Gavin bent and placed a tender kiss on Emily’s temple.
Emily’s eyelids were shut, her breathing, low and rhythmic, but she never answered him, never stirred, apparently already deep in slumber.
Leathem muttered, “Ahh, well, my love, I confess I am truly, madly, crazily, deep in love with you.” He sighed before whispering, “Sleep now. I will wake you when it’s time to go.”
Love had been long forgotten until Cupid’s arrow pierced him in the gut when he saw Emily being held with a knife blade against her throat in Grafton’s office. Protectiveness, fierce and unrelenting, flashed through him. He wanted to kill the man who pricked her lily-white skin.
It was at that precise moment when his sensible, comfortable reality became topsy-turvy.
True love snaked into him without him knowing it. Was it because he liked hearing Emily saying his name? Were her girlish giggles that made him want to smile and laugh with her? Was it knowing she was pleased with him even if she sometimes frowned at him? It meant embracing her and wanting to kiss her many times over. It was being able to allay her fears when she was distressed by nightmares. And showing her how very much he needed her.
He would be the luckiest man on earth if Emily Dancy married him and stayed at his side for the next half century. Did she know how much she came to mean to him? He needed to tell her that was in his heart, then pray she would speak the same words back to him.
Chapter 27
“I’LL secure a special license so we can marry quickly,” Gavin announced without preamble when they settled into the curricle on their way back to his mansion.
“What?”
“I’ll write your grandfather and have him brought here posthaste, so he can give you away.”
Shocked into silence, Emily hadn’t even protested.
Gavin urged his gelding into a brisk trot toward Four Towers. He deposited Emily back inside the mansion’s foyer, and excused himself. She removed her bonnet with its perky feather and walked in a daze up the central stairs to her bedchamber, aware of a new feeling between her thighs. A reason had finally hit her.
He is writing Squire Morrow right now, I think, she muttered to herself. Good heavens, what will my grandfather think when he learns I am rushing headlong into marriage without his approval?
Emily flung the door to her bedroom open and went inside.
Dorra stuck her head over the threshold when Emily came in from her drive with the earl. “Mrs. Ringer ordered me to tidy up Lord Leathem’s room as well as yers. Did ye enjoy yer outing with the earl, Miss Dancy?”
Only then did it dawn on Emily that the master’s bedchamber adjoined hers.
“His lordship spent most of his time in London lately,” Dorra chatted on. “So we don’t have a full staff. I was hired as an upstairs maid, but I’m yer lady’s maid, too.”
“I see,” Emily responded vaguely. Her thoughts flew in so many directions that she scarcely paid attention to the maid’s aimless chatter. She and Gavin had spoken very little on their drive back to Four Towers after they made love. Stunned by Leathem spouting his sudden wedding plans for them, he never mentioned love as part of the bargain. Quite to the contrary, he was feeling responsible after he broke through to her maidenhead. In truth, she had given herself to him willingly because she loved him, and because she wanted to know what it felt like to love a man physically as well as emotionally. So, no words of love were spoken between them. She felt only a deep ache inside her, hoping someday he might love her and would tell her so.
Leathem had chatted with her during the long drives they shared, rolling across the English countryside, but never once did he uttered the words, I love you. She didn’t truly want to marry him unless she never heard those three words—the words she yearned to hear. Now Dorra pothered about Emily’s bedchamber, straightening knickknacks on tabletops and plumping pillows. Once again, Emily reminded herself why she didn’t agree so readily to marry Leathem. He never said those three words, even when his body was inside hers. Was it because he didn’t love her enough?
“Miss, are ye feeling all right?” Dorra interrupted Emily’s worrisome thoughts.
“Unh…Dorra, I’m…fine. What were you saying?”
“Well, ’twas a while back we heard the earl had a ward staying with him in London. Something about a family will, I think. He was s’posed to fire the gel off on the Marriage Mart.” Dorra giggled. “We all tho’t at first ’twas ye, Miss, that was his ward. But then we learnt it was someone else altogether.” Dorra’s big blue eyes blinked at her. Curious and nosy as a child, she babbled on. “Mrs. Ringer thinks there may soon be a new countess here at the Towers.”
