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

by Lilia Birney

  Emily submitted to the twins' ministrations, allowing her widow's weeds to be stripped from her body and permitting Emma to weave a garland of pearls in her hair. As she sat at Isabel's dressing table, her eyes clouded with tears as she regarded her reflection. "Lady Isabel, Lady Heathfield," she began.

  "Stop! Isabel and Emma," Isabel replied, sticking a final hairpin in place.

  "I just want to say how sorry I am—" Her voice broke off, tears threatening to pour in earnest.

  Emma sat beside her on the bench, patting her shoulder. "The moment I saw Philip, I knew he had changed," she said softly. "He's happy now, and you made that possible."

  Isabel nodded. "Whatever the past was, it's over and done with. There's no need to beg our forgiveness. Now for heaven's sake, don't cry. You don't want your eyes to be all red at your wedding, do you?"

  With a laugh, Emily dried her eyes. Then, rising, she walked to Isabel's bed, where Rose still slept. Gently touching her daughter's forehead, she smiled at the two sisters. "I am so grateful to have this wonderful family."

  "So let me make sure I have heard this correctly. You want to marry a penniless widow, and one with a small child at that?" Father brought his hand down on the desk, but Philip refused to jump. He'd been called on the carpet many times during his youth, and the ducal study no longer inflicted cowardice in his being. He shrugged. "I wish to marry Emily Ware. She got away the first time. I shan't let her go a second. Uncle Henry, you have a license, do you not?"

  "I do." The vicar sat back and rolled his eyes at Grandfather. "Moreover, my own daughter has arrived tonight from France, and I should like to see her at some point this evening. If we can hasten this along."

  "Well, then? Is it settled?" Philip shifted impatiently in his chair. "I want to wed her tonight."

  A clear, feminine voice piped up from beside Father's chair. "Darling, are you absolutely sure? You were so devastated before." Mother gave him the same look she would give him when he was a child, and had fallen and scraped his knee. It was her "be brave, but I love you" look, a mixture of stubbornness and tenderness.

  "Mother, I beseech you. She makes me happy."

  She nodded, satisfied, and sat back in her chair, placing her hand on Father's arm.

  There was a slight knock on the study door, and Father hastened to open it. Emily stood on the threshold with Rose, clad in a filmy pink dress that made her look like she had as a girl. Philip swallowed, consuming her with his eyes. It was as though the past few years fell away. And if Uncle Henry would hurry up, he could begin proving that fact to his bride again.

  "I felt I should introduce myself and my daughter," she explained quietly, bringing the still-drowsy Rose into the room. Rose yawned and rubbed her eyes. Mother leapt from her chair and swept Rose in her arms, coddling her and talking to her in a sweet, high-pitched tone. Emily smiled and came to stand by Philip's chair. He rose, embracing her, turning her towards the duke. "Grandfather?"

  Grandfather nodded at Uncle Henry, who retrieved a piece of foolscap from the desk drawer. With a flourish, Uncle Henry added Emily’s name to it handed it to Grandfather, who smiled at both of them, a merry twinkle in his faded eyes.

  "All this nonsense. Over the Ware gel."

  The Whitton School of Music

  London, England

  December, 1813

  "All right, students, that's good enough for today." Philip put aside his bow and violin and stretched his arms. "Have a nice holiday, and we will convene again after the New Year."

  His students, half a dozen of the finest violinists a man could hope for—well, violinists under the age of ten, that was—began packing their cases. The hubbub in the room rose as they tugged on their coats and gloves. "Merry Christmas, milord," "Happy holidays to you, sir," they mumbled, filing out of the classroom to the foyer, where servants and the occasional parent waited to take them home.

  "Class is over, darling?" Emily bustled into the room, tidying up the bits of sheet music strewn about. Her increasing middle made it difficult for her to bend over, and he rushed to help her.

  "You should be resting, sweet Emily. I can clean things up." He kissed her forehead.

  "Nonsense," she trilled. "It's good to stay active when one is increasing. Besides, I have a letter for you." She waved it at him, and he beckoned her to sit down. "It's from Danby."

  "I see." He unfolded the foolscap, flicking a glance at the ducal crest. "It's Grandfather again. Swears he really is perishing this time. He wants the whole family to convene at Danby for the holidays."

  Emily sat down, fanning herself with a scrap of music. "Well, shall we go?"

  He folded up the letter and cast it aside. "With you increasing? I should think not." Besides, he was ready to spend a cozy fortnight in the arms of his wife, with snow drifting down and hot cider mulling on the stove…"This weather reminds me of last year, when we first made love."

  She swatted at his arm with the sheet music. "Philip, darling. We must focus. The duke is getting older, and this may be his last time to see us—and he is beside himself with pride about the music school you've started. And you know how much your mother dotes on Rose. I'll be fine. Let's join the rest of the family."

  He nodded. "Very well. But I am determined to be alone with you at some point during this holiday season, family or no family."

  His wife lowered her eyelids to coquettish half-mast. "Honestly, my lord. At least all of your siblings have learned to knock—and most of them are occupied enough on their own."

  Philip threw back his head and laughed. "True, my lady. Very well, we shall have our Christmas at Danby. It doesn't matter to me where we holiday, as long as you are there with me." For in Emily, temptress, muse, wife, lover—he found all that he had been seeking, all that eluded him those many years ago when he nearly ended his life. He bent down, taking her lips possessively, hungrily, as he had when he was a teenager exploring passion with her for the first time.

  "Sweetest Emily."

  LILIA BIRNEY first fell in love with romance novels when she snuck a pirate romance out of her babysitter's backpack. Since then, she has been a devoted reader and writer of all historical romance, especially Regency romances. Lilia lives in New Bern, North Carolina.