by Matilda Hart
The floorboards creaked, and Emilia waited, after each sound, her heart in her throat, to ensure that no one followed her. She went as quietly as she could past the room her father slept in, and crept down the stairs to the lounge. No one stirred. Still in her stockinged feet, she slid quietly to the door leading to the kitchen and points beyond, and waited when she thought she heard a noise behind her. Breathing shallowly, she hung back in the shadows, but heard no further sound.
The kitchen was a rather unexpectedly large space, but Emilia did not take the time to admire its proportions, or the cleanliness of its floors and tables. She was too intent on slipping through the door that led out to the stables, where she was going to see about appropriating a horse, or even the innkeeper’s mule. She could not stay in the inn if she expected to escape from her father. The night was still. Not even the animals moved in the stable, and Emilia prayed they would remain silent for long enough for her to put a saddle on it. If she could gentle a strange horse enough to saddle it, she knew she could ride off without too much trouble.
Sliding by the first set of stalls, she stopped before one where a smaller animal stood, staring unblinkingly at her. Deciding she would need to take advantage of the animal’s height and apparently docile nature, she put her treasures down and went to unhook the saddle that she saw hanging on the wall in his stall. The animal snorted softly, startling her, and she swung around in time to find herself grasped by two strong arms. The burly man who held her smelled strongly of ale, and though he was not hurting her, he was too strong for her to fight off. He towered over her, and when she tried to drag herself away, he chuckled softly.
“You’re definitely a feisty one, aren’t you, my lady?” he said. “His lordship would not be pleased if I let you go.”
Emilia stopped fighting him, knowing she had nowhere left to go. The groom led her quietly back into the inn, and said, as he stopped outside her door, in a voice low enough that only she could hear,
“I will say nothing of this to his lordship, my lady. I wish you good rest and a good night.”
Emilia’s whole body shook as she closed the door to her bedchamber. She had never even heard him move. He must have been in the stable all along. She fumed as she undressed, wishing she could think of a way to get past the bodyguards her father had brought along. She lay back against the pillows and thought hard about what she would do next. She would not give up. She couldn’t.
The Marquess was up and about much too early for Emilia’s liking next morning, and before she knew it, they were back on the road. The innkeeper’s wife had packed them a large breakfast that the Marquess declared they would have in some idyllic picnic spot along the way. He looked at Emilia as he spoke, as though he wanted her to see that he was trying to make her comfortable. She slid her eyes away from his. No picnic would make up for his betrayal.
“Will you enjoy the open air, daughter?” he asked, his tone sharp with amusement.
Emilia felt her face heat. He was teasing her, because of her attempt to run away from home. He didn’t know about last night...did he? The groom had promised not to tell him. She looked at him sharply, and found his shrewd gaze upon her. There was determination etched in his features as he looked at her, and Emilia swallowed the sharp retort on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she answered politely.
“It sounds like it will be a pleasant diversion from this long trip, Papa.”
Nothing more was said as the carriage wound its way along the busy road. Emilia wondered what would happen if they were accosted by brigands. She did not know whether or not this road was susceptible to such attacks, but she imagined that in the mayhem, she might be able to sneak away, though the thought of being caught by one of the highwaymen made her shiver in fear.
Eventually, they did stop next to an open field through which a stream ran. Alice quickly set about organizing their meal, and when her father leaned against the trunk of the large tree under which they sat, Emilia wished the circumstances were different. This could so easily have been a happy picnic stop. She sighed as she picked at the food Alice had put before her.
“You had best eat up, my girl,” the Marquess said, watching her push the food around on her plate. “We will not stop again before nightfall.”
His voice was hard, and he did not look at her again once he had given the order. Emilia was not hungry, but she did not wish to further antagonize her father, at least not publicly. The solicitor, her father’s cousin, must have found it odd to be sitting in the same space as a father and daughter who did not speak to each other. She knew that he knew the reason for their journey, but he might not know that she was an unwilling traveler among them. Could she persuade him to help her?
She looked him over as she forced herself to swallow the cheese and bread and the hard cooked eggs. He was a tall, gaunt man, with sad eyes and bushy eyebrows. His beard was thick but neatly trimmed, and his sideburns were an impressive affair down the side of each jaw. It seemed almost as though his facial hair was part of what was weighing him down. His dour expression had not so far on the journey been relieved by even the hint of a smile, and his conversation, such as it was, left much to be desired. There didn’t seem any way to gain his attention, never mind his support in a venture that would no doubt lose him her father’s business were it to be discovered that he had in any way assisted her to defy her parent.
And really, as she mulled over the question, it became clear that to endeavor to gain support from those who were loyal to her father, for whatever reason, would be a futile effort at best, and a disaster at worst. Mayhap the more prudent plan would be to use subterfuge. If she could lull her parent into thinking that she was at least no longer violently opposed to the idea of marriage, and to a stranger at that, she might be able to exploit his gullibility in the service of her scheme. To that end, she finished her tea and said,
“Papa, I do not know anything of this man to whom I am being taken.” She refrained from adding ‘like a lamb to the slaughter’, as she surmised it would not go over well as a tactic of deceit. “How do you come to know him?”
