“Wilma! Shush! Someone will hear you!” Emily warned her friend.
Wilma fluttered her fan in front of her mouth. “Nobody will guess. I crossed my heart, didn’t I? And I won’t mention a word even to Harry. Who would guess? Leathem was a wily bachelor for almost two decades.” Wilma tilted her head to one side, her open fan moving slowly. “Remember, the earl held you up in front of him on his horse in full view of everyone when we were promenading in the duchess’s rose garden. That has to mean something!”
“Yes, and I told him beforehand that he needn’t—”
“The earl is a gentleman, Em. A white knight, like my Harry. He would never have left you on the wilderness path alone, injured or not.” Wilma blinked. “Besides, you were hurt and dazed when I saw you. You could scarcely walk without assistance.”
“Well, Willy, since then I’ve been thinking.” Out of the corner of her eye, Emily had seen Leathem striding across the room toward her and Wilma last evening. Gavin Fielding’s height alone made him stand out.
“I’m still not sure I should marry him…”
From across the room Harry had called out, “Drat it, Leathem, hold on—”
Gavin didn’t halt until he stood before both ladies. He promptly bowed. “Lady Porter, we have not been formally introduced but—”
Harry had hurriedly pulled up short next to Gavin. “Let me do this, Leathem,” the viscount began. “My dear, may I present a good friend, the Earl of Leathem. Gavin Fielding…meet m’wife, Lady Wilma.” Gavin bowed again. Harry glanced over at Emily. “I believe you already know Miss Dancy.”
“I do indeed.” Gavin reached for Emily’s hand, and she let him take it. “We meet again,” he said, softly, capturing her crystalline gaze, and holding her fingers a bit longer than was proper. “I’m happy to note, Miss Dancy, that you seem better.”
“Good evening, my lord. Yes, I am,” Emily responded.
Gavin then shocked Emily by announcing she and he were partners in the treasure hunt. Within moments, the duke ordered the treasure hunt underway. Leathem took her hand and pressed it onto his muscled forearm. Tingles raced over Emily’s skin. No man—certainly not her father nor Tony Kendall—ever caused that kind of feeling. Even now, slight tremors fluttered in her stomach. She had never kissed a man in a romantical way. How would it feel to have the earl’s lips touching hers? Warm? Wet? Would she like it? Or hate it? Wilma confessed blushingly, that she thoroughly enjoyed kissing Lord Harry, but then, she dearly loved her husband. Would Emily like kissing Leathem if she accepted the earl’s offer?
* * * *
Emily felt a lot better after a good night’s rest. She hadn’t been bothered by dreams or nightmares and was already awake when Betsy knocked on the door.
“Yer lookin’ more spritely today, Miss Emily.”
“Yes. I’m much better, thank you, Betsy.”
Emily ate a light breakfast, donned her bonnet, and threw a shawl over her shoulders. “I know my way out of the mansion now,” she said, grinning. “I’m going to visit my parents’ graves in the village this morning. When Lady Wilma wakes, let her know where I went.”
“I’ll walk with you, Miss Emily.”
“No, Lady Wilma needs you. I lived around here, remember. We often walked the lane alone. I even brought my brogues." Emily lifted her hem and showed the maid her sturdy walking shoes. "But I won’t take the wilderness shortcut today.”
“Aye, I’ll tell m’lady so she don’t worry.”
“Mention that I may visit the vicar, too, if he’s at the church. So I may be gone for a while.”
“Reverend Everhard’s no longer there. Retired last year, he did. The new vicar’s name is Pinckney.” Betsy blushed. “The reverend sure is fine lookin’ for a preacher.”
Emily grinned. “Oh? He must be young then.”
“Aye, that he is. And not yet taken either.”
The new churchman must be quite handsome because Betsy’s cheeks were rosy just talking about him.
“I’ll remember that,” Emily said.
Leaving the castle, she strode briskly along the dirt lane. Happy to be in the country again, she threw back her head and breathed in crisp air tinged with sunshine. Dewdrops still clung glistening to tall grasses on the verge, their stems swaying in a light breeze.
She was anxious to visit her former village. After almost two years living amidst London’s smoke-fogged, squalid streets, she felt free as a bird strolling in the country. Good feelings burned inside her as she walked along the lane, recalling another encounter with the earl.
