“Please. I wish to spend some time alone with you.”
A flash of knowledge crossed her face. Time alone had been what got them to this point in the first place. Had he not seen her previous expression of acknowledgement, he’d never have worked up the nerve. But it had been there and standing just so with her, even surrounded by people, the night seemed almost magical.
“Yes,” she said quietly, her response all but lost in the constant low-level hum of the crowd.
How one simple word made his heart race, he wasn’t sure. Using all of his considerable self-control, he led her through the crowd. He nodded at this person and that, not attempting to make eye contact. He hoped he and Emma blended in and that their exit would be unnoticed.
“It’s colder out here than I thought it would be,” she said once they made it outside.
He didn’t want to go back inside, so he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. He couldn’t help brushing his fingers over the nape of her neck as he did so. She trembled and turned so they remained almost touching. It seemed as if the temperature rose by ten degrees.
“Thank you… Henry.”
He reached up and traced the line of her cheekbone. “Emma.”
But he moved no closer, for they were dancing dangerously near the edge. He wanted to bring her back into society, not drag her out of it even further. With a sigh, he pulled back.
“I hate balls,” he said.
She walked to the rail and looked over the lawn below. “I enjoyed them. Before.”
He closed his eyes. It was time.
“I was a fool,” he said.
She turned back, facing him. “So you said, yet you never explained.”
“I allowed my father to control my actions.”
“Your father?”
“Yes, he threatened to disinherit me if I didn’t leave for the Continent.”
“He did? Why?”
Had he not asked himself that very question every day for the last five years? Even five years later, with his father dead, he had no answers.
“He never said and I was too afraid to challenge him. But believe me, Emma, I always planned to come back to you.”
“Those are just words,” she said, her voice filled with pain. “You’re only here because your father died. What if he had lived for fifteen more years?”
“I would like to think I wouldn’t wait fifteen years.”
“And yet you waited five.”
So he had. There was no excuse for it.
“At the very least you could have sent a letter. Something.”
“You didn’t get my letters?”
“What letters?”
“Emma, I wrote every week for two years.”
“I never got the first one.”
“I have no reason to lie at this point.”
Of course, the truth was, he had every reason to lie and she knew it. The silence hung heavy between them.
“If you believe nothing I’ve ever said to you,” he took a step closer, “believe this. I wrote those letters. And sent them by post.”
“Someone is being deceitful.”
He said no more. He had spoken the truth. It was up to her whether or not she’d believe him. If he said more, he would seem desperate.
She frowned. “Your father could not have kept your letters from me. Which means someone in my house did so.”
It seemed to be the reasonable deduction to make. As much as he would have liked to, his father couldn’t have intercepted mail addressed to Emma. And it wasn’t possible every piece of post had been lost. But to insinuate the culprit resided in Emma’s house? If it were true…
“My mother or father,” she said, reaching the same conclusion he had. “But why?”
He watched as her expression changed. Little by little, he saw the recognition cross her face that all was not as she’d always assumed. He knew the feeling well, as he’d gone through the same process five years ago when his father gave his directive.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not wishing for anyone in his acquaintance to experience what he had. He had been young then, but he remembered feeling as if his entire life had been a lie.
She sniffled and wiped her nose. “It’s not your fault.”
“Would that it were. Then perhaps I could do something about it.”
He did not envy her the days to come. Days when she would either have to confront her parents or bury and deny her feelings. Either option would bring her pain, and she had already dealt with enough pain.
He glanced back inside and a temporary solution hit him. “Dance with me.”
She looked at him as if he’d just asked her to fly to the moon. “I beg your pardon?”
“Dance with me.”
“What? Here?”
“It is a ball.”
“You’re quite mad.” Finally, her eyes had lost that pained look.
He couldn’t help the grin he knew covered his face. “You wouldn’t be the first to call me that. Do you waltz?”
She gasped. “Now I know for a fact that you’re mad.”
“Right. The waltz is still considered inappropriate here. I’d forgotten.”
“You waltz?”
“I learned on the Continent.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “I could teach you.”
She didn’t say anything, so he reached to take her in his arms.
She slapped at his hands. “Not here.”
“Does that mean I can teach you somewhere else?”
“Maybe.”
Excitement pounded through his veins. She was flirting with him.
He put an arm around her, drawing her close. “Maybe? That sounds almost like a yes.”
She dropped her mask and brushed his shoulder. “Dangerous? Yes. Though I fear I’m the mad one.”
He spun them around. “You? Never.”
“With you? Always.”
They came to a stop and he looked into her eyes. “There’s my Emma.”
Her face flushed. So beautiful when paired with her hair. “Please, your grace.”
He placed a finger over her lips. “Shh. Henry.”
She looked over his shoulder to the ballroom behind him. “We should go back inside before we’re missed.”
“Call me Henry.”
