Chapter 24

CHAPTER24

“Iwould not have believed it if I had not witnessed it with my own eyes,” Augusta wailed, blowing loudly into her handkerchief.

She stood on the garden terrace, watching the impromptu engagement party that was in full swing on the lawns, beneath the baking sunshine.

It had been a dizzy week since the engagement had been made somewhat official, Emma’s hand in marriage firmly secured after a brief visit to her father. However, it had been kept secret among family and friends, a special license obtained with the help of Joanna’s husband, so as to avoid having to place banns in the papers and risking complaint from Emma’s former betrotheds.

The party was also a small affair, so as not to rile the gossipmongers and scandal sheets into a frenzy before the wedding in a week’s time. Even without their respective reputations, Silas would have preferred it that way—just a few friends and family, gathered to celebrate a most unexpected union.

“All your life, I have worried that you were incapable of love,” Augusta snuffled on, dabbing at her eyes. “You were such a cold child and such a distant young man, but… here you are, full of warmth and smiles for that darling girl. Oh, thank heavens you found her, Silas! Thank the heavens!”

Silas cast her a sideways glance. “I do not remember being a cold child.”

“Perhaps, I misspoke,” she replied. “You were… strange. You had unusual tendencies.”

Silas frowned. “You have never mentioned that before. In what way was I strange?”

“You favored solitude. You ignored toys and games. You would hide wherever no one would find you and play alone. Sometimes, I would walk past a wardrobe or a cupboard where you had hidden yourself away, and I would hear you talking to yourself,” Augusta explained. “For years, the only person you would say more than a few words to was Mr. Bathurst.”

The old steward of the estate, Mr. Bathurst, had died just over a decade ago, while Silas was raising hell at Oxford University. No bereavement had struck him harder, not even the loss of his father. In many ways, Mr. Bathurst’s death had been the catalyst to the worst of Silas’s former behavior, for there had been no one left—in his mind—to behave for.

“I truly do not remember any of that,” he said thoughtfully. “All I remember is Father being cold toward me.”

Augusta pursed her lips. “Yes, well, fatherhood was new to him when you were born. He thought he ought to raise you the way that he was raised. He realized his mistake eventually but, by then, Luke was born and you know how poorly he was. He demanded our entire attention.”

“I do remember that,” Silas murmured.

To his surprise, he felt none of the usual bitterness biting at his heart when he thought of those years. All he had to do was look at Emma, pulling faces and making high-pitched cooing sounds at Snowy, and his heart swelled, leaving no room for bad memories. If she could forgive him for his sins, he felt that he ought to forgive his parents for theirs.

“I doubt anyone expected me to grow into a healthy young man, brimming with vigor,” Luke chimed in, wandering out from the terrace door with a metal bucket and a bottle of champagne tucked under his arm.

Silas arched an eyebrow. “You have been raiding my cellars again?”

“I thought we ought to bring out the finer stuff to toast to this momentous occasion,” Luke replied with a wink. “You would not deny your future wife a taste of luxury, would you?”

I would not deny her anything, Silas wanted to say.

“It is the last bottle, so it is the only taste she will have,” he said instead, just as Emma whirled around, skirts flying up to her ankles. She shaded her eyes with her hand and searched the terrace until she found Silas. Her entire face lit up as she saw him, looking so perfectly ethereal that Silas wished he had a way of capturing that moment forever.

There were a few other moments he would not have minded capturing forever, stowed away in a more private collection, but he doubted she would agree to pose for such portraits. Nor would he have liked any portraitist seeing such a divine scene.

“Silas, did you see?” she called out.

He shook his head. “See what, my darling?”

He had taken to calling her “my darling” in public but, in private, she would always be his wildling.

“Snowy did the thing where he follows your steps backward and forward!” she replied. “I think we shall make a fine guard dog out of him yet and terrify any writer who might work for the scandal sheets!”

Silas laughed. “Remind me to teach him a “bite” command next!”

Marina said something to her and took her hand, guiding her over to where Joanna and Nancy were standing with their husbands and Nora. Snowy loped along beside Emma, sticking close to her right leg, just as Silas had taught him to do. In truth, he had hoped that Snowy might make up for his own shortcomings when it came to protecting her. If Silas could not be at the manor to keep her safe, drawn away by business matters or something of that ilk, Snowy would be.

“You took my advice then?” Luke said, coming to stand at Silas’s side.

Silas did not look at his brother. “I was certain of her long before you made any mention of it.”

