Chapter 3

CHAPTER3

The baby squealed and screamed in Emily’s arms, refusing to settle. He wriggled madly, so much so that Emily struggled, uncertain how to hold her little nephew.

“Do you realize how bad you are making us look, little Joey?” she whispered to the boy, as if he would understand her. “Rachel will take you out of my arms within seconds if you continue to cry.”

As if in response, the baby cried harder.

Emily’s stomach knotted tightly at the red face of her nephew. More than anything she wanted to be a good aunt to Joey. They all loved him so much, the newest bundle of joy in their lives, but Emily had to admit she had little to no experience with children and did not even know how to hold her nephew. She usually settled herself with buying him good gifts.

Chewing on her lip, she looked around the parlor, searching across the space to see her sisters sitting together by a low-lying dumbwaiter table, carved out of mahogany wood. They’d been pouring tea and enjoying fresh bread and butter, but now both looked up and winced as Joey cried harder.

“Did you drop him or something?” Rachel asked with a heavy laugh.

“No!” Emily said hurriedly. “I just don’t know how to…” She shifted her nephew once more, trying to cradle him better in her arms, then he wailed louder. “Oh, this is hopeless. Maybe I am just no good with children.”

“Don’t be silly.” Rachel stood and crossed the room. With her tall figure and bold features, she commanded attention in many rooms, not that she was aware of it.

More than once over the years, Emily had seen Rachel’s modesty matched only by her motherly nature. She was always mothering anyone she could get her hands on, even their own father. It was a good job she had ended up married to Daniel, for the two were a perfect match with her motherly nature and his protective ways.

“When it is your own child someday, you’ll be a natural, I’m sure,” Rachel said sweetly and took Joey out of her arms. Emily sighed heavily and blew a lock of her blonde hair out of her eyes.

“My child!?” she spluttered, realizing what Rachel had said. “I’m not the one getting married.” She glanced across the room to where Bridget calmly sipped her tea, as if the conversation did not affect her at all.

So much happened at that ball last night…

Emily longed to ask about Bridget’s meeting with the Duke of Thorne, but so far, her mind had been entirely taken up with another thought.

Who was that gentleman in the darkness?

When she had first taken refuge in that corridor, she had not thought for a second that someone would find her there, let alone for them to walk straight into her and end up entangled with her. He was plainly a cad. She could acknowledge that openly from the skill with which he flirted with her, but despite it all, she had been drawn to him.

There was something different about the gentleman in the darkness. There was a rush of heat and excitement, for they had both known what they were doing was scandalous when they had kissed, but she had taken the risk regardless…

“Here, try holding him like this.” Rachel rearranged Joey and he stopped crying, then she returned the baby to Emily’s arms. Emily stiffened, fearful of dropping her nephew or making him cry again. This time, the boy lay peacefully in the crook of her arm, swaddled in various silks and linens. He didn’t cry, but blinked up at her, then closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. “See? You just need a little guidance. That is all.”

“I am not the one who needs guidance.” Yet Emily smiled all the same, thrilled at the feeling of carrying the boy safely. She crossed the room, as delicately as she could, with Rachel following protectively behind her. Sitting down in a chair opposite Bridget, she placed the boy in her lap, continuing to support his head.

“You think I am the one who needs guidance, do you not?” Bridget asked, peering over the rim of the cup.

“You have not said a word about meeting your betrothed yet.” Emily rolled her eyes. “You are not singing his praises. Last time I checked, that is no good thing.”

“Emily is right.” Rachel sat down on a rococo settee beside Bridget. “Come, tell us all. What was he like?”

“He was… different.” Bridget scrunched her nose, hardly looking thrilled at the idea. “Yes, he was certainly charming.”

“Rakes generally are,” Emily muttered darkly. “They do not make good husbands though.”

Rachel looked sharply at her.

“You do not know that…”

“Do I not?” Emily teased her.

“Don’t ask her about her experience,” Bridget said hurriedly. “It will certainly displease you; I am sure.”

Emily smiled proudly at Rachel, seeing the same worried look she had so often seen in her sister’s features. She had no intention of revealing to Rachel or Bridget what had passed in that dark corridor the night before. It was a moment’s madness and fleeting excitement. It would not be returned to or built upon.

It will be my secret memory to keep.

“Tell us about the Duke.” Emily shifted her nephew, adjusting the swaddling around him, then turned her focus on her sister. “What was your meeting like?”

“It was perfectly polite and amicable,” Bridget said hurriedly as if she was reeling off a shopping list rather than describing a gentleman. “He was tall and had a fair face. I noticed many ladies staring at him. He dresses well and is clearly conscious of his position as a duke, yet he was able to make conversation with ease too.”

“She does not smile,” Rachel said, addressing Emily alone.

