The Mister I Married (Romancing the Rogue #3)

Chapter Five

The following morning, Emmy sat hunched over her brother’s large, mahogany desk, the scratch of pen on paper the only sound punctuating the silence in the otherwise empty study.

She should have replied to Olivia’s letter days ago, but something more pressing always seemed to interfere. Not that she put up much of a fight. She never had been very fond of writing letters, but now that her two dearest friends were married and likely to spend less time in London, she knew she would have to get used to it, necessary evil that it was.

Sitting back in her brother’s large leather chair, she huffed out a little sigh. Loath though she was to admit it, her life was different now, and it would never again be what it used to be. It would never be just the three of them—Emmy, Sophie and Olivia, the best of friends, inseparable since girlhood. Her friends were married now, the wives of noblemen, and with that came new responsibilities and priorities. None of which included her.

Not that she resented her friends for marrying, of course. She’d meant what she’d said to Alex last night. She was happy for them. They had found love, and while she did not believe her own future would hold the same, she would never begrudge her friends their happiness.

All the same, right or wrong, she did feel left behind.

Setting her quill pen on top of the half-finished letter, she propped her feet up on the desk and crossed one ankle over the other. Another sigh escaped her.

She missed her friends, dash it all. She missed their walks in the Park, the weekly trips to Covington’s Bookshop, the animated discussions on the latest piece of gossip. She missed Sophie’s wry sense of humor and Olivia’s infectious enthusiasm.

She even missed her brother. Annoying Griff had often been one of the highlights of her day.

But he was gone now, too, settling into married life with Olivia, and Emmy was still trying to grow accustomed to it all. Everything had changed so quickly, and for someone like her, someone who detested change, it was not an easy adjustment to make, and she wasn’t entirely certain she could manage it. But she knew she must try.

There was nothing else for her to do, was there?

Shoving the somber thoughts aside, she picked up her letter and read over the words she’d written so far. A smile touched her lips as she read through her account of last night’s dinner party.

The evening had been an inarguable success, and Tess was absolutely masterful, charming everyone around her with ease.

Emmy would not be at all surprised if this morning saw the girl inundated with gentleman callers.

She was just about to say so in her letter when the door swung open, and her mother breezed into the room.

“Here you are!” Lady Keswick said, throwing her arms wide in dramatic fashion. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Emmy. What are you doing in your brother’s study?”

She came to a stop before the desk and plunked her fists on her hips, her pale peach skirts swishing about her legs.

“I like to pen my letters in here,” Emmy said. “It’s quiet, and this chair is the most comfortable seat in the house. Griffin can’t use it while he’s in the country, so I figured I would.”

“I’m not certain your brother would like you using his study, darling,” her mother replied. “And I certainly don’t like that you’re using his desk as a footrest.”

Emmy swung her feet to the floor and shot her mother a cheeky smile. “I won’t tell him if you won’t.”

Lady Keswick shook her head, an answering smile tugging at her lips as she changed the subject. “Do not forget,” she said, “we are expected for tea at Mrs. Grady’s this afternoon. We will need to leave in about an hour’s time.”

Emmy nodded. “I’ll just finish this letter to Olivia and then I’ll change my gown.”

Mrs. Grady was an elderly lady with no family left to care for her, so Emmy and her mother made sure to visit the old dear at least once a week to ensure she was eating well and keeping her spirits up.

“Did you mention last night’s dinner in your letter?” Lady Keswick asked, resting her palms on the desk. “I am sure Olivia will want to hear all about how well it went.”

“Oh, yes,” Emmy said, glancing down at the letter. “I was shamefully boastful, though a fair bit of it was on Miss Whitcomb’s behalf, of course. She was marvelous last night.”

Lady Keswick hummed her agreement, her gaze falling to her feet. “And did you make any mention of Mister Whitcomb in your letter?”

Emmy blinked up at her mother. “No. Should I have done?”

Lady Keswick gave an innocent flick of one shoulder, and said, “Well, you two did converse rather a lot last night.”

“Of course we conversed,” Emmy said, her brow knitting. “The dinner was held in his sister’s honor.”

