A Second Chance at Love, A Regency Romance (A Danby Family Novella)

by Lilia Birney

  Giles was also acting suspiciously. Already a man of few words, his manservant was positively silent all afternoon and completely absent at supper.

  Philip spent most of the meal in watchful stillness, observing Emily as she helped Rose with her food, and noting how very little Emily herself ate. When Emily excused herself to bathe Rose and ready her for bed, Philip wandered into the library. Picking up his bow, he played softly until the library door opened, and Emily stepped inside.

  "I should say good night, now, Philip. We have such a long journey tomorrow."

  He set the bow and his violin down and beckoned to her. "Come, sit. You look very unwell. Are you all right?"

  She crossed the room and sank onto the settee, giving him a wan smile. "Oh, just nervous about travel. That is all."

  He sat across from her, peering intently into her face. "You know everything. Giles told you."

  Tears pooled in her eyes, and she turned her head away. "Oh, Philip. I am so terribly sorry."

  He said nothing. What could he say? In some respects, he was embarrassed that Emily knew. On the other hand, it was a relief to have everything out into the open. He handed Emily his handkerchief, and she sobbed in earnest.

  "I don't blame you for hating me as you did, Philip. I had no idea what you suffered. All I can say in my defense is that I was trying to do the right thing. I wanted to strike out on my own, to have a home and a secure place in society. I-I felt the difference in our stations was such…I should have followed my heart, not my head."

  That last phrase, uttered in Emily's tearful, broken voice, gave Philip the first bloom of hope he'd felt in years.

  "Emily."

  She looked up at him, sobs still catching her breath.

  "Don't cry anymore, darling." He knelt beside her, brushing her tearstained cheeks with his fingertips. "Ever since I met you, when I was a lad buying sweets at your uncle's store, I've been trying to get you to follow your heart. I've been trying to show you how I feel. I want to show you how there is no difference between us, no boundary keeping us apart." He traced her beauty mark. "Come upstairs with me."

  A kaleidoscope of emotions cascaded through Emily as Philip carried her up the stairs. What if she gave in and lost all hope at respectability? But then, she had shared a carriage and a home with him for days. Surely polite society would assume the worst by now, even if they never made love. But relinquishing that one shred of civility was frightening. She clutched Philip's collar as he opened the door to her room. And what if, once they made love, he decided that it was enough? He was so impetuous. Surely his lust would be satiated, and he would be done with her for good.

  He laid her down on the counterpane, then turned back to lock her bedroom door.

  "Philip."

  "Yes, sweetest Emily?" He began taking down her hair, hairpins springing away from his gentle touch. The feel of his hands on her scalp made her close her eyes, and she pressed her head harder against his palm.

  What was she trying to say? "Ummm." Oh, yes. She opened her eyes and looked beseechingly at him. "Philip, how can I be certain that you will still love me after we've done this?"

  He looked at her as though she'd slapped him. "Emily, stop talking. Please. Give me this one chance, darling."

  "I'm sorry." Her eyes drifted closed, as he undid the tapes of her dress and allowed it to slide into a pool on the floor. Pushing her onto her back, he loosened the laces of her slippers and drew them off, one by one. Then his strong hands fumbled with her garters, his slightly callused fingers making her jerk slightly as they caressed the sensitive skin of her thighs.

  "Undress me," he commanded. She opened her eyes and sat up on the bed. With shaking fingers, she untied his cravat and unbuttoned his shirt. Heavens, how muscular his chest was. Tentatively, she traced the muscles of his abdomen with one finger.

  "Dear God. Take off the rest before I explode," Philip ground out between clenched teeth. She slid off the bed and tugged at his boots and socks. She reached for his trousers and he groaned. Her eyes widened at the bulk underneath. She had felt Philip before, years ago, but never seen him. And he seemed very large just now.

  Working quickly, she unfastened his trousers and held onto him, gently stroking as he had taught her to those years ago.

  He pushed her hand away and then removed her chemise. A few of the stitches ripped at his rough touch. They sat, panting, on the bed. This was as far as they had ever ventured before. She gazed at her lover, and with dawning amazement, realized all she had carelessly thrown away for security and society. Leaning closer to him, she gently traced his neck with her lips, making a path of small kisses where the rope must have burned him so many years before. Tears stung her eyes. How close they had come to never being together.

