Her Reluctant Groom (Groom Series, BOOK 2)

by Rose Gordon

  Patrick leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, head cocked in contemplation. “This would work out well for all of us. Miss Green could finally have a true home, and the girls would have the mother they lack.”

  “And you would get another chance at your heir,” Marcus put in, trying to disguise the bitterness he felt by forcing a thin smile to his lips.

  Shaking his head, Patrick's eyes went wide. “No. This would be a marriage of convenience only. Those girls having a mother is far more important than producing an heir. My cousin isn't a bad sort. He can inherit.”

  The quill in Marcus’ hand snapped and, ignoring the keen look of interest from his friend, he put the bottom half of the quill back into the stand as if nothing were amiss. “She deserves better than that. I cannot stop you from asking her. Nor can I advise her one way or the other about whether to accept your suit or not. But I'm asking you as my friend to do what's right and explain to her she'll never have children of her own if she accepts your suit.” Those were the hardest words he'd ever spoken aloud.

  Patrick sighed. “You're right, deuce take it.” His lips twisted in irritation. “No woman wants to marry knowing she'll never get to be a true mother.”

  “Just so,” Marcus clipped, staring at his desk.

  “Maybe I should just marry Mrs. Jenkins,” Patrick mumbled.

  Marcus grinned and met his friend's eyes. “Sounds like a much better arrangement. She's what, fifty? She'd probably be relieved you have no interest in frequenting her bedchamber.”

  Patrick shuddered. “More than one kind of fear would keep me out of that room.”

  A picture of the ancient, crotchety old woman flashed in Marcus’ mind.

  “What if you ask Emma to watch the girls for a few hours during a couple of the days?” Patrick suggested hopefully. “Remember when Caroline still lived here, they'd come over and Caroline and Emma would let them take tea and try on their hats, and all that other female nonsense?”

  Marcus closed his eyes. That might actually be a good way to go about convincing her to stay with him for the duration of the house party. Emma was almost too stubborn for her own good sometimes; she’d need a good reason to stay.

  “You agree,” Patrick said smugly. “I can tell by your face.”

  Marcus opened his eyes and stared at Patrick, bewildered. His accident had left his face so scarred that those who hadn’t been around him very much couldn’t decipher most facial expressions aside from a smile or outright anger, or so he'd been told. Most of the time people had no idea what he was thinking or feeling due to his scars.

  “Your lips curl up only on the left side when you're smiling in agreement,” Patrick explained.

  Unconsciously, Marcus brought his fingers up to his lips and ran his fingers across them. He cleared his throat. “Right. Well, you might have said something I might agree with.” He sighed. “I'll ask her if she'd be interested in entertaining them for a few days during her stay.”

  Patrick nodded. “Very good. They'd like that.”

  “I know.” He could empathize with the little girls who only had themselves for playmates. For the past thirteen years, he'd lived a life of solitude except for a few close family members and even fewer friends.

  “Excellent.” Patrick got up, walked over to the three motherless girls, and allowed them each a chance to make a fool of him by having him rock their doll or wear their fanciest tea hat for a few minutes. Then he informed them it was time to go home.

  Marcus said goodbye to the three girls, and as always, let them each pick two candies—one for each hand—from his tin of sweets before seeing them out.

  “I'll let you know what she says,” Marcus murmured to Patrick as he helped his daughters into the carriage.

  Tipping his hat, Patrick climbed up into his carriage, leaving Marcus to go back into his empty estate and prepare for Emma’s arrival.

  Stubborn Emma may be, but he'd persuade her to stay. He was sure of it.

  Chapter 2

  Emma stared blankly at Caroline. “Me?” she squeaked. She hated it when her voice sounded that way and her eyes nearly popped from their sockets, but just now she couldn't help it.

  “Yes, you. I just need you to bring these things over to Marcus.” Caroline gestured to an array of things Emma considered beyond trivial. Why in the world did Marcus need an embroidery hoop? Or what about the mismatched, heeled slippers? He was a man. What did he need this junk for? Did he, like Olivia, have a strong need to keep everything he'd ever touched? Still, when would he have touched an embroidery hoop or mismatched slippers?

