do.” He paused, inhaling deeply. “You were alone with me for several hours, and I want to do what's right. I intend to make you my wife, Miss Weaver.”
“Oh... no,” her voice was tiny, barely more than a whisper. “I'm sure there is no need for such a thing.”
“Worry not,” Robin continued unabashedly, “for I am not asking you to be my wife out of necessity alone. I am also very fond of you.” He captured her hand again; this time, she did not pull away. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips against her wrist, kissing her several times. “I care about you more than I could possibly say.”
“This... this is nonsense.”
“Marry me.” He was adamant, and completely oblivious to her protests thus far. “Marry me, and I will do everything in my power to ensure you are the happiest woman alive.”
Suddenly, the door opened, and the butler appeared. “Mr. Richardson is here to see you, Miss Weaver.”
When he stepped aside, a tall, dark-haired, roguishly handsome gentleman entered the room. The new arrival had a scar above his right eye, a cleft on his chin, and a smirk on his lips.
To Emily's great horror, Robin was still on his knees in front of her. “M-Mr. Richardson!” she stammered. She backed away from Robin and tried to pretend he was nonexistent. “You... you haven't called in some time. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Mr. Richardson?” the handsome man chuckled. “Why are you not calling me Julius? And why, in god's name, is there a young man on his knees in front of you?”
“Mr. Cockburn?” Emily nudged him with her foot. “Mr. Cockburn, please. Get up.”
Robin rose from the ground, but he didn't say a word. The arrival of another man—a far superior man—had rendered him speechless.
“If I didn't know any better...” As he stepped into the room, Julius Richardson languidly tugged at his gloves. His smirk, a bit devious, never left his lips. “I would say you were being proposed to just now.”
“I-I-I did.” Though he stuttered, Robin finally found his voice. “I did propose. I asked Miss Weaver to marry me.”
“Well, well... isn't that a surprise?” Julius placed a hand on his hip as he studied the younger man. “It looks like he beat me to it. So I'm to be outstripped by a whelp?”
“Miss Weaver...” Robin whimpered. When she met his gaze, she realized how pitiful he looked. “Who is this man?”
“This is--”
“Julius Richardson, your servant,” the man interrupted with a chuckle. “Worry not, young man, for I have no designs on your potential conquest. Emily and I have been friends for many, many years.”
“Childhood friends,” Emily added, “we have been friends since childhood.”
“So...” Julius clapped a hand on Robin's shoulder. “You like her, do you?” There was a twinkle in his eye that suggested he did not take the situation too seriously.
“I do. Miss Weaver is a most agreeable young woman.”
“Young woman.” Julius snickered as he repeated the words. “Agreeable? If you want to woo the young lady, you will have to do better than that.”
“Julius...” Emily sank to the settee with a sigh. “Pray, do not make this situation more embarrassing than it needs to be.”
“Quiet, Emily. I'm only having a bit of fun,” Julius chuckled, and gave Robin's shoulder a light squeeze. “Go ahead. Shower her with compliments. Tell us exactly how you feel about her.”
“Julius,” Emily groaned his name, “You show up after how many weeks, and you show up only to vex me?You're so infuriating! Leave Mr. Cockburn alone. He--”
“Miss Weaver is a wonderful woman, with the most glorious hair, and the brightest brown eyes I have ever seen.”
Julius's eyes lit up when he heard the young man's compliments. “Good. Go on.”
“She's captivating and beautiful,” Robin continued. “I feel happier when I'm around her. When she smiles, all of my worries disappear, if only for a moment. She's beautiful and witty, and her soft voice puts me at ease. I truly believe she's the loveliest woman in all the world.”
“Ohhhh. It tugs at the heartstrings, doesn't it?” Julius clasped a hand over his heart in feigned sentiment. “How could you possibly decline his proposal after hearing such a thing... even if the proposal in question was uttered by a child.”
When he finally realized he was being teased, Robin shoved the other man's hand from his shoulder. “I am hardly a child.”
“A boy, then?”
“I'm not a boy,” Robin protested again, “I am, perhaps, younger than I look.”
“Is that so? Hmm.” Julius pretended to stroke his chin in thought. “Well, you're obviously not the same age as the two of us. My dear...” He turned to Emily, “are you perchance being courted by one of your niece's friends?”
“Are you suggesting my advanced age should make me undesirable to a young man like Mr. Cockburn?” Emily crossed her arms and glowered at him. “Age has never stopped you from chasing the skirts of women who are nearly half your age!”
“Ooo. That is a fair assessment, I'll give you that. Still...” Julius stalked around the room, around Robin, and shrugged his shoulders. “You can hardly blame me for being surprised.”
“Julius, you're being an insufferable boor.”
“I've always been an insufferable boor, have I not? I think that's why you're so fond of me, Emily. You're attracted to my rebellious nature.” He stood next to Robin and raised an eyebrow. “So, my dear, what is your answer? Will you marry this poor young lad? Will you put his aching heart out of its misery?”
“I...” Her lower lip quivered, so she held it between her teeth for a moment. “I believe Mr. Cockburn already knows my answer.”
