Emma blinked. She liked that about her?
A sudden realization dawned. The greatest lesson she’d ever learned from her parents was that they would do anything for family. There were no limits. Even if they didn’t completely agree with her choices, they’d always loved her.
A wealth of tenderness filled her. No matter what happened, she was assured of their love and acceptance, if nothing else.
Her mother stood up and began walking around the room. Stopping at the vanity table, she picked up the brush and stroked the soft bristles before she wiped away another tear. “My dear, sweet, beautiful girl,” she said to Emma’s reflection in the mirror. “There comes a time in every mother’s life when she begins to realize her children won’t live with her indefinitely. She begins to see them through new eyes, and suddenly wonders where her place will be.”
“There’s no need to say this now,” she said, pressing a hand to her heart. This sounded too much like a farewell speech, even though nothing was going to change. Not really.
“That happened for me when Rathburn’s father died. I saw how quickly everything could change,” she continued, unaware of how her choice of words caused a peculiar shiver through Emma. “His mother was left alone, without the husband she loved so dearly. I saw you blossom into a woman when you decided to hold off your debut out of respect for the family that was as close as our own. It was then that I first began to see you, and I wondered how I could have missed you changing from a girl into a woman. To me, you were still the same little bundle I’d once held in my arms.”
Now, Emma fought back her own tears. “Mother, I’ll look dreadful if you keep this up. I’m not dying for heaven’s sake. Merely changing my address for a short time.” She laughed even as the tears spilled down her cheeks. “And if you ever return the parlor to its original state, I’ll return sooner.”
“Don’t be silly, we can sit in any room,” her mother said with a light in her eyes that Emma was going to miss, even for a day or two.
Suddenly, she wondered why having her mother turn the parlor into a studio ever embarrassed her at all.
“It’s getting late. Drink your tea while I finish what I came in here to tell you.”
She took a sip of her fragrant tea, letting the scent and flavor calm her nerves. Then, even though she wasn’t the least bit hungry, she took a bite of dry toast and washed it down with more tea.
“The marriage bed can be a wonderful place.”
Emma spit out her tea all over the coverlet.
Her mother paid no attention. “On the day I married your father, my mother came into my room and gave me a terrifying speech about duty and patience and a man’s baser nature. To tell you the truth, the speech left me so shaken, had it not been for the fact that I was already carrying your brother, he might never have been conceived.”
Celestine Danvers waited a beat while that tidbit of information settled in, and when Emma’s eyes widened, she nodded. “That’s right, your brother was not born prematurely. Your father and I were too much in love. For us, waiting to be together was as impossible as deciding not to breathe.”
“I don’t think I want to hear any more.”
Her mother smiled. “Since our complete expression of love came as a surprise to me, in the best possible way, I want it to be a surprise for you, too. So, I’m not going to give you my mother’s speech. I’m going to let you discover this wonderful treasure for yourself.”
Emma blinked. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”
Never mind the fact that she and Rathburn were not going to discover treasure—wonderful or otherwise—she was curious, and this might be her only chance to learn what married women talked about in hushed voices. After enduring this ruse and losing her heart in the process, she felt as if she deserved more.
“I think this way is better.” Her mother tapped the tip of her finger against her lips the way her father did with his pipe. No doubt, she’d finally remembered the annulment at the most inopportune moment. “I’ll have Tillie bring up water for a bath. Oh, and by the way, Maudette has decided to live with her sister in the country.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
* * *
“I never would have believed the annoying little mouse that nipped at my heels would one day turn into . . . you,” Rafe said as she descended the stairs in her gown an hour later. A poet, he was not. However, his smile was genuine. When she took his proffered hand, he leaned in close. “If this isn’t what you want, just say the word. I’ve ordered my carriage to follow, just in case.”
If she weren’t so shocked by the offer, she might have cried. For the first time, she realized how difficult this must be for him. Not once in the past weeks had she recalled the event that had changed him forever. Now, she knew how difficult it was for him to make that offer. After all, six years ago he’d been the one standing alone at the altar. His bride-to-be had fled without a word, leaving him broken in more ways than just his heart.
“Thank you,” she whispered, overwhelmed by the amount of tenderness she felt for her brother. “But I want this—for Rathburn’s sake.”
He arched a brow at her hasty correction. “Then for Rathburn’s sake alone, we should get you to the church.”
When he laughed, the tenderness she felt evaporated in a rise of annoyance. Really, this was no time to tease. However, by the time she was in the carriage with her parents beaming at her as if still delighted by this deception, she realized her brother had done her a favor in stealing away some of her nervousness. She quickly forgave him.
It was a short drive to St. George’s. Perhaps even too short. Her friends were all waiting for her on the stairs in front of the cathedral, each of them beautiful in her rose muslin gown. From the corner of her eye, she watched Rafe exit his carriage and say a few words to the driver. When he caught her gaze, he touched his fingers to the brim of his top hat and gave her a nod. The driver was at her disposal.