“Neither does she blush,” Emily noted. “Bridget, did you even admire this gentleman you are to marry?”

Bridget did not answer at first. She sipped her tea then returned the teacup to its saucer on the table between them, the sound chinking quietly in the air.

“No.”

“Well, that’s settled then,” Emily said pointedly. “How are you supposed to marry a man you do not admire?”

“Sister, take care,” Rachel said, her voice somber. “You have seen as well as the rest of us that choice in marriage is not something we always have.”

“Yes, I had front-row seats to your own betrothal, thank you,” Emily whispered with a smile, showing she was teasing her sister. Rachel narrowed her eyes, nevertheless. “At least you got something wonderful out of it.” Emily bent down and kissed her nephew’s forehead. He wriggled in his sleep, then fell still again.

“I got two wonderful things,” Rachel said hurriedly. “Joey, and Daniel.” She smiled broadly. At once, Emily saw the transformation in her sister’s expression. There was a delight and happiness that always came with saying her husband’s name these days.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Emily added tiredly. “Forgive me if I do not sit around to hear you perform an ode on how wonderful your husband is.” She stood up with her nephew and walked up and down, rocking him gently to sleep.

“All I was trying to say is that love or admiration does not necessarily come before marriage, but can come after,” Rachel explained. “I would be a fool, Bridget, to tell you that you should wait for love when evidently, I did not. Yet I am not unhappy with the choices I made.”

“I know.” Bridget laid a hand over Rachel’s and the two smiled together.

Emily stood at some distance from the room, watching her sisters together. Occasionally, she felt as if Bridget and Rachel had a connection that she did not. She had always put it down to when she was a child, being the youngest of the three of them. She supposed too that was sometimes why she had acted out and been so rebellious, for it certainly got her attention. These days, she just enjoyed making mischief for its own sake, without getting any attention for it.

Like that kiss last night.

She longed to know what the mysterious gentleman had looked like, but she supposed now she would never know. As time went on, she would forget the tone of his voice and the scent he wore. The memory would fade.

“Maybe I just need to be patient,” Bridget said as she shrugged. “If I take the time to know the gentleman a little more, then perhaps I can feel some admiration for his handsome face or his charming ways.” As she spoke, she wrinkled her nose again, her expression defying her words.

“She’s convincing, is she not?” Rachel called to Emily who laughed warmly.

“As convincing as the moon is out right now.” She nodded her head out of the window at the bright sunlight, for the moon was not out yet. Her wryness earned her a dark glare from Bridget.

“I cannot expect love at first sight,” Bridget explained in a rush. “I have never believed in such a thing, and my mind will not be changed on the matter now.”

“Then you are being wise indeed.” Rachel smiled warmly, clearly proud of her, and reached to top up their tea.

“I just do not see why you should be betrothed to a man you feel nothing for, and who is likely not to feel anything for you either,” Emily said as she returned to sit with her sisters.

“You do not know he feels nothing for her, Em,” Rachel warned in a low tone.

“Oh? Am I the only one who has taken note of the fact that his name has been spread across the scandal sheets regularly? Is he even capable of devoting himself to one woman?” Emily’s tartness made Bridget wriggle in her seat, growing increasingly uncomfortable.

“Em,” Rachel’s tone grew harsher as she nodded at Bridget.

“I am not disparaging Bridget, not in any way,” Emily said as hurriedly as she could. “You misunderstand me if you think that is what I am doing. I simply want Bridget to marry someone worthy of her, and I am not convinced the Duke of Thorne is that gentleman.”

“Time will tell, I suppose,” Bridget murmured, her spine slumping a little.

“Just promise me that if you decide you are strongly against him then you will speak to our father about it. Better yet, tell me to speak to him. I will happily make my feelings known,” Emily said as she adjusted her nephew in her lap, for he wriggled, perhaps dreaming in his sleep.

“I don’t doubt you would make your feelings known, without hesitation or guile.” Rachel’s tone deepened, and they shared a challenging glare across the table, before Emily cracked and smiled at her sister.

She loved Rachel deeply, but they were not sisters who always saw eye to eye.

“Where did you run off to last night anyway?” Bridget asked and reached for her teacup again. “After you escaped Lord Gilchrist, I did not see you for some time.”

“Escaping Lord Gilchrist takes art indeed,” Emily said with mock pride. “I was practically dancing around the ballroom and hiding in every shadow I could find to avoid him.”

And in dark corridors…

“Look at that smirk.” Rachel was the first one to see it. She nodded her head at Emily then abruptly put down her teacup.

“What?” Emily asked, attempting an innocent tone.

“Your acting skills are not as fine as you think.” Rachel stood and rounded the table, collecting her son out of Emily’s hands. “You were up to no good, I know it.”