  Philip groaned, and taking her by the shoulders, pushed her back onto the pillows. "I want to show you what we can be, with nothing between us. In here, society means nothing. We are equals now. Skin to skin and nothing more." He bent his head, taking one of her nipples into his mouth. His hands roamed down to her core, stroking her until she arched off the bed and sighed his name in a pleading tone. The cool linen rasped against her back as he entered her fully. Emily gasped. The difference between lovemaking with Philip and with Charles was incredible. Where Charles had been shy and hesitant, Philip was bold and uninhibited. 'Twas a little frightening to be so thoroughly loved, and yet, so infinitely right.

  She clasped her legs around his backside, encouraging him as they found a rhythm together. Threading her fingers through his wavy blonde hair, she sighed his name. He dipped his head, plundering her mouth in the same way he plundered the rest of her, until she was engulfed in a release she hadn't felt in years.

  "Philip," she whispered, not wanting to cry out and break the spell.

  With a jerk, he poured himself into her. "Oh, God. Sweetest Emily."

  She lay still, stroking his muscular back as she stared at the ceiling. Philip was right. He always was. And yet—how could they be together like this forever? A thought formed at the back of Emily's mind. She had the solution, as brazen as it was. And yet—would Philip agree to it?

  Philip watched as the cold grey light of day began peeking through the drawn curtains. How long had he been lying here awake? He'd made love with Emily twice more that night, and had stroked her soft, wavy hair until she fell asleep. The rest of the time he had spent pondering. He was, for the first time in his life, impressed with a sense of purpose and meaning. Now that he had proven to Emily what they could be to each other, he was determined to make that union whole and perfect for the rest of his life. He loved little Rose, and wanted to be a father to her. His life path was clear, for the first time in ages.

  There was a big house party waiting at Danby. Surely his uncle would be there. The whole family would be there, after all. His uncle was a vicar and could marry them right away. Yes, of course. Just two days more and he could wed Emily. Surely Grandfather could procure a special license.

  He leapt up from the bed, hurriedly washed and dressed himself, and rapidly made preparations for the trip. By the time Emily awakened and dressed both herself and Rose, Philip already had the carriage hitched and their few belongings strapped to the roof. Giles and the coachman, yawning openly, waited patiently in the new-fallen snow.

  Emily blushed a becoming shade of pink when she saw him again, and kept her eyes downcast. As he bundled her into the carriage, he squeezed her waist reassuringly. This isn't over, the pressure of his hands said. We've only just begun.

  The trip was uneventful, for Rose was engaged in watching the snow flurries as they drifted down and stayed put for the most part. Emily remained quiet and subdued. He tried to catch her glance—to communicate how he felt—but she kept her face stubbornly averted. When they stopped in York for the night, Emily stayed engaged with caring for Rose as long, it seemed, as she possibly could.

  Waiting for her in the private dining salon, Philip consulted his pocket watch in irritation. She m
ust know that they needed to talk. Why was she delaying something so ground-shaking, so important? He was about to storm up the stairs and retrieve her bodily when she finally made her entrance.

  "How is Rose?" Philip asked, determined not to let his impatience show.

  "Sleeping soundly. I vow this cold weather wears her out." Emily sat down at the table, smiling hesitantly as Philip poured the wine. He was about to speak when she beat him to the punch. "Philip, I would like to speak with you about last night. I've been doing a great deal of thinking, and I want to ask you something." She glanced up at him, her sherry-colored eyes wide and sparkling.

  "Yes?" What on earth was she about?

  "I should very much like to—I mean, I was wondering if you would like me to—Oh drat." She took a hearty sip of wine. "Can I become your mistress?"

  Philip choked, the wine burning down his throat and into his nostrils like acid. He coughed and spluttered, tears beginning to form in his eyes. Emily came to his rescue with a few solid whacks on his back.

  "Are you all right?"

  He nodded, coughing a few more times. "Y-yes. You caught me off guard, sweet Emily."

