The Mister I Married (Romancing the Rogue #3)

Chapter Fifteen

When Emmy awoke the following morning, she was alone. She’d rolled onto her back, expecting to find her husband lying beside her, but Alex was nowhere to be seen, and his pillow was cold to the touch.

Evidently, he’d slipped away in the night and returned to his own room to sleep.

His departure had surprised her, though she knew it really shouldn’t have, considering her behavior the morning prior when she’d rushed him out of her bedchamber. It stood to reason he would wish to avoid that again.

Still, after such a pleasant—and pleasurable—evening together, she had expected him to stay, and she’d been disappointed when she awoke to find that he hadn’t. Her own hypocrisy was not lost on her. This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? She’d erected boundaries and Alex was making an effort to abide by them. She should be pleased. She should not be disappointed, and she certainly should not be irritated with him.

Yet, she was.

Even now, hours later, as the carriage carried her and Tess toward the village, her thoughts kept straying back to her husband, and to her own muddled feelings.

She was a married woman now with a duty to her husband and his family, but that did not mean she was willing to relinquish every last drop of independence. Her life was still her own, and she would not allow herself—or Alex—to forget it.

They were husband and wife, and they shared a common goal, but even so, there must be some separation between them, a bit of freedom to think their own thoughts and pursue their own interests.

The problem was, she enjoyed being with him too much. And that made it easy to forget the rules.

Irritated with herself now, Emmy pursed her lips and tried to focus her mind on the afternoon ahead. She was on her way to a village she’d never seen before, with people she’d never met. She ought to be excited.

And I am , she told herself stubbornly, as the carriage rolled up the lane toward Gladwin and the village green came into view.

“Oh, how charming,” she said, leaning into the window to get a better look.

The village square was modest yet tidy, flanked by shops painted a cheerful blue and white, and oak walkways dotted with colorful flowers in pots. A lovely little church sat just beyond the village green, gleaming beneath the warm summer sun, an idyllic backdrop to the comings and goings of proprietors and patrons alike.

“Gladwin is just a little village,” Tess said, “but Mr. Clive’s sweets shop is first-rate, and the Martindale sisters’ gowns and hats are as lovely as anything you’ll find in London.”

Emmy smiled, her gaze sweeping over the picturesque square. “Then we shall not leave without visiting them both.”

And a few minutes later, they filed through the Martindales’ door and into the cozy, colorful shop.

Every corner, every nook, was used to display their wares—hats, gloves, parasols, fans, gowns in a variety of fabrics and colors.

The shop was not teeming with patrons, but neither was it totally empty. A pair of young red-haired women who looked far too alike not to be related were at the counter speaking with an older woman with graying brown hair who had to be one of the shop’s owners.

Another pair of women stood at a display case lined with gloves, one older, one younger. A mother and daughter, Emmy would guess. She drew nearer to them, her gaze roving over the selection of fine silks and satins as Tess followed.

“These would go well with my new ivory gown, would they not, Mama?” The younger woman, petite and pretty with raven-black hair and big blue eyes, held up a pair of yellow gloves for her mother’s consideration.

The other woman, an older, slightly plumper version of her daughter, nodded in approval. “Indeed they would, my darling. Most elegant.”

“Oh, my,” Emmy broke in with a bright smile. “What a gorgeous pair of gloves, and such an uncommon shade of yellow. ”

It was, of course, considered very bad form to address a stranger without first being introduced to them. Presumably, this was the reason why her comment was met with twin expressions of cool disdain.

“Please forgive the interruption,” she said, pressing on when still no response came. “I’m afraid my manners leave a lot to be desired. I am Lady Emmaline, and this is my sister-in-law, Miss Whitcomb.”

Tess bobbed a curtsy, her lips turned up in an uncertain smile.

“Sister-in-law?” the older woman echoed, brows arching high. “Oh, then you must be Whitcomb’s new bride.”

Emmy widened her smile. “Indeed I am.”

“I see.” She sniffed, exchanging a glance with her daughter and then, begrudgingly it seemed, said, “I am Lady Delafield, and this is my daughter, Miss Daisy Delafield.”

Emmy curtsied. “It is a pleasure to meet you both.”

Miss Delafield dipped into a shallow curtsy, the yellow gloves still clutched in one hand. “Lady Emmaline. Please accept our felicitations on your marriage.”