“And you really believe she will not run from you?” Luke shifted the metal bucket and champagne into his other arm. “You really believe you are different?”

Silas smirked. “I do, on both counts.”

“How can you be sure?”

“For one thing, she proposed to me,” Silas replied, without a lick of shame.

Of course, he had done the gentlemanly thing and proposed marriage to her after he had finished making her cry out his name, the taste of her still rich upon his tongue, but he would never ignore or diminish the fact that she had done it first. She had been the courageous one. There was no remark or opinion in the world that could have made him feel embarrassed about that.

Luke blinked in surprise. “She did?”

“Might I ask why you are so determined to involve yourself in this?” Silas asked curtly. “We have made our choice, we are happy with it—you can see that with your own eyes, as Mother has—so please cease with the holier-than-thou attitude. You are dampening the cheery mood.”

Luke nodded slowly. “You are quite right, brother.” He beamed from ear to ear. “I shall cease at once. Indeed, I can see that there is something special between the two of you. Why, you already have an illegitimate son, so I suppose it is the chivalrous thing to do, to marry her and have the boy legitimized.”

“Pardon?” Silas furrowed his brow.

“The puppy,” Luke said, laughing. “Once you are wed, he will be your heir. I can think of no finer hound to take possession of this estate, alongside all of the sons that he will undoubtedly have over the happy years to come.”

Silas’s prickles flattened, his demeanor softening into a throaty chuckle. “He does obey the way I am sure every father wishes their son would obey. That being said, he will never be an honorable Duke if he continues to ruin my boots. He chewed the heel out of my favorite riding pair yesterday and was not the least bit sorry.” He paused, smiling broadly. “Perhaps, we are more alike than I care to admit.”

“She has changed you more in a matter of weeks than any years that have gone before,” Luke said, almost solemnly. “I barely recognized you when you returned from that wretched year of absence. I doubted there was anything that could make you smile again. But there she is—rather, there they are—your reason to smile again.”

Although Silas had not told the entire story to his brother or his mother, he had informed them of enough to let them know he had not gone willingly and had not stayed away willingly either.

They understood that he had been kidnapped on the night of his birthday ball and that he wanted no one beyond the walls of the estate to know of it. They understood he had endured hardship and was in pursuit of the cretin that snatched him, but that was all.

Indeed, it was the first time in months that either his brother or mother had mentioned it intentionally.

“As I said,” Silas replied with a wink, “she has a sister.”

Luke grinned. “I know. I was introduced just this morning.”

“And what do you make of her? Do you think you might be inspired to join me in marrying a Bennet girl?”

Luke pulled a face. “I am but six-and-twenty, Brother. I am too young yet. Besides, I would not wish to steal your thunder.” He hesitated, looking uneasy for a moment. “That is not to say that Lady Lydia is not a beautiful young lady. She is. Equally as beautiful as Lady Emma. I am sure that any gentleman would be fortunate to have her as a wife, but⁠—”

“Peace, Luke,” Silas interrupted with a sly grin. “I understand. When I was six-and-twenty, I thought exactly the same thing. Now, at two-and-thirty, I am more than ready to swear my devotion to one woman, for the rest of my life.”

And what a woman, but that is for me to know… It could not have been anyone else. It would be Emma or no one. Fate had thrown her into his path, quite literally, and he would honor that gift for all the years they were blessed to have together.

Luke smiled, nudging his brother in the ribs. “You really do care for her, do you not?”

“That is none of your business,” Silas retorted, his gaze finding Emma again.

She stood with the rest of the ladies, joined by her sister, Lydia, and her mother. Eliza and Augusta had also appeared among those feminine ranks, though Silas did not know when his mother had slunk away from the terrace to merge with them. All were laughing and chattering with amiable ease, the lawns filled with that sweet and musical sound.

He had thought himself incapable of love. But maybe, if…

“Your Grace!” A figure shambled up from the rather animated game of bowls that the gentlemen of the engagement party had been playing. “I had hoped to catch you alone.”

Silas bowed his head to James Bennet, the Earl of Lambert. “Nothing bad, I hope?” he said. “You have not changed your mind about allowing me to wed your daughter?”

“What?” James blanched. “Goodness, no! I shall put you in my prayers every night for that. In truth, it is my wife that concerns me.”

Silas raised a curious eyebrow. “Your wife?”