The Marquess looked at her consideringly, as though he suspected her reason for asking the question. Emilia put on what she hoped was a most innocent and interested expression, and poured herself a second cup of tea.
“We were introduced at the Lord Mayor’s Ball two years ago,” he said at last, “and were invited to return for a visit, which we did last summer.”
“And is this when the Duke discovered he had a secret passion for my favor?”
Despite her overly sweet question, her tone held a hint of sarcasm. She would have to try harder to contain her ire if she planned to succeed in deceiving her father. He did not immediately reply, and she began to despair of an answer, and to fret about her newest plan, when he said,
“I am not privy to the moment he first began to harbor, as you say, a secret passion for you. The Duke is a very private man. However, I am aware that he could often be found watching you, when you were unaware of his attention. I began to discern an interest that he seemed unwilling to admit to.”
Emilia could not believe what she was hearing. If she understood what her father had not said, it was he, and not the Duke, who had concocted this scheme to rob her of her freedom. Only by a supreme act of will did she manage not to hurl the accusation at his head. The man might not even wish to marry her, for goodness sake!
“So, who was it who proposed the marriage, Papa?” She had to know the answer to the question.
The Marquess looked sharply at her, understanding at once what she was asking. His face turned an apoplectic red, and Emilia feared for a long moment that he was having a heart attack.
“Papa?” she said, genuinely frightened when he opened his mouth to speak and no words came out. “Are you quite well, Papa?” When he still did not answer, she poured some more tea and offered it to him. “Sip this please, Papa,” she told him, but he waved it away.
“Do you think to accuse me of opportunism? D
o you imagine that it was I who suggested you as a marriage partner for the Duke?”
Emilia was torn between contrition at her father’s obvious distress and dismay at the fact that her marriage had been up for discussion long before she had been made aware of it.
“I was just curious, Papa,” she answered lamely. “I had no intention of accusing you of anything.”
“My lady, you seem to be singularly unaware of your own appeal.” The solicitor’s voice broke into the conversation, shocking Emilia, to whom he had not said two words for the whole journey so far. “I’m sure the Marquess had no need to suggest anything to the Duke, as he could see for himself who you were.”
Because of the solicitor’s relationship to her father, the familiarity of his comments was acceptable. Still, they had Emilia reeling. What could he mean by her ‘appeal’? She was aware that she was not unattractive -- is that what he meant? And did he mean to suggest that men were interested in her? The thought was mind-boggling, especially as she had been more of a tomboy than a princess when she was growing up.
“I just find it strange that a perfect stranger would ask to marry me without ever once having met me.”
“As I have already said, Emilia, the Duke is well aware of who you are.” The Marquess had regained control of his temper, enough at least so that he was no longer in imminent danger of having a seizure.
The conversation was going nowhere, and her father’s mood had changed for the worse, which meant that the rest of the journey, at least until they stopped for the night, would be awkward at best. Emilia wished that she had not broached the subject, or that at least she had managed to ask better questions. She still knew nothing of the Duke, not even his age. She would try again on the morrow.
That night, she took herself off to bed in the inn and stayed in the chamber within until Alice woke her the next morning. She had slept fitfully, and she feared her appearance would not recommend her to the Duke, at whose home they were expecting to arrive that evening. She dressed carefully in a pink gown, hoping the color would help to disguise the paleness of her cheeks. The Duke whom she intended to escape from would be waiting for her at the end of the day, and she wanted to look good. The thought that she was dressing to please anyone but herself angered her, bringing some much-needed color back into her cheeks.
Her father’s mood was none improved by sleep, and Emilia feared she would get no answers from him, but she vowed to try. They had opted to eat breakfast at the inn, her father having requested an early meal for their departure. Once they were upon the road, she clasped her hands in her lap, and stared out the carriage windows for a while, gathering her thoughts. They had spent most of the journey thus far going past farmland, and the forests through which they chanced to travel had been for her the most frightening parts. Now the fields greeted her gaze once more, and she could see a river in the distance, cows grazing, and sometimes a passing farmer. She wished she could be content with her lot as these people seemed to be.
“Papa, how old is the Duke?” Perhaps direct questions would work better than innuendos.
“His Lordship is thirty-and two years old,” her father replied.
“Has he any siblings? Is his mother still alive?” She could not imagine having to adjust not only to living with a stranger, but also with his mother. She had heard enough stories about dreaded mothers-in-law to make her afraid to confront such a female in the flesh. Not that she would have to, of course, because she fully intended to escape at the earliest opportunity to some foreign shore. Perhaps the Netherlands, or Italy, where no one knew her, and she could live the independent life of a free woman.
Her inattention to his answers did not escape her father’s notice. “Why do you ask these questions if you have no interest in the answers, Emilia?”