She lifted her chin, but answered in a whisper, “Henry.”
He wanted so badly to kiss her. To see if her lips tasted as sweet as he remembered. But she’d trusted him so far and he would not damage that trust. With a heavy heart, he released her and held out his arm. “Let me escort you back inside.”
She shrugged out of his jacket, and they silently went about the business of returning to real life.
****
Emma lay awake in the darkness of the night, replaying the evening’s events. She could not fathom the woman she had become outside with Henry. It reminded her too much of who she had been and what she’d done five years ago. It scared her that Henry held that much power over her.
She flipped onto her belly. She’d not worked up the nerve to approach her parents about Henry’s letters. Assuming, of course, that there had been letters. She felt almost certain that he had told the truth. She’d not been able to detect any deceit when he’d told her about them.
The next day he would be coming by to pick her up at ten to take her on an outing. He was stopping by the orphanage first to pick up a few of the older boys and Bess. He certainly knew how to get on her good side. But though she was excited to be going out with the children, she knew she’d much rather be going out alone with him.
Maybe she would talk with her mother in the morning. She didn’t think she would come right out and ask about the letters, but she could probably work up the courage to ask indirectly.
Enough. Time enough for worrying about her parents and missing letters later. As she shifted into sleep, she allowed her thoughts to wander from worries to how it felt to be in Henry’s arms again.
****
The morning dawned cold and bright with a fresh layer of snow dusting everything and blanketing the outdoors in a beautiful, serene scene. Emma couldn’t suppress her laughter as she imagined half a dozen boys running around and the footprints they’d leave in their wake.
With memories of the previous night running through her mind, she went about picking out her outfit. Red, she decided. Henry had always liked her in red. Another laugh bubbled up. Her lady’s maid gave her a perplexed look, but didn’t say anything. Perhaps because it had been such a long time since Emma started the day with laughter. Or had laughed during any part of the day.
Once dressed, she made her way to the dining room. Her merriment ceased when she saw her mother eating. The letters. Straightening her shoulders, she walked to the table.
“Good morning, Mother.”
“Emmaline, dear, you look radiant.”
She acknowledged the compliment with a nod. “The Duke of Salle is coming by at ten to pick me up.”
A servant placed a plate down in front of her. The joy of seeing Henry again was overshadowed by the fact someone in her own family had deceived her. Suddenly, her appetite was gone.
“His grace always was a nice boy. He’s become a handsome young man.” Her mother seemed blissfully unaware that anything was amiss.
Emma picked at her eggs. She should eat something. It would be embarrassing if her stomach rumbled while she was out with Henry.
Across the table, her mother was gazing out the window and stirring her tea.
“Do you think it strange his grace never wrote me while he was on the Continent?” Emma studied her mother, searching for any sign of recognition or guilt. Anything that would give away a part in keeping her estranged from Henry. Her mother’s eyebrows wrinkled as though she were contemplating the question, but nothing appeared questionable in her demeanor.
“Men are always odd in their ways,” her mother finally said. “Who knows why they do what they do?”
“But to be gone for five years and then show up so… determined.”
“That’s not at all odd. It’s normal. Most men are quite determined. Your father certainly was.”
She didn’t want to talk about her father. She wanted to keep the focus on Henry and why someone would have wanted to keep them apart for five years.
“Where is Father?” It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him not to be at breakfast, but she realized she hadn’t seen him much of late.
Not since Henry had returned, that was.
“He went out with his new steward this morning. Something about contracts.”
When her mother put it that way, it didn’t seem at all strange her father had been out of sight. He had much to do with his new employee.
“What are you and his grace doing today?”
“We’re going to go for a ride with some of the older boys from the home. Bess is coming with us.”
“I never did like you spending all that time with those children. I hope now that someone is showing an interest in you, you’ll spend time with those of your own age and station.”
And just like that, she felt it reasonable to think her mother had nothing to do with the missing letters. Surely she could not have been the one to hide Henry’s letters if she was so happy Emma was spending time with him.
“Mother, you know I enjoy my time at the orphanage. I’m not going to stop just because some man is back in London.”
“He is not some man.”
She wasn’t in the mood to hear a lecture from her mother on Henry. Not with the memory of his arms around her still so fresh she could almost feel them. What would her mother say if she’d seen her outside last night?
Not only that, what would she say if Emma admitted she was counting down to when she might feel his arms again?
Chapter Four
Henry pulled up to her house right at ten o’clock. Bess and the boys waited outside while he collected her.
Emma couldn’t help the grin that broke out on her face when she saw him.
“Lady Emmaline. How beautiful you look this morning.”
She curtsied. “Thank you, your grace.”
Henry, she wanted to say, but didn’t. There were servants nearby.
His eyes told her he felt the same.
