“You cannot mean to say—”
“What in the hell—”
“It was all perfectly innocent,” Emma said, rushing to explain. “I walked over to his property, hoping to run into him in the area by the workshop and have another look at the machine he is working on, but I got lost and it began to rain.
“Thankfully, Lord Kendall found me. We took shelter from the storm in the workshop, but the rain never stopped. As the hour grew late, we fell asleep. I awoke first and hurried home, sneaking into the manor before anyone saw me.”
Carter and Dorothea once again grew silent, staring at her in amazement. Emma could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment. “It was all perfectly innocent and respectable,” she repeated, gesturing helplessly.
Carter gave her a skeptical look. “You spent the night alone with a man. I doubt that anyone will agree it was innocent or respectable if this incident is revealed.”
Emma rubbed her forehead nervously. “But it must be told,” she exclaimed. “’Tis the only way to prove Jon’s innocence.”
“Jon?” Dorothea’s brow rose fractionally at the familiarity. “Emma, is there something else you wish to tell us?”
“No,” Emma replied vehemently.
“Carter?” Looking uneasy, Dorothea turned to her husband. “What should we do?”
Carter’s jaw firmed. “Emma’s right. It could take weeks, even months to find the real killer. Or worse, he might never be found. This is the only way to quickly prove that Kendall was not involved in the baron’s death. She must tell the truth.”
“It will cause a scandal,” Dorothea warned.
“It will save a man’s life,” Carter replied. “I’ll have a note sent to the other magistrates and convene a meeting at the reverend’s residence this afternoon. Emma will tell them what she knows about the events of last night.”
“Would it not be better to have them summoned here?” Dorothea questioned.
“No. They need to support my decision to let Kendall go and I want to avoid any appearance of intimidation. Emma must be believed or else her revelations will be for naught.”
Emma swallowed a deep breath of air. “Why would they think I am lying?”
“You are a woman,” Carter said bluntly. “Directly contradicting the word of two men.”
Dorothea’s eyes widened and she turned to Emma. “Would you like me to come with you, Emma? For moral support.”
Emma’s stomach dipped. She had not anticipated needing to tell anyone other than Dorothea and Carter about spending the night with Jon. And the possibility that she would not be believed had never once crossed her mind.
She forced a brave smile to her face. “I think it best if only Carter accompanies me.”
Dorothea leaned forward and slid her arms around Emma. “As you wish.”
Emma felt a rush of tears gather in her eyes. The repercussions from the scandal she was about to create by revealing her involvement with the viscount would also taint Dorothea and Carter. Yet Dorothea remained supportive.
Emma was grateful. It helped give her some much-needed courage to do what was necessary to save Jon’s life.
* * *
The queasiness in Emma’s stomach increased dramatically when they arrived at the reverend’s cottage. By the time the coach came to a full stop, it felt as though there were butterflies battling inside her. Carter exited first, gestured the footman aside, and offered her his hand.
Grateful for the support, Emma took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped down. She continued to cling to her brother-in-law when the reverend’s wife greeted them at the door and held on even tighter when the older woman led them to a modestly decorated drawing room.
The reverend and two other gentlemen waited for them. Carter introduced Squire Hornsby and Mr. DeBore, and Emma could tell by Carter’s respectful manner, these men clearly had standing and influence in the community. She swallowed hard, knowing Jon’s fate rested upon these men believing her.
Refusing any refreshments, Emma awkwardly took a seat. She would have preferred to remain standing, as it would afford her a fast way to exit, but if she didn’t sit, the men would have to also stay on their feet.
“Emma has something important to tell us about Lord Brayer’s murder,” Carter said directly.
All eyes turned toward her. Emma felt her heart lurch, yet she was grateful Carter had gotten so quickly to the matter at hand. He nodded at her encouragingly, putting her very slightly at ease.
Emma took a deep breath. “Lord Kendall has explained that he was at his workshop last night at the time Lord Brayer was attacked and killed. However, he has omitted one very important fact. Lord Kendall was not alone. I was with him.”
She paused a moment to let that revelation register. The men exchanged glances before casting a nervous eye in Carter’s direction. He nodded, silently giving his permission for them to question her further. Emma braced herself.
“For how long?” the reverend asked.
“Until dawn,” Emma replied.
Squire Hornsby sucked in a whistling breath, while the reverend appeared properly shocked. Emma tried to maintain her composure, but it faltered a bit when she noticed that Mr. DeBore was unable to completely contain his smirk.
“So, you would have us believe that Kendall is not a murderer, merely a debaucher of innocent young women?” Mr. DeBore asked.
“He is neither,” Emma said firmly, her face heating. “He was a perfect gentleman. We were caught in the rainstorm and fell asleep. Nothing inappropriate occurred between us.”
“Based on this new evidence, I am releasing Kendall,” Carter announced, moving forward to stand at Emma’s side.
“Not so fast,” Squire Hornsby interjected, raising his hand. “There are two men who say otherwise. They swear that it was Kendall with Lord Brayer.”
“They are mistaken,” Carter said firmly, shooting a look at the squire that would have most men quaking in their boots.