The words emerged as if they tasted rancid, and Emmy struggled to hold onto her smile, confused by the peculiar reaction.

“Thank you, Miss Delafield. I—”

“Do forgive us,” Miss Delafield interrupted. “But we really must be leaving now. Mustn’t we, Mama?”

Her mother blinked and then nodded rapidly. “Oh. Yes. Yes, we…have an appointment to attend to.”

“Of course,” Emmy said slowly. “I hope we shall see you…”

Her words fell away as the ladies made for the door, leaving the yellow gloves abandoned on the countertop.

“Did I say something offensive without realizing it?” she asked Tess, totally in earnest. It had happened before, more than once.

Tess shrugged. “No, not that I noticed.”

Emmy turned toward the door again and caught one final glimpse of the Delafield women as they passed by the window, sour expressions pinching both their faces.

She shook her head, a frown tugging at her lips. Had she said something to offend them, or was there some other reason behind their hasty departure?

Was it because she and Tess were Whitcombs?

“Please don’t pay them any mind.”

Emmy turned toward the unfamiliar voice and found the two red-haired women approaching, smiles on their friendly, freckled faces.

“Especially Daisy Delafield,” the older, more buxom of the two continued. “She’s just cross because she’s been after your husband for years and he wouldn’t have her.”

Emmy’s brows rose. “Oh?” She had no idea Alex had an admirer here. He’d never mentioned it.

“Not that Miss Delafield needs a reason to be cross, mind you,” the younger lady said, pushing her spectacles up her freckled nose. “She has always been an unpleasant creature, even on her best days.”

Tess laughed. “With such a cheerful name, one would think Daisy Delafield would be a cheerful girl.”

“I had the same thought,” Emmy said, shaking her head.

Grinning, the older woman said, “I am Mrs. Ogilvy—Lucinda—and this is my sister, Miss Catherine Stavers.”

“Soon to be Honeycutt,” Miss Stavers said with a smile. “I am engaged to be married.”

Emmy offered her congratulations before introducing herself and Tess and the foursome exchanged the requisite curtsies. She liked these two sisters with their warm brown eyes and friendly, open manners.

“So, you’re the lucky lady who finally managed to capture our Mr. Whitcomb,” Mrs. Ogilvy said. “You must be extraordinary, indeed, to have caught his eye.”

Emmy shrugged, unsure how to respond. “I am the daughter of a marquess.”

“Oh, we will tolerate no false modesty here, Lady Emmaline,” Mrs. Ogilvy said with a tinkling laugh. “Mr. Whitcomb could have married any single woman in Berkshire, even the noble ones, but he didn’t.”

Emmy’s brows dipped, and she murmured, more to herself than the group, “I wonder why.”

“Well, he would have had to notice them first,” Miss Stavers said dryly.

Daisy Delafield’s sour expression drifted through Emmy’s mind, and she had to bite back a smile as smug satisfaction warmed her chest. Alex could have had Miss Delafield, but he hadn’t wanted her. He’d chosen Emmy instead. He was hers .

The possessive thought caught her off guard and sent a wave of confusion rolling through her. What a peculiar reaction. She was not a jealous sort of person.

“Have you seen the new slippers that have just arrived?” Miss Stavers asked Tess. “They’re from Paris. ”

Tess’s eyes brightened. “Paris? Really?”

Emmy watched, smiling, while the two young ladies strode to the other end of the shop where these supposed Parisian slippers were displayed.

“Your sister-in-law seems like a very sweet girl,” Mrs. Ogilvy said.

Emmy looked over at her, thinking she’d detected a note of surprise in the woman’s voice. How curious .

“She is, yes. Though I have to admit, it strikes me as odd that you’ve never met her before today.”

Mrs. Ogilvy nodded her understanding. “I’ve seen her once or twice, of course, but she comes into the village so rarely that…” She trailed off with a shrug.

Emmy frowned. She knew Alex’s father was considered a hermit, but she had no idea Tess had been hiding away, as well. Was it intentional on her part? Did she prefer to spend her days at Bristlewood, or did she wish to know her neighbors better but had no idea how to bridge the divide?

“Mrs. Ogilvy,” she said, turning to face the lady, “if I were to host a dinner party at Bristlewood, would you and your sister attend?”

“Oh, yes, we should be delighted,” she said, her brown eyes sincere. “And, please, call me Lucinda.”

“And I’m Emmy.”

