A Rogue for Emily

by Catherine Hemmerling

  Would the mystery man be angry at her presumptions and never write another word, or would he accept her olive branch and allow the correspondence to continue?

  To her delight, the man had written back almost immediately. He seemed as eager to talk to her as she had been to talk to him. Now they exchanged letters nearly daily. It was so wonderful and scandalous. The letters had grown more and more intimate as the weeks continued. Nothing salacious or lewd; it was more the give and take of a dance, of a game, or the ebb and flow of the tide. It was beautiful and special.

  Emily could hardly contain herself sometimes with the desire to tell one of the Society girls. She was sure they would never condemn her for the impropriety of the relationship, but for some reason Emily wanted to keep this particular secret to herself for a while longer.

  The truth was, Emily had no idea where this unlikely correspondence would take her or could take her. It wasn’t a classic courtship or even a courtship at all. She felt friendship more than anything else, but sometimes she couldn’t help but let her imagination run wild.

  With a sigh, Emily shook her head. What did she know about this person, really? He could be an awful rake, for goodness sake, or old, or in some other way inappropriate. She supposed he could even be a she, but that was unlikely considering his response to her first letter:

  Dear…,

  You cannot imagine my surprise to find your letter where I had previously left my note. It had been on a whim that I had placed the note in the hands of the precious angel where you found it. I had hoped the words would be raised to the heavens, but perhaps earthbound advice is more practical.

  It seems as if you are my female counterpoint. Perhaps ours is a common plight amongst the ton? Aren’t we all looking for a suitable match of some kind?

  I think you are correct, however. My own list of wants has changed. What was once a priority even a year ago is no longer even in consideration.

  May I be so bold as to ask, what are you now looking for in a potential husband? You kindly intimated that just asking if I am worthy makes me so, but I still wonder. What would a marriage of love be based upon? I have noticed that common interests can play a part, but I find it hard to believe a lady would be interested in the things I find fulfilling.

  If you have any such questions of me, I would gladly share what little I know. That is, unless you wanted your first letter to be your last.

  In hope…

  Honestly, she considered putting an end to the whole thing then and there, or at least asking who he was. But she couldn’t bring herself to do either. She needed someone to talk to. Someone of a like mind. She didn’t want to lose that connection, even if it wasn’t real. Not yet. She was tired of being alone, and these letters made her feel less so.

  Emily supposed it was ridiculous to feel thusly. Certainly she was never in want of a dance partner or dinner companion. Some would say she had her pick of husbands, and she supposed that was true (judging by the unimaginable number of proposals she had received), but none of the men in her acquaintance affected her in any way.

  Well, that isn’t precisely true, Emily admitted wryly. Alexander Bredon stirred her emotions greatly and more than she would like to admit, but the feelings he provoked could never be categorized as romantic, by any means.

  Frankly, the man irritated her beyond all belief. Everything he said, did, or thought drove Emily mad. Which was odd, as Emily considered herself fairly even-keeled. She would have to be, considering the amount of time she was expected to spend with all the nattering fools attempting to court her.

  But for some reason, Alexander had the ability to upset her more than she supposed he ought. And it seemed to be getting worse. Now Emily found that she was somehow attuned to his very presence. No matter where she was or what she was doing, she could pinpoint the moment the man entered the room. She would feel a peculiar tingling at the base of her neck and, when she would look up, there he’d be.

  Annoying, that, Emily thought with a scoff. The last man on earth of which she would care to know the whereabouts and her body alerted her every time he was anywhere within her proximity.

  Perhaps she would ask her new friend about the phenomenon. They had gotten into the habit of asking each other how a woman or man might react in a certain situation. Her second letter had taken him up on his offer to share his thoughts on men and what they may want. In exchange, she tried to provide the same from a woman’s point of view.

  Dear Hopeful,

  Before I answer your questions, perhaps you could answer one of my own? You mentioned that your priorities had changed regarding a potential wife. Could you tell me what you used to value in a woman?

  In regards to your thoughts on common interests, I can answer only for myself. It is a subject not broached often with a lady. I was told by my mother that men don’t want an intelligent woman and I, therefore, tend to stay silent even when topics of interest may arise. I feel that with you I can finally be honest, as it seems to be the nature of our new friendship.

  I enjoy the teachings of Plato and Socrates. My friend loaned me her copy of Dante’s The Divine Comedy and I have been enjoying the author’s view on the structure of the Catholic religion. I firmly believe that giving to those less fortunate is not only a choice but our duty. And very recently, with the help of another like-minded friend, I am attempting to grow a new kind of rose.

  Are any of these the types of things that also interest men? I honestly don’t know. My best friends are bluestockings (how I hate that term) like myself, but their husbands seem to like that about them. Is this common? And if so, why was the term bluestocking even coined?

  As you can see, I too have many questions. I must say it is nice to finally get to ask them of someone else.

  I hope this letter is answer enough to whether or not I want our correspondence to continue.

  In regards…

  His answer had been as honest as hers.

