by Tia Siren
It was just like the previous year, crowded. Emily turned as many heads as she had done last time, and Christopher was just as proud of her as Edward had been.
When Emily and Christopher danced, she suddenly felt it. It was like a surgeon's lance, piercing the back of her head. As she weaved her way around the other dancers and back to Christopher, the feeling intensified making it difficult for her to concentrate.
When she looked to her left she saw him standing at the edge of the dance floor, his eyes fixed on her and a look of hurt etched across his face. She felt her heart racing and tiny drops of perspiration developing on her upper lip. Her legs felt numb, and she had to stop the dance.
''What's wrong, Emily?'' Christopher asked as he followed her. ''You can't just stop in the middle of a dance.''
''Christopher, I told you I didn't want to come to this ball, for God's sake, leave me alone,'' she said. He stopped and watched as she made her way to the ladies room. He went to join Helen and her group, much to Helen's delight.
When Emily emerged from the comfort of the ladies restroom, Edward was waiting for her. He took hold of her arm and pulled her into a corner where they were relatively free from view.
''Emily, what have you done to me?'' Edward asked.
What have I done to him, what a cheek, she thought. ''I have done nothing to you, Edward. You are a dishonorable man and I treated you as you deserved to be treated.'' Emily felt her heart fluttering and her knees shaking. She could see how crushed he was, and it pained her. She wanted nothing more than to feel his naked body on top of hers, but he had said something terrible, and she could never trust him again.
''Why do you say I am dishonorable, please justify yourself?''
''Justify myself? Justify myself?'' Emily was close to rage. ''It is you who should justify yourself. I heard what you said to those men last year, at this very ball. What you said was cruel and unforgivable. You used me for your own indecent gratification. You will never do that to me again.''
''But Emily you left without speaking to me. You have no idea what went on in that conversation. You jumped to conclusions.''
''Conclusions?'' He stood back from her as she took hold of his jacket and twisted it. ''All I know is what I heard, and nothing could justify what you said, nothing.''
''But Emily, I love you, I have always loved you. I want to be with you.''
''Well you have a strange way of showing it. I hear you have turned into a womanizer. I believe there isn't a single woman in London who you haven't taken to your bed.''
He was shocked at her accusation. ''That is not true. I have seen some young ladies, but only to help me over the distress of losing you. And it didn't work, I will never get over you.''
''It's too late, Edward,'' she said. Emily wanted to cry, his impassioned pleas had made the river of desire within her flow again, and she yearned to feel him inside her. But she could never trust him again, and her life with Christopher would be much calmer and less fraught.
''Do you deny me because you are with someone?''
''Partly.''
''The man you were dancing with is not worthy of you. Emily, you are intelligent and a free spirit. You have the most amazing sense of humor and you are compassionate. He won't make you happy, he will stifle you in a swamp of domesticity. He's a gray banker, they are all the same.''
Helen must have told him who Christopher was. ''I will soon be his wife. Goodbye, Edward.'' Don't go, kiss him, pull him to you and kiss him, a voice said to her. But her body turned away and took her into the crowd.
*****
Christopher was at the bank, and his mother had gone out to a women's luncheon. Around twelve o'clock there was a loud bang at the door. Emily sat and waited for Rodgers the butler to answer it, but when the person knocked again, she remembered it was his day off, and apart from cook she was alone in the house. She put her sampler down on the sofa and went to the door.
She recognized the man standing in front of her. It was the man with the big nose and exaggerated sideburns that she'd seen at the Duke of Marlborough's ball a year ago. He was the man Edward had first spoken to before he'd spoken so badly of her.
''Miss Emily Lucas?'' he asked. She nodded. ''Splendid. I'm afraid the man I'm with is a very slow walker,'' he said as he pointed down the street.
''Father, father, oh father,'' she said as she bolted out of the door and down the street. He was frail, and she almost knocked him over in her enthusiasm.