  "I'm sorry. But consider it, if you will. We can be together, and your title and my station in life won't mean a thing."

  "They don't mean anything." Exasperated anger flared up in Philip's chest, causing his heart to beat faster. "Surely you know that after last night."

  "I do feel it, Philip. But society takes a very different view. I am trying to find a way for us to be together within the rules we all must live under." A pleading expression darkened her eyes, and she clasped her hands together.

  There was only one way to end this farce—the farce that had held them both captive for years, leading to a suicide attempt, a loveless marriage, and many wanton affairs. He stripped the garnet ring off his finger, the ring Father had given him when he left for Italy, and grasped her right hand. Then he placed the ring on her third finger. It was far too big for her, and he had to hold it to keep it from slipping off. "Emily Ware, I beg of you. Marry me and put me out of this torment."

  She gasped. "How can I? I've only been a widow these four months."

  "There's one advantage to being a Whitton, even a fallen one at that. Society follows your lead, not the other way around." He drew her into his lap, and turned her face up towards his. "My uncle is a vicar, and Grandfather can get a special license for us. Who cares if you are a widow? You should never have married the blighter in the first place."

  Emily laughed, her enchanting beauty mark dancing above her parted lips. "Only you would put a marriage proposal so brazenly, Philip."

  He squeezed her tightly. "And your answer is?"

  She glanced up at him, and the expression in her eyes made him catch his breath. For the rest of his life, he would endeavor to deserve that look, no matter what the cost.

  "I shall listen to my heart. And it says—yes."

  Danby Castle loomed grey and forbidding on the horizon, a proper castle in every sense of the word. Why, there were even pikes for some unruly ruffians' heads. Emily swallowed and grasped drowsy little Rose more tightly. The setting sun glinted on a dusting of snow that softened the castle's stark lines, but even so, Emily felt a kinship with all those who had affronted the House of Danby long ago. She was returning as Philip's intended, but had been the cause of his ruination for many years. And she was newly widowed. And she had a small child. And she was completely destitute. 'Twas highly unlikely that the Whittons would welcome her with open arms, no matter what Philip said.

  As if reading her thoughts, Philip squeezed her hand. She smiled, but only for his benefit. It was quite likely that Lord Norland or the duke himself would banish her from Danby forever. If they did, why, then she would just have to make her way over to Uncle Arthur's house, and hope for shelter there.

  The carriage pulled around to the front of the castle, and Emily peered at its imposing façade from the window. "Don't worry. It's only home." Philip laughed. "Nothing to be so nervous about, sweet Emily."

  Giles opened the carriage door and extended his hand. "We got you here just in the nick of time, my lord. The duke wanted you here by the twenty-fourth, and here you are in time for supper on the twenty-third."

  "True, Giles. I'm going to take Mrs. Barlow in to meet my family. Bring our trunks inside when you have time." Philip alit from the carriage and swooped Rose into his arms. She settled against his shoulder with a happy sigh and closed her eyes. Emily watched them with a full heart, but also a feeling of loss. Without Rose, she had nothing to hide behind or stay occupied with while Philip introduced his family. In truth, it was like charging into battle without a shield.

  Once inside, Philip immediately began stomping up the stairs. "We'll go see Izzy and Emma first, Emily. You remember them, of course."

  "Yes, of course." Philip's twin sisters were closer in age to Emily, and a good six years younger than Philip. They had the most ingenious habit of stumbling upon Philip and Emily in heated embraces back in those days. Heat rose in Emily's cheeks. Drew, Philip's older brother, had the good sense to knock most of the time.

  As they turned onto the landing, an elderly servant rushed forwards. "Lord Philip!" she cried. "Thank heavens you are here! Your father and mother will be so happy to see you, and of course, the duke—"she broke off uncertainly, staring at Emily.

  "Mrs. Ealey, this is my fiancée, Emily Barlow. You might remember her as Emily Ware." Philip patted Rose's shoulder and turned slightly towards Emily as he spoke.

  Mrs. Ealey bobbed a slight curtsy. "Welcome, ma'am."

  "Make sure her room is made ready, and put a cot in there for the little one," Philip instructed. "I'll see Father and Mother after I've seen my sisters."

