She ran from the room, holding her head high. She would not cry. She’d already shed too many tears for Andrew.
There would be no more.
A stray thought stopped her in the hall. She could marry Andrew if she wished. He had never retracted his proposal.
Is that what I want?
She would know the answer to that question tomorrow.
Chapter 40
Andrew sat on the rock, a pile of smooth stones at his feet. The pond was frozen, but the snowfall had only lasted for a day. Still, the cold air bit into his lungs and reminded him he had survived hell. This time, hell was of his own making—a necessary ordeal to help him heal.
Would Emily come? He hadn’t waited for an answer. Dinner had been announced, and he and Ralston had gone to their places. To spite him, the Countess of Langston had placed him far away from Emily, but Ralston had been luckier. His seat had been next to hers, although he’d said they had not discussed Andrew’s situation. Too many ears.
He reached for his shoulder out of habit, surprised the pain was gone. Lester was also gone, but not incarcerated. The Marquis of Dunston had intervened, and Lester had been transported. Apparently, the plot had been Wentworth’s idea. The man had known of a theft Lester had committed years ago and used it to bend him to his will.
That matter was now firmly in the past. In the present was Emily and where he stood with her.
He shuddered as he recalled a quote from Euripides. “Stronger than lover’s love is lover’s hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.”
A footfall on the path alerted him, and he stood, waiting for Emily to approach. Today she was garbed in her heavy pelisse. Her bonnet covered her ears, and her hands hid in a muff. The face peeking out from under the bonnet had rosy cheeks.
“Shall we go on to the summerhouse? At least we’d be out of the wind there.”
She nodded and took his arm as they ambled silently around the edge of the lake to the other side, the walk taking less than ten minutes. He didn’t remark on her silence, glad she’d even come, but did not feel at all confident about their future. In the past, she’d been ever the docile daughter, doing whatever her parents suggested. When apart from them, she’d followed her own course.
How will she go on now?
They sat inside and looked out at the frozen lake. Some of the trees surrounding it still had unmelted snow on their upper boughs, making them look fairylike as the sun glistened on drops that fell to the ground. Emily sat facing forward. Andrew took care not to touch her, wanting desperately to rekindle the close friendship they’d once shared, and in time . . .? He would not dwell on that now.
She turned to him and smiled. “You’re quite recovered then? You seemed pale when I saw you last night.”
“I am more than pale. I am positively ashen. But a little sunshine and walks in the fresh air should bring health back to my ravaged body.”
She removed her gloved hands from her muff and set it aside so she could remove her bonnet. “But you’re better.”
“Indeed. I haven’t felt this well in months. My appetite has returned, and while my energy is not fully back, I feel confident I’ll be my old self soon.”
She looked at him then, full in the face, and took his hand in hers. He’d always found her hands to be strong—a musician’s hands. As her gloved fingers, still warm from the muff, closed over his, he searched her face. Weeks ago she’d said she’d forgiven him, but he hadn’t been certain even after the night they’d spent together. After witnessing the encounter with Wentworth, she’d seemed almost to hate him. Then he’d heard her impassioned voice when he was enduring his agony, and he knew she’d forgiven him once again. The knowledge had given him strength to face his demons. To be honest, he wasn’t sure if her forgiveness mattered anymore. What did matter was that he’d forgiven himself. At long last. The self-imposed weight of guilt was gone.
“When I visited George, I heard you raving. I wanted to go to you—as a friend—to help you in any way I could. But Lord Ralston said I was not to see you, that you didn’t want me there. And then you cried out and told me to go away.”
“Did I? I was out of my mind at various times, but if I said it, I meant it. My affliction tore me to shreds. I wanted no one to see me, certainly not you.”
“But you came through it, and I-I am proud of you, Andrew. I wasn’t sure you would do it.” She paused and looked away, ever the lady, wanting always to appear composed. “Did you do it for me?”
He dropped her hand and cupped her face between his palms. “No, Emily. I did it for me. I was told quite plainly by the physician I consulted that to be successful I had to want to endure the hell called withdrawal, and it would not do if I did it for you or for George. It had to come from within, a conviction so strong it overpowered all arguments my mind put up. I had reached the lowest level a human being could shrink to. I put aside everything for my medicine. Nothing else mattered. Not you, not George, not common decency. Once I decided I could not live like that a moment longer, my healing began.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t. But I want you to know now. I shall not go back. I shall not become addicted to anything again.”
“Then you no longer want it?”
He laughed and dropped his hands. “I didn’t say that. ’Tis peculiar. I still crave it. But I know I must not give in, and thank God I have my strength of will back. I admit to taking a sip or two of brandy when the need overtakes me. It doesn’t control me like the drug did.”
“Then I am happy for you and for George.” She paused and clutched at her skirt. “Is he still to get the pony for Christmas?”
