Let the Lady Decide

by Gemma Blackwood

  Annabelle had started out the morning barely brave enough to speak above a whisper, but she soon found her confidence. Before too long she was trotting along at Emily's side, urgently pointing out every horse that appeared in the background of a picture.

  "She loves horses," said the Marquess fondly. Annabelle nodded.

  "And I can ride really well!"

  "She has a pony," whispered the Marquess. Emily couldn't help but laugh. The Marquess and his daughter clearly adored each other. They made a family picture as wonderful as any of the paintings.

  And what was Emily's place in the picture, she wondered? Was she only a visitor to the gallery of their happiness, looking in from the outside?

  Or could she be something more?

  The very idea filled her with guilt. James stormed into her mind, chastising her for even considering another man.

  Of course, the real James would not even mention it. Wasn't it his mission, after all, to help her choose a husband?

  "Papa, I'm tired," complained Annabelle. The Marquess lifted her up easily in his arms and planted a great smacking kiss on her cheek. Annabelle wriggled, giggling.

  "I'm afraid the mistress of my household has decreed it's time to go home," said the Marquess. "I've had the most wonderful time, Lady Emily."

  "As have I," she smiled. "I must confess I have never enjoyed an art gallery this much. Thank you for sharing your expertise."

  "You were not good as good as me at noticing the horses," said Annabelle. The Marquess gasped, pretending to be shocked.

  "Why, Annabelle! Where are your manners?"

  "But you will get better when you practise," Annabelle allowed. She pursed her lips to kiss Emily goodbye. Emily leaned in and offered her cheek, trying not to look at the Marquess as she did so. It brought their faces closer together than was proper.

  He didn't make her feel the way she did with James. He didn't make her feel the horror she'd felt with the Viscount. Perhaps, if she couldn't have the man she wanted, the Marquess would not make her too unhappy?

  "He is a very good sort of man," said the Duchess, as they sat in the carriage home. "I don't want to pressure you, Emily, but I have no doubt that the Marquess would make an excellent husband. He was so kind to his first wife! He never speaks of her now, though everyone knows he missed her terribly in the years after she died."

  "I can't imagine the pain of losing a spouse," said Emily. She watched the first drops of rain spattering on the windows. The Marquess had taken the good weather with him when he left. "Do you think he has really recovered enough to love again?"

  "What does love have to do with it?" asked the Duchess. "You will make a fine mother for young Annabelle, and the Marquess will make a kind husband for you."

  "Kindness! Is that all I can hope for?"

  "It's a good start. There may be more in time. But if kindness is all you ever know, well... It's more than most women have."

  Emily wondered, not for the first time, about her parents' marriage. She knew they had not married for love. A Duke's son rarely could. But had it made them miserable? Her father treated her mother kindly and provided all that she could wish for. Her mother was at her father's side no matter what adversity he faced. They had remained the same, changeless, friendly, and kind, through many years of marriage.

  Was she being selfish to hope for more?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  There was no more denying it. It was a lovely dream, but it ended as all good things must. A sad end, perhaps, but unavoidable all the same.

  James Marsden was no longer the carefree, crimson-cravatted bachelor-about-town. Gone was the man who would rather sail to the colonies than hear of marriage. Finished were his flirtations, his amusing entanglements, and even one or two correspondents which had bordered on the saucy.

  James the bachelor was dead. James the lovelorn ninny was standing in his place. And he utterly despised it.

  All the male company in the world did not make up for the lack of Emily's smile. He tried his best. He spent hours talking rot with the fellows at White's. He rode across Hampstead Heath at a great pace alongside his whooping brother. He visited the theatre. He wrote one of his shamefully infrequent letters to his mother.

  Nothing distracted him. The only balm to soothe his troubled soul was Emily, and Emily was everything he could not have.

  The fever of his frustrated passions reached such a pitch on the Thursday evening following his visit with Mrs Wrenn, that even the amiable Duchess of Westbourne had occasion to remonstrate with him.