* * * *
Emily mused dreamily as she rambled along the lane the next morning until she was startled by a jackrabbit hopping out of the grass in front of her unexpectedly. Any more thoughts about kissing the earl were quickly wiped away. Emily bent and reached out a hand to the furry creature.
“Well, now, aren’t you out early today?” She crooned to the fluffy hare. “Are you going to the village, too? Well then, hop along beside me.” She giggled, watching the rabbit take one or two hops, then stopped. His nose twitched and dark, button eyes stared up at her. But then he turned and hopped off, disappearing again in the grass. Emily straightened up and started again toward Toynton-under-Hill.
The village’s tallest building, the church’s bell tower, came into view behind a blind curve in the lane. Emily knew the cemetery was located behind the church. Her heart started to flip-flop. It was almost two years since her parents were laid to rest. Without thinking, she released a few anguished sobs. She walked faster toward the village, scooted around the church’s entrance, and entered the cemetery. Pausing, she gazed at the dark gray headstones marking the graves. Some were quite ornate. Statues depicting angels or saints. Others were merely slabs of stone with names and dates of loved ones chiseled into the granite.
Emily drew in a deep breath. She strolled slowly along the grassy aisle, taking time to read the headstones. She remembered many names, deceased villagers from her childhood. She knew her parents’ graves were near a large elm tree. As she walked, she saw flowers scattered over some graves. There were no posies on the Dancys’ graves, of course. She never thought to bring any, but she vowed to come back before leaving Surrey and leave a memento of her visit.
Emily’s parents shared a headstone. The instructions had been written in her father’s will. They shared everything else, why not their headstone? Although her parents had not always been in good conscience with one another, it would seem their problems dissolved once they closed their bedchamber door. The next morning they appeared in charity with one another again. Was that how Wilma made up with Lord Harry? In bed? And if she married Leathem, would they share a bed? What if they argued? Would they remain friends?
Emily’s thoughts wandered briefly, but she soon sank to her knees in front of her parents’ plot. There were no birthdates on the headstone for either parent, only their names and the day they were killed. Without any warning, long-held and suppressed emotions escaped her; her lungs squeezed tight and pumped, and she began to whimper and sob. Salty tears overflowed her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks. She fought to gulp in air and sorrowful breaths of fresh country oxygen as if that could cease her mourning.
Finally, sounds accompanying her misery quieted. She wiped her cheeks dry with gloved fingers, ducked her head, and prayed. “I miss you both so much,” she whispered. “But, Papa, you knew all about Eustace. How could you let him take me?” She sniffed noisily. “You must have known how awful he was?” Emily uncorked a long-buried disappointment about her father, her fingers twisting together in her lap. Sucking in a deep breath and sighing audibly, she squeezed her eyelids shut. “What should I do?” She asked, the question spoken out loud. “I-I can’t let him find me. But I know he’ll try, and then what? I don’t ever want to go back with him! Oh, Papa, I’m so afraid. I don’t know what to do, or where I can go to be safe.”
A rustling in the grass behind Emily startled
her. She whipped her head around. A tall, black-garbed male stood above and behind her, his silhouette haloed by the bright morning sun. Emily had been thinking of Eustace and her father when the sudden fear bolted through her. She hurriedly scrambled to her feet. Could her uncle have found her here?
“Oh! Good heavens!” she exclaimed, sucking in a loud gasp. “Y-you startled me, sir. Who are you, may I ask?”
“I’m the new vicar here at St. Baldwin’s, Miss. I didn’t mean to intrude on your prayers. I’m very sorry. Please forgive me.”
Emily puffed out a relief-filled breath. “Of course, I should have guessed. Betsy Squiller did mention St. Baldwin has a new cleric…you are Reverend Pinckney, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Do you know me?” the young curate asked, adding a smile. “Or are you new to the parish?”
“No, not new, Reverend. My parents are…I mean…were…John and Grace Dancy. I’m their daughter. And I have been away from Toynton-under-Hill for almost two years. I came here today to visit my families’ graves.”