Instead, he winked at her and held out his arm. She took it and allowed herself to be helped into his carriage. The boys and Bess, she noticed, rode in a separate one behind them.
“Very circumspective of you, your grace,” she said once she was tucked in blankets and they were on their way.
His eyes danced with merriment. “Indeed. I am often complimented on such.”
“Where are we going?”
“All in good time. All in good time.”
For once, she didn’t feel the need to argue with him. She leaned her head back, enjoying the feel of the cold breeze on her face and the warmth of Henry pressed against her side. The realization that she could grow accustomed to such outings with him didn’t shock or scare her as it might have a few days earlier.
“Not falling asleep on me, are you?” he asked.
“No, just enjoying.”
He scooted closer and she smiled at the nearness. They rode in silence, and it didn’t take long to realize they were traveling outside the city. Little by little, the carriages passing them grew fewer and fewer.
“I know,” she said as they passed a lone rider. “You are kidnapping us.”
“Indeed. I shall keep you to myself forever.”
It felt as if her heart grew wings. If only he could keep her forever. She schooled her reply. “Laura will be horrified, you know. She loves those boys like they were her own.”
“Very well, Bess and the boys can go back. I’ll just keep you.” His tone was light and playful, but his expression told her he was serious.
“Shall we make our home in the wood?” she asked, teasing him, surprising herself at how easy it was. It seemed he had something similar to that in mind. They had turned off the main road and were headed toward a densely covered forest.
“I think that would be a splendid idea. Considerably more fun than taking my place in the House of Lords.”
“I would hope so. The House sounds dreadfully boring. At least according to my father.” Speaking of her father made her remember she had to somehow confront him about the letter issue.
There was no time to dwell on that thought, however, for Henry had pulled the carriage over and waved the one following them to move ahead. After it parked, half a dozen boys spilled out, a bemused Bess following.
“Dear me, your grace,” she said. “I must thank you again for inviting the boys on this outing. Such little time they have with a gentleman.”
Henry helped Emma out of the carriage while answering Bess. “I cannot fathom you to still thank me after all that time you spent in the carriage with them.”
“’Tis nothing I’m not used to.”
The boys ran ahead of them, chasing each other and tossing snowballs. They were in the middle of a wooded lot, so Emma didn’t spend any time worrying about their shouts disrupting anyone. They were free to run wild and simply be boys. Her heart lifted just witnessing their joy. If only she were as free to run wild. But society had rules…
“So happy they are, your grace,” Bess said. “And shan’t be any trouble getting them to sleep tonight.”
The three adults walked ahead and, for the first time, Emma noticed the axe Henry carried.
“What are your plans?” she asked him. “Nice as it is for them to have this free time, surely you had some alternate purpose?”
“Yes, of course. Our goal for the day is to find a Christmas tree for the orphanage.”
A Christmas tree! She didn’t think the home had ever had one. Not one that she remembered anyway. “Oh, Henry! I, um, mean your grace, how delightful.”
She felt mortified. She couldn’t believe she’d called him by his first name in front of Bess. Now word would get back to Laura and, before she knew
it, everyone would have heard.
Bess waved her off. “Please. Think nothing of it. I may be ancient, but I remember well how it felt to be young. I’ll go with the boys to find the perfect tree. You two take your time in joining us.”
Then, before either Emma or Henry could object, she was off, moving with greater speed than Emma thought possible for a woman of her years.
Henry gave a stout laugh. “I do like her. A woman after my heart that one.”
“It’s simply scandalous. Leaving us alone as she did.”
“Come now, my dear Emma. Who is going to know?”
“Anyone driving by.” And what did he mean calling her his dear Emma?
“I picked this place for its remoteness.”
It occurred to her then that he had planned this. The devil had planned for them to be alone. “Did you and Bess contrive this?”
He held out his arm and she took it, almost without thinking. To be so close to him… she had to touch him. It was almost as if he somehow drew her to him.
“We did. And I would do it a thousand fold to steal but a few moments alone with you.”
“If I had a brain in my head, I would insist you return me home at once.”
He stopped and turned to face her. “Sometimes, we have to live as though we don’t have a brain in our head. How long has it been since you simply felt?”
Wetness gathered in the corner of her eyes, and she answered with a whisper. “Five years.”
He wiped her tears away with his thumb, trailed his fingers downward to trace her cheekbone, and gently cupped her cheek. “Oh, Emma, what have I done to you?”
“You left me. You left me all alone and now you’re back. I’m so scared.” Though she wasn’t sure what scared her the most — that he would leave again, or admitting to him how she would feel if he did leave again.
He looked deep into her eyes, and she forced herself not to hide from him. If he was strong enough to come back to her, she owed it to both of them to be nothing less than honest.
His voice was thick with emotion when he spoke again. “You have lived too long in the cold shadow of winter, when you deserve naught but spring.”
Ghosts of Winters Past Page 3