“He is. I hope you can be there tomorrow morning when I take him to the stableyard.” He studied his hands. “I know your parents do not approve of me and will not want you to visit.”
“Then they shall frown and shake their heads in disbelief and wonder what they did to raise such a disobedient daughter because I shall be there. What time do you wish me to attend you?”
He let out a held breath in relief. “You’ll come? George will be ecstatic. He-he has grown quite fond of you.”
“And I him.” She took both of his hands this time. “I, too, have changed. Mine was not as dramatic as yours, but it was still necessary. I have declared my independence. If I wish to visit you and spend time with George, I shall. Gossips can have their day, although our story is old and tired, and there are many others to provide fodder for gossip mills.”
He should have been happy, but something inside him flickered out, like an ember that briefly caught but had nothing to burn. He’d hoped she would change her mind and trust him enough to finally accept his proposal. But he would not force a decision—not now, anyway.
“Then we both have something to celebrate.”
They sat in silence, their hands entwined, watching a bird skittering on the pond and flying off. “I must go.” Emily rose and retied her bonnet, but her hands—cold now—didn’t get the ribbons tight enough.
“Here, let me do this while you slip your hands in your muff.”
They stood facing each other, and for a moment, a feeling of helplessness overwhelmed him. But her eyes never looked away as he retied the ribbons. As she was about to step back, he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. They were soft and yielding, a moment of trust in an uncertain future. His eyes closed as he pulled her into his body, relishing the softness of the curves he could feel even through layers of clothing. His cock hardened with the memory of her lying naked in his arms—one night of indiscretion, one night of passion at a time he was sure she would relent and marry him. He deepened the kiss as her mouth opened under his, and her little murmurs of pleasure drove him wild.
A cold blast of air reminded him where they were. He stepped back, breathing hard, h
is new sense of propriety pushing aside his raging desire.
“I apologize, Emily. I got carried away.”
“No need.” She bent down and picked up the muff that had fallen to the ground. “I must hurry back. Tomorrow is Christmas, and there is much to do. Mama is overseeing dinner, but I promised to help.”
“Then I shall let you go.”
“Tell George I shall be by tomorrow with a gift—early.”
“Seeing you will be gift enough.”
She reached up and touched his cheek. “Stay strong, Andrew. What you accomplished is remarkable.”
He closed his hand over hers, then let it drop. She stepped away and walked briskly toward her house.
He smiled to himself as he recalled her response to his kiss.
There is yet hope that she will be my wife.
He picked up his hat and strode off.
Chapter 41
Christmas morning dawned bright, and the glare of the sun shining in her windows woke Emily early. She hadn’t drawn her bed-curtains, not being one to lie abed. She had somewhere to go this morning, and she didn’t want to be late.
Mama would sleep until noon, having stayed up late. Papa would be at breakfast and then in his study until Mama rose. If she moved quietly, she could get to Andrew’s before George woke up and be back home before Mama was ready to open gifts.
She dressed quickly in an old gown, donned sturdy boots and her woolen cape. She told Alice she wanted to walk a bit before breakfast, a habit she had developed years ago.
Thank God the weather is fine.
She hurried to the lake, then around the other side, past the summerhouse, and on to Cardmore Hall. Scurrying around to the front door, she knocked, waiting as if she’d arrived by carriage.
“My lady.” The butler ushered her in.
“Is Master George up yet?”
“Not that I have heard. Lord Cardmore asked me to escort you to the breakfast room as soon as you arrived.”
“Thank you.”
She handed him her coat and hat and gloves and followed him to the small chamber at the back of the house.
Andrew stood as she entered. “You came. I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Of course I came. I promised George, and I would not have made such a promise if I couldn’t keep it.”
Andrew gestured for the footman to bring her a cup of tea. “Would you care for something to eat? There is a full sideboard if you are hungry.”
“Tea is fine. When will George rise?”
“Nanny sent word he is getting dressed.”
“And Ralston?”
“Still abed.”
“You are enjoying this, aren’t you, Drew?”
He laughed. “George is my son. Not of my body, whether or not you believe me, but of my soul. I’ve grown to love the rascal very much.”
She looked at her hands and blinked. Should she believe him? Ralston had been adamant. Andrew had lied when he told Wentworth he’d bedded Caroline to make the man falter. But her doubts held despite her desire to throw them to the wind and risk all.
Running footsteps clattered on the stairs as George barreled into the room with Mrs. Townsend following.
“You’re here.” He stopped and threw himself into Emily’s open arms.
“I am.”
“Did you bring me a present?” His eager face tilted up, and his face showed a missing tooth.
“Not with me, but I shall send it over later. But what’s this? A tooth has gone missing.”
“I wiggled it with my finger, and it popped out.”