''Emily. Oh, it's so good to see you,'' He put his arm around her, and she helped him up the garden step and into the house. She shouted to the cook to bring some tea and sat her father in the most comfortable chair in the drawing room.
''I cannot believe it's you, father.'' His eyes were less swollen than the last time she had seen him, and his lips had recovered but he had lost more weight, and he looked like a bag of bones.
''How did you manage to get out of that terrible place?'' she asked.
''May I introduce myself,'' the other man said. ''I am the Bishop of Denningsborough. Do you know a man called Edward Dirksen?''
''Yes, I do,'' Emily said.
''Well if it weren't for Mr. Dirksen, your father would still be in that horrible place.''
''I don't understand,'' Emily said, looking at her father and then the Bishop.
''Mr. Dirksen is a very active member of a group in the church that looks after the needy.''
''Yes, I know, he mentioned some church group he was involved with.''
''Well, via that organization, Mr. Dirksen has campaigned tirelessly for your father's release.''
''Are you alright?'' her father asked, as Emily's complexion turned white.
''In the prison with your father was a vicar by the name of Peter Wright. He too got into trouble financially, and they ended up in the same cell.'' The Bishop stopped speaking when the cook arrived with the tea. She placed a cup and saucer in front of each of them and the tea pot close to Emily. ''I visited Reverend Wright very often,'' the Bishop continued, ''and in the process got to know your father. It came to my attention via the church organization that Mr. Dirsken was trying to secure your father's release. I met Mr. Dirksen on two occasions. We talked about the best way to go about getting your father and Revered Wright freed.''
Emily was struggling to keep up with developments. Edward had done all this, and he'd never told her, even when they'd spoken at the last ball. Why hadn't he said something?
''During one of my visits, Reverend Wright told me your father had been badly beaten by some men who came to the prison. The same men who had stolen all your father's money, his former accountants.''
Emily looked at her father who nodded.
''Unfortunately, these men also threatened your life, Emily.''
''What?'' Emily gasped. She was about to pour the tea but stopped as her hands began to tremble.
''They told your father that if he talked to the police about them, they would harm you.'' The Bishop stroked his sideburns and fiddled with a large ring on his little finger. ''Those same men turned up at the Duke of Marlborough's ball last year. Luckily I was able to warn Mr. Dirksen, and he threw them off your track by telling them that you weren't Emily Lucas.''
''He told them I was just a woman from a local village and that he barely knew me,'' Emily said, completing the Bishop's story. ''I need to go out now. Will you come with me?'' she asked.
''To where,'' her father asked.
''To Cobham Hall.''
*****
Emily jumped out of the coach before it had come to a halt and ran to the door. The door knocker shook on its base as she hammered with it. The butler looked startled when Emily ran past him without saying anything. ''Edward, Edward,'' she shouted frantically running from room to room.
''Mr. Edward is outside in the garden,'' the butler pointed out.
She ran to the back door and out into the garden. Again she shouted his name. Edward stopped reading the newspaper and looked across the terrace. W
hen he saw Emily, he jumped to his feet. ''I'm here.''
''Oh, Edward,'' she shouted as she ran to him. ''Edward, I'm so sorry, I have been terrible to you. Please forgive me. You must take me back. I don't want to live without you.'' She reached him and flung her arms around his neck.
''Calm yourself, Emily,'' he said.
''But how can I be calm after what I have done to you. I am a terrible person.''
''No, you are not. You are an adorable woman who I love very much, but thought I'd lost.''
''Will you ever forgive me? The Bishop and my father have told me how hard you have been working to secure my father's release. I will be forever in your debt.''
''The last time I spoke to you, you were engaged to another man,'' he reminded her.
''I want you, not him. The engagements off, as of this moment.''
He kissed her. ''In that case, why not get engaged to me instead?''
''Yes, yes, oh yes please,'' Emily said, ecstatically.