  “Why?” she asked, staring at Caroline.

  Caroline grinned. “Hmm, how interesting. Just a minute ago you were squealing that you didn’t want to be the one delivering the box, and now it seems you want to know why? Does that mean you've accepted the task?”

  “No.” Emma picked up a blank and slightly yellowing paint canvas. “Why do you need to send this rubbish to him? He probably doesn't even know any of it's gone.”

  Shrugging, Caroline Banks, Lady Watson, Emma’s dearest friend, tossed a magnifying glass with a hairline crack running the length of the glass into the wooden crate. “Whether he knows it's gone or not, it belongs to him. Well, to Olivia,” she amended, sneering. “Olivia kept all sorts of bizarre things, and these all belong to her.”

  Emma stared at her highly intelligent friend as if she were a simpleton. “And your reason for returning it is?”

  “They're hers. She has a right to have them.”

  “But she's in America,” Emma pointed out, inspecting a comb that was missing more teeth than it had.

  Caroline sighed. “I know, but somehow I ended up with all of this, and I don't want it and she does. Since it's hers, I'm sending it back.”

  Emma blinked as she tried to make sense of her friend's unusual sentence. It wasn't typical for Caroline to be acting this way. Something was off. “Caroline,” she said slowly. “Say I do take this crate of detritus over to Ridge Water. What good is it really going to do? Olivia isn't there to know if you have it, if her brother has it, or if it's at the bottom of the Thames. Why does it matter? Find the closest rubbish bin and deposit it there.”

  “I can't,” Caroline said adamantly as she scrunched her nose and picked up a lone stocking with a giant hole in the toe.

  Emma could no longer contain her curiosity about a little book she'd seen at the bottom of the pile that looked oddly like a diary and picked it up. “How exactly did you acquire this unusual lot of rubble?”

  Pursing her lips, Caroline flung a candle stub that couldn't have been longer than a quarter of an inch into the box. “She gave it to me over the years.”

  “Then it's yours,” Emma exclaimed.

  “No, it's hers.” Caroline plucked Olivia's moldy, half-used diary from Emma's fingers and tossed it back into the box. “She gave me a piece every time a gift was necessary: my birthday and Christmas mainly. Anyway, these are all the things I accumulated from her as gifts. I shoved them into a box in case I needed to give them back. If there's one thing Olivia is, it's predictable. She wrote me about a month ago asking for a few of these items back.”

  “No, she didn't,” Emma said, her voice full of disbelief. Although she didn't know why she was questioning Caroline's word. Olivia had more than once given her something and asked for it back.

  “Yes, she did. She even described in exact detail the three things she wanted back.”

  Emma shook her head. “All right. I'll take it over. Although I still don't understand why you can't just send a footman to deliver this. It's not like any of it is valuable.”

  “I quite agree.” Caroline tossed the last of the objects—a tarnished ear scoop—into the box then closed the lid. “But I want to be sure this arrives, and I trust you far more than any of the servants. Who knows what might happen if it doesn't arrive? Olivia might come back and insist on searching my house in hopes of finding her long lost carving of a duck-billed platypus.�
�� She rolled her eyes. “Thank you, Emma. I appreciate it far more than you know.”

  “You'd better,” Emma mumbled. Her stomach knotted at the idea that in less than an hour, she'd be standing at the door of Ridge Water. A chill ran up her spine. She hadn't seen Marcus but maybe three or four times since Caroline's wedding last year; and she hadn’t seen him at all since Olivia decided to go to America, of all places. The irony of Olivia willingly living in the place she'd talked so nastily about for years was not lost on Emma. However, the excuse of visiting Olivia in order to glimpse Marcus was. Now she wasn't sure what she'd find when she saw him. He'd always treated her nicely when she'd been there to visit his sister or cousin, but she didn't know how he'd act when she came to him this time.