The squire opened his mouth again, and Emma held her breath, waiting for the next objection. However, Hornsby must have thought better of it, as his mouth quickly closed.
Though Carter claimed he wanted to avoid intimidating his fellow magistrates, he had apparently changed his mind. The three men exchanged nervous glances.
The reverend cleared his throat. “I think Lord Atwood makes a valid point.”
Squire Hornsby snorted, yet voiced no other objections. Nervously, Emma looked to Mr. DeBore. He nodded his head slowly in agreement.
The trembling in Emma’s belly quieted. Jon would be freed.
But at what price to her?
Chapter Eight
Emma sat primly in the brocade chair, her hands clasped demurely in her lap while Dorothea paced in front of her, muttering beneath her breath.
“I will say it again, Emma, as Viscount Kendall will be here shortly,” Dorothea sputtered. “He is an honorable man. He knows the sacrifice that you made by coming forward and clearing his name. Carter and I are both certain that he will propose. And when he does, you must accept.”
“You are overreacting,” Emma replied, striving for a soothing tone.
“I wish that I was,” Dorothea announced, her face clouding with concern. “I can see no other way, nor can Carter. We were up half the night, racking our brains for an alternative, yet I fear that this is the only possible solution.”
Emma stilled. It was foolish of her to have been lulled into a sense of false security, to have believed that she might emerge from the incident unscathed. Yet it had all been surprisingly calm and normal when she and Carter had returned from the reverend’s house yesterday afternoon.
Dorothea had not pressed her for details, though Emma was certain Carter had told his wife everything the moment they were alone. The unpleasantness of the meeting with the magistrates had gradually begun to fade and Emma had deliberately pushed away any lingering anxiety over the experience.
Then, at supper, Carter received a
note from Lord Kendall, expressing his gratitude and confirming the nobleman had been released from prison and the charges against him dropped.
There had also been a note for Emma.
Miss Ellingham,
It is my sincere hope that you will receive me when I call at Ravenswood Manor tomorrow morning.
Your servant,
Kendall
Brief, formal, and to the point. Emma had crumbled the fine velum into a tight ball and shoved it into the pocket of her gown. She clutched it now as she gazed at her sister.
“I was fully aware that there would be gossip to endure once the truth about that night was revealed,” Emma said slowly, determined to make her sister understand—and support—her position. “However, you must believe me when I tell you that I am unafraid of any scandal that may result from it, for I have done nothing disgraceful or reprehensible. All I did was tell the truth to ensure that an innocent man was set free.”
“Unfortunately, the truth involved a scandalous revelation and the price for retaining even a modicum of your good name is your freedom.”
Dorothea sent her a compassionate look that dispatched a cold shiver down Emma’s spine.
“No,” she whispered.
“You are ruined, Emma,” Dorothea said gently. “You spent the night, alone, with a man who is not your husband. That, by most people’s standards, is unacceptable.”
“Nothing happened between us,” Emma insisted.
“Then why do you blush such a charming shade of red each time you say that to me?”
Emma blanched, damning her sister’s observant eye. Jon’s kisses had awakened something fiery within her, a passion that even in her naïveté she realized could consume her. It intrigued her, even tantalized her, yet she knew she had the strength to resist it.
Marriage! Nay, ’twas an impossibility. Having seen the joy her sisters experienced sharing their lives with men whom they loved—and loved them—Emma knew it would be a daily struggle for her to settle for far less.
“The appearance of impropriety is hardly a good enough reason to take such a bold step as marriage,” Emma said. “We barely know each other.”
A kind sympathy lit Dorothea’s eyes. “Be that as it may, ’tis your only choice.”
Emma felt a grip of panic seize her chest. She knew all too well that stubborn set of Dorothea’s jaw meant her sister had made up her mind—and it would be nigh on impossible to change it.
“Since when have you been so beholden to the dictates of the ton?” Emma questioned desperately. “You have no hesitation in flaunting society’s conventions when it comes to raising your children.”
“Nursing my babes within the privacy of my own home is hardly comparable, Emma.”
Emma let out a long, deep sigh. “I’m not certain I can do it.”
“Oh, Emma.” Dorothea clasped Emma’s hands. “Kendall is a fine man, with a deep sense of honor. He could have revealed the truth himself, yet he chose to protect you. I know that he will treat you with courtesy and respect. ’Tis not a bad foundation upon which to build a good marriage.”
Emma felt her heart slowly sink as the vise of reality closed around her. Dorothea was right. It was going to be impossible to weather this scandal. There was no other choice. Despite all her misgivings, when the viscount asked, she was going to have to say yes.
God help them both.
* * *
The longer Emma sat, alone, in the drawing room, the more intense the enormity of her impending meeting with the viscount, and its consequences, rattled her. He had arrived nearly an hour ago. Coward that she was, Emma had hid abovestairs, catching only a brief glimpse of him as he was whisked into Carter’s study. The two had been in there all that time, no doubt discussing the terms of the marriage contract.
Marriage contract! Have I utterly lost my mind?
