“Have you talked about your return to London yet?” Julia asked.

Emma looked at her husband who was currently showing his skill at archery. Thankfully the weather had cleared in time for Amelia’s garden party. Morgan looked in fine health with no sign of then man who had been tossing and turning in his bed with a fever.

“With that cold and fever, we haven’t had a chance,” Emma admitted. “We are meant to return in three days and I haven’t proved anything.”

“Maybe you won’t need to prove anything. If he loves you enough, perhaps he will be willing to compromise.”

Emma was grateful she had not also been nibbling on anything. “Love?” She shook her head. “Love?”

Julia picked up a cold chunk of ham and flung it on the grass for Roo, who had been lingering around the buffet table set on the veranda for quite some time. The dog leapt onto it eagerly and grabbed the hunk of meat before running off with his treasure between his teeth.

“Yes, love, Emma. You have heard of it I’m sure.” Julia offered a tilted smile.

“Yes, but—”

“You’re the prettiest of us all, apart from Lavinia.” Julia ticked off a finger. “You’re definitely more patient than Catherine and I.” She ticked another finger. “From the sounds of it, you are keeping him more than happy in bed.”

“Julia!” Emma clapped both hands to her cheeks and glanced around to see if anyone was listening.

“Admittedly you cannot sing or play violin or do card tricks, but I doubt Morgan is interested in those skills.” Her sister winked. “The truth is, dear sister, you are an excellent catch and were it not for the fact you were a Chadwick, you would have likely been snapped up a lot sooner than the rest of us. You should not doubt that you are most certainly loveable.”

“Yes, but you and Amelia and Catherine, you all have things.”

“Things?”

Emma waved a hand. “Things. You know, passions that you enjoy.” She shrugged. “I do not have any of those.”

“In the eyes of a husband, I doubt that’s a terrible thing. Perhaps being a countess was meant to be your thing. You could run charitable events and parties and host the best balls in the county.”

Emma snorted. “I cannot see that happening.”

Julia took her arm and tugged her close to her side. “It does not mean you should give up. And it does not mean you cannot be loved for you. Certainly, Guy admires my passion for nature and the otters, but that’s not why he loves me. He loves me for me, otters or not. Besides, you have not been yourself since he fell on you.”

“Well, I did hit my head…”

“Nonsense, it’s because you were half-in-love with him. Why else would you agree to it all?”

Emma frowned. “I didn’t have much choice if I recall.”

“If it’s not love you feel now, I do not know what it is. You should tell him. You’ll feel much more like yourself then.”

Emma swung a glance at her sister. “When did you become so clever?”

She smiled smugly. “When I married of course. I found my other half. Now I’m doubly clever.”

“I would not go so far as to say that,” Emma mumbled.

“Look, I think your earl wants your attention. See how he looks at you? If that’s not love, then I shall eat my bonnet.”

“The ugly one with all the feathers?”

“Oh, that deserves eating. Mama knows I hate feathers.” Julia gave her a little push. “Now go to your husband who is positively desperately in love with you.”

Emma shook her head but headed over to Morgan where the men had set up targets and were practicing archery near the wilder part of the garden, a little way in front of the river that wove through the grassland. He watched her approach. Love? Was Julia right? She certainly trusted her sister’s instincts better than her own, seeing as Julia had been married some time now and had experienced all the highs and lows of falling in love.

The mere idea set a giddy swirl of excitement through her belly. But what did that mean if he did? And did she love him in return?

He greeted her with a wild smile and took her hand in his. They had not been to bed together since his illness but she suspected even if they had, that little touch would still send shivers through her. However, shivers did not mean love.

“Did you need me?” she asked.

His eyes flashed wickedly. “Always,” he murmured.

“No, I mean….um.”

“Um,” he copied her with a grin.

“Was there something you wanted?”

“Only your company. I have not seen you all afternoon.”

“Well, my mother wanted to lecture me for most of it,” she said with a rueful smile. Apparently, Mama knew all about being a countess, despite the fact their father was a mere sir.

“Are you any good?” he asked, nodding toward the targets.

“Not at all. I tried it once and failed completely.”

“Only once? Then you must try again.”

Emma shook her head. “Oh no.

“Yes, you must. You didn’t give up on card tricks did you?”

She winced inwardly. No, and he saw each one of her failed tricks. It had never bothered her before but she’d seen the pity in his eyes, even if it hadn’t registered for a while.

“I did in the end, and rightly so. I was terrible at them.”