“Is that so?” Julius tapped Robin's shoulder. “Do you care to enlighten me, then? Has she accepted your offer of marriage?”
“I... believe she has declined.”
“Oh. Well, that's a shame. I feel terrible for you. Truly.” His lighthearted tone said otherwise.
“I suppose I should excuse myself now.” Robin turned toward the door and hesitated, as if waiting for Emily to change her mind or protest. “Good day, Miss Weaver.”
“Oh my. Did I catch a glimpse of tears in the young man's eyes?” Robin was barely through the door, and Julius was already mocking him. “I do believe you've crushed his heart, dear girl. How will he ever recover?”
Without uttering a word to her sarcastic friend, Emily leapt from the settee and ran into the hallway.
“Mr. Cockburn!” she called to him. “Please, wait! Please...”
He stopped, but he didn't turn to face her. “This Mr. Richardson fellow... please tell me he isn't the friend you mentioned yesterday... the proposal you were waiting for, the one that never came?”
“He is.”
“I suspected as much.” Robin glanced at her over his shoulder. “You deserve better.”
“And I suppose I deserve you?” Emily asked with a sigh. “You need to acknowledge the truth, Mr. Cockburn. I think you're a remarkable young man with many admirable qualities, but e
ven you must admit I am so very wrong for you. So please... stop this nonsense!”
“If I had any talent for writing, I would write poems for you. If I had any talent for singing, I would serenade you every day. I have feelings for you, Miss Weaver. Very strong feelings.” He shook his head and sighed. “Are you saying those feelings are nonsense?”
“I care about you.”
“Is it the gap between our ages? Is that your sole reason for rejecting me?” he asked. “If it is, I could grow a mustache. I honestly think it would make the gap less obvious. I know you say they are for pompous old men, but I--”
“Please,” Emily begged him again, “You are a very nice young man, Mr. Cockburn, but I would prefer it if you did not call on me again. Please.”
And with that, she turned on her heel and returned to the sitting room where Julius Richardson was waiting for her.
Chapter Seven
The very next day, Emily Weaver was trudging through the mud to see Mr. Cockburn. The distance between their homes wasn't too great, but the weather was making the walk feel more substantial than it was.
First came the rain. Of course, the clouds picked the worst time to tear open and pour down on her. She was halfway through the journey, so it wasn't as if she could turn around and take cover from the flood. When the rain stopped, her hair was flat and heavy, and flyaway strands emerged from her bun at every angle. She tried to lift the hem of her dress as she slogged through the mud and muck, but it made little difference. When her left foot was mired in a pit of mud, she had to release the hem to free herself. By the time she reached her destination, her boots were ruined, her dress was soiled, her hair was a mess and her pride was depleted.
“Never again,” she said aloud, pushing a tendril of hair away from her moist forehead. “I will never, ever partake in something as foolhardy as this. Ever.”
Emily knew the trek had ravaged her appearance so utterly, she seriously considered the possibility of a swift escape. How could she face him when she looked as bedraggled as an old alley cat?
She had to. She had to do it. She had to set things right.
When she summoned the courage to knock, she was a bit surprised to find Robin answering the door himself, rather than a butler. It did not make him any less of a gentleman, of course, but she had hoped to have a bit more time to salvage herself from her deeply disheveled state.
“Miss Weaver?” His right eyebrow shot to the middle of his forehead.
“Mr. Cockburn,” she greeted him. As she dipped into a curtsy, she could hear an odd squishing noise in her boots.
“I confess, you might be the last person I expected to see.”
“I...” Emily scratched her head. She wished she had planned a speech, for she had no idea what to say to him. “May I come in?”
He stepped out of the doorway. “Of course.”
She was horrified to see herself tracking mud into the foyer. “Oh dear... I'm so sorry!” She looked down at her muddy footprint and winced. “So very, terribly sorry!”
“You needn't apologize. It can be cleaned.”
“This is so terrible,” she sighed. “I look terrible.”
“Nonsense.” Robin leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. “You look lovely, as you always do.”
“Though I have no looking glass to confirm it, I am sure I look like the screaming banshee who got caught in a tidal wave and fell in a mud pit.”
“If that's so, you're the prettiest muddy banshee I have ever known.” Robin smiled at her, but when he remembered what she said to him the last time he saw her, his lips tightened. “So... to what do I owe the pleasure? As I said, your arrival comes as a shock.”
“I believe I owe you an apology.”
He cocked his head to one side. “For what?”
When she realized there was water dripping from the hem of her soggy gown, she shook her head with disbelief. “It was wrong of me to say you should never call on me again. It was wrong... and cruel... and cold. It was never my intention to chase you away entirely.”
“Don't worry, Miss Weaver. I haven't given it a great deal of thought,” he lied. In truth, her words had tortured him. They had given him a sleepless night and a melancholic morning, and he had planned to spend his afternoon in the doldrums.
“Oh.” Her journey through the rain and the mud was starting to feel more and more like a fool's errand. “Nevertheless, I am sorry for being so brusque. I would like it very much if we could be friends, Mr. Cockburn.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “I would very much like that too.”