  "Of course, my lord." The housekeeper bustled away, the strings of her bonnet flying.

  Philip knocked on a door. "Izzy, are you there? Open up!"

  The door flew open, revealing a pretty girl with auburn hair and brown eyes. "Philip! You scoundrel! How happy I am to see you!" She paused when she spied Rose asleep on his shoulder. "What on earth?" she whispered.

  He pushed past her into the room, beckoning Emily to follow. Her mouth dry, Emily swallowed nervously. She'd have to explain herself, and soon.

  Philip laid Rose on Isabel's bed, covering her with the counterpane. Then he turned to his sister. "You remember Emily Ware, don't you?"

  Isabel studied Emily, as she would study a book of science in the vast Danby library. "Of course," she responded coolly. "How do you do, Miss Ware?"

  Emily bobbed a curtsy. "Very well, thank you, Lady Isabel."

  Philip made an impatient gesture and sat on Isabel's vanity bench. "Listen, enough of the formalities. She's Mrs. Barlow, as you bloody well know, Izzy. But now she's going to be mine. At last." He grinned at Emily, a boyish smile that made her heart race. "That's her daughter, Rose, asleep there. Soon to be my daughter."

  Isabel regarded her brother carefully, as though looking for a sign or symbol in his visage. "This is good," she pronounced, guarded happiness in her words.

  "Yes, it is," Philip rejoined. "Where's Emma?"

  "That's Lady Heathfield to you, Philip. She was married just yesterday."

  Philip grinned. "And you, Izzy?"

  Isabel turned a delicate shade of pink. "I am to marry Damien Lockwood on the morrow."

  "Lockwood, that jester? Ah, Izzy, what a time you shall have. And so both of my sisters have found their happily-ever-afters." Philip clasped her in a warm embrace, and Emily smiled. There seemed to be so much joy in this forbidding castle. If only she would be allowed to share in it.

  Breaking away from Philip, Isabel turned to Emily. "Oh, Emily, how glad I am that you found my brother."

  The door to Isabel's room opened abruptly, and Isabel's twin rushed into the room. "Philip!" Emma cried, nearly knocking him over with the force of her embrace.

  Philip hugged her back, and then set her on her feet. "Listen, you beggars," he respon
ded, "Whatever the past was, it's over and done with. And Emily is mine now. She'll be a Whitton as soon as I can arrange it." He turned his intent gaze on Emily, and she gave a shy smile in return.

  "Emily Ware?" Emma asked, her brows drawing together in confusion.

  "Yes," Isabel jumped into the fray. "She belongs to Philip now. And that's her little girl over there, sleeping. Isn't she sweet?"

  "A perfect lamb," Emma pronounced. She glanced quickly at her sister—a glance that seemed to communicate something privately between them. Isabel nodded and turned her gaze on Philip. Emma smiled. Heavens, it was like being in a foreign country and not knowing a word of the language. Whatever transpired, Emma seemed satisfied. She embraced Emily, calling her "Sister."

  "You can arrange it quickly, Philip," Isabel broke in. "Uncle Henry is with Grandfather now, and he has a stack of special licenses. I'd lay odds there's one with your name on it."

  "Special licenses?" Philip ran his hands through his hair. "Is that how you two light skirts are getting wed so quickly?"

  Emily gasped, but the two sisters just laughed, apparently used to Philip's brazen ways. "And you, sir? Might we ask why you need to wed so soon?" Emma teased him, causing perspiration to break out on Emily's brow. It would take a while to get used to this type of joking.

  "Because I need her. You both know that." Philip swatted Emma's arm and headed for the door. "I'm off to see if Uncle Henry really has a special license for me." He turned at the threshold and aimed a glowering, heated look at Emily. "You be ready as quickly as possible." With that he turned on his heel and left.

  "But she can't be married in all that black! It's unlucky," Emma moaned, crossing over to Emily's side.

  "Oh, I can't leave off mourning," Emily demurred. "I've only been wearing it for four months."

  "That's long enough," Isabel stated flatly. "Emma, go and get your pink gown…"

  "With the darker pink ribbons?" Emma finished. "Of course. It's perfect. It will highlight the glorious color of her eyes."