  "James, that is the fifth time you have made a face at your soup. Do I need to have a word with the cook, or is there something else on your mind?"

  James looked from Catherine to his brother Harry, seeing how they smiled at each other from each end of the table in their awful wedded bliss. "The soup is delicious," he said. "I am only a little out of sorts."

  "I don't like to cast aspersions," said Alice Sharp, sitting opposite him, "but we've all noticed."

  "It's London in the Season," complained Harry. "It wears on us all. This endless round of social engagements! I'd rather be stomping through my estates in Larksley, shooting some grouse."

  "It doesn't matter whether it wears on us or not," said Catherine, giving her husband a sharp look. "It's necessary."

  "Yes, dear brothers," said Alice, with a pert smile. "Do remember that my prospects will be absolutely ruined if I don't have a Duke to parade me about on my first Season."

  "That said, there's no need for James to stay if he doesn't want to," said Catherine. James was relieved to hear that the Duke and Duchess of Westbourne saw no need to thrust him into the marriage mart along with poor Alice. "Why don't you go down to Larksley and stay with your mother in Westbourne Hall? I'm sure she'd love the company."

  Westbourne Hall – the enormous country mansion Harry had inherited along with the dukedom. It was the sort of place James only dreamed of entering as a boy. Ordinarily, he'd like nothing more than to spend a few weeks exploring its large estates, pretending to fall in love with country women, and spending time with his younger brother, who lived nearby with his new wife.

  Ugh! There it was again. Matrimony. Everywhere he turned, James was accosted by the prospect of newlywed couples and their appalling happiness.

  Besides, if he went to Larksley, Emily might be married before he saw her again. The thought sickened him.

  "No need for that," he said. He noticed Catherine's brief frown of disappointment. He knew she'd be happier if he were kept far away from her precious younger sister. He wasn't at all the sort of man young Alice Sharp was expected to befriend. Ha! If only Catherine knew the truth! "I'll take myself out for a long drive tomorrow morning. May I have the curricle, Harry?"

  "Only if you promise not to drive it so recklessly. I don't know that I entirely trust you when you're in this mood," said Harry, winking.

  A long drive. Fresh air - well, as fresh as London could offer. Hyde Park in the sunshine. Forget that the last time he'd been there, Emily was at his side. A brisk spell behind a lively pair of horses was exactly what James needed.

  Which made it all the more inexplicable, the following morning, when he found himself driving the horses towards the Duke of Rawly's home.

  "Marsden, old chap!" cried Jacob, pounding him on the shoulder as he stood in the drawing room, looking in vain for Emily. "It's dashed lucky you stopped by. I'm about to go and take a gander at the auction at Tattersall's, and I dare say it'll be right up your alley."

  James swallowed down an unpleasant flutter of nerves. "Actually, I was hoping to find your sister."

  "What, Em? She's out in the garden. Finishing off one of her peculiar projects. They're a sight too complicated for my tastes. I can never tell what on earth she's up to." Jacob noticed the package under James's arm. "What's that you've got there?"

  "Oh, this?" James shrugged. "I was running an errand for my sister-in-law. Some ribbons, I expect. Listen, I was thinking of taking Lady
Emily out for a drive. To discuss my research, you know."

  Jacob clapped a hand to his forehead. "Do you know, I'd forgotten all about your little scheme! Have you dug up some dirt on any of the gentlemen? She has so many callers, I can't keep track of who's in favour and who's out of it. Well, I can't say my parents will approve of you taking her out – so make sure you get her out of the house before they realise what's going on." He let out a bark of laughter. "Consider my permission given! Now, I'm off to the auction. Hope Emily doesn't bore your socks off with her endless prattle about trigonometry!"

  James made his way through the house into the large, tree-dotted garden. Lady Emily was kneeling down in the grass, ignoring the green stains creeping up her white muslin, and marking something down intently in a notebook.