Dorra’s sharp eyes flew toward Emily, but she didn’t respond to the maid’s hint. Instead, she slowly unbuttoned her jacket.
Servants know more about Leathem’s wedding plans than I do.
“Can I help you with that jacket, Miss?” Dorra asked, her plain countenance beaming.
“Yes, if you would, Dorra. And will you locate my robe? I wish to rest here for an hour before teatime.”
A knock on Emily’s door a little later had the maid tiptoeing inside. She carried a silver tray with her. “I brung yer tea up here, Miss Dancy. The earl went out. Don’t know when he’s due back, but I was told not to expect him here for supper. So, I tho’t ’twould be more cozy-like fer ye to have yer spot o’tea here instead of sitting alone belowstairs.”
Emily had to smile. The girl may be nosy, but she had a kind heart. “Thank you, Dorra. You are kind to think of me. And while you’re at it, if it isn’t too much trouble, please ask Cook if a tray can be sent up here for my supper as well?”
“She’ll be happy to do that, Miss. Now, enjoy your tea.”
* * * *
As soon as he and Emily returned from their picnic, Gavin wrote two brief letters. One he gave to his head groom, instructing him to hand deliver it to Squire Morrow in Lesser Bodem early on the morrow.
“If the old gent agrees to come back with you be sure to wait for him. Drive him here as quickly as possible.”
Emily was of age, but Leathem still wanted Henry Morrow’s consent to wed his granddaughter. The crotchety curmudgeon was Emily’s only blood relative, so it was only proper that Gavin secure his permission. Besides, Morrow should be present at his granddaughter’s nuptials. Not that Gavin would delay the wedding if the ancient codger declined the offer to come to Four Towers.
His second note was sent to Viscount Harry Porter and his wife at their London address. That invitation requested they stand up as witnesses at the marriage of Emily Dancy and Gavin Fielding in Kent four days hence.
Done with those two chores, Gavin had Pegasus saddled and rode him into Wrotham to meet with the church’s vicar. Less than a week ago, they learned Emily’s parents had been wed there and she was christened there. Visits to Kent and Percy Grafton’s office proved Emily’s legitimacy. The earl asked Reverend Rathbone to secure a Special Marriage License from the Archbishop on his behalf—and added a hefty donation, of course, to sweeten the pot. The license from Canterbury had arrived. After that brief meeting, Gavin stopped in at the Green Duck Inn in Wrotham to toast his nuptials with a few of his tenant farmers and the town’s business citizens.
Several hours later, Pegasus made the way back to the Tower’s stable with the earl uncomfortably slumped forward on his saddle.
* * * *
“Eh? What’s that ye’re tellin’ me, woman? A wedding?” The squire grumped noisily when his housekeeper announced he had a visitor from the Towers’ Earl of Leathem. “Ye say the earl’s getting hisself leg shackled, eh? And he wants me to witness it? Harumph! It’s about time,” Henry cackled, slapping a thigh. “He’ll be wanting an heir soon, too, I expect.”
Henry’s housekeeper repeated her words a bit louder this time, aware the squire’s hearing wasn’t as sharp as it used to be.
“’Tis your granddaughter what’s marrying the earl, Squire,
” the housekeeper repeated again, this time more loudly.
“Eh, what’s that yer spouting? Grace’s daughter? She’s about to wed Leathem?” Henry spit out the rhetorical question, but he looked astounded. “When the devil did that happen?”
“Squire, ye need to go to Wrotham to find out. The man from Four Towers said the ceremony is to be four days hence. Earl Leathem even sent his carriage to drive you there.”
“Is that right?” Henry’s normal frowning countenance beamed for a change. “Dammit, I knew I liked something about that young man. He’s titled and rich, eh? Well, good for Gracie’s girl! Snagged a peer, d’she? Splendid!”
“Are ye goin’ or not, Squire? Shall I pack a bag for ye?”
“Of course, I’m going, woman! D’ye think I wouldn’t miss my own granddaughter’s nuptials?”
* * * *
Meanwhile, in Wrotham, Garter’s gravelly voice interrupted Gavin’s fantasies. He stood next to the earl’s four-poster, hands clasped behind him, and peered down at the large man in the bed. “M’lord Leathem, ’tis rather late in the day. Are you awake?”