  “Hmm.” Caroline tapped her index finger against her cheek. “Would you like to change your gown? Perhaps something a bit more comfortable for traveling?”

  Emma glanced down at her gown. It wasn't anything special. Just a simple frock, really. When she'd left her sister's that night in London, all she'd had was her nightrail and dressing robe. Caroline had been staying at Watson Townhouse, her London residence, and had taken her in without a second thought. Since then, Caroline had been lending her gowns. Caroline offered on several occasions to have gowns made up for her, but Emma had refused. Living off her friend's generosity was one thing; she'd not go so far as to take advantage. Not that she enjoyed borrowing her friend's gowns any better, though. “I think this one shall be all right.”

  Caroline shook her head. “No, no. That gown is already wrinkled. It will look like it's been balled up at the bottom of your wardrobe by the time you arrive. Let's go find something else.”

  Ten minutes later, Caroline had Emma in a gown that was far too fancy just to travel to Ridge Water and back. “I don't think this is going to be any more comfortable,” Emma protested, willing herself not to look at her image in the mirror. It had been eight years since she'd worn a dress this nice.

  “All right, let's get that box of Olivia's trinkets and you can be off,” Caroline said, abruptly ending Emma's woolgathering.

  Emma walked over to pick up the wooden box off Caroline's secretary.

  “Put that down,” Caroline exclaimed, trying to take the box from Emma's newly-formed grip on the sides of the crate. “You just put on a new gown, and you'll wrinkle it if you try to carry that heavy box. I'll go get Alex to carry it.”

  Alex, Caroline's husband, was an interesting man to say the least. He was a baron who couldn't get two things off his brain, one of which being science. The man loved science and anything science related. He even had an odd ability to take anything non-science and somehow make it into science. For instance, his courtship with the number two thing that was always on his brain: Caroline. Emma had never met a man who openly loved his wife more. The night Emma first saw Alex and Caroline in the same room together, she knew something was different. The second time she saw them together, she realized what it was. They were in love.

  Her heart ached a little knowing she'd never have what her closest friend had, and yet, she didn't begrudge Caroline her good fortune to love and be loved back.

  A minute later the object of her thoughts and Caroline's affections came in and took the box from Emma. He kept his face turned down to hide his scowl. It was no secret Alex detested Olivia. Nor was it a mystery as to why. Emma bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to smile.

  “Emma, would you be opposed to bringing something to Marcus for me?” Alex asked hopefully, ignoring the strange look his wife was shooting him.

  Emma shrugged. “Why not.”

  “Excellent.” Alex beamed at her. “He lent me a pair of his boots once, and he might like them back.”

  Caroline swatted his shoulder. “Stop it. You know he'd never give you something and expect it back. Especially a pair of stinky old boots.” She made a face that made both her husband and Emma grin.

  “Are you sure?” Alex knit his brows together. “Just to be safe, I brought them.” He put the crate down and dug one hand into each of his trouser pockets, bringing out two boots that couldn't have been worn by anyone past the age of four.

  Emma laughed. “I take it you feel the same way about this as I do.”

  He nodded. “I think it's ridiculous she'd ask for the things back, but I think it's more ridiculous that Caro's actually going through the trouble of sending them back.”

  “Think what you want,” Caroline said, smiling. “Just think it while carrying this box down to the carriage.”

  Alex tossed the little boots inside the box, then carried it to the carriage. “Is Annie going with you?”

  “No!” Emma and Caroline said in unison. Emma didn’t know why Caroline hadn’t insisted on her bringing a maid with her, nor did she care. She had an important stop to make after going to Ridge Water and didn’t want the servants at Watson Estate speculating any more on her situation than they already were.

  “Does he know I'm coming?” Emma asked before the carriage door was closed. “I don't wish to surprise him.”

  “He knows. I sent a note,” Caroline said, an unusual spark in her blue eyes.

  Emma nodded and let Alex close the door.

  Fifty minutes later, Emma stood outside the door of Ridge Water, staring at the brass door knocker and biting her lip.