  James approached from behind her, his footsteps soft in the wet grass.

  "I know it doesn't interest you," said Emily, without looking up, "but that fir tree is twenty feet high."

  "How did you work that out?" he asked. Emily's back went ramrod-straight. She scrambled to her feet.

  "I thought you were Jacob!" Blushing, she tried unsuccessfully to wipe the grass stains from her gown.

  "You're interested in arborealogy now?"

  "Not exactly." She bent down and picked up the long wooden ruler which she had laid down on the ground, and brandished it like a weapon. "There was a system of measuring height in my textbook that I simply had to try for myself. You make a right-angle triangle from paper, you see, and then hold it in front of your eye. Then you walk backwards from the object you're measuring until you can just see it at the upper tip of the triangle, measure your distance from the tree, and add on your own height. So I've been applying it to every tall object I can find. I tested it on the house first. Papa says the old blueprints show that it is seventy-five feet tall. My calculations show that it is actually one foot higher!" Her cheeks were flushed with pride at her discovery. "My brother thinks I'm half-mad. But I know I'll never truly understand mathematics unless I can apply it. And there's no chance of Papa letting me become an engineer."

  "On that note..." James handed her the package. "I have something for you. To aid you in your intellectual adventures."

  "You brought me a present?" Emily ran her hand over the package, feeling for clues as to what it might be. "That is too kind of you."

  "It's only a small thing. Open it when I'm gone."

  "On the contrary. It may be small, but it means a great deal to me." Her eyes were glowing. James wanted nothing more in that moment than to step forward, brush the tousled hair from her face, and kiss her.

  He glanced back at the house which loomed over them. Every window seemed a watchful eye.

  "Your brother has given me permission to take you out for a drive," he said. "I thought we could discuss..." His mouth went dry. "Your suitors," he muttered.

  Emily looked stricken. "My suitors," she repeated, with a forlorn little sigh. "On that note, Mr Marsden, there is something I must ask you." Her eyes flicked towards the house. She must have felt as watched as he did. "Why don't we go and sit a little further into the garden? There's a pretty bench where we can talk without...without..."

  "Risking your father's wrath?"

  Emily winced. "Exactly."

  He followed her down the path, ducking under a few sprays of late summer roses. They rounded a corner into a secluded grove designed to resemble a clearing in a forest. It was surrounded by thick, overhanging trees. At the edge of the clearing stood a small bench with just enough space for two to sit together.

  It would mean being closer to Emily than he ought, by rights, to be. James hoped he would behave himself - but he made no promises.

  Emily clutched the package he'd given her to her chest. For a long moment they simply sat together and let their eyes roam across one another's faces.

  Everything James wanted to tell her was waiting just behind his eyes. How beautiful she was. How clever, how kind. How she had taken over his thoughts completely. The perfect torment of being so close to her and yet unable to touch her. The agony of knowing that, if he were to propose to her right then and there, she would likely say no.

  How could she possibly accept him, knowing her family would refuse?

  "You had a question for me," he said. He needed to break the silence before he did something rash.

  "I did." Emily tilted her head quizzically to one side. "Did you know that Annabelle was the Marquess of Chiltern's daughter?"

  He was completely caught off guard. The only thing he could think of to say was the truth. "I did."

  "Oh!" It was not the answer Emily had been expecting. Hurt rose in her eyes. "You lied to me."

  James grimaced. He hadn't exactly thought of it that way at the time. "I suppose I did."

  "How could you?" asked Emily. He longed to put his arm around her and kiss away the pain on her face. "I put such trust in you. Did you not understand how important it is to me to find the right husband?"

  "Of course I understand..."

  "That lie made me discount the one man out of all my suitors who might really make me happy," said Emily, folding her arms. "Why did you do it?"

  "I did not want you to marry the Marquess," said James. His mind was spinning. In the face of Emily's hurt he could not come up with a single plausible explanation to give her – other than the truth.