“I was not.” Emily still refused to give in, but when both sisters glared at her, she cracked, but only a little. “Oh, so I have a secret, leave it with me.” She laughed, the mischief taking over. “I did nothing wrong, believe me.”

“I don’t. That is the problem,” Rachel said, returning to her seat with her son.

“Let us talk of something else,” Bridget declared. “How about the dinner party tomorrow night? The Duke of Thorne and his mother are to come.”

* * *

“Here you are, Your Grace.” The butler presented Jacob with a sheet of paper as he hovered by the entrance to the carriage, awaiting his mother so they could leave.

“Thank you, Payton.” Jacob smiled at the butler and took the paper, opening it and holding it up a little, so he could read the names on the list in the moonlight.

Who could she be?

Despite his endeavors to be good, to hold true to his betrothal to Lady Bridget, he had not been able to get the mysterious lady out of his mind from that dark corridor. One thing he knew for certain was that she was a lady of the ton, for she had worn fine gloves and a gown. She had been invited to that event.

Payton had expertly retrieved a list of the guests for Jacob, and he looked over it now, hoping somehow that a name would leap up at him off the list and reveal itself as belonging to the lady. He wasn’t even certain why he thought this would work. They hadn’t discussed names.

“Right, I am ready.” Catarina appeared in the doorway to the house.

Fumbling, Jacob thrust the guest list into the pocket of his tailcoat, before his mother could see it and ask what it was. Despite her statement, Catarina stood in the doorway of the house, fidgeting. She rearranged her pelisse three times, then even reached to Payton beside her and adjusted the handkerchief in his top pocket. Payton smiled kindly, clearly used to her ways after so many years.

“Mother…” Jacob’s tone deepened. She stiffened, clearly noting what she was doing, then hurried to his side at the carriage. “Payton does not need organizing the way you do a table full of crystalware.”

“I cannot help it.” She took his offered hand and stepped into the carriage. Jacob followed her then tapped the wall of the coach, showing they were ready to set off. As they traveled down the driveway, tipping side to side in the potholes, he stared at his mother. The lantern that was fastened above them cast a burnt orange light about her. “I have always been the same. It is just who I am.”

He didn’t argue with her, though he knew it was not the truth. When he was very young, he had no memories at all of her excessively tidying things until everything was at a perpendicular or parallel angle to one another. He’d even ventured to ask Payton and the housekeeper, Mrs. Wright, if she had been this way before his father had died.

The answer had been a resounding no: this behavior developed after the late Duke’s death.

Chewing the side of his mouth so that he did not argue with his mother, he looked out of the window, thinking of his father. The candlelight cast a ghost of his reflection on the glass beside him, and for a brief second, he was convinced his father sat there beside him, but he wasn’t. It was only Jacob’s reflection.

When they reached the Earl of Pratt’s house, Jacob stepped down first and offered a hand to assist his mother. Despite her hurried steps toward the door of the house, he did not race to the door.

Remember why I am doing this, remember…

He thought back to the vow he had made to his mother long ago. There would be a marriage and children, yes, and now he was thirty, he had no choice but to make it happen. That was the deal. He could not be a rake forever.

“Come, Jacob. Your betrothed will be waiting for you.” She beckoned him from the doorway.

He nodded and followed, bounding up the steps though he could feel no excitement about seeing Lady Bridget again. She had been nice, certainly, polite and everything a lady should be. Yet his admiration for her went no further.

I hoped at least my bride and I could enjoy the responsibilities of the marriage chamber.

“Ah, you’re here.” The warm voice of the Earl of Pratt greeted them as the door was flung open and rich warm candlelight fell out. Catarina was ushered inside first, with Jacob following behind.

In the grand hallway stood the Earl of Pratt and his daughter, Lady Bridget. They both stepped forward and bowed and curtsied in turn. Feeling the glare of his mother’s eyes burrowing into him, Jacob swiftly took Lady Bridget’s hand in greeting, trying to find some warmth in her eyes or expression, but she looked away and retrieved her hand fast.

It is definite. She feels nothing for me yet.

“I am so glad you could come tonight,” the Earl of Pratt said, launching into a great speech about the dinner that had been prepared for them. Catarina took part, oohing and aahing at the appropriate moments and saying how delicious it all sounded.

“Goodness, Father, are you still singing the praises of all our food tonight?” Another voice joined them.

Wait, that voice.

Jacob could have been back in that corridor. It was the same sultry and husky tone that he’d heard before. Behind Lady Bridget, another lady entered the hallway, evidently her younger sister.

“We’ll be worshipping the dinner rather than eating it at this rate,” the lady said, prompting Lady Bridget to smile fully for the first time in Jacob’s presence yet.

His eyes shot toward the lady, for he knew that tone at once and would not mistake it.

It’s her. It is the lady I kissed in that corridor!