The two shared a smile, and then Lucinda bit her lip. “I know it is terribly rude of me to ask, but…may I bring my husband along? Richard would never forgive me if I saw the inside of Bristlewood before he did.”

Emmy laughed. “Of course. I should hate to see my dinner party lead to any marital discord.”

“Excellent. And perhaps we could have tea before then? The four of us?” She nodded toward her sister and Tess.

“I’d like that,” Emmy said. “And so would Tess.”

A few minutes later, the foursome left the shop and went their separate ways with the promise of meeting for tea soon.

“They’re very nice, aren’t they?” Tess said as she and Emmy strolled along the walkway, their soft-soled half-boots silent on the oak boards.

“They are,” Emmy agreed. “How is it you’ve never met them before today?”

Tess shrugged. “I rarely leave Bristlewood.”

“Why?”

Her gaze fell to her feet. “I don’t know.”

Emmy pressed her lips together and tried to think of a way to ask her next question with delicacy, but so far as she could tell there was none, so she went with frankness instead.

“Do you have any friends here, Tess?”

“I have Father and Alex.”

So, no female friends. How odd . Tess was no social butterfly, but neither was she a misanthrope. She was a friendly young woman and seemed to enjoyed being around people.

“But…have you never wished for other friends?” Emmy asked. “Female friends of similar age, I mean?” She kept her tone casual, careful not to sound critical or judgmental.

Tess lifted a shoulder. “Of course I have, but with my father being the way he is…” She trailed off with another shrug. “Alex and I are all he has, and I suppose I was afraid that making new friends would make him feel that I’d abandoned him. That he wasn’t enough for me.” She sighed. “That probably sounds silly to you.”

Emmy shook her head. “No, it doesn’t. I don’t want to do anything to hurt your father, either. But perhaps there’s a way we can ease him into the idea.”

She paused, turning to face Tess just outside Mr. Clive’s sweets shop. “I’m new to Berkshire, and I would like to meet my new neighbors. Perhaps we could host a small dinner party?”

“I would love that, but…” Tess pursed her lips. “I am not so certain my father will approve. We’ve never had people at the house before.”

Emmy nodded. She was well aware her reclusive father-in-law would be her biggest obstacle, but she had to try.

Not just for Tess but for herself, as well.

Berkshire was her new home for the foreseeable future, and if she had any prayer of actually feeling at home here, she had to get to know it and its people.

She would speak with Alex about it as soon as they returned to Bristlewood.

She found him in his study.

“Emmy,” Alex said, rising to his feet behind his massive mahogany desk, a distinct note of surprise in his voice.

“Forgive me for interrupting your work.” She lingered awkwardly in the doorway. “May I speak with you for a moment?”

“Of course,” he said, extending an arm out in welcome, indicating she should sit in the empty chair opposite his. “You’re my wife, Emmy. You may interrupt me anytime.”

His smile was wry but warm, too, as if he was pleased by the interruption. Pleased to see her.

She shut the door then crossed the long Aubusson rug to his desk and sat down in the offered chair.

Alex settled into his own chair and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk as he regarded her. “How was your visit to Gladwin?” he asked, lacing his long fingers together.

His hands were stained with ink, his thick hair adorably mussed, and he no longer wore his jacket, which lay draped across the back of his chair. He wore no cravat, either, only a white cotton shirt and a waistcoat of burgundy silk. His dishevelment was disconcertingly distracting.

Emmy cleared her throat. “It’s a lovely little village,” she replied. “I sampled Mr. Clive’s marzipan, which was delicious, and I made the acquaintance of some of our neighbors.” She paused and folded her hands in her lap. “Which leads me to the reason for this visit.”

She told him about her conversation with Tess, about her discovery that she had no friends here, and how much she’d enjoyed their conversation with Lucinda and Caroline.

“Tess did not like London,” she went on, “but I do not think she is entirely happy here, either. She loves you and your father, but I think she would like some female friends, and at least some social interaction with the residents here.”

Emmy leaned forward. “I would like to help her achieve this, which means she will need to meet her neighbors, which means…I think we should host a dinner party for her.”

Alex blinked. “Oh. Right.” He leaned back in his chair. “Well, you have my full support, of course, and any assistance I can provide.”

“Thank you,” she said with a nod. “But what about—” She pressed her lips together. “What about your father? Will he tolerate a group of people in his house?” Worry pinched her brow. “I do not wish to upset him.”

