Chapter Twenty
James stood on the parapet overlooking the garden below. In the distance he could see dozens of servants arranging chairs, decorating the gazebo, hustling with flowers and ribbon.
They were preparing the space where he would marry Emma in…he glanced down at his pocket watch…two hours.
He sighed. Everything in the past week and a half had flown by. He’d had a special license to arrange, there had been seamstresses coming and going, looking harried and displeased, despite how much he was paying them to swiftly prepare a gown for his future wife. And there had still been his country party to lord over. Only now it was a wedding party, and the tone of it all had shifted significantly.
The one thing there had not been time for, it seemed, was a moment alone with Emma. He frowned at that thought. He’d been dreaming about making love to her, but she never seemed to be alone anymore. She had even asked Meg to stay in her room with her until their wedding night, thwarting his attempts to join her as he had before.
She was avoiding him.
“Your Grace?”
He turned and stifled a groan at the person who had interrupted him. Mrs. Liston, his future mother-in-law, now stood at the terrace door. She and her husband had not been avoiding him since the engagement, unfortunately. He’d had the distinct displeasure of spending a great deal of time with them. He had been asked for money, time, introductions, even a cottage on his estate. Never directly, of course, always in a roundabout way that made it seem like their concern was only for Emma.
Oh yes, he had become very familiar with their grasping ways.
“Mrs. Liston,” he said, his tone cool. “You are lovely, as always.”
She glanced down at her gown with a titter. “I would have had a new gown made—mother of the bride, you know—but there was no time. Not that I am complaining.”
His lips thinned as he thought of her words on the terrace so many nights ago. He’d overheard her plotting with Emma to “catch” him. Emma had refused, though it had all turned out exactly as this woman had desired.
And she looked rather proud of it.
When he didn’t say anything, she moved forward. “I would like to talk to you about my daughter’s future.”
He frowned. “As we have discussed before, your daughter’s future is taken care of, Mrs. Liston. She will want for nothing ever again.” She shifted slightly, and James lifted both eyebrows. It seemed they were done dancing around what this woman wanted. She was ready to be more direct. “Ah, I see. You really mean you wish to speak to me about your future.”
She nodded and moved closer to him. “Mine and my husband’s.”
James tightened his fists at his sides. Any time he spent with his future father-in-law was a continuing exercise in self-control. Knowing what Mr. Liston had done to Emma, what he had tried to do, it made James want to destroy the man.
And now her mother came, asking for a boon for him. For herself.
“I want to make something very clear, Mrs. Liston,” he said softly. “I shall give Emma whatever she desires for the rest of her life. I shall happily do so, for I know her character. I know that she deserves no less. But as for your husband, when this wedding is over, I would not be sorry to never see him again.”
Mrs. Liston’s lips parted and her eyes went wide. “Your Grace—”
He held up a hand to stop her talking. “Enough. I do not understand you. How you can know exactly what he is, how you can hear what he did to your daughter, the future he would have created for her in order to save himself, and still coo into his ear like you are newlyweds?”
Dark color flooded her cheeks and she turned away from him suddenly. “I—” she began. “He—he has promised to change. He has sworn that now that Emma is settled, he will also alter his ways. He will come to London with me, stay in our home there. We will only need a bit of help and he—”
“How did Emma grow up to be so very clever?” James interrupted with a shake of his head. “If you are so foolish as to believe those lies.”
“They are not lies, Your Grace,” she snapped, facing him again, her arms folded in defiance and her eyes filled with tears.
“How many times has he told you the very same thing?” he whispered. “How many times has he promised you diamonds and pearls, fidelity and calm?”
Her expression told him everything he wanted to hear and he shook his head slowly. “Emma cares for you, despite all you have allowed during her life. And if she would like to support you, I will never argue against it. But her father…that man will never receive a penny from my purse. And I will do everything in my power to make sure he never hurts her again. Take a little advice, Mrs. Liston, from someone who knows it all too well. People do not change. And you will only be disappointed if you believe your husband’s tales one more time.”
She stared at him, her hands clenched at her sides and her bottom lip trembling. In that moment, he saw Emma in her. Emma in twenty years, if she was denied safety and security…love.
He could give her the first two, but the last? Would marrying him doom her as much as marrying Sir Archibald would have done?