  My dear,

  I cannot express my joy about receiving another letter from you. I am finding our conversations cathartic. Our anonymity frees my tongue in ways I didn’t think possible when speaking to one of the opposite sex. I suggest we remain friendly strangers for as long as we can. I am sure at some point one or both of us will be given away in a circle as small as ours, but until then it is nice to put conventions aside.

  You asked me what I put emphasis on in my previous search for a wife. I’m ashamed to say I gave looks more weight than I should have. Recently I have seen women of great outer beauty grow ugly after further examination and the most unlikely of choices blossom into the perfect woman for a dear friend of mine.

  No, it has become clear to me that I need to truly know a person before judging them. To that point, I will turn my attention to your professed interests. The things you have told me fascinate me.

  Unfortunately, it is true that many men of my acquaintance are still looking only for a woman they can show off in public, bed in private, and ignore at all times in between. These men are fools. I was a fool. I have seen a marriage of convenience become one of the heart precisely because the couple’s common interests united them. Her skills and knowledge complemented his in a way that I could hardly believe. And that spark grew into a love built on a true foundation. And with each day, I have seen it grow.

  Now I want to shake every boorish man I meet. I don’t, however. Not only because to do so would be considered unseemly, but also because I don’t want those men to run off with women of substance before I have a chance to meet them.

  Does that make me selfish? Probably, but if you found the fountain of youth, wouldn’t you want to experience the benefits before sharing it with mankind?

  On a side note, I have recently found a growing interest in managing an estate. I even enjoy digging in the dirt a little myself. It’s positively hedonistic and common, but I feel my secret is safe with you.

  Have you given any thought what you will name your new rose? Perhaps Beatrice’s Love
?

  Until next time…

  Emily had thought long and hard about his latest proposal. Remaining anonymous had a certain appeal, but she was also fantastically curious about who was behind such thoughtful letters. He was correct, however, it would be easier to talk honestly to a virtual stranger. Certainly he had told her things in this latest missive that she was quite sure no man would ever tell a woman. So she had decided to keep her identity secret as well.

  In addition to telling her some very private things, Emily was happy to see that her friend was also an excellent listener, so to speak. The reference to Beatrice in the Paradiso section of Dante’s work illustrated his attentiveness.

  It was rather surreal to be truly listened to by a man. Generally Emily felt at best dismissed whenever she spoke, and at worst she felt like an annoyance.

  This newfound freedom of exchange was exhilarating, and Emily found she could hardly wait until the next message from her new friend.

  Flinging herself on her bed, Emily eagerly unfolded her latest letter.

  Dear one,

  I think you are quite correct. While we have decided to remain unknown during our secret correspondence, we should decide on a way to address each other that is more substantial than the prerequisite “Dear” this and highly unsatisfactory ending with ellipses.

  To that end, please call me John.

  I eagerly await your choice in names, but until then, I must tell you about my day.

  It wasn’t particularly exciting in general, but I saw something curious in the park while I was out for my morning stroll. I am sure you are familiar with Hyde Park. It is a common destination for Mayfair inhabitants, especially on a pleasant day as today undoubtedly was. Frankly, I think remaining indoors when the sun in shining is downright criminal, don’t you agree? But I digress…

  I have a favorite destination at the park. Have I ever mentioned that before? Well, I do. There is a particular bench on the banks of the Serpentine just to the side of the crossing bridge where I enjoy watching the lazy skiffs being rowed through the water and seeing children pull their toy sailboats back and forth through the shallows. It is a great way to spend a relaxing morning.

  As of late, I try to imagine if any of the young ladies passing by could be you. It goes against our agreement to remain strangers, but I can’t seem to help myself. I even look for you at parties and balls. I know it is next to impossible to suss out your identity in such a way, but still I try. I suppose it is human nature to want to solve a mystery. Even one that is self-imposed. In any case, today on my way to my spot in the park, I ran into what appeared to be a duel being perpetrated near the Grosvenor Square entrance. Two men were counting out paces, each holding a pistol. People were scrambling to get out of the way, but a morbid curiosity caused them to turn around and watch once in a safe location. I, myself, was glued to the spot. The park has a long bloody history of duels, but as of late the practice seems to have fallen out of favor, as I am sure you are aware.

  With bated breath I watched as the men whirled around, took aim, and fired.

  Then…nothing! There was no bang or subsequent fall to the ground. Instead a troupe of performers emerged from the crowd and announced an upcoming show to be played out right there in the park.

  It was both a relief and a disappointment.

  It made for a memorable morning, however.

  Best Regards, John

  Emily could barely contain her shock and surprise at the letter’s contents. It was the first time an unbeknownst shared event had been mentioned during their correspondence. She, too, had been witness to the false duel. And she hadn’t been alone. Now she had no choice. If she did not tell anyone about “John” now, she felt as if she’d burst.

  “My lady?”

  Emily whirled around at the sound of the maid at her door.

  “Y-yes,” she stammered, in shock at the interruption.

  “Lady Lichfield is waiting for you in the front sitting room, my lady.”

  Oh yes, Hope! She and Emily had planned to walk to Lady Lancaster’s together for their weekly Society meeting. How fortuitous!