His tone was testy, and she hastened to beg pardon for her abstraction. “I am sorry, Papa,” she said, looking into his eyes. “I was just thinking about his mother.”
Her father’s gaze did not soften as he repeated himself. “He has a younger sister who is married and already a mother. His own mother passed away when he was a younger man.”
Emilia sighed. There did not seem to be any reprieve for her from the constant reminder of her own insufficiencies as a dutiful daughter and a woman of marriageable age. No doubt the Duke had happily married off his hapless sister to some random stranger, and the poor woman was forced to live her life in the presence of being happy. She would not be able to persuade the man of her complete lack of interest in marrying him, either, it seemed. She was truly on her own. The thought was daunting, but she knew that she was as intelligent and as accomplished as any man, and that she did not need a man to complete her, or to make her happy. She would flee at the first opportunity. She had no choice.
Chapter 4
By the time the carriage arrived at Roxburgh Manor, Emilia had succumbed to sleep. Her father roused her, and she tried to gather her wits about her as the coachman opened the door, and stood to help her descend. She stepped out and looked at the imposing structure before her. Even in the shadow of night, the mansion was impressive. Tall columns supported a high roof over the grand entrance, and she thought she could see turrets as well. There were three people waiting for them as they disembarked, and once the Marquess took her elbow and escorted forward, Emilia remembered to plaster a smile on her face.
One of the men stepped forward, and Emilia got her first look at her intended since their meeting the year before. The light from the house cast his face mostly in shadow, though she could see enough to know he had a defined jawline and an aristocratic nose. He smiled as he extended a hand to her father, who shook it heartily.
“At last, Lord MacNeil! It is indeed a pleasure to welcome you back to my home.”
“You are very kind, Your Grace. May I present my daughter, Lady Emilia MacNeil?”
The Duke turned to Emilia, and she felt the heat of his gaze burning into her flesh. She blushed, and her heart stuttered when he took her hand and pressed it to his lips.
“You are as enchanting as ever, Lady Emilia,” he said, his tone unexpectedly warm.
“Thank you,” she replied after a moment. “You are too kind, Your Grace.” She kept her voice cool, refusing to be charmed by him.
The other introductions having been made, the Duke invited his guests into his home, and led them immediately to the drawing room while his butler sent the footman with their luggage up to the second floor, and the housekeeper went below stairs to see to their refreshment before bed. Emilia looked around at the opulence of the room, with its heavy wooden furniture, gold-framed paintings of his family members, and sumptuous colors.
“Please, have a seat and make yourselves at home,” the Duke invited them, waiting until she chose a seat before sitting himself.
Her father and Mr. Johnson seemed completely at ease in the overstuffed leather armchairs, but Emilia found herself squirming in the cloth-covered chair she occupied. It was soft enough, and the material that covered it was of a rich royal blue hue, velvet to the touch. But the very sumptuousness of it made her cringe. What had her host done to earn the luxury in which he lived? It seemed somehow unfair that he should have inherited this place and all the wealth and privileges that go with it without having to lift a finger for even a penny.
She had no use for idle men. They were probably the worst of the lot. She looked around her, trying not to admire the beautiful space, and was happy when refreshments arrived. She dug in to the late supper, and accepted a second glass of wine, knowing it would help her sleep. She would bide her time, and not begin her new race to freedom until her father left. When her name was called, she started like a child caught misbehaving.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” she said demurely, hoping no one noticed. “I am a bit scattered at the moment.”
“That is perfectly understandable, Lady Emilia. Your bedchamber has been prepared, and if you are ready, I can have Talbot escort you up.”
Emi
lia jumped at the chance to get out of the Duke’s immediate vicinity, and smiled as sweetly as she could manage. “Thank you, Your Grace. That would be quite lovely.”
The Duke raised his hand, and Emilia noticed the man who had been hovering against the far wall since they had sat down. He was the same gentleman, introduced as the Duke’s butler, who had been in the short receiving line when they arrived.
“Breakfast will be delayed for an hour, to give you some extra time to rest,” he continued. “I look forward to seeing you in the morning.”
Emilia rose and spoke a general goodnight to the assembled group. She noted that her father seemed to be happy to remain in the lounge imbibing the duke’s whisky. She followed the butler up the wide staircase to the second floor, and walked what seemed like an interminably long time down the long hallway to a room on the right.
“Your quarters, Lady Emilia,” the man said, his tone grave. “I will have your maid sent up to you at once.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly and smiled at him.
When he walked out of the room, Emilia took a moment to look around her again. Her bedchamber was large, containing a bed and wardrobe, as well as a high chest and a fireplace. Two tall candlesticks on the mantle held candles which cast a warm light into the room, and another shorter one graced the side table next to her bed. Her valises had been placed by the fireplace. She sat down on the edge of the bed and began to take her shoes off. Despite not having done a lot of walking for three days, her feet ached, and her legs were tired and sore. She welcomed Alice’s arrival, and happily exchanged the garments of travel for her nightgown.