Alex nodded. “I’ll talk to him. He probably won’t like it, but if I tell him it’s for Tess, I think he’ll go along with it.”

“Do you think he will want to attend the dinner?”

He drew in a breath and spread his hands out. “I don’t know. He might. He might not.”

Emmy nodded slowly, unsure how she felt about the idea of her father-in-law attending her dinner party.

On the one hand, it could be good. It might help to silence some of the rumors about him.

On the other hand, it could go terribly wrong.

She hadn’t witnessed any of these episodes Alex had warned her about, but they did not sound pleasant. What if he should suffer one during the dinner party, in front of their guests and neighbors? That would be very bad, indeed.

Pursing her lips, she shoved the worry aside. There was no sense in fretting about something she could not control, especially since nothing had even been finalized yet.

“Well, I shall leave you to your work now,” she said, rising to her feet as Alex did the same. “Will you speak with your father today? About the dinner party?”

He nodded. “I promise I will.”

“Thank you, Alex.”

“You’re welcome.”

Her husband’s smile held her transfixed, the way it softened his stern features and warmed his eyes to a brilliant, glowing gold.

Flustered, she pulled her gaze away, intending to leave, but then a gilt-framed portrait hanging on the wall caught her eye, and she paused, her curiosity piqued.

“Is this your mother?” she asked softly, moving closer for a better look.

“Yes.”

The woman in the portrait was small and elegant with dark hair and pale, luminous skin. Her eyes were dark, too; her lips rouged and unsmiling.

“She was very beautiful,” Emmy said. Even unhappy, Amelia Whitcomb was an uncommonly lovely woman.

“Yes. She was,” Alex said as he drew up beside her, his gaze on his mother’s likeness.

Emmy flicked a glance at his profile, though his expression revealed nothing of his thoughts. She hesitated, reluctant to ask the question hovering on her lips, but in the end her curiosity was too powerful to contain. “Do you resent your mother for what she did? For leaving you and your family?”

He was silent for a long minute, his strong jaw working as he considered the query. “No, I don’t resent her,” he finally said. “I pity her.”

She studied him for a beat, surprised by the answer, though she did not disagree.

“She felt trapped.” Alex looked at her, his eyes solemn. “She was trapped. It was an arranged marriage, a loveless one—on her side, at least. She was very young when they met, young and beautiful, and he was twenty years her senior but too rich for her parents to refuse.”

It was not an unusual story, a wealthy older man marrying a much younger woman, but that did not make it any more palatable. What hopes and dreams had his mother fostered before she was given to a man she did not love—a man who was old enough to be her father?

Was it any wonder she had run away?

Emmy’s gaze caught on the ring gracing the lady’s left hand, the same ring she now wore. She fiddled with it, absentmindedly turning the stone ‘round and ‘round her finger.

Her heart went out to the young woman who had fled, so desperate to escape her unhappiness that she’d abandoned a safe, comfortable existence for an uncertain future with the man she loved.

Emmy understood well the woman’s desire for self-fulfillment, but she’d left her children behind, and that was not so easy to understand.

“I’m so sorry she left you,” she said softly, her gaze on his mother’s eyes. The eyes she’d given to her son.

“So am I,” he replied. “Yet, I cannot bring myself to wish she had stayed. How could I, knowing how unhappy she was?”

Emmy looked at him, marveling at his kindness, his capacity for compassion and understanding. Not many men would be so forgiving of the mother who’d left them. Most would probably hate her, but not Alex. He was a remarkable man.

She slipped her hand in his, held it tightly, and Alex turned to look at her, his gaze locking on hers. They stood like that for several long moments, staring at each other, and Emmy could not look away. Those eyes of his…

Again they held her mesmerized, the greens and golds, so much kindness and intelligence.

She turned to face him, as if on an invisible string, drawn to his warmth, his strength. She tipped her chin up, her gaze dipping to his mouth, a silent yet unsubtle hint. She wanted those lips on hers.

He dipped his head, just a fraction, and then he went still. His hand slipped from hers and he stepped back.

“I should return to my work,” he said, his voice low. “I still have much to do.”

“Oh. Right.” Emmy swallowed and forced a smile. “And I have a party to plan.” She began edging toward the door. “I shall…see you at dinner?”

He nodded. “I will see you then.”

Emmy whirled around and strode from the room, her chest tight with disappointment, her lips still tingling with the promise of a kiss that never came.