Mrs. Townsend nodded. “Brave he was. Showed his papa right away.”
Emily lowered herself to her haunches in a most unladylike pose to be even with the child’s face. “I think your papa has a surprise for you.”
“Do you, sir?”
Andrew stood. “I believe so. Shall we see?”
George danced excitedly and took Andrew’s hand, holding his other out to her. The little hand was warm and trusting, and Emily swallowed the lump in her throat.
If only he was my child.
He could be if only she would allow herself to trust again. But the moment was for George as they trudged out to the stable.
“Are we going somewhere in the carriage?”
“Not today,” Andrew answered. He grinned and kept moving forward.
When they reached the paddock beyond the stable, Andrew hoisted George up, swinging him onto his shoulders. “Tell me what you see in the corner.”
George squealed. “A pony! Is it mine?”
“It is.”
“Can you call him over?”
Andrew let George down and rapped on the fence. The little horse trotted over. “Here. Hold out your hand.”
Drew reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Inside were pieces of an apple. He dropped one into George’s hand and motioned for George to extended it through the fence. The pony came over and picked the apple piece up with his teeth.”
“It tickles, Papa.”
“Does it now. Then you may give him the rest, one piece at a time until it feels quite natural.”
Emily swallowed and kept a smile on her face. The child had gone through much and survived. He deserved this special gift. “How long has the pony been here?”
Andrew tilted his head. “A little more than a week.”
Emily put her hand on the child’s shoulder. “What will you name him, George?”
“I get to name him?” He seemed incredulous such a grave responsibility was his.
“He’s yours, son. But think on it a bit. Once you get to know him, a name might pop into your head.”
“Oh, thank you, sir.” He grasped Andrew around the waist. Emily’s eyes met Drew’s, and she was sure a bit of moisture lingered there.
“We’ll go back into the house now, and you can open your other gifts. Then maybe we can persuade Lady Emily to stay and visit with us.”
“Can you?”
She hesitated. Mama would be rising from her bed, and Father might be wondering where she’d gone. “I’d love to stay, but I have to get back to my family.”
George stood back and widened his eyes. “But we are your family, Lady Emily, aren’t we?”
Oh Lord, she wanted it to be true.
Instead, she leaned down and kissed George’s cheek, then turned and strode off toward the lake rather than have the child see tears in her eyes.
The emotions in her chest swirled out of control like leaves blowing in a brisk wind. The maelstrom carried her swiftly to the edge of the lake and into the summerhouse where she sat to catch her breath while hot tears washed her cheeks.
But we are your family . . .
She’d let her affection for a small child blossom into full-blown love. Yes, she wished with all her heart she could be part of his family. His father—not his father—whatever Drew was to the child, was part of it. She loved Andrew Quimby. There could never be another, and she’d warned him not to propose because she couldn’t allow herself to trust a man who had hurt her in the past.
A man who has clearly changed.
Footsteps rushing along the path brought the man into view. Had she conjured him up in her imagination, or willed him to find her through her longing?
She stilled, knowing her soul was raw, and emotions on the surface made her vulnerable.
I don’t care.
He stopped in front of her, nearly a head taller, anguish twisting his features.
“Emily . . .”
She stepped into his open arms and pressed her body to his, his heart beating beneath her ear as his arms tightened around her. Sobs shook her as he held her. When she could breathe again, she stepped b
ack. His eyes had softened, and a wry smile sat on his lips.
“George isn’t the only one who wants you in his life. I want you, too. Can you not forgive the past? It took me a long time to forgive myself for wronging you, for not standing up to my father, for not telling him to go to the hell he believed in, that I could make my way in the world without his help. But I was a coward then, and I hated myself for getting into the situation I’d found myself in. I did as he ordered, and then I ran.” Without letting go of her hand, he led her to the bench, and they both sat down.
“You weren’t a coward. Your conduct in the war was proof.”
He made a sound like a laugh, only the expression on his face was a grimace. “I’d had enough of war, of blood, of screaming, and men dying. I ordered the bloody retreat without being told to do so. When we fell back and made it to camp, I’d been told a similar order had been posted, but I had never received it. I was lauded . . . lauded . . . for what was in my mind was an act of cowardice. I retreated to stop the slaughter. I was afraid, Emily. I was no hero.”
“You’re too hard on yourself.” She had herself under control now. “You saved lives. Allow yourself to bask in the glory others wish to give you. As I told you, I forgave you for leaving me years ago.”
His hand tightened on hers, and he seemed to search her face. “Then why did you tell me you would not accept if I asked you to marry me?”
She looked down at their clasped fingers. “I was afraid to be hurt again, not knowing if you’d changed. Now I know you have.”
His hands reached up and framed the sides of her face. “Can you love me, Emily? Can you bring yourself to become my wife and George’s mother?”
Scandal's Promise Page 26