“But it was quite adorable to watch you try.” His eyes crinkled with amusement and he pressed a finger between her brow. “You’d get a little crease here when you were thinking hard about the card numbers.”

Emma opened her mouth and closed it. How had he noticed that about her? They had hardly known each other then and she had not paid him any more attention than he had her. Yet, she could remember almost every moment he had been around if she thought hard.

“Will you try then?”

“I suppose.”

He handed over the bow and arrow and Emma clumsily set them in place, recalling how to place her fingers from her attempt at least two years ago. She eyed the target, squinted, held her breath and pulled bow string back. She released it and the arrow dropped straight to the floor.

“See? I told you I was terrible.”

Morgan shook his head. “Try again.” He picked up the arrow and handed it over.

With a sigh, she set up the arrow again and pulled with all her might. The arrow shot to the side and embedded itself in the floor, not far from where Catherine was playing with Roo. Her sister stopped, hands on hips and glared at Emma. “Careful!”

“Sorry,” Emma called and tried to hand the bow back to Morgan. “I’m no good at this. I’m no good at anything.”

He folded his arms and refused to take it. “Try again.”

“No.”

He took the bow and came around her, setting it in her hands. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

Why he was being so insistent, she did not know, but she let him wrap his arms about her and settle her fingers in place with a new arrow. He showed her how to pull back and keep the arrow positioned perfectly.

“I have every confidence in you, Emma,” he said into her ear.

Emma blinked. No one had ever said that to her. With every new hobby she had adopted, her sisters had groaned and grumbled and asked when she would give it up as she was clearly terrible.

She pulled the string back and let the arrow fly. It shot forward and stuck in the very side of the target. “Goodness.” She gaped at it for a moment and turned to grin at Morgan. “I did it.”

“Told you.” He gave her a swift kiss on the lips.

She narrowed her gaze at him. “There’s no need to be so smug. Why is everyone so smug today?”

“Who else is smug?”

“Just Julia. She thinks she knows everything about…well, never mind.”

“Why do you not try again and I shall get us some refreshments. You look a little peaked.”

She couldn’t bring herself to confess she was thinking of love and all that it entailed. Loving her husband would be no bad thing but with if he did not love her? There were no guarantees after all. They were not lucky enough to marry for love like her sisters.

Picking up another arrow, she turned and froze when she found Mr. Bartholomew standing between her and the target. “Mr. Bartholomew, I could have shot you,” she declared.

“A chance worth taking.” He had an odd smile on his face, one that looked vaguely hopeful.

Emma swallowed. “I did not realize you were coming today.” Amelia had decided it would be only family and a few close friends. A good way to show Morgan how relaxing and pleasant garden parties and country society could be.

“Your most excellent brother, Lord Wentworth invited me in after I arrived to talk business with him. I did not realize such an event was taking place.” He motioned behind them. “An excellent spread, if I do say so myself.” He licked his top lip and Emma noted the sweat beading above it.

It was a warm day but no reason to be sweating. Was he well? Because he seemed quite odd indeed, and that was saying something for Mr. Bartholomew, who could be considered odd and awkward on the best of days. She was not sure she believed he was here to do business with Nicholas. Amelia had already said that Nicholas had no intention of working with him and why would he invite Mr. Bartholomew over when he knew they were to hold a garden party?

“An excellent spread,” Emma echoed, peering over his shoulder for Morgan. Her husband should return at any moment hopefully and then this uncomfortable conversation could be at an end, seeing as Morgan could not seem to stand the man.

“I am glad to see you, Lady Radcliff. I must confess, I have been wanting to speak to you alone.”

“Oh?”

“I was wondering…you see…it is widely known that your marriage was not of your choosing.”

“Mr. Bartholomew, I do not think—”

“I wanted to make sure that you were happy in your match. I can imagine being thrown into such things with a man like Radcliff can be quite daunting.”

“I’m not sure that we should be talking of such matters.” She peered around him again. Oh, where was Morgan?

“You see. I will confess that I have your wellbeing in mind most days.”

“My wellbeing?”

“I imagine he does not. After all, how can he? He was nothing but a bachelor who hopped from bed to bed.”

“That is my husband you are talking about, Mr. Bartholomew,” Emma warned.

“Yes.” He leaned in closer. “And you can be honest with me. Are you happy in your marriage? Because, you see, I had it in mind, before you married the earl, that I might offer for you. I am no titled gentleman but I have enough to ensure your comfort and I am upwardly mobile.”