  "And why not?" she demanded. "He is a good man who treated his last wife well. He is an excellent father to his daughter. His reputation is impeccable. He has a fortune to match mine. I would be a Marchioness. My family would be happy. Why shouldn't I marry him?"

  "Do you want to marry him?"

  To his horror, Emily's eyes filled with tears. "It doesn't matter what I want," she said. "What matters is what I should do."

  "Don't marry him," he begged her.

  "You have given me no reason to refuse him."

  "I love you." James caught her face up in his hands. "I love you, isn't that reason enough? You have enchanted me. Don't marry him, Emily, I couldn't bear it."

  Bright tears ran down her cheeks, but she was smiling.

  "Kiss me," she whispered.

  James fought not to overwhelm her with the force of his passion. He knew she had never been kissed before. His lips brushed against hers, soft as the sunlight. Emily's eyes fluttered closed.

  Then, with a moan, he kissed her with all the heat his longing demanded. He held her to him, revelling in the perfection of her lips, the weight of her in his arms. She was timid at first, uncertain, but within moments she was kissing him with an ardour to match his own. An eternity of devotion passed between them, spoken soundlessly with gentle lips.

  "What will I do?" asked Emily, crying half in happiness and half in despair.

  James stroked that shining brown hair which he had spent so many hours dying to caress. "I am a second son," he said. "I have no title. I know I cannot have you."

  "Don't –"

  "I cannot watch you marry another." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I can't do it, Emily. It will be the end of me."

  "I will speak to my father -"

  "What can you hope for from him?"

  She shook her head. "It all seems so useless, but I must at least try."

  "I don't want to be the cause of trouble between you and your family." James touched her cheek. "They love you very much, my Emily. They want the best for you."

  "They don't know what's best for me!"

  "A hopeless love affair, then?" James let out a bitter laugh. "Is that what you want? That's all I can offer you."

  Emily laced her fingers through his. "It will be worth it to know I have been loved."

  "I won't do it to you, Emily."

  "Then you must leave me." The words rang like a funeral bell in James's ears. "Before this drives us both mad. You promised to help me choose a husband. This is a poor way of fulfilling that promise!" Emily closed her eyes. She had gone very pale. Her hand still clutched at his. "I have a duty to my f
amily. I will never be able to do my duty while you... While I still have the dream that you..."

  She buried her face in James's chest and sobbed. He stroked her hair, wishing that he'd never said anything at all. The last thing he wanted was to cause her such pain.

  "I'm afraid this is the end of our friendship," said Emily, once her tears had run dry.

  "Surely we can remain friends, at least?"

  "I'm afraid I won't be able to bear it." She straightened up, dabbing at her eyes. "This is for the best, Mr Marsden."

  His heart quailed. "So formal?"

  "We are nothing but acquaintances now." Emily turned her head up to the sky, letting the sun dry her wet cheeks. "Do I look an awful state?"

  "You have never looked more beautiful."

  She smiled sadly. "I shall remember that you said that. For the rest of my life, I will remember." She rose to go. "And now I must bid you farewell."

  James was seized by panic. Only a few moments ago, he had been kissing the woman of his dreams. Now, suddenly, she was about to vanish from his life forever. "Emily, don't do this."

  "Why, Mr Marsden!" she gasped, with a faux-coquettish smirk. "You are very familiar with me today. Please, enjoy the garden for as long as you wish. I am going into the house. Do not attempt to follow me." She paused. "It will end badly for the both of us if you do."

  James dropped his head into his hands. He couldn't stand the sight of her walking away.

  He knew she was right.

  He hated that she was right.

  Curse that beautiful, whip-smart common sense of hers! It would likely be the death of him.

  He sat in the garden until he was startled from his seat by a puzzled gardener.

  "May I help you, sir? Are you unwell?"

  James raised his head and blinked in the sunlight. "There's no need for concern," he said hoarsely. The gardener beat his muddy hands together, sending a cloud of dust into the air.