Too uneasy to sit any longer, Emma sprang from her chair and began pacing in front of the long windows. The sun was struggling to move out from behind an enormous cloud. A sign of things to come? Yet what would mark a victory for Emma—the emergence of light or the darkness of rain?
She wanted to approach the situation with logic instead of emotion, but it was impossible. Marriage was an emotional and physical commitment. Or at least it should be.
He had deeply loved another woman, she reminded herself. A woman who is now a widow and free to marry again—after a respectable period of mourning. Yet propriety and honor will instead force him to take me as his wife. The reality of that bothered Emma far more than she cared to acknowledge.
And I loved another man. Does that not make us the perfect society couple?
The ironic humor should have brought a smile to her lips; instead Emma was unable to completely suppress the sob that rose in her chest. With a shudder, she covered her mouth with her hands.
Maybe Lord Kendall will refuse to make the match, she thought frantically, yet even as the idea was forming in her mind, she rejected it. Dorothea had spoken truthfully when she remarked that the viscount was an honorable man. He would do the right thing, damn the consequences.
Emma hung her head and felt the first tear slide down her cheek. She brushed it away, but a second fell fast and then a third, and soon she was sobbing until her face felt flushed and hot, her nose was running and her eyes felt gritty.
When the tears finally subsided, Emma collapsed into a chair, her head lolling against the soft cushion. She fished a handkerchief from the pocket of her gown and blew her nose.
I feel as though something has died.
Marrying Lord Kendall would change everything. If I am another man’s wife, Sebastian will be truly and irrevocably lost to me. Forever.
Sebastian was never mine to lose, the logic in her brain shouted. He always thought of me as a younger sister, never as a potential romantic partner. Sebastian married another woman, a woman he loves and admires, a woman who has given birth to his children.
“I know that,” Emma muttered to herself. Yet apparently knowing and truly believing it were entirely different things.
She was so deep in thought—and misery—she failed to hear the knock on the drawing room door or the sound of footsteps approaching until they had stopped in front of her. Startled, Emma raised her chin.
Viscount Kendall gazed down at her. His jaw was freshly shaved, his hair neatly trimmed, his clothing crisp and newly pressed. Apparently, he had taken extra time with his appearance before coming to see her.
She stood and hastily ran a nervous finger over the tip of her twitching nose, then touched her hand to her brow. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said lamely.
“I imagine you have a great deal on your mind,” he said gently. His piercing eyes seemed to penetrate deep into her soul and the look of compassion on his face made her turn away.
“Oh, yes.”
Emma felt his hands close over her shoulders and he slowly turned her around. “You’ve been crying,” he stated.
Emma sniffed. She must look ghastly. Swollen, puffy eyes, red nose, disheveled hair. Would that be enough to scare him off?
Determined to have her say, Emma met his eyes. His face was exhausted and she realized how selfish she had been, thinking only of herself. He had been through a difficult and traumatic ordeal.
“Are you well?” she asked. “Did you suffer any ill effects from your incarceration?”
He gave her an ironic smile. “I was in the gaol less than twelve hours.”
Emma released a strained laugh. “Of course. How foolish of me! So much has happened in such a short span of time, I fear my wits have been scattered to the four winds.”
“Yes, a great deal has happened,” he agreed.
“Thankfully it has all been put to rights.”
“Almost. There is one additional, most important matter that needs to be settled.”
Pulse pounding, Emma shot him a sideways glance. The knot choking her throat was growing and the tightness in her chest made it difficult to breathe.
“Miss Ellingham. Emma. Would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
* * *
They stood facing each other in charged silence. Bloody hell! Jon fidgeted with the gold button on his waistcoat. He hadn’t thought much beyond making the proposal. He had assumed she would gratefully accept and they would next work out the details.
Indecision bloomed clearly across Emma’s face and she tightly fisted her hands at her sides.
Arrogant, presumptuous fool! Jon mentally berated himself for not preparing for her refusal. Had he learned nothing from his prior attempt at getting himself a wife?
“I should have realized that, like your two sisters, you would wish to marry for love,” he said, regretting that he had been so damned anxious to get this over with he hadn’t considered Emma’s feelings.
She had a mind of her own and a strong, independent streak that enabled her to follow it. Atwood had given his blessing to the union and settled a generous dowry upon her. Yet he had insisted that Jon would have to secure Emma’s consent to the union or it would not take place.
Apparently, the marquess had had an inkling about his sister-in-law’s reaction. Damn, the least Atwood could have done was warn him!
Emma’s cheeks flushed. “I am unlike my sisters in many ways. In all honesty, marriage is not something that I have ever seriously considered.”
He wasn’t sure if he should be heartened or discouraged by that remark. Jon had always believed that the main focus of any woman’s life was to marry—and have children. Once again, Emma had proven herself to be unlike most females of her class.
“Are you disinclined toward marriage in general or specifically with me?” he asked.
She hesitated. He braced himself.
“Except for a few, brief conversations, we are strangers,” she protested, her luminous eyes reflecting her inner turmoil and uncertainty. “Marriage is such a permanent, drastic step.”
“You know as well as I do that the only way for us to avoid an irrevocable scandal is to marry,” he said, trying to implore her with a practical argument.
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