A small smile tugged at Emerson, and he touched his cousin’s now deformed hand. “We’ve been looking for you. You should rest. I’m to be married, my lord. And I’ll demand your presence.”
“And I shall be there,” he whispered, his eyes falling closed.
Emerson let Yates know the change in Ben’s lodgings, then had a footman posted at the door should Oscar require something, the least little thing. His cousin would not die on his watch.
Forty-Three
One month later
The Duke of Ryleigh didn’t appear to give a damn that he’d cornered Emerson at his own wedding day celebration. “Did you locate your blackmailer?” The man was formidable under any circumstance even though Emerson stood an inch or so higher and his shoulders were a breath wider. Dressed in all black and hands clasped at his lower back, Sebastian held the bearing of aristocracy that only one bred since birth could affect. It wasn’tallin the blood, though much of it could have been—at least that was the belief, if one based breeding similar to that of horses.
“As a matter of fact, I did. Turns out Stockton and his ilk had gotten themselves in dun territory. On Shufflebottom’s urging, they created a scheme that didn’t serve them well.”
“Are you pressing charges? Our wives have certainly made the possibility for getting away with such an atrocity less feasible.”
Emerson smiled. “No. I’ve hired the entire lot to work off the vowels I purchased from their debtholder. Apparently, the Marquis of Shufflebottom is in desperate need of funds himself. As I understand it, you and Viscount Harlowe were instrumental in running the man from town a few years back.”
Ryleigh’s turn of lips did not convey a speck of humor. “That’s so. I admit I was surprised when he returned and held that outlandish masquerade.”
“I suppose that was the reason you attended.”
“Indeed.” He speared Emerson with a shrewd look. “But hiring those youngbloods.” He shook his head, appearing truly stunned. “Is that wise?”
“The days ahead shall bring forth an answer. My theory is keeping the upstarts occupied with something constructive alleviates more time for being destructive.” He shrugged. “There are rules in place, of course.” Emerson turned a devious grin on the duke. “Consider it my contribution to Society in keeping young men from debtor’s prison, as I so blithely informed Stockton when I offered him the opportunity to pay his vowels.”
In what Emerson was sure was a rare feat, Ryleigh laughed outright and clapped him on the shoulder. “A brilliant solution, Whitmore. Have you run into opposition from any of their fathers?”
“Not as yet, but I suspect it’s because they’ve chosen not to enlighten them.”
He chuckled again. “You’ll let me know if you do happen to find your attempts at reform hindered. I’m sure I can offer some assistance.” His gaze moved around the ballroom, stopping on Rose. “There is one last item to address before I release you to your new wife’s care—”
Emerson followed his gaze. Rose stood with her arms crossed, and her eyes shooting her brother daggers. “Ah. The note I found in your desk? The one signed by ‘H’?” Little snaps clicked in Emerson’s head, like the snap of his pocket watch case closing. “I thought it might be from Huntley, but I was wrong, wasn’t I? Forgive my forthrightness, but it was most damning.”
The duke gave him an assessing look that was somewhat unnerving, but Emerson didn’t look away. Like it or not, he was the man’s newest brother-in-law, and surely a more viable choice considering his predecessor. Ryleigh let out a sigh. “I suppose it was. I’d forgotten the blasted thing. Before my father passed on, I ended up assisting Harlowe in a horrid scheme regarding the movement of…children.” He glanced out the window at the wintry day. “It was inadvertent but a good thing we did.” He shook his head. “Distasteful business, that.”
“I take it the situation went far in you supporting your wife’s philanthropic endeavors?”
He turned from the windows with a stern glare. “Yes, and I would thank you to steer clear of going through peerages’ private papers in future.”
Emerson inclined his head. “Noted, Your Grace.”
~~~
“What the devil did you and Sebastian have such a lengthy conversation about?” Rose demanded.
“Just clarifying a few loose ends for him,” Emerson said. “It’s been a long day, my love.” He swung her about the ballroom of Sebastian’s lavish home. “Your young women of Hope House are quite refined,” he said, changing the subject. “I fear they’ve exposed my less than genteel origins.”
“They do look beautiful,” she said, letting her gaze move over them with a wondrous sigh. “Your contributions have won you a permanent place in their hearts for certain, Mr. Whitmore. Viola has been the most instrumental in their refinement, edging you out by a mere hair.” Proving her point, she spotted Viola and Benjamin lining up the young women—all but Kadida and Lena, who’d been confined to Hope House with Mrs. Keir, at the ready for Kadida’s imminent lying in—for what suspiciously appeared to be instruction for a set of dancing.
Emerson swung her to a stop near a table with champagne-filled flutes, taking a glass for each of them and handing her one.
Frowning, she tapped his shoulder with her fan. “Less than genteel origins? I shall hear no degrading of yourself, sir. I’m more than happy with my choice of husband this time around.”
“Are you?” he asked softly.
Rose lifted her gaze, meeting his, her glass poised at her lips. “Oh, Emerson. Don’t ever doubt that. Ever,” she returned just as softly. “I-I never shall. That is my vow to you. To us. Haven’tyou learned yet? I love you. I’ve never uttered those words to a husband before.”
His eyes seared hers with unspoken emotion. “I love you, Rose.” He clinked his flute lightly to hers. “I believe we are well-matched. I shall take your words to heart, andneverdoubt this union, despite how you bedevil me, poor soul that I am.” He reached over and brushed a floundering ringlet from her face with such tenderness her vision blurred. “Tears, my love?” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed an embarrassing tear away.
