Page 60 of The Marquess’s Forbidden Bride

Telling himself he dare not press her more, he walked her back to the house. Still furious on her behalf, he intended to think carefully about how to exact retribution against Aldersby, regretting that he was banned from calling him out or giving him the beating he deserved. The rest of his initial panic had trickled away, leaving him with a sense of having avoided a situation for which he wasn’t yet prepared…but an even greater sense of dismay.

With Emma out of London, when would he see her again? Much as he hated the thought of just…letting her go, it was obviously not the moment to try to delay her or disregard her ardent desire to leave the city.

He’d wait for the confusion, anxiety and distress to calm, hers and his, he decided. If he could do nothing more to help her now, he’d concentrate instead on figuring out how to deal with Aldersby and press on with all speed to settling his own future.

She claimed now that she would never marry. But after he gave her time to recover, after he accelerated his transition into his new role…he’d do all he could to change her mind.

Chapter Nineteen

Two weeks later, Emma walked the garden paths at Tricklebrook Cottage, trug in hand, snipping blooms to adorn the dinner table. With Sarah’s help and wordless compassion, she’d left London the day after her meeting with Claire and Charles, having sent a note on ahead asking for—and receiving—her aunt’s hospitality.

She’d related to that lady the bare outline of events, which Aunt Felicia heard without interruption before enfolding her niece in her arms. Only then did Emma let flow the tears she’d been restraining, sobbing out her anger, anguish and frustration.

‘Oh, my dear,’ her aunt said when the flood ceased. ‘I cannot tell you how sorry I am that this ugliness found its way into the next generation, disrupting your life as it did mine. As you know, there was good reason why I could never re-enter Society or seek love again. But you suffer no such impediment; perhaps, when all the furore dies down, you may return to London under Sarah’s protection and look about for a husband. Not to make a brilliant match—Society would not forgive you sufficiently for that to be possible—but a fine, fair man, made privy to the facts of your situation, should see that your virtues far outweigh the unmerited infamy you have suffered.’

Emma pressed her lips together to prevent herself from confessing that a fine, fair man had offered for her. And that she had refused him.

‘Oh, Aunt, how could I ask any man to tarnish his reputation by uniting himself with me?’

‘Wouldn’t that be for the gentleman to decide? Only a reminder, my child, that you do have other options for the future. But lest you worry about the security of that future, know that I intend to leave you Tricklebrook Cottage. You will never want for a home or an income.’

Surprise, love and gratitude nearly had her in tears again. ‘How generous of you! How can I ever thank you enough?’

Giving her a hug, her aunt said, ‘Who else should I leave it to? I know you love Tricklebrook and its gardens just as much as I do. But in the interim, remain here as long as you wish. You know I delight in your company.’ Her aunt grinned. ‘You can help with the weeding.’

Emma gave her a watery smile. ‘Oh, yes! That’s the only blessing in this situation, the joy of being able to pursue my love of plants with no impediment. And to share it with you.’

And it had been a joy, these last few weeks. But despite being surrounded by the beauty and healing calm of plants, during the ensuing days of solitude, another painful truth had emerged. Once reality sank in that with her banished in the country, even a casual friendship with Charles was now forever lost to her, she realised just how much she had come to count on seeing him, teasing him, walking with him…kissing him.

The thought of being forever deprived of his energising, amusing, incredibly dear presence forced her to acknowledge what her heart had been whispering for some time, while she danced around it, both hands over her ears to block out the truth.

She more than just admired and desired Charles Marsden, former Lieutenant, now Marquess of Richland. She wasn’t in danger of falling in love with him—she already had.

With that realisation came recognition that what she wanted more than anything was to call him back and have him renew his offer for her to become his wife.

Except, if she loved him and wanted the best for him, she couldn’t possibly accept it.

Knowing she loved him and how incapable of deception she was, there would be no way to continue a casual friendship, even if she were to return to London and attempt to rehabilitate her reputation. She would not be able to mask such strong feelings for long from one who’d always been so uncannily able to read her thoughts and emotions.

In the first astonished minutes of admitting her love, she’d felt a wave of exultation, speculating she could bid Charles visit, confess her feelings and tell him she would now joyfully accept his offer. But that flush of enthusiasm was soon squelched by recalling the wording of his offer.

She might now realise she loved him, but all he had vowed was a recognition of their ‘deep bond of friendship’, speculating they could ‘rub along well together’. He even admitted that he ‘hadn’t contemplated taking such a step this soon’.

The words of a concerned friend, an honourable man grieved because he thought his association with her had brought about her ruin and wanted to make amends.

By offering her his life.

A sacrifice she couldn’t let him make.

Her quiet life here, which had once seemed perfection, was now bittersweet. The privilege of owning a property like Tricklebrook, which she once believed would be the fulfilment of all her dreams, now seemed hollow at its heart.

Her punishment, for so blithely dismissing the power of love?

She might not be able to claim Charles as husband or friend, but she could pray for his happiness and for him to begin to feel he fit into his new life as quickly as possible.

Once he did—might he come calling again? But she would still be ruined, not a worthy match for a man in his position. Besides, by the time he felt comfortable in his role, his many friends in London would surely be pairing him with more suitable brides.

On that dispiriting note, she walked in with her full trug of flowers and began arranging them in a vase.