Sleepy-eyed and growling under his breath, Leathem grabbed a goosedown pillow and yanked it over his head. “Dammit, go away. Do you hear me, whoever you are? It’s too damned early to rise.”
“My lord, it’s me, Garters. It’s past eight of the clock in the morning. You told me to wake you even earlier, but I couldn’t get a rise out of you till just now.”
Silence.
“I say, my lord? Can you hear me?”
From beneath the goosedown pillow, a few coarse epithets sullied the silence in the earl’s bedchamber.
“Lord Leathem—”
“Bloody hell, Garters! I hear you, man! Don’t shout. My…ahh…God! My head is splitting.” Gavin groaned louder. “Quick! Do something to help me! I need coffee. Hurry, dammit, bring me a pot of strong coffee. Hot and black. And be quick about it, blast you, before I die from what’s ailing me if you don’t get here fast!” Another muffled groan escaped from underneath the pillow. “And water, lots of hot water…arghh! God, I must stink! I need a bath and a shave, too. Hurry!"
The butler yanked on a bell pull beside the bed. Within minutes, a footman appeared at the earl’s door. Garter ordered a pot of coffee and a hip bath, and sent a second footman scurrying for medicinals. From his medicine chest, Garter concocted a vile potion—one that was tinted a bilious shade of green.
Gavin dragged himself upward to rest his spine against the bed’s carved headboard.
Garter handed him a utensil filled with something that bubbled and foamed.
“My God! What is that?” Gavin’s dark eyes bulged a bit wider when he saw what the butler handed him.
“It will cure your throbbing head, m’lord. Best not look at it, just drink it down. And swallow it quickly.”
Leathem noticed a twinkle in the eyes of his servant. He almost gagged at the noxious potion, ready to dump the horrible stuff out on the carpet. “Damn you, Garters! I see you’re smiling! This had better work!”
The earl pinched his nostrils closed and downed the bilious-looking liquid in one long gulp. A horrified grimace crossed his countenance as he wiped a shaky palm across his lips. Then, slowly, he slumped back against the headboard and groaned. Eyes clamped shut, the throbbing in his head persisted. “Don’t ever bring me that vile dose again,” Leathem warned.
The butler remained standing next to the bed suppressing an amused expression. “Never mind, m’lord, you’ll be feeling better in an hour or two, I promise.”
“I had better be, man, or I’ll send you packing!” Gavin shuddered.
Smiling, the butler assisted Gavin out of bed. A hip bath and several buckets of steamy water had arrived. Gavin’s valet was at Fielding House in London, having driven with the Porters’ into Town from Surrey. A duke’s valet before he was hired as the butler at Four Towers ten years ago, Garters expertly shaved Leathem and got him bathed and dressed with no further fussing.
Nodding gratefully at the butler, Gavin muttered, “I have to believe you’re a damned magician, Garters.”
“Thank you, my lord,” the butler responded quietly, his lips wearing a satisfied smile. “Is there anything more I can do for you?”
“Yes, I believe there is.” Gavin grimaced again. “Remind me from now on to stay away from the Green Duck Tavern in town.”
“Aye,” Garters chuckled. “I’ll see to it.”
Gavin left his bedchamber a new man, thanks to his butler’s ministrations. Having neglected estate business at Four Towers for more than a month, he now headed to his study, summoning his steward to meet him there.
* * * *
Dorra delivered a pot of hot chocolate, a pitcher of heavy cream, a plate of scones, a crock of butter, and a jar of marmalade. Emily had requested a bath, and Dorra helped her, sitting in front of the hearth to brush her hair dry afterward.
“Ye got real pretty hair, Miss,” she said, admiring Emily’s long, shiny tresses. “I like the color.”
“My hair is not that unusual, Dorra.” Emily smiled. “My friend, Lady Wilma Porter has beautiful blonde curls. My hair is simply very dark. But thank you for the compliment.”
Sweeping another brush stroke through the waist long strands, the maid asked, “What are ye doin’ later today, Miss? Are ye seeing the earl?”
Emily paused. Will I be? she wondered.
