And when her friends had babies and celebrated the holidays with happy contentment and love… “At least I wasn’t sent to Wales.”
“Emily.” He didn’t want to answer with anything specific. She could tell by the tension in him. She needed to learn how to do that. How to turn off her emotions, stop caring for a person and not be pierced by the memories of shared pleasure.
“Miss Goodnight for a few more minutes at least,” she reprimanded him. “No, really, Lord Blakely.” She’d not call him Marcus. That had been a mistake. “Please be perfectly clear in what my expectations ought to be. Because I’d expected nothing less than friendship… and perhaps a child or two. If you’re not willing to give me either of those…” What was she saying? Wales awaited her! Perhaps something far worse after she’d tossed her reputation into the wind and run off with a single gentleman.
His shoulders relaxed. “Wearefriends, Emily.” He touched his forehead to hers. “And, yes, I’ll give you a child or two… as many as you wish. But…” He swallowed hard. “I don’t know how long I’ll remain in England after we return to London. I’m blacklisted, and God help me, I don’t see that changing until my father quits this world. It burns inside to think that he’s won.”
“But he won’t win. I thought that was what this was all about.” She felt some relief at his promises, but also a dark, sinking feeling. His hatred of his father drove him. “Showing him he couldn’t manage your life. But by leaving, by allowing him to run you out of England, you’re giving him all the power.”
“It’s not just that.” He tipped her chin up and finally looked into her eyes. “I don’t want you to expect anything more than that.”
Yesterday, and late last night, for one of the first times in her life, she’d felt like a woman—nota freak,nota spinster, or bluestocking,notsomebody to be forgotten. And she supposed if he were to get her with child, she’d feel that way again. Even if only temporarily.
When had she decided to demand more?
“I haven’t asked for more, have I?” she finally answered. “I just thought we were… passing the time.”
Oh, yes. That’s all it was.
“What if your father didn’t kill her? What if this is all a mistake?” She blurted it out in a rush, unwilling to compound the misunderstanding, if it was one, after all.
He tilted his head and regarded her for a moment longer. “It doesn’t matter, Emily. It’s already done. You’ve run off with me. Alone. If we don’t’ marry, I doubt even your evil aunt in Wales would take you on now.”
She knew this. She’d known it as the carriage drove away from Eden’s Court. She’d only fooled herself into thinking she had control over the rest of her life.
Thank God, Marcus was an honorable man.
“Do I have your favor again, then?” He searched her eyes as though this truly mattered to him.
Emily forced herself to smile. “Of course.”
He studied her for a moment longer and then turned and walked her once again toward a long flat building at the end of the road. Several lights burned inside, and the sound of a hammer hitting metal rang almost melodically. Marcus opened the door for her.
Fires glowed from two separate pits and the warmth of the room immediately wrapped around her. “Be with you in a moment, my lord!” hollered the man pounding the metal, barely taking a moment to see who’d entered his shop.
Marcus led her toward a long counter and pulled a few pieces of paper out of his jacket. The room smelled of smoke and hot metal and sweat. Emily couldn’t help but compare this with Cecily’s wedding or either of Sophia’s weddings. They had each taken place in a church, with flowers and a beautiful dress. Not to mention an eager groom. Instead of an organ playing, the ringing of the anvil echoed in her ears.
She stared down at her empty hands. Not even a small bouquet of flowers. The man who approached them had black streaks across his face and his hands were nearly black with coal. “You wish to be married then?” he asked her.
She nodded.
“You aren’t married to another?”
She answered this question by shaking her head. And then an unsteady, “No.”
“You’re old enough?”
Again, a nod.
“And you, my lord?”
“The same,” Marcus answered.
“Well, then. You’re married.” The blacksmith then examined Marcus’ paperwork, handed her a pen to sign her own name, and then returned to his work.
“That’s it?” Emily glanced around as though something surely had been forgotten. “That was our wedding ceremony?”
Marcus simply grinned and indicated they should leave. “Efficient, aren’t they?”