He shook off the troubling question as Mrs. Liston stepped up to him. “You owe us,” she whispered.
He arched a brow. “I owe Emma. Everything else is optional.”
She huffed out her breath and raced from the balcony back into the house, leaving James alone again. He stared off into the distance once more. The servants were almost finished with their preparations for his wedding.
And now he did not know how to proceed with Emma once she was truly his. Because the idea of anyone’s happiness belonging to him—or worse, his happiness belonging to someone else—was terrifying.
Emma hardly recognized the woman who stood looking at her in her mirror. Meg’s seamstress had done wonders in a short amount of time, creating an exquisite gown stitched through with sparkling silver thread and a finely braided bodice. Her hair had been twisted, curled and piled in a beautiful fashion. Her cheeks had been pinched, her lips very lightly rouged, despite the naughtiness of that action.
She looked…different.
She almost looked like a duchess should.
“You are gorgeous,” Meg said, leaning in to kiss Emma’s cheek. “My brother will be enraptured!”
Emma bent her head. Enrapture James? That seemed almost impossible. He was marrying her out of duty, out of some sense that he had to save her. Soon enough whatever desire he felt for her would fade, and they would be left with…
Resentment. Perhaps one day even hatred.
She shivered, and Meg rubbed her bare arms gently. “Are you cold?”
“No,” Emma said, covering her friend’s hand. “Not cold. Thank you.”
The door to her chamber opened and her mother stepped in. Emma rose to her feet as she stared at Mrs. Liston’s drawn face. She was upset, that was clear. Dread rose up in Emma’s chest, washing away any other good emotion she might have felt as she wondered in terror what her father might have done now.
“May I have a moment with my mother?” she said, smiling at Sally and Meg.
“Of course,” Meg said, and turned to the maid. “Sally, you must talk to my maid. I would someday love to have my hair styled as you did Emma’s. It is perfect.”
They exited the room together, and Meg shut the door as they did so, leaving Emma alone with her mother. She moved toward her a step. “What is it?”
Her mother shook her head. “Awful man. You don’t even know, Emma!”
Emma drew in long breaths and tried to keep her voice calm as she whispered, “What did he do? What did Father do now?”
“Your father?” Mrs. Liston burst out with an angry cackle. “No, it wasn’t him who upset me.”
Emma blinked in confusion. “Then who?”
“That future husband of yours,” Mrs. Liston ground out. “Do you know he dared to say he would not support your father? He claims Harold doesn’t deserve it after what he did to you. What he did? Well, he’s the reason you’re marrying a duke at all, isn’t he?”
“Because he forced James’s hand when he lost me in a bet?” Emma barked. “How wonderful of him, yes.”
“Don’t be impertinent,” her mother snapped. “He saved you, in a roundabout way. But Abernathe is insistent that he shall not spare a farthing for your poor father.”
Emma swallowed. Her mother meant for her to be upset by this knowledge, but she was creating an opposite reaction. As she stood there, listening to her mother rail about James’s set down of her father, she felt…protected. Like she had finally found the champion she had prayed for all her life.
“My poor father,” she repeated softly. “Is that what you have convinced yourself he is, a victim in all this?”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “You may be a future duchess, but you still owe him respect. He’s your father.”
“Hardly,” Emma said softly. “He has been in and out of my life for decades, Mama. And yours, for heaven’s sake. Not a week ago, you were agonizing over him reappearing and destroying our lives. Now you speak of him like he is a saint.”
Her mother shifted. “You don’t understand love, Emma. If you did, you would know what I go through, what I must accept.”
Emma turned away. She did understand love. She loved James—there was no longer any denying that. But she didn’t want the life she had watched her mother had live. One where she feared and longed for a man in equal measure. One where she was forced to forgive all transgressions out of some desperate hope for crumbs of his affection.
“You make the life you live, Mama,” she said. “And so must I.” She turned back. “If James does not wish to support Father, then…I do not question his decision.”
Her mother’s face crumpled and her hands clenched at her sides. “Ungrateful wretch,” she hissed out before she spun around and raced from the room.
Emma leaned her hands against the closest table, her eyes stinging with tears, her body trembling after the confrontation she’d just had with her mother. The one that felt like it had been coming for a lifetime.