“I’m not certain.” Earlier, she had glanced longingly out the window at the bright morning light filled with warmth and sunshine. “I used to take long walks when I lived in Surrey. Perhaps I’ll take a short stroll through the earl’s gardens.”
I hope Leathem’s gardener has not planted rose bushes, she thought, remembering the Duchess of Carlisle’s vast garden.
“Please, Dorra, will you find me a suitable bonnet and shawl in the wardrobe. I feel in need of a breath of fresh air.”
* * * *
The earl’s large traveling coach halted at the entrance of Four Towers later that afternoon. Gavin’s head groom let down the metal steps then yanked open the door and helped Squire Morrow to his feet, breathing heavily. The old man’s bony knees creaked after sitting still for several hours. Carrying an ebony cane, he squinted up at the earl’s mansion’s stony façade. He grunted in what sounded like approval and stepped out of the carriage, leaning on his cane.
“Take your time, Squire,” the groom urged, holding the elder man’s elbow as they mounted the stone steps. “I believe you may be on time for tea, sir.”
Gavin greeted Morrow in the mansion’s foyer, shaking the Squire’s gnarled fingers warmly.
“Thank you for coming, Squire Morrow. I hoped that you would. Your granddaughter will be extremely glad to see you, I’m sure. But first…come inside where we can talk. There is a comfortable chair in the back parlor and small fire in the hearth. We can speak uninterrupted there.”
“Aye, Leathem. I believe we must. I’m curious why you decided to wed my granddaughter. I was acquainted with you both only a few weeks ago, and now…”
“I shall explain, Squire.” Gavin escorted Emily’s grandfather into the parlor and shut the door behind them. “Would you like a brandy, sir?”
“Aye, and don’t be sparing with it, young man. I ain’t used to such a long drive, and my ancient bones ache like the devil.”
Henry settled into a wingchair facing the hearth and made himself comfortable, leaning his cane against the chair’s arm.
Meanwhile, Gavin poured French brandy into a crystal snifter. He wasn’t interested in imbibing himself after yesterday’s bout of liquid congratulations that he suffered at the Green Duck. But he handed the glass to Morrow who drank deeply.
Henry glanced up at the earl who rested an arm on the mantle. He began to ply the earl with questions. “Well, now, spit it out, Leathem. I want the whole story. My granddaughter is of age, but I may have some influence with her to cancel the nuptials if they don�
��t make her happy. Or me neither.”
Half hour later Gavin finished explaining most of his and Emily’s history to her grandfather. He described her bad experiences with her uncle, her employment at Fielding House, their subsequent encounter at the Duke of Carlisle’s house party, and their current visit at Four Towers. He went on to mention that he offered Emily marriage two weeks ago, but he didn’t elaborate on its conditions. And of course, he forgot to bring up their unchaperoned trips driving across half of England, or their consensual lovemaking.
Morrow listened intently, his faded blue eyes locked on the earl’s face.
“I must tell you something, Leathem,” Morrow said, pausing. “I’m not anxious to let young Emily go. I just discovered I have a long lost granddaughter. I would like to keep her with me for a while.”
“Nor am I willing to lose her, Squire,” Gavin responded, his statement curt and spoken firmly.
“Perhaps, I should speak with my granddaughter alone, Leathem. Is she here?”
“Of course. Stay where you are. I’ll find her and let her know that you are here.”
A short time later, the earl held the door open for Emily as she hurried across the room, smiling when she saw her grandfather. Leathem waited a moment on the threshold before leaving and shutting the door quietly behind him.
“Grandfather! Oh, my gracious, I am so glad to see you again.” Emily halted in front of Morrow, her expression beaming with surprise and delight.
“Well, then, shouldn’t ye give an old man a hug?”
“Yes, of course, Grandfather.” And Emily threw her arms over his shoulders and lightly kissed the wrinkled, whiskered cheek. She straightened up, still smiling.
“Well, now,” the squire said, his aged-spotted hands gripping the chair’s arms. “I hear you are to marry Leathem. Is it true?”
Emily hesitated. “I suspect so.”
“Well, that’s an odd answer, gel! You surprise me! Don’t you want to be a countess?”
The Marriage Bargain Page 33