“I have not yet informed her that the wedding will not take place at St. Paul’s, close to our estate, but at your parish church of St. Francis’,” James explained. “She has been so excited. I think she has forgotten our… um… previous misfortunes. As such, I was hoping that you might be kind enough to tell her, and perhaps make it sound like a wonderful idea that came from you? Soften the blow, at least.”

Silas noticed Emma watching the conversation from the gaggle of women she was standing amongst, an expression of worry etched upon her beautiful face. It was the same expression she had worn when she had traveled with Silas to her family’s estate, so Silas could ask James for her hand in marriage. Even Silas’s usual attempts to distract her in the carriage there had not worked.

“Of course, I will speak to your wife,” Silas said.

James grasped his hands, squeezing them tight. “Thank you, Your Grace. A thousand times, thank you. I will put you in my prayers twice for this.” His eyes grew watery. “Truly, you cannot possibly know what you have done for me and my family. We shall be forever in your debt.”

“There is no debt,” Silas replied, his mouth curving into a smile, remembering what had first summoned Emma to this very manor. That debt had been paid weeks ago, in his study just before dawn, the taste of brandy and desire on her lips, a promise whispered between them.

James smiled. “You are too kind, Your Grace.” He hesitated. “Will you join our game of bowls?”

“Soon, perhaps,” Silas declined politely. He hated bowls. Lawn games in general, if he was being honest. “First, I think I ought to speak to your wife.”

James puffed out a breath. “Yes, of course. Good luck to you.”

He hurried away as if Silas might change his mind and rope him into breaking the news to his wife himself.

“You have made him a very happy man,” Luke remarked. “I doubt any father truly wishes to cast their child aside, regardless of the circumstances, and you have spared him from having to do so.”

Silas shrugged. “I am not doing it for him.”

Swiping the bottle of champagne from the bucket, he strode away from his brother, toward the circle of chattering women. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said, eyes fixed on Emma. “I wondered if I might borrow my betrothed for a moment or two. I have a document that she needs to sign in my study, then I shall release her back into your collective giddiness.”

“Now?” Emma replied, suspicion twinkling in her eyes.

Silas smiled. “It will not take long.”

“But we were about to play pall-mall!” Lydia whispered, tugging on her arm.

The younger sister of the Bennet family had avoided Silas ever since her arrival a few days ago, making up an excuse to go elsewhere every time he tried to engage her in conversation.

He did not know if it was because she had not seen her sister for weeks and wished to spend all of her time with Emma, or if there was something more troubling to her avoidance—that, perhaps, she did not wish to get to know Silas in case the wedding ended the same way as Emma’s previous two.

“I will come right back. In the meantime,” Emma stooped to pick Snowy up, passing the puppy to Lydia, “take good care of my precious pup.”

Lydia took possession of the puppy, her disappointment vanishing as she lavished kisses on Snowy. “Would you like to play pall-mall?” she cooed.

Emma chuckled and weaved her way toward Silas.

He took hold of her hand and kissed it, noting the slight crease of Lydia’s brow as he did. Maybe, the younger sister’s aversion had a much simpler cause; she did not like him.

“This way, my wildling,” Silas whispered, leading Emma away from the group.

Once they were inside the cool shade of the manor, Emma flashed him a sultry smile. “There is no document, is there?”

“No.” He grinned. “But there is something that requires my dedicated, particular attention.”

“And what might that be?”

“You.” He swept her up into his arms, carrying her the rest of the way to the study.

* * *

Glowing with the pleasure that Silas had gifted to Emma with so muchof his deep generosity, she blushed at the sound of the engagement party still in full swing outside as she adjusted her dress and looked in the mirror to make sure nothing was askew or amiss.

“I was not lying about having something for you,” Silas said, coming to stand behind her. “Not a document. Something better.”

He slipped his arm around her waist and dipped his head to kiss her neck, as she watched in the reflection. The sight of them like that stirred something inside her, something more potent than any of the things he had just done with his touch and his tongue.

“Oh?” she gasped.

He produced a narrow, square box and held it in front of her. “For you. I thought you might wear it for our wedding.” His hand ran up between her breasts, to caress the column of her throat. “Though, if it is not to your taste, I will not be offended not to see it on this delicious throat of yours.”

She opened the box, fighting the distraction of his touch. Inside lay a dainty necklace—a slender band of nothing but diamonds that glittered in the study’s hazy light, meant to sit high on the throat he was kissing at that moment.

It was the most beautiful, perfect piece of jewelry she had ever seen, but she was not about to let him know that. Not yet.

Meeting his gaze in the reflection, she flashed a teasing smile. “You shall have to wait and see.”