“Well…” Emma struggled to find the words to reply to such boldness.

“There is another thing, Emma—if I may be so bold as to call you that?” He did not let her reply but shifted closer to her, leaving her barely an inch of space. “I found myself, well…” He chuckled to himself. “Quite in love with you.” He touched her sleeve and ran a finger down her arm. “I still am, Emma. Utterly in love with you. If I could, I would make you the happiest woman alive.”

“Um.”

“I still wish to. If I could, I would make you happy. We could spend time together, you know. Many people do. I know your husband prefers London. Why do you not stay in the country and let me show you what true love is?”

“You bastard.” Morgan’s fist flew past Emma’s face and landed squarely on Mr. Bartholomew’s jaw. Emma stumbled back and Mr. Bartholomew dropped to the ground, gripping his jaw. He raised a hand to protect himself when Morgan drew back a fist.

Nicholas raced over before Emma could quite comprehend what had happened and grabbed Morgan’s arm before he could strike again.

Morgan fought against Nicholas. “The bastard propositioned Emma. Let me bloody at him!”

Bartholomew scrabbled to his feet and lifted his fists. Blood trickled from the side of his mouth. “I should have had her anyway.”

“Never,” Morgan spat and tried to tug away from Nicholas.

By now, her sisters and Guy had crowded around them. Emma shook her head in disbelief. Could nothing go right?

She stepped in between the two men and held up her hands. “Enough!”

Morgan relaxed in Nicholas’s grip but her brother-in-law wisely kept hold of him.

“You are not good enough for her and you know it, Radcliff,” said Mr. Bartholomew, dabbing at his lip.

“Like hell.” Morgan’s fists bunched again and Emma ensured she was still in front of him.

“If you had not been there before me, Emma would be married to me, and I would be the one making her happy. You can never make her happy,” Mr. Bartholomew declared. “How can you? You did not even want to marry her.”

Emma frowned and glanced between the two men. “If he had been there first?”

Morgan unclenched his fists and sighed.

Mr. Bartholomew lifted his chin. “I was going to rescue you from ruin. I intended to propose. That is why I was there that day. Somehow, Radcliff heard of this and decided to leap in before me.”

She drew in a breath through a painful chest and frowned. “You knew he wanted to propose?” She directed the question at Morgan.

Morgan nodded. “I couldn’t let you marry him. How could I subject you to that?”

Emma absorbed the words. “So you asked me to ensure he did not ask me?”

“I—”

“You did not want me to make the decision myself?”

“He’s no good for you, Emma.” Morgan flung a hand in Mr. Bartholomew’s direction. “He would have bored the life out of you.”

“That’s not true,” Mr. Bartholomew spluttered into a handkerchief that was now pressed against his lip. “I would have treated you like the angel you are.”

Emma ignored him, focusing instead on her husband. “You could have at least told me.” She released a breath of frustration that had been trapped in her chest. “You tell me nothing.” She turned away from him and pointed to Mr. Bartholomew. “And you…you had no right to approach me like you did. No right to discuss my life as if I am not even standing here, incapable of making my own decisions.”

“Emma,” Morgan implored.

“I have had no control over my life since the day you fell on me.” She whirled away from him, her heart thudding hard in her chest. His hand had been forced by Bartholomew’s intended proposal and she was not at all sure she liked that. At least before she thought he was simply doing the honorable thing. “Do not follow me,” she said to anyone who was listening before she marched away.

She heard Morgan and her sisters call her name as she dashed past the targets, into the wild grass land surrounding them. She needed to be away from them all. If it wasn’t her sisters telling her what was best for her, it was the men in her life and she was utterly fed up with it.

“Bloody men. Always thinking they know best,” she muttered. “Catherine was right to stay unmarried.”

“Emma, careful!” she thought she heard someone say. She twisted her head to look behind her and her footing gave way. The world tilted and she slipped onto her side, tumbling down the embankment and landing in the river. Water cascaded over her and she spluttered while trying to find a footing. The water was shallow but cold and it stole her breath as she scrabbled to crawl to the side.

Two boots splashed into the water next to her sending up a spray of water over her head. Morgan reached down for her arms and dragged up bodily to her feet then back up the embankment. Wet and muddy, Emma tried to push her hair away from her face to quite fathom what had happened but Morgan had her in a tight grip. Apparently, she had not been watching her step properly in her anger.