She wanted to curl up and cry. She wanted to run away from the pain in her heart. But mostly, she wanted to find James. For his comfort and his support, yes, but also because she knew what she needed to do. She knew what she needed to risk.
And if she didn’t risk it now, she might never have another chance.
She straightened up and smoothed her gown, then walked from the chamber. She moved through the hallways, hearing talk and laughter from behind the doors in the guest quarters, smiling at the servants who now looked at her with new deference as their future mistress.
As she came down the staircase, Grimble was at the bottom. The butler had a long list and he was discussing it with a footman, but he waved the man off as she exited the stairs.
“Miss Liston,” he said, his tone and expression warm. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“James,” she breathed. “Abernathe. Where is he?”
The butler seemed slightly taken aback by her question, or perhaps it was her expression when she asked it, for she was certain she looked as troubled as she felt.
“His Grace is on the terrace,” he said slowly.
“Thank you, Grimble,” she said as she nodded. Her heart rate increased as she turned toward the back of the house, where she could join her future husband. Her legs and hands trembled as she entered a chamber and made for the French doors there. She pushed them open and looked down the terrace for the man she loved.
She found him immediately. But he wasn’t alone. James stood ten feet away, his back to her…with a beautiful woman standing across from him. She squinted to see better and drew in a breath. It was the Countess of Montague, a lady everyone knew was open with her favors. She’d seen them talk before at the party, just in passing. But this was not a passing conversation. Lady Montague was leaning into James, her hand boldly lifted to his chest.
Emma watched them together, her hands shaking at her sides and tears stinging her eyes. James smiled at the other woman, and her heart broke as she turned away. Walked back into the house, back through to the foyer. Grimble said her name, but she ignored him as she exited the house and hurried down the path that took her from the house, toward the stables.
She walked for a short time, her breath ragged and her mind spinning. Had she seen James doing something wrong? Not exactly. He’d been talking to one of his guests. A female guest, yes, but she could certainly not expect him to never speak to another woman again just because he was marrying her.
It was the intimacy of the discussion that broke her. In that moment, she’d seen a glimpse of her potential future. She did not want to be like her mother, loving a man who didn’t return the feelings, waiting for him to grace her with any kind of attention. She couldn’t spend her life like that.
She turned a corner toward the stables, uncertain of her next step. Did she go back and confront James? Did she pretend this hadn’t happened and move forward with the union, despite her questions?
Did she run away?
She stopped in the middle of the path as she tried to regain her composure.
“Well, well, well.”
She turned at the snide voice coming from behind her. Who she saw there made her heart almost stop.
“S-Sir Archibald,” she breathed, backing away from the man.
He stepped forward an equal distance, keeping her within arm’s length. She stared at him, for he didn’t look like the man who had expressed interest in her just a short time before. His hair was messy, his face red, like he’d been drinking, and his eyes were glassy.
“What is wrong with you?” she whispered.
He tilted his head as if confused by her question. “Wrong with me? Aside from the abject humiliation brought down on me by your duke?”
She shivered at the harsh and shrill tone of his voice. “What humiliation is that, Sir Archibald? Surely you never really wanted me. You hardly know me, and I could not be considered a catch based on my family and my lack of funds.”
He arched a brow at her harsh self-assessment. “Perhaps not, but I had made my claim. Your father had approved the match. Abernathe should not have so publicly denied me. Now I am the laughingstock of the shire. Everyone whispers when they see me, they laugh behind their hands. That shall not stand.”
She caught her breath, for she saw the dangerous light of his stare. “What—what are you going to do?”
“Take what’s his,” he said softly. “To even the score.”
He moved forward again and Emma yelped in terror as she swung out at him wildly. Her nails raked his cheek, leaving a swollen welt, and he growled out pain and increased anger.
“You have fight,” he said, pushing forward. She slid along the wall, watching for a chance for escape, but wherever she moved, he followed. “I like fight.”
Her heart throbbed. He was herding her toward the dark, empty stalls at the back of the big room. She let out a scream and he jumped, tackling her at last. Her shoulder hit the corner of one of the stalls and a burst of pain ripped through her.
He covered her mouth with his palm. “Hush now, no one is coming for you. Save all that noise for later.”
She struggled, but he was surprisingly strong for a man of his years. In that moment she realized she was trapped. She was caught. And he was right—there was no one coming to help her.