  “Splendid,” Emily said, “I will be right along.”

  The young maid bobbed a curtsy and left.

  Emily clutched the letter in her hand, grabbed her reticule, and went to find Hope, all the while thanking God for good friends who could be trusted to keep a secret upon pain of torture and death.

  “Oh Hope, you have no idea how happy I am to see you!” Emily exclaimed upon arriving at the lovely room the household referred to as the “front sitting room.”

  The Moss Manse, as it was known to most, was massive and impressive in its number of rooms. After running out of colors by which to designate each space, the family had taken to less imaginative naming structures for the simply mind-boggling number of areas remaining.

  Emily had often wondered how the most used sitting room for greeting visitors had been so woefully passed over for a colorful name, but it was so. The room was an amazing sunflower yellow and no matter what the weather outside, it remained cheery and warm. She had tried for years to call it the Sunflower Room, but it had never caught on. The staff would always go to the atrium whenever she would use the new name.

  “I’m happy to see you too, Emily,” Hope replied, leaning in for a hug, “but as I was expected, I am a little surprised by the vehement greeting.”

  Emily laughed at her friend’s bewildered expression.

  “Of course I knew you were coming, but I have something new I need to talk to someone about, and you are about the best someone imaginable.”

  “Now, that is quite the compliment, I must say,” Hope replied, with a big smile.

  Emily felt compelled to hug her friend again, and then she dragged her over to the settee.

  “Oh, is this a sitting conversation?” Hope asked.

  “Yes, it really is.” Emily nodded emphatically.

  “My goodness. Then I shall make myself very comfortable.”

  Hope made a big process of finding just the right position and then looked at Emily with great expectation.

  The rapt attention made Emily feel suddenly nervous. If anyone could understand her strange friendship with a man she had never met, it would be Hope Stuckley. Before she had become the married lady she was, Hope had been in love with Michael Ashmore, the Viscount Lichfield, forever…and from afar. But a Garden Society mystery had brought them together, and now they were very happily wedded.

  So surely Emily could tell her friend about her recent pastime. She just needed to start from the beginning…

  And so she did.

  Chapter Four

  True friends show their love in times of strife; not just when all is well.

  ~The Duke of Lancaster

  It was lucky that Hope had arrived early for their walk over to Lady Lancaster’s, because it took quite a long time for Emily to tell her all that had been happening in the last few weeks. When she was done, she sat back and waited for Hope to say something. She had been awfully quiet during Emily’s discourse.

  “So,” Hope said finally, “you have been writing to this person for a while then?”

  Emily nodded. “A fair while, yes.”

  “And I am the only person you have told, thus far?”

  Again Emily bobbed her head.

  “It’s strange to think that when we were at the park yesterday, so was your gentleman friend. We probably saw him.”

  “I have considered that. For that matter, we may even know him. That is why I had to tell you. I could no longer keep these letters a secret. Not if there is a chance I may run into the very man any day now.”

  Hope looked at Emily with a mixture of sadness and consternation.

  “I don’t understand why you haven’t said anything before now. We are supposed to be your best friends, Emily,” Hope exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Did you not think we would support you?”

  “Oh no, I didn’t think that…or at least
I tried not to think it. I love you all, and I know you love me.”

  “Then why not share this with us before now?”

  Emily was distraught at seeing her dear friend so upset. That hadn’t been her intention at all.

  “It’s hard to explain, but you, Sarah, Hannah, and Rose are so in love, I suppose I felt my romantic woes, among other things, would just put a damper on your own happiness.”

  “Now that’s just silly,” Hope replied. “Yes, we are very pleased with our matches, but that makes us all the more excited about helping you find your perfect gentleman. Wouldn’t it be something if we all were well settled and in the family way? Our children could grow up together.”

  It was hard to see the look of pure bliss on Hope’s face and not truly understand where it was coming from. Oh how Emily longed to know that feeling. The feeling of genuinely being in love with the man of one’s dreams and looking forward to starting a family with him.

  “I agree that would be ideal, but I am not sure I believe there are any good men left. Not for me.”

  “What about your secret correspondent?” Hope asked. “You seem to like him well enough.”

  Emily shrugged. “I suppose, but what do I really know about him? He talks as if he were an eligible gentleman of standing, but there has been no hint of romance in his letters to me. We are friends, of a sort, and nothing else.”

  “Oh Emily, I think it is pretty obvious he is of our set.”

  “You are probably correct, but what of his lack of interest in me romantically?”

  “No man in his right mind would turn you away. You are the catch of the season, are you not?”

  “So I am irresistible?” Emily replied with a laugh. “Even if that were true, John doesn’t know who I am, much less what I look like. And I certainly have no idea who he is. We agreed we didn’t want to know.”

  “Do you still feel that way?”

  Taking a moment, Emily considered the very loaded question. Did she want to know who John really was? She had grown to respect and certainly like the man. But they had exchanged such private thoughts. Would she even be able to look him in the face? On the other hand, he was the only gentleman of her recent acquaintance she actively sought out for conversation. She definitely wanted to know him better. The next step would naturally be to meet, would it not?