Morgan gripped her arms and ran his gaze over her. “Are you well? Emma, are you hurt? God Almighty I would never forgive myself.” He pressed her hard against her chest. “Christ, you could have drowned.”

Emma pushed away enough to look up at him. His skin was the whitest she’d ever seen it and his eyes reflected pure horror. She had thought she was shaking but she now realized it was Morgan.

“It was only shallow, Morgan. I wouldn’t have drowned.”

He smoothed her hair back from her face and kissed her lips, then her cheek, then her forehead, as though she had just escaped the very jaws of death.

“Morgan, I am well,” she insisted. “Stop.”

“Bloody rivers,” he muttered, kissing her again. “Bloody countryside. It could have killed you.”

“It could not have.” She drew farther back and pressed away his hands from her face so that she could look at him properly. “I am well,” she repeated. “All is fine. Why are you shaking so badly?”

He glanced at the audience that had now gathered. Amelia had picked up a picnic blanket, ready to offer it but it seemed they realized now was not the time to intervene. Mr. Bartholomew was nowhere to be seen and she supposed her brothers-in-law had escorted him away after all the trouble he had caused.

“What a mess,” said Catherine. “At least it wasn’t the big river. Amelia nearly died there.”

“Shhh,” hissed Julia.

Emma waved her hand at them. “I’m fine. Just a little wet and muddy. Go back to the party. We’ll join you in a minute.”

“She’s caked in mud,” mumbled Catherine as everyone returned to the lawns.

“There, they are all gone,” Emma said. “Now will you tell me what is going?”

He eyed her for several moments and his shoulder sagged. “My parents,” he muttered.

“Your parents?”

He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. “They died in a carriage accident. On their way to Berkshire.”

“I had heard.”

“It was raining and the roads were terrible. The side of one gave way and the carriage…” He looked away from her. “The carriage fell into a river. They think my father died instantly but my mother—” His voice cracked.

Emma wrapped her hands around his upper arms and coaxed him to face her. “Your mother?”

“It is not really known widely but it seems she drowned. She was trapped in the carriage and it filled with water and she drowned.”

“Oh, Morgan.” Emma pressed her forehead against his chest. No wonder he hated the countryside, no wonder he’d feared she would drown.

“Perhaps you would have been better off marrying Bartholomew,” he said tonelessly. “He’s not as foolish as I.”

She lifted her head. “You can be a fool indeed but there is nothing foolish about being scared.”

An eyebrow lifted. “A man like me scared of water and countryside? It’s ridiculous. Whoever heard of such a thing? I’m meant to be an earl for God sakes.”

“You would not be the first man to have such fears and nor will you be the last.”

“I have nightmares, Emma. Terrible nightmares. You heard some of it but that wasn’t even the worst.”

“That is why you would not stay with me.”

He nodded. “So you see? Perhaps I should have let Bartholomew have you.”

Emma smiled softly. “Perhaps you should have been honest from the beginning.”

“And terrify you? I don’t see that being a clever idea at all. You were already frightened to death on our wedding night.”

“Of the act, yes. It was all very new and I had little idea what to expect. But you should have told me.” She smoothed a hand up his cheek and cupped it. “You silly man, you should have told me.”

“I was going to,” he admitted, laying a hand over hers to hold it to his cheek. “When I realized—”

“Realized?”

His Adam’s apple worked. “That I love you.”

The chill from the water and mud vanished, replaced with a flood of warmth that stretched her chest. She beamed at him. There were no more doubts now. Julia had been right. She did love him.

“I’m sorry that I am not a stronger man.”

“You are the strongest man I know. How could you not be, when you have been trying to protect me all this time?”

“So you do not wish I had let Bartholomew propose?”

“You were right, he is a bore. I just feared that…that maybe it meant you would never love me.”

His eyes lost that dark, lost look that had haunted them since he’d dragged her from the river. “Does that mean…?”

“That I love you? Yes.”

“Thank the lord, I thought I’d buggered it all up.”

She giggled. “I think you buggered it all up when you fell on me, but somehow I think fate was trying to tell us something.”

“I agree. I could not have fallen on a better woman.”

She grinned. “I could not have been fallen on by a better man.” Going onto her tiptoes, she kissed him.

“Stop kissing and come and get dry,” bellowed Catherine. “That boring Bartholomew has gone.”

“I think we’d better do as she says.” Emma took Morgan’s hand. “You do not want to give her a chance to threaten you.”