She didn’t say anything to that.
“I haven’t spoken to either of them… since…” A lump the size of England suddenly formed in his throat. There were reasons men didn’t discuss these matters.
“You miss them. And your father is to blame.” She spoke the truth baldly.
He nodded.
“But you were not angry with Mrs. Cromwell?”
It took a moment for Marcus to move on to this question. Had he been? “I was.”
They rode in silence for a few moments.
“Why?” she asked.
He’d expected the question. Could he even put this into words? “Because she knew I was upset. She knew it, and she pushed me to take her anyway.” He stared into Emily’s big brown eyes as he said the words.
“And I have used you, too. I knew you were upset, and I pushed you to marry Rhoda.” She blinked a few times after saying the words. “I used Carlisle, too. You must think I am a horrible person. I certainly do.”
But he did not. He’d known a few horrible people in this world, and she certainly was not one of them. Had he been angry with her for devising the ridiculous scheme in the first place?
A little.
Was he angry with her now?
Surprisingly, not at all. “Even the best of us can do desperate things when backed into a corner.” He touched her chin, causing her to swivel her head to look at him again. “I don’t think you’re a horrible person.” She blinked rapidly and tried to look away again, but he didn’t let her. “Emily. You aren’t a horrible person.”
She finally nodded in reluctant agreement. “It’s kind of you to say that.”
“And this wedding isn’t really all that tragic. Do you believe me?” Again, that reluctant nod. He released her chin and leaned back into the cushioned bench. How could he promise such a thing? After marrying, they’d eventually return to London. He’d present her to thetonas his wife and then… He imagined her as she’d been at the Crabtree ball. She’d always sat with the wallflowers. Her hair had been pulled back tightly, and she’d looked as though she’d rather be anywhere but there. He’d often overheard disparaging remarks about her, about her spectacles and bluestocking tendencies. They’d damn well better treat her with some respect as his wife.
But damned if he’d get any respect himself. This rebellious marriage would anger his father to no end. How much influence could his father hold over the people he’d considered to be his friends?
Was he going to have to wait until his father’s death to take his rightful place in London once again?
He slid a sideways glance in Emily’s direction. “Are you comfortable?”
She grimaced and shrugged.
Marcus turned himself and reached for her. “Lean into me. Let’s try to get some sleep.” Raising one foot to the bench, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. After a moment’s hesitation, she relaxed and allowed herself to melt into his arms.
“Marcus?” she said timidly.
“Um-hm?” he answered. Already he felt better.
“Is it okay if I call you that?”
“Yes, Miss Goodnight.”
She giggled.
Naughty Emily
The journey of nearly three days was expedited by fair weather and lucky timing when they needed to change out the horses. Innkeepers greeted them jovially, and they always found rooms available to let. Although they traveled under one common name, Emily doubted anyone was fooled. The route to Gretna Green was by no means an isolated one. Likely, most who traversed it did so with the same purpose: to elope.
And Marcus was absurd.
He didn’t use the common name to represent them as husband and wife, No, he had introduced Emily to the first innkeeper as his sister. Emily had struggled not to roll her eyes at the lie.