Their conversation was stilled by a moment of awkward silence. Robin's thoughts were consumed by his failed attempt at wooing her. Miss Dawson had rejected him. Miss Weaver had rejected him. Would it matter to Emily if he told her, in all sincerity, that no one had stirred his heart like she had?
All Emily could think about was how bedraggled she must have looked.
“So, I...” Emily wanted to say something, anything, but hesitation stifled her voice. Was there truly nothing left to say?
“Miss Weaver, would you like to--”
Robin was silenced by the sound of approaching footsteps. A moment later, his sister was standing at his side. Emily immediately knew who she was, because the young girl had the same wild blonde curls and blue-green eyes as her brother.
“Good day,” Emily greeted the girl. “You must be Mr. Cockburn's sister?”
“I am.” The girl bowed her head in salutation, which momentarily blanketed her eyes in cherubic curls. When she lifted her head, there was the sweetest smile on her lips. “I'm Anne. Anne Cockburn.”
“It's lovely to meet you, Anne. You look very much like your brother.”
“Ohhhh,” Robin groaned. “You shouldn't tell her that! She tries to deny the resemblance, as obvious as it is.”
“It isn't as if you aren't handsome, Robin,” Anne said. If the woman standing in front of her was a potential paramour for her brother, she did not want Robin to look like anything less than a prime catch. “I simply do not want to be mistaken for a boy!”
“No one could ever mistake you for a boy, Anne. You're very pretty,” Emily complimented her. “I, on the other hand, could be easily mistaken for a scullery maid. I am afraid you find me... less than polished.” Emily wished there was a looking glass in the vicinity, then she could see how dire her situation truly was.
“I like your hair,” Anne said, which earned her a reproofing gaze and a nudge from her brother. “What? I'm being quite serious! It's so slick and black and wild. You look like Boudicca the warrior queen.”
“I... pardon?” Emily looked perplexed.
“It's the highest of compliments, I assure you. Boudicca is one of my heroes.” Suddenly, Anne turned to her brother and barked, “Have you no manners?!”
“What?”
“How long has poor Miss Weaver been standing in the foyer?!” Anne's hands flew to her hips. “You should invite her into the drawing room for tea and biscuits!”
“I am afraid I would be very poor company,” Emily spoke up, “In my current state, I should not be permitted to go anywhere near your furniture.” So no one would mistake her meaning, she fluttered the end of her muddy gown.
“Then we should go for a walk!” Anne declared. “I spied a rainbow from the window. Aren't rainbows the most strange and miraculous thing?”
“I am sure Miss Weaver has better things to do than indulge your whims, Annie. Not to mention, the muddied ground is most unsuitable for a walk.”
“Actually, Mr. Cockburn, I have all the time in the world.” Emily smiled at the young girl. “And... seeing as my boots are already beyond ruination, I don't think a bit more mud would matter.”
“Very well,” Robin sighed, “Lead the way, poppet.”
“Poppet,” Anne rolled her eyes as she repeated the word to Emily. “Do I look like a poppet to you?”
“You look very mature to me. But I am sure your brother means well.”
“He calls me Annie, too. Annie!” When they were outside, Anne kicked the grass to show her dismay. “Is it not a child's name?”
“I am not too fond of any perversion of my own name,” Emily confessed. “My niece insists on calling me Em.”
“Em is better than Annie. Oh... do you see the rainbow!?” While Emily was distracted by the bands of color, Anne seized her brother's arm, pulled him to her, and whispered, “I must ask her some questions to discern if she would be a good wife for you.”
“You'll have no luck in that regard,” he whispered into his sister's ear. “Miss Weaver has no interest in me beyond friendship.”
“We'll see about that! If I like her well enough, I'll have to change her mind!”
“What a magnificent rainbow!” Emily exclaimed, oblivious to their conversation. “I think that's the largest one I have ever seen in my life!”
“Beauty after the rain,” Anne mused. “A rainbow is an excellent metaphor for life. You can always triumph after a storm.” She directed the words at her brother, though he seemed distracted by Emily Weaver. He likes her, Anne surmised. He likes her so much, he cannot take his eyes off of her.
Emily's eyes widened. “That's surprisingly profound for one so young.”
“I've had... a difficult life. It has aged me beyond my years.”
“Difficult?” Emily wanted to press her for an explanation, but she remembered what Robin told her: Anne lost her parents at a young age.
“Do you like horses, Miss Weaver?”
“I do. Very much so.”
“Good. My brother is very fond of horses.” Anne was grinning when she glanced at her brother. “I used to like them, but I can't ride anymore.”
“Why not?”
Anne ignored Emily's question and continued to conduct her interview. “What is your favorite color?”
“Hmm. I suppose I have never taken the time to consider it. I would say... mauve?”
“Oh, I like mauve! It's very similar to lavender, which happens to be my favorite color,” Anne went on. “If you know someone's favorite color, it can tell you a great deal about them. For example, if you had said black, it would have been questionable.”
The Spinster's Beau Page 4