Lady Keswick hummed again, her lips pursed in that telltale way which suggested she had many thoughts and was exerting great restraint to keep them at bay.

Emmy sighed. Saints be. Her mother was trying to matchmake again.

“I know what you are hinting at, Mother, and I am sorry to disappoint you, but there is nothing between me and Mr. Whitcomb.”

“Not now, perhaps,” Lady Keswick said. “But there could be. He is a handsome, intelligent man, Emmy, and he obviously likes you.”

Did he? A curious warmth spread through her chest, unexpected yet not unpleasant, and she realized with a start that it was pleasure she was feeling. Pleasure? Impossible.

She squirmed in her seat, wringing an appropriately uneasy groan from the chair as she struggled to regain her composure.

“Of course Mr. Whitcomb likes me,” she quipped. “I’m adorable.”

“I agree,” Lady Keswick replied briskly. “Which is why there is no reason why you should not be married by now.”

Emmy pressed her lips together to hold back a sigh. “Must we have this conversation again?”

“Yes. We shall have this conversation again and again until you are married.”

“But I’ve already told you, I don’t want to get married. At least, not yet.”

“And have you any idea when you will want to get married?”

The challenge in her mother’s eyes made her want to scream, but instead she fell back in her chair and bit her tongue. Literally.

Of course she didn’t know when she would want to wed. How on earth could one predict a change in feeling? One could not. And her mother well knew it.

“I like my life how it is,” Emmy said softly, lacing her fingers across her belly. “I like spending the Season in Town, and coming and going as I please, and I…” She sighed. “I am not ready for that to change.”

“But I am.”

Her mother’s quiet words drew Emmy’s gaze, and she gave her a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

Lady Keswick drew in a deep breath then turned and made her way to the Chesterfield loveseat abutting the hearth. “Come,” she said. “Sit with me.”

Her mother patted the cushion beside her and Emmy stood, her heart kicking up as she crossed the room, instinct warning her that she would not like whatever she was about to hear.

She sat down on the sofa with some reluctance, her gaze searching her mother’s face for clues. “What is it?” she asked. “Is something the matter?”

Lady Keswick cleared her throat, the nervous noise only heightening Emmy’s unease. Her palms dampened and she scrubbed them down her skirts with agitated impatience while she waited for her mother to speak.

“I…have come to a decision,” Lady Keswick finally said. “This is to be my last London Season. At least for a while.”

Emmy’s brow knit. “Your last Season? But why?”

Her mother gave her a small smile, and said, “Because I am bored, darling. The opera, the card parties, the balls and soirées…I am weary of it all. I want to spend my summers in the country where the pace is slower and more relaxed.” She sighed. “I need more relaxation in my life.”

Emmy sat back on the sofa, stunned. “But…I thought you loved London.”

“I do,” she replied. “But my love for it is not as strong as it once was, and now that your brother has married, I expect—I hope —to be made a grandmother soon.” She reached out and took Emmy’s hands in hers, an uncertain smile turning her lips. “I have devoted these last two decades to you and your brother, and I would not change a minute of it, but I’m ready for a change. I’m ready to do what pleases me now.”

Emmy nodded. Her mother’s words were unexpected yet the sentiment behind them was understandable. Lady Keswick had been a mother now longer than not, and she’d devoted herself to providing the best of the best for her children. She had earned a reprieve. A long one.

“I’ve been your chaperone for five Seasons now,” Lady Keswick continued, “and I’ve tried to be patient while I waited for you to finally choose a husband. I know you are not yet inclined to marry, and I have no intention of forcing you to, but…” She trailed off, her gaze dipping to their clasped hands. ”I must do this, darling. For myself. But I’m afraid this decision will affect you, as well. I wish it wasn’t so, but it is.”

“How so?” Emmy asked, her voice unusually high. It was a stupid question, of course. She knew her mother’s meaning.

“I know how much you love London, but as an unmarried young lady, you will not be able to stay here on your own,” Lady Keswick said, her pale blue eyes limned in regret.

Emmy did not bother with a reply. She had no need for further elaboration for her mother’s meaning was clear.

She must go where her mother went, or she must marry. It was simple enough, really.