''Mr. Dirksen, thank you for all you have done to secure my release, I will be forever in your debt,'' Emily's father said when he and the Bishop had caught up.
''Not at all, sir. I am pleased you are now a free man.''
''But how exactly did you secure his release?'' Emily said still slightly confused. ''My father was convicted by a court, how did you get the decision reversed?''
''That was easy. You remember your father built a large extension onto this house?'' Emily nodded. ''I still have all the paperwork including a letter from Mr. Benjamin Harvie the accountant that your father employed at the time,'' Edward spoke slowly and deliberately. ''In the letter, Mr. Harvie informed me that I should pay the invoice for the work done into a different bank account than the one I had originally been given. As the letter was from a firm of professional accountants working on behalf of your father, I duly did as he requested.''
''And?'' Emily interrupted eagerly.
''It was a very large amount, I believe it was the largest job your father had ever done.'' Emily's father nodded. ''When I heard what had happened to your father, I went to the authorities and told them how much I had paid and asked them to investigate.'' Edward looked to see if Emily was still following. She was nodding keenly so he continued. ''They found that the account was in the name of Mr. Harvie himself, not his company. They also had no record of Mr. Harvie ever having declared this amount, and many other amounts which had flowed into his account, to the taxman. Mr. Harvie was arrested for tax evasion two days ago, and your father duly released.''
Emily sighed with relief. ''I have just one more question,'' she said. ''You didn't know about my father's plight until I told you, is that correct?'' Edward nodded. ''Then in effect, you did this for me.''
''I suppose so. But don't tell your father,'' he said with a grin.
''I love you, Edward Dirksen.'' Emily said.
*****
THE END
A Rake’s Revenge – A Regency Romance
''Andrew, I am sick and tired of your lies,'' Oscar Hammond said as his son listened to him for the umpteenth time. ''Your mother and I have discussed your behavior, and we have come to the conclusion that the constant stream of women, who seem to enter and leave your life with alarming regularity, is having a negative influence on your children's behavior.'' One of Oscar’s beloved Springer Spaniels jumped up and tried to sit on Andrew's lap.
The two gentlemen were sitting in Oscar's study in Thorpe Hall, which had been in the Hammond family for seven hundred years since King John had bestowed it on Angred Hammond for slaughtering a group of men who had robbed his mail coach.
Oscar, at sixty-three, was a man of considerable wealth. He owned three thousand acres and had more than two thousand tenants in various villages scattered around the area. Tall and gray haired, he was a solemn man totally devoid of humor.
His son, Andrew, was twenty-nine and the proud father of three children. Agnes, John, and Sarah. Nine, six and four respectively.
Oscar and his wife had tried for many years to have children, and when Andrew was born, they'd been thrilled that, at last, they had an heir to the family fortune. Femke Hammond, the third daughter of a Dutch aristocrat, had pleased her husband by having two more children, Maurice, and Jacqueline.
''Our family has a reputation, and you seem to be doing you best to destroy it,'' Oscar added.
I'm only trying to find a wife, you despicable man, Andrew thought. Georgina, his lovely wife, had died while giving birth to Sarah and her loss had utterly destroyed him. Left to bring up three young children he had been out of his depth. After two years, he'd decided to look for a new wife, but he'd found it impossible to find someone as beautiful and talented as Georgina. In his quest, he'd invited many women to his house, all of whom proved to be less than suitable. Unable to find a wife to match Georgina, the process had turned Andrew into something of a sexual predator, with little regard for women and their feelings. Now he'd abandoned all hope of finding a new bride and was playing the field unashamedly.
Andrew had no trouble in attracting women. Georgina had always worried that he was far too handsome and that he would be seduced by some wanton woman. He was tall and had dark brown hair. Women were attracted by his eyes, which were an unusual color of turquoise blue. They also loved his sense of humor and his gentle and relaxed nature.