  It had been a long time since she'd been here to see him. Perhaps her feelings had changed and she'd be able to look at him without her heart racing, palms sweating, and knees weakening.

  Just then the door swung open, and Emma knew she possessed no such luck. As soon as her eyes fell on Marcus, all the old feelings came flooding back. Most would find him undesirable with his heavily scarred face and highly pronounced limp. But that was because they were unable to see him the way she did. People were often so shallow their eyes only landed on his eye-catching attributes, and missed the subtle things such as his slate grey eyes which were full of unreleased humor, or his flawless grin that only came out when he was truly amused, or his light brown hair that curled up at his collar.

  “Emma,” he greeted with a wide grin that took her breath away.

  She swallowed. Hard. Flushing with embarrassment, she broke eye contact and cleared her throat. “Car—Caroline sent some things,” she stammered, gesturing to the carriage.

  “She did?” he drawled, glancing to the carriage. “What did she send?”

  “You don't know?”

  He shook his head. “Afraid not. She just said you were coming, she didn't say you would come bearing gifts.”

  Emma smiled weakly. “These aren't the kind of gifts any normal person would like.”

  Cocking his head to the side, his eyes swept her from head to toe. His lips twisted in what she knew to be contemplation. “I've seen that dress before.”

  Emma shook out her skirts and inclined her chin an inch. “You had it commissioned for Caroline before she married the baron. Since the birth of her child, she can no longer wear it,” she said smoothly. She had a suspicion Caroline had made that up. Caroline was just as thin now as she had been before Edward’s birth, but Caroline knew Emma would have never put the dress on without Caroline claiming it no longer fit. Besides, Caroline still had a few more weeks left of mourning, she wouldn't need this dress for a while yet.

  “Hmm. Well, don't tell Caroline this, but it looks much prettier on you.”

  Her cheeks burned at his words. He'd never complimented her before. He'd been nice, of course. Just never the kind to pay compliments. Particularly ones that weren't true. He'd never seen Caroline in this dress as far as she knew. No matter though. She was flattered nonetheless. “Thank you, Lord Sinclair.”

  His lips twisted a little at her words. “You've known me for years, Emma. You may call me Marcus. You did when we were children.”

  “I know.” But that had been so long ago. Before his accident. Before her sister’s engagement to him. Before he was jilted. Before she’d had to feign a friendship with his sister just t
o see him. And all during those years, she'd avoided calling him anything. Everything had seemed either too personal or too formal for what they were to each other.

  “Would you like to come inside?”

  She glanced at the carriage. “I can't.” Caroline's houseguests were due to arrive in the next hour and a half. She'd like to have this crate dropped off and be on her way soon so she could be firmly out of the way before they arrived.

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  “I need to get back to Watson Estate soon,” she said as if that explained anything.

  He pushed off from where he'd been leaning against the doorjamb and limped to the carriage, Emma trailing close behind. He opened the door of the carriage and picked the box up off the seat. He held it in his hands and gave it a small shake. “Hmm. I wonder what could be in here.”

  Emma slid the lid off. “Wonder no more.” She couldn't stop herself from grinning at the way his lips contorted when he saw the contents.

  “What is this?” He set the box down on the steps of the carriage.

  Shrugging, Emma willed herself to keep a straight face. “Gifts Olivia has given to Caroline over the years. Apparently she wants them back.”

  Marcus groaned. “Why did she even keep this nonsense?” He picked up a stained miniature of an old woman with a blue wig atop her head and squinted at it.

  “Probably because, unlike us, she's been wise to Olivia's habits and knew Olivia would one day ask for all this rubbish back.”

  “I always knew she was smart,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “Come inside, Emma.”

  “No, I really must be going,” she said, casting a quick glance into the carriage.

  Marcus followed her gaze and she inwardly cursed when his eyes, followed by his fingers, landed on the bundle of papers she’d left on the seat. “What's this?”

  “Nothing,” Emma said, trying to grab the papers from his hand.

  He held them over his head. “I take it these were not from Caroline, were they?”