Lord Powell liked to talk. He rather enjoyed the novelty of having a silent listener, Emily suspected. But indeed he was rather handsome and his manners were polished and charming. It was hardly a surprise, of course. Luke had chosen all of her suitors with meticulous care. All four of them had been eligible in every possible way. She had rejected the first three without making any effort whatsoever to become acquainted with them—or so Luke had claimed. He had regarded her with pursed lips and a look of mingled exasperation and amusement in his eyes after each had left.
“Emily,” he had said on one of those occasions, “if you would merely cultivate a different image while you are being courted, my dear. If you would onlynotdo your best to appear before the flower of male, unmarried society as the witch of the woods.”
It was unfair, as she would have told him if she had had his advantage of a voice. She might have written it, but she never enjoyed holding such awkward conversations. It was unfair, because it wasshewho had rejected them, not they who had taken fright and left her. Besides, she did not look like a witch. But it did not matter.
And now Lord Powell was here, paying court to her. He had been here for five whole days. Luke had decided to invite him while other visitors were here for Harry’s christening and for the ball that would follow it. Perhaps, he had reasoned—Emily was well acquainted with his mind—the formality of the occasion would force his sister-in-law to stay in company and to behave in a more conventional manner than was usual with her.
And she had stayed in company and behaved herself and worn stays and hoops and shoes and curls and caps—though nothing as elaborate as tonight, it was true. But not just because of the house guests and the christening.
This time she had decided to allow herself to be courted.
“I vow ’twould be strange indeed if he did not come to the point tonight,” Lady Sterne said. “He will make you his offer, child, and Harndon will make the announcement before the night is over. But mercy on me, I almost forgot that Victor is here. ’Twill be Victor who will make the announcement—mark my words.”
Victor, the Earl of Royce, was Emily’s brother. He was here for the christening with Constance, his wife, and their child. So was Charlotte, Emily’s other sister, with the Reverend Jeremiah Hornsby, her husband, and their three children. Charlotte was in the nursery now, nursing the newest baby before attending the ball.
“Will you say yes, Emmy?” Agnes looked eagerly at her. “William says that Lord Powell has spoken privately with both Victor and his grace. It can mean only one thing. How splendid ’twill be to have a wedding in the family again. But would it be here or at Elm Court? Victor will want it at Elm Court, I do declare. How provoking of him.Willyou say yes?”
There was a feeling of breathlessness and panic at seeing on the lips of her sister and Lady Sterne what she had really known already in her own heart. Lord Powell had come to court her—Luke had arranged it all on a visit to London. He had walked with her and sat with her and talked with her and had seemed pleased with her. She had not discouraged his attentions. Tonight there was to be a grand ball. And she had been fully aware of the private meeting this afternoon involving Lord Powell, Victor, and Luke. Everyone had been aware of it.
Tonight in all probability she was going to be called upon to make her final decision. Not that there was any decision still to be made. She had already decided to have him. She was going to be Lady Powell. She was going to marry and have a home of her own where she would be dependent upon no one. She was going to have children of her own. She was going to have a warm, cuddly baby like Harry to hold, but he would be all her own.
She was going to change—again. She was going to be more than just half respectable. She was going to be entirely so. Anna and Luke and all her other relatives were going to be proud of her.
But Anna was hugging her suddenly, as far as the combined widths of their hoops would allow. She let Emily see her lips before she spoke. “You are frightening her,” she said. “Emmy does not have to do anything she does not want to do. She is different, but very special. She belongs here. We love her. You must marry no one just because you think you ought, Emmy. You may stay here forever. I hope youwillstay here. How would I live without you?”
Very well, Emily thought, watching her sister blink back bright tears. Anna had Luke, whom she loved dearly and who loved her with an equal intensity, and she had her four children, on whom they both doted. Emily had—no one. She belonged nowhere. It was true that her brother and sisters issued frequent invitations for her to come and stay and always urged her to remain indefinitely. And it was true that even Luke had explained to her—it was just before the appearance of the first suitor—that Bowden was her home as much as it was his and Anna’s and their children’s, that he was thinking of her lasting happiness, but only she could know where that happiness lay.
“You must never feel that I am urging marriage on you because I wish to be rid of you,” he had said, looking at her with keen eyes. “Even though your sister, my wife, has accused me of just that.” He had thrown a stern look at Anna, who had protested the introduction of a suitor. “I will present you with marriage possibilities, my dear, because I feel it is my duty to do so. You will decide if you want marriage and all it can bring with it or if you would prefer to remain with us here, as much a member of our family as Joy or George or James. Have I made myself clear, Emily? Madam?”
He had made both her and Anna reply.
“But Lord Powell is very handsome,” Agnes said now. “I do not know how you could resist him, Emmy. I could not if I were still young and unmarried and he paid me court, I declare.” She smiled kindly. But Agnes, who had had choices, had married the very plain and portly William, Lord Severidge, for love and had long ago settled into dull domestic felicity with him.
“And Lud,” Lady Sterne said, clapping her hands, “if we stand here for much longer, admiring the child and anticipating her betrothal, the ball will be over and Lord Powell will have gone home. And no one will have seen Emily in all her finery.”
“Come, Emmy.” Anna smiled and took her by the hand. “Tonight you will stand in the receiving line with Luke and me. And my nose will be severely out of joint because everyone will be looking at you and will not notice me at all.”
“Pshaw!” Lady Sterne said as she strode to the door to lead the way downstairs to the ballroom. “Harndon has eyes for no one but you, child. He never has had since he first laid ’em on you at just another such ball.”
Anna laughed as she slipped her arm through Emily’s, and Emily could see the happiness sparkling in her eyes. Emily herself fought bewilderment. There had been so much talk, most of which she had missed, though she had determinedly kept turning her head from one speaker to another, trying to concentrate. She often noticed the fact that other people did not find conversation wearying and did not seem to share her all-too-frequent urges to be alone and undistracted—it was just one more thing that set her apart...
She drew a few deep, steadying breaths. This evening was so far beyond anything in her past experience that her mind could contemplate it only as a complete and rather terrifying blank. She was dressed as formally and with as much glittering splendor as Anna. She was going to attend a full-scale ball. She was to stand in the receiving line, smiling and curtsying to all of Luke’s guests. And she was to receive the continued attentions of Lord Powell and possibly—probably!—his marriage proposal too. She was going to accept.
By the time she came back upstairs in several hours’ time, much would have changed in her life. Everything would have changed. She would be betrothed. As good as married.
There was something resembling panic in the thought.
Ashley. Ah, Ashley.
•••
Hehad forgotten just how cold England was. He shivered and drew his cloak more closely around him. He sat in a darkened carriage, looking out on darkness—though the landscape was not pitch-black, it was true. There were moonlight and starlight to illuminate the way. Although the coachman had been reluctant, he had agreed to continue the journey after dark. The man had even commented on what a pleasant warm evening it was for late April.
Warm! He shivered again. He had had time to get used to the coldness during the long voyage home from India, of course, but somehow he had expected that he would be warm again once he reached land.
Perhaps, he thought, setting his head back against the cushions, he would never be warm again.
And yet Lord Ashley Kendrick still clung to the notion that there was warmth to be had. At Bowden. If he could but get there. For months he had been living for the moment that was now only an hour away, if that long. He must be almost on Bowden land already, he reasoned. The thought of Bowden had sustained him through all the months of his voyage, through calms and storms, through the sleepless nights.
