He could race horses and gamble all night long, he could drink himself witless and he could fight duel after duel. He had spent the better part of year proving that he could be every bit asmuch of a wastrel as his brother Gerald. While he had enjoyed some of those newfound temptations, there were intervals of that wild period in London that he could not recall—save for the disastrous end result.
He had vowed to his father that he would never succumb to such temptations again, and he would not.
He owed Charlotte’s memory that much.
His word was his vow, after all.
And yet—would Miss Emerson have declined him ten years before, in London? She must have been a child then, but if she had been of age, Joshua imagined she would have found him a far more interesting suitor than she did now.
How unfair that keeping a pledge should cheat him of the one lady he desired!
Joshua paced through the empty corridors of Addersley Manor, his impatience with his situation growing step by step. Miss Emerson could not have said anything else that would so vividly fill his thoughts with the pleasures of that sojourn in London. Joshua found himself wanting to ride wildly again, wanting to feel the weight of a pistol in his hand as he paced off for a duel, wanting to savor every moment of every day as Gerald had.
Why must a man choose one path or the other? Honor and respectability or notoriety and indulgence? There were points of merit on each side, in Joshua’s view. He had no desire to be a wastrel again or live that dissipated life, but a little amusement at intervals would be welcome.
Like dancing.
He dismissed that thought.
After all, who had taught Miss Emerson that she could decide her future for herself? What she needed was a husband of honor, who would defend her against her own foolish impulses. Had she not chosen to leave London in the company of a rogue whodesired only a fortune she did not possess? That showed an inclination to error and impulse that could lead her far astray. Would she make the same mistake again?
Joshua could not say and the very possibility chilled him. She could not rely upon the good fortune of meeting a solicitor’s wife in the same coach, never mind one determined to act on her behalf, each time she stepped from the safer path.
But Miss Emerson was not Joshua’s responsibility to defend.
Would he be compelled to watch her destroy her prospects? He did not know the men of age in the neighborhood, but there had to be some of dubious repute. If such a man could and woulddance, she might be lost forever!
Joshua flung himself into his library, glared at the spot before the fire which might be occupied most amiably by a large dog, and seized upon a book in the hope of distracting himself.
It was regrettably, one of his father’s older books, a leatherbound edition ofRobin Hood and Guy of Gisborne. He cast it down, Miss Emerson at the fore of his thoughts.
How did a young lady arrive at a conviction that a highwayman would be a desirable suitor? What manner of fool would wish for a thief—even one who was a nobleman in disguise and stole from the rich to give to the poor—to pursue one’s affections? What if the thief won her heart? Would she happily live in the wilds of the forest with him? The notion as vexing as being declined because of his refusal to indulge in foolish fripperies.
Captain Emerson had given fair warning of the inclinations of his sister, but Joshua had not been prepared to believe her so fanciful.
He wondered if it was better she had declined him.
He could not believe it. Joshua had liked her immediately and, against every expectation, he still did. There was something about her presence that lightened his heart. She, like Gerald,could brighten a room with her arrival. She made him keenly aware of the possibilities of life—and that made him question how he chose to live. She made him want more.
Miss Emerson was the lady he wanted to wed. He knew it in his very soul.
Joshua should dismiss the incident. He should seek out another, possibly more sensible, young lady. That would be the rational choice.
And yet, his ambitions would not be so readily abandoned. He wanted to prove Miss Emerson wrong, to show her the magnitude of her error, and win her hand in his.
Joshua would never be a duke and he would never truly be a highwayman, but he was not content with his lot on this night—and he was not in a mood to lose himself in a book, however compelling the tale.
He marched through Addersley Manor in search of a trunk that was packed away but not forgotten. It was the one he had brought home from London ten years before and it had not been opened since, though it sat in the corner of his dressing room. He flung back the lid, halfway expecting to be disappointed by its contents.
One look within it and he could only smile. He lifted out a jacket, recalling visits to the tailor with Gerald. They had ordered clothes with wild abandon, in hues and fabrics he would never have chosen himself. Gerald had never been content with a conservative color or a coat that might be worn even a dozen times. Such practical considerations had been banished. And it had been amusing to indulge himself for once, to abandon his characteristic sobriety at Gerald’s urging.
They had been dashing when they stepped out together, that much could not be denied.
This waistcoat, for example, in a shade of green silk that could only be called chartreuse, striped with emerald, blackand with a tiny glimmer of gold. If that was not sufficient, the emerald stripes had been embroidered with ivory daisies, each one formed of ribbon and adorned with a glittering bead in its eye.
On impulse, Joshua tried it on, admiring the buttons that had the shape of a daisy in the top of each one and painted with gold. It still fit perfectly and he considered his reflection in the glass, liking that he looked a little less conservative than had become his custom.
There were enormous cravats within the trunk, boots of staggering expense that had scarce been worn, trousers and coats and breeches. The abundance was startling and now he considered the excessive cost. Joshua found himself going through them, remembering at least one incident with each garment. There were frock coats for court, shoes and hats and trousers. Joshua fingered a hole in a jacket made by a musket ball, then shook his head at a stain that might have been either claret or blood. He knew his garments had been stained by both.