She swallowed down a tide of emotion, but held on to her composure as he quietly escorted their mother up the stairs.
Vaguely, Rathburn became aware of a twinge in his neck and the sound of hushed voices nearby. Not only that, but someone was kicking his foot. “Wake up, princess.”
Danvers. He’d recognize that taunting voice anywhere. “What are you doing here?”
“I’d ask the same of you, if my sister weren’t on the steps outside this very moment.”
Rathburn’s eyes flew open. He jolted forward, nearly toppling from the bench. The familiar walls and dark wood furnishings of the vestry came into focus. Only now did he remember arriving at the church before dawn. Everything had to be perfect. Just in case . . . she still wanted to marry him after he told her everything.
Wait. What time was it? “Emma. Here? Already?” He must have fallen asleep. Apparently, the long hours from the past few days had taken their toll.
He hadn’t seen Emma for days and wasn’t certain of her frame of mind. Therefore, he had no idea how she would react to what he planned to tell her.
However, by the time he’d arrived at Danbury Lane last night, her parents had said she’d retired. That was when he’d come up with the brilliant—ha!—plan to speak with her this morning. Only this morning had already gotten away from him, too.
“Ready for the ball, princess?”
Straightening his cravat, Rathburn glowered.
Danvers laughed. “You know, I think I’m going to like having you for a brother.”
“Which isn’t likely to happen unless I can steal your sister away, for a moment, before the ceremony.”
“And why is that?” He arched a brow, but his amused speculation quickly turned into irritation. “Bugger! You haven’t told her yet, have you?”
“There wasn’t time.” Rathburn was an idiot to have left the truth of his inheritance unsaid this long. But each time he’d thought it was the perfect time to tell her, something always pulled him away. Now, this was his absolute final chance.
/> “You think the dowager will let you cause a scene by speaking to the bride before the wedding?”
They both knew the answer to that.
Danvers was pacing now, raking a hand through his hair. “Give me a note and I’ll take it to her.”
“That won’t do.” He shook his head. “This is too important not to be said directly.”
“Too important!” His friend scoffed at him. “This from a man who waits until the bells are ringing?”
“Point taken.”
“Here’s what you do,” Danvers said, gesturing with his hands in a way that looked as if he held an invisible bowl between them. “The moment you see her, the instant before the ceremony, you tell her. She’ll still have time then.”
Incredulous, Rathburn stared. “Tell her? How the bloody hell am I going to tell her in front of everyone?”
“I don’t know,” he growled. “Just . . . let her know that the original purpose for your mock betrothal is no longer a factor. Let her know this is real for you.”
“No longer a factor . . .” Rathburn nodded. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it could work. She would still have time to make her choice. “You’re brilliant.”
The man he’d always considered a brother let out a breath that eased the tension in his expression and then grinned at him. “It took you this long to figure that out?”
Emma turned to Penelope, Merribeth, and Delaney while her father waited a few steps away. Having forgotten their gifts at the last needlework meeting earlier this week, she presented them now, handing over three narrow boxes. The morning light shimmered over the slender strands of pearls and was accompanied by excited praises as they were admired.
While Merribeth and Delaney fastened each other’s necklaces, Penelope stepped forward, and took her gently by the shoulders. “Emma Danvers,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Stop, or you’ll drive yourself mad.”
“You’re a bit too late on that account.” Emma tried to laugh, but failed miserably. “I was mad to agree to this in the beginning. It was never supposed to get this far. Now, I expect the ground to start quaking at my feet. In the very least, the walls of the church will collapse on me.” The words were supposed to come out as a joke. Instead, they came on a river of panic.
“I know it might feel that way, but you took a leap of faith in the beginning, not a leap of insanity.” She offered a reassuring smile. “The most important thing to remember is the reason you trusted Rathburn enough to agree in the first place. That reason is still with you, inside your heart.”
Yes, the reason filled her heart now. Her love for him. She trusted Rathburn to know what he was doing. As soon as he received his inheritance, they would get an annulment. Simple as that.
No. Not simple. She didn’t want an annulment.
She wanted to mean more to him. She wanted her friends to be right about the way they said he looked at her and teased her. She wanted to give herself over to the dream of what their lives could be, without fear of her heart shattering to pieces. She wanted . . .
Emma sighed and gave Penelope a nod of understanding. For Rathburn’s sake, for the sake of his father’s memory, and for the sake of the hospital, she would tuck her own yearnings for this to be a true marriage away, adding another secret to the monstrous pile. She had to see this through.
Climbing the stairs with her friends, her father met them halfway. Then, one by one, Delaney, Merribeth, and Penelope walked into the church. As Emma walked down the aisle on her father’s arm, sunlight streamed in through the arched stained glass windows, blinding her to everyone around her. She feared she would faint. It was only when she neared the altar that she saw Rathburn clearly. Her gaze fixed on him as if he alone could see her through this.