“No wonder you look so sad. Perhaps I can help. Would you like to come inside? A cup of hot tea may settle you and calm your sensibilities? My housekeeper would be glad to oblige us.”
“Thank you, yes, Reverend Pinckney.” Emily stooped to brush dirt and grass from her skirt. “I would like that very much. And perhaps you can tell me what’s been happening in the village while I’ve been away.”
“I’ll do my best…Miss…?”
“I’m Emily Dancy. I’m staying at the Duke of Carlisle’s estate this week.”
“How lovely for you. But come, let’s go inside the rectory. I believe Mrs. Caddy has just taken a pan of sweet buns out of the oven.” He tilted his nose upward and sniffed. “I smelled them baking when I came out for a short stroll. You may ask me whatever you like while we have our tea. Unfortunately, I must tell you that I have been here only a short time, so I may not be of great help.”
As it turned out, Reverend Pinckney was of great help. As they chatted, he pulled out several thick ledgers off the rectory’s shelves. The former retired vicar had kept precise records. The names of John, Grace, and Emily were noted in a ledger along with the month and year they arrived in Toynton-under-Hill. The village in Kent from which they came was noted as well. But there was nothing more except the date when their bodies had been interred in St. Baldwin’s cemetery.
Emily drank her tea then thanked the new curate. Anxious now to return to the duke’s mansion, she hurried on her way. Her head whirled with the new information she learned about her and her family. She finally knew where her grandparents, her parents, and she originated. Could she have other relatives living in Kent? Perhaps, she wasn’t as alone in the world as she thought. Perhaps, she had family who knew of her. Perhaps, someone who remembered what Eustace was like—even relatives who would take her in and keep her safe from her uncle until she gained her inheritance and could disappear so he could never find her.
Emily was so excited she almost ran all the way back to the castle. First, she had to tell Wilma what she learned. And then, somehow, she had to go to Kent, to the village of Lesser Bodem to discover her roots. It dawned on her she must not even consider marrying the earl until she knew more about herself.
* * * *
Emily missed seeing the earl when she arrived back at the Carlisles’. Running up the steps to the entrance breathless, she halted to question a footman. “Do you know the whereabouts of Lady Wilma Porter?” She panted, forgetting her manners. Eyebrows curved, the haughty servant stated, “Your Graces and their guests are currently having luncheon on a rear terrace. Do you need help to find your way, Miss?”
“No, thank you,” Emily responded hurriedly. She grabbed her skirts up high so she wouldn’t trip over them, and sped up the central staircase. She needed to change before appearing on the terrace. Betsy must either be in Wilma’s chamber or in hers and would help her dress quickly.
Emily was bursting with news. She knew of only one living relative currently—Eustace. There could be other family members she never knew about.
Betsy was in Emily’s room and helped her don a proper gown, dressy slippers, and a fancy bonnet, the one with the ostrich feather she had flapped at Leathem’s mount. Spinning about to see her reflection in the cheval glass, she asked, “Do I look all right, Betsy?”
“Fine, Miss Emily. Ye look mighty fine.”
“Good. Then show me where luncheon is being set. I need to speak with Lady Wilma right away.”
“Is something wrong, Miss?” the lady’s maid asked, her face scrunching into a concerned frown.
“Not to worry. I’ll tell you later, but first I must find Wilma.”
“Well, I’m glad it ain’t anythin’ bad, Miss Emily.” Betsy’s round-cheeked face broke into a smile. “Come on. I’ll lead you down a back staircase and through the servant’s hall. Luncheon is on a terrace overlooking the duchess’s rear garden.”
Emily muttered quietly, “Good heavens, I hope it isn’t near the blasted rosebushes.”
The large terrace was very wide and rather long. And, as it turned out, it didn’t face the rose garden. It being spring, not summer, no rosebuds had yet burst into full bloom to plague Emily with sneezing fits. She spied Wilma and Harry seated near the castle’s wall. She worked her way through the maze of tables with guests. Some were already eating. Others idled along the buffet tables. Carlisle was known to have marvelously talented chefs he imported from the Continent. More than one Frenchman deserted his homeland to work in England’s aristocratic kitchens. One could only guess what treat the duke’s kitchen would surprise the guests with today.