Simple—and grossly unfair.

Lady Keswick cleared her throat into the fraught silence. “I will leave you now to finish your letter,” she said as she rose from the sofa. “We must leave soon, though, so do not tarry too long.”

“Yes, Mother,” Emmy murmured, her thoughts swimming.

Her mother gave her shoulder a squeeze and then she turned and quit the room, leaving Emmy alone with nothing but stunned silence. What in blue blazes had just happened? One moment her life was just as it should be and the next it was… not.

Oh, how she hated change. Especially change that was thrust upon her. So much had already happened this last year with her friends and her brother marrying and skipping this Season to stay at home in the country, leaving her behind without even a hint of regret, and now this.

It sounded naive, perhaps, but it had never occurred to her that her mother would grow weary of the bustle of the London Season. Or maybe she’d simply not allowed it to occur to her.

Maybe she’d wanted to believe there would be no more changes coming, which was, of course, ridiculous. Nothing stayed the same forever. Everyone knew that.

The grandfather clock chimed the hour, breaking into her reverie, and Emmy rose and walked to her brother’s desk, intending to finish her letter. She settled back into her brother’s chair and picked up her quill pen before dipping the tip into the inkwell. She poised the pen over the letter and paused, her mother’s words still swarming through her mind.

As an unmarried young lady, you will not be able to stay in London on your own.

She was right, of course. No single young woman could navigate London alone, not if she wished to keep her good reputation. She must remain under the watchful gaze of an acceptable chaperone, a family member or guardian, for as long as she remained unwed. Once she married, that responsibility shifted to her husband who, by law, owned her. Owned her. Like one owned a pair of boots or a Chippendale tea table.

Men— wealthy men—held all the power in the world, while women were practically powerless. Widowhood was the nearest a woman would ever get to total freedom.

Emmy set the pen down then leaned back in her chair and let her head fall back, squeezing her eyes shut. What was she going to do? What should she do?

Should she give up the life she wanted to live here in London and stay at her mother’s side, safe but tethered? Or should she give herself to one man, and hope he proved to be a good and honorable husband?

And if she should choose the latter option—the uncertain option—whom should she marry?

She had never once met a man who tempted her in that way, and she certainly did not know of one now. Of course, all the single gentlemen of her acquaintance were either boring, boorish, or boneheaded.

Except for Alex Whitcomb .

The thought whispered through her mind and her eyes popped open. She sat up in her chair, her heart kicking up a rapid rhythm. Alex?

She’d only met him a week ago, but she did like him better than any other single young man in Town. And she thought he liked her well enough, too. At least, he seemed to like her. And her mother had said so, too, although Emmy wasn’t convinced her mother’s opinion was entirely reliable. She was trying to marry her off, after all.

Still, her own instincts told her he enjoyed her company, and he seemed to value her opinion as well as any man could. She did not know if he found her attractive, but she did not think he was repulsed by her, either.

Nor was she repulsed by him. She was more than aware of his physical appeal, but even more importantly, he seemed to be a decent man. His sister adored him, and he clearly cared for her and wanted her to be happy. Surely he would want the same for his wife?

Emmy leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk, her mind racing with possibility. Should she do it? Should she ask Alex to be her husband? Or was this the most crackbrained idea she’d ever had?

Heaving a sigh, she returned to her letter, dashing off a few words of farewell before sealing and addressing it for Winters to post. She’d let the time run away from her and now she must hurry and dress for their tea date. She rose and headed for the door, her steps slower than they ought to be, but she couldn’t seem to muster enough enthusiasm to care.

She was in something of a fog, it seemed, still grappling with her feelings, and, truth be told, she was more than a little peeved with her mother. She knew she had no right to be, not after all the leeway her mother had given her over the years, but she couldn’t help feeling this way. Her reprieve had come to an end, and now she must marry or give up her life here in London.

She wasn’t ready for either, but it seemed she had no choice. She would have to find a man to marry her, a man who sought a wife to beget his heirs and in exchange would allow her to come and go as she pleased.

Could Alex be that man?

She thought so. She hoped so. All she had to do now was ask him.