''Father, I am looking for a wife, as I have told you on so many occasions. As I haven't found anyone suitable, my search will go on.'' Andrew sat back in the armchair and crossed his lean legs.
''If you carry on like this, I will disinherit you. You are a disgrace. How is the search for a new governess coming along?''
''I am interviewing candidates at the moment,'' Andrews replied.
''Indeed,'' Oscar said sarcastically. ''Is that what you call it. Well, you'd better find one and fast.''
Andrew got up and left the small study. As he walked down the corridor filled with paintings of his ancestors he bumped into a maid called Susan. As quick as a flash, he pulled her through the drawing room door and closed it behind him. ''Susan, when will you give yourself to me? I cannot wait to make love to you,'' he said taking her in his arms.
Susan liked Andrew and was perfectly willing to let him have his way with her. But she was terrified of Oscar and his wife finding out, and banishing her from the house with no reference. ''Mr. Andrew, you know I like you, give me some more time,'' she said as his hands wandered over her buttocks.
''Alright, but I want you very soon, don't forget.''
Andrew went on his way again down the long corridor and into the entrance hall where he put on his coat. It was April and still bitterly cold. The Hammonds had a tradition. The heir to the family fortune always lived in the Lodge. The Lodge was a smaller house than Thorpe Hall but nonetheless contained sixteen bedrooms. It was located at the other side of the garden. Andrew took the flagstone path, which was slippery after a shower, and looked up at the Lodge house. It was painted white with a navy blue front door, and white painted windows. There were two stone lions on either side of the front door, and the door-knocker was a brass eagle.
''Daddy,'' Sarah shouted as she toddled across the black and white tiled floor to meet her father.
He lifted her up. ''And what have you been up to while I have been talking to grandfather?''
''Playing with Benji.''
Benji was the family Golden Retriever, and Sarah had learned that if you threw a ball, he would run after it and bring it back time after time.
''Don't go tiring him out Sarah. Benji doesn't know when he should stop.''
''Where is Mrs. Patterson?'' he asked his youngest daughter.
''She's in the kitchen with Agnes and John.''
Andrew went into the large family kitchen and saw Agnes and John sitting at the pine table rolling dough. Mrs. Patterson, the cook and housekeeper, was patiently watching over them. She was in her mid-forties and married to the gardener, a huge man who after years of bending to remove weeds from the immaculate f
lower beds had developed a terrible stoop. She was a superb cook and not one of the family complained about anything she put in front of them. She looked like a cook, she was rotund and wore her hair up in a large bun.
''Mrs. Patterson, would you please prepare the guest bedroom, I have a visitor from tomorrow.''
Mrs. Patterson nodded. How many was that this year? she asked herself.
*****
Julia glanced at her parents grave and wiped away a tear. It had been two years since the accident and Julia had been to see them every day since. Her father had told the coach driver that he thought one of the horses was lame, but he hadn't listened and in excruciating pain the horse had tried to free itself. The coach was off the road and into a deep gorge. There were no survivors. As she always did, she kissed her hand and put it top the stone before she began the walk back to her Aunt’s house.
Aunt Isabella lived in a cute little manor house in the village of Tunberry, West Sussex. It was a typical English village. It had a green with a maypole, two inns, and a fourteenth-century church. It was the kind of place where everybody knew each other. When Julia arrived back at her aunt's, she walked up the garden path and entered the house via the front door. There was a smell of fresh bread and tea. She took off her coat and bonnet and hung them up. She was about to go into the kitchen when she heard her aunt talking. When she heard the other person, she cringed. It was Mrs. Mallinson, the village gossip.
''She's such a beautiful girl, it's quite perplexing,'' Mrs. Mallinson said.
''Julia is indeed a real beauty, but she has no ambition, no drive or enthusiasm. All she seems to do is hang around in the graveyard and read books.''
''But she wasn't like that as a child,'' Mrs. Mallinson observed. ''She was quite a character. I remember scolding her for stealing apples from my garden.''