A score of liveried servants wended their way amongst the twenty-five tables scattered across the large terrace, their large silver trays carried glasses of bubbling champagne.
Emily halted as Harry rose to his feet and Wilma greeted her. “Sit with us, Emily.” She asked her husband, “Fix a plate for Emily, Harry, dear.”
“My pleasure.” Smiling, the viscount held out a chair for Emily then left to do as he was asked.
Wilma turned back to Emily. “You’re out of breath and your cheeks are flushed. What happened that I don’t know about? Have you seen Leathem and accepted his offer?”
“No, nothing of that sort, Wilma, but I do have some very exciting news.”
“Oh, good! Tell me what it is.”
“I walked into Toynton-under-Hill to visit my parents’ graves this morning. The news is about my family.”
“Oh, my! If I had known, I would have gone with you, Em. You shouldn’t be out walking to the village by yourself.”
“Oh, Willy, we strode that lane by ourselves so many times when we were young. It’s perfectly safe,” Emily retorted. “Anyhow, I can’t wait to tell you what I learned.” Emily tilted forward. “I met the new vicar, Reverend Pinckney, while I was there. He invited me in for tea, Willy, and when I asked, he dug out some old church ledgers, and guess what? He found my grandparents’ names and Uncle Eustace’s, as well as mine and my parents. And the area where we came from! He showed me the date my parents and I arrived from Tunbridge Wells in Kent. Of course, I wouldn’t remember. I was too young.” Emily sat back, smiling, her cobalt eyes sparkling.
Wilma smiled. “Yes, you were young, same as me then. But I remember the day we met, Emily. I was waiting outside the butcher’s shop while my mother went inside. The butcher’s son had started teasing me with that awful pig’s heart. Blood dribbled from his fingers. Ugh! He scared me half to death with that thing!”
Emily rolled her eyes. “How could I forget? It was frightful! So were your loud, ear-splitting screeches!” Emily grinned broadly.
“Emily, you little wretch! You’d screech, too, if he did it to you! But you did grab my hand, and the two of us ran off and hid in the bushes so that nasty scamp couldn’t taunt us with that ugly thing again.”
“Remember how horrified our mothers were?”
&n
bsp; “Goodness, how well I remember. The butcher should never have let his horrid son carry that awful thing around!”
“The butcher scolded him, even threatened him with the meat clever as I recall.” Emily snickered. “Good thing his son dropped it, or his father might have done more than box his ears.”
Wilma nudged Emily. “Our mothers gave Mr. Blagett and his son the cutting edges of their tongues.” The two women giggled, recalling their ghastly childhood episode.
“You know something else, Wilma?” Emily murmured, adding another low chuckle.
“What?”
“The more I think about it, the more I think it was Lennie Blagett’s way of getting your attention. He wanted you to notice him because he was sweet on you, Willy. But you stuck your tongue out at him.”
“Oh, good Lord, do you think so?” Wilma’s blue eyes twinkled. When she sobered up from her giggles, she patted Emily’s hand. “But I am glad you learned somethings about your parents. What will you do now, Em?”
“Umm…I don’t really know. I must think on it.”
Just then, Harry returned with a plate of food for Emily from the buffet tables.
“Oooh, thank you, Lord Harry. I’m famished. I ate only a small breakfast.”
One of the duke’s servants stopped at their table, holding a tray of glasses filled with bubbling champagne.
Wilma and Harry each took a full glass.
Emil blinked. She made a face at Wilma and Harry. “Uh, uh, no more champagne for me, thank you. I don’t need another sneezing fit. Those fizzy bubbles got me in trouble once before.”
Chapter 12
LEATHEM’S ancestral home, Four Towers, was located in Wrotham. The estate encompassed several thousand acres. On horseback it was a few hours’ ride to Tunbridge Wells.
A spa town in Kent, the Wells was much larger than Wrotham. Lord North had discovered the bubbling springs that made Tunbridge Wells famous in 1606. A favorite of England’s peers for two hundred years, it appears it had a high concentration of iron in the waters of Chalybeate Springs. Some believed it enhanced a man’s ability to have intercourse and procreate. Gavin believed the medical hocus pocus was nonsense. He never had problems satisfying his lady friends between the bed sheets.
The Marriage Bargain Page 14