Instantly, she felt herself relax.
He was quite dashing in his dark blue morning coat, silver satin waistcoat and gray breeches. His eyes gleamed like emeralds in the light. The grin he flashed matched the whiteness of his cravat and gloves as he lifted a hand to take hers. She drew in a deep breath that settled her nerves.
Her father took his cue and relinquished his hold, offering her into Rathburn’s care—for the time being. When she felt the warmth of Oliver’s palm beneath her fingers, every concern she had melted away.
“I want you to know,” he whispered, holding her gaze with his intensity, “that the original reason for why we are here, in the church this very moment, is no longer a factor. This is real for me.”
A nervous laugh nearly bubbled out. She had no idea what he meant, but it sounded lovely. “Yes, quite real for me, as well.”
He seemed inordinately pleased—and relieved—by her response. His breath stirred the veil against her cheek. “Then, shall we dive off this cliff together, Emma-mine?”
She was surprised at how eagerly the perfect—and most foolish—response floated from her lips. “Headfirst.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
* * *
Married to Emma.
Rathburn blew out a breath and pressed a fist to the center of his chest. A tight knot of guilt churned inside him. He’d realized on the carriage ride here that he should have given her more time to decide if this was what she truly wanted. Not waited until they were standing at the altar.
He hadn’t even thought about what it would be like to bring her home. Completely alone with him. Home. No longer his home, but theirs. Yes. They would make a life here. After all, he knew she loved him. We share a heart.
And with the memory of her sweet whisper, the knot in his chest loosened marginally.
Still, he wasn’t going to remain here a moment longer, unless she was certain. Through some miracle of self-control, he hadn’t touched her. If she changed her mind, they could still get an annulment.
The knot tightened again, squeezing painfully.
He’d had Woodson pack a bag of his things, just in case. Her reputation would be safe . . . but only if he left right away.
There was absolutely no more time to waste. He must speak with Emma now.
Emma stood in the viscountess’s bedchamber at Hawthorne Manor. She was a fool to have believed that nothing would change between them. Then again, she’d never fully believed it. From that first moment in the study, with her parents encouraging her to embark on this calamity with Rathburn, she’d known everything would change.
She’d been right. Everything had changed, at least for her. Against all reason—against the purpose of their bargain—she’d fallen in love with him.
Not to mention, their marriage had altered her place in society and how people saw her. She was no longer looked through. No longer judged and found wanting. This morning’s lavish wedding breakfast had proven as much. At last, she fit in.
But that was part of her deception, as well. They didn’t know her secret.
With a sigh, Emma stared at her surroundings. The room was decorated exactly as she would have done. Rathburn had an uncanny way of knowing her thoughts, even—it seemed—before she knew them herself.
When they’d arrived, the entire staff had lined up outside the doors, ready to greet the newlyweds, not knowing that an annulment loomed overhead. Since she’d known the servants for years, there’d been no awkward series of introductions, just cheers and many felicitations for the best of marriages. Of course, after Rathburn boldly carried her across the threshold, it would make their sudden separation that much harder for everyone to understand.
An annulment would change everything again. Not back to the way it was—no, she was not foolish enough to believe that—but to some other state of existence. After all, she would be losing a husband and a friend who meant more to her than her mind could comprehend. However, her heart knew and it was already breaking.
How could she bear to lose him when her love was so raw and new?
Staring through the glass door that led to the balcony, she let out a shaky breath and tried in vain to win the battle over her tears. A soft knock fell on the door.
Assuming
it was her maid, she called, “I’ll need another moment.” Then she remembered she had no maid. Though Rathburn had likely sent one of his servants to tend to her.
The door closed with a nearly inaudible click. “I find that there are varying degrees to moments.”
She started at the sound of Rathburn’s voice, but did not turn. The only thing worse than one of his maids seeing her this way would be to let him. She hoped he hadn’t heard the catch in her voice or noticed how she used her gloves to blot the tears from her cheeks.
His footsteps approached slowly, the sound of his boots muffled on the plush carpet. “For some, a moment is a single span of a breath, a blink of an eye. While for others it can last what seems like an age.”
“Three whole breaths?” she quipped, averting her face to blot her cheeks again.
“Sometimes I’ve even heard it drawn out to four.” He came up behind her, standing close enough so that she could feel the heat of him, along with the strength and support he offered. He was such a good friend to her. A best friend, actually. She never knew until recently how much she’d relied on him being part of her life. And now she could lose him forever.
A fresh fall of tears began and her breathing hitched with a slight jerk of her shoulders.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her. With the pads of his thumbs, he gently began wiping away her tears. “See here . . . what’s all this about? Did the stress of the day finally crash you against the rocks?”
Daring Miss Danvers Page 16