Chapter Thirty
Emily
Emily stretched her arms above her head, carefully minding her wrist. She lay still for a long moment, wondering if what had happened during the night was nothing more than a dream.
Was it? Was it all just a wonderful, fantastical dream?
Had Wylder truly asked her to marry him? Had he really confessed his love? Rolling over, she burrowed down into the pillows and took a deep breath. He had been there… his spicy cologne lingered on the pillowcase.
She sighed, submerged in absolute wonderment. It was coming true. Her dreams of becoming Lady Emily St. Clair, Countess of Wyldewood, were within reach. All that was required was the announcement of their engagement and the wedding to follow.
I wish Penelope were here to share in the news.
Emily frowned, dismayed by the reality of why that was not possible.
Penelope’s absence created a unique, heartbreaking problem.
How could she marry Wylder without her dearest friend in attendance?
Penelope would surely be missed from the celebrations, and there would be no reasonable way of explaining why she was missing.
People would begin asking questions and Penelope’s parents would most certainly inquire as to her whereabouts.
After all the planning to secure Penelope’s disappearance, Emily could not stomach giving up the scheme meant to prevent Lord and Lady True from selling their daughter to a wealthy predator like Lord Gregory Grant.
The only solution was a hasty, quiet wedding to Wylder.
That would ensure Penelope remained concealed for the immediate future.
And once Emily became Countess of Wyldewood and the future Duchess of Claymore, she would have more power to help Penelope.
With Wylder as her husband, few would dare protest if she enfolded her vulnerable friend under a wing of protection.
Wylder would most certainly not object to a small, intimate wedding that took place sooner rather than later.
Emily knew that if she indicated she preferred that above the pomp and circumstance of the usual wedding ceremony, her parents would concede if it made her happy.
That left only the Duke and Duchess of Claymore to protest, but by all accounts, they would be ecstatic if their only heir wed as soon as possible.
Simon will be furious. He will no doubt blame Wylder, and there is no telling what he might do in his anger.
Emily sighed, propping herself against the headboard and hugging a pillow to her chest. Her brother presented a very real problem, considering his strenuous objections to any relationship between her and Wylder.
Simon would stubbornly refuse to engage in a rational discussion, laboring under the mistaken belief that he knew what was best for his sister.
Emily could only imagine the arguments that would erupt between the two men.
Arguments that had the potential to turn deadly.
But perhaps there was a solution… Lord Ashcroft could be utilized in convincing Simon to grant his blessing on the union.
He was, after all, one of Simon’s closest friends.
A great deal of mutual respect and affection existed between all three men.
If anyone could talk Simon into accepting Wylder as Emily’s husband, it would be Lucien.
She would broach the subject today with the man and gauge his reaction.
She would also employ Charlotte’s assistance in the matter as well since Lucien seemed inclined toward his new wife’s tiniest wish.
Carefully turning her wrist, Emily tested the level of pain the motion caused. It did not hurt as badly as the day before. There was no reason why she could not attend the ball that evening. Mother would probably put up a fuss, but Emily thought she could convince her to allow it.
There was a slight click of the doorknob turning, and Emily sat up straighter, her heart pounding with anticipation. Could it be Wylder? Was he daring enough to return with the morning sun shining brightly on their newly forged status as future husband and wife? She hoped so…
She sank back against the pillows, disappointment swamping her. Her mother bustled into the room, closely followed by one of the upstairs maids carrying an ornate silver tray.
“Good morning, my darling,” Lady Blackthorne trilled. “How are you feeling today?”
“Much better, Mother.” Emily smiled as her mother came closer to lay a hand across her forehead. “In fact, I am well enough to resume my normal activities. With my wrist securely wrapped, of course.”
Lady Blackthorne laughed at Emily’s confident statement.
“Impertinent miss.” She affectionately patted Emily’s cheek while nodding to the maid to place the tray on the bedside table.
“You shall have your breakfast in your bed and spend the day recovering from your ordeal. You are still warmer than I would like.”
Emily stifled a sudden grin. If she were indeed warmer to the touch, then Wylder was undoubtedly to blame for that particular ailment.
Thinking of the future pleasures to be unveiled once she became his wife turned the blood in her veins into molten liquid.
Giving her mother an innocent smile, she determinedly pushed the lascivious thoughts aside.
“If I promise not to dance tonight and lift nothing heavier than a teacup in my uninjured hand, may I at very least attend the ball tonight, Mother?”
Lady Blackthorne scrutinized Emily as if determining the wisdom of allowing her to have her way, then gave a slow nod of assent.
“Yes. Yes, I suppose you shall. For you see, there have been some exciting developments following your accident, and it certainly would not be fair to exclude you at this point.” Plopping carefully on the side of Emily’s bed, she beamed at her daughter.
“Now, while you eat, I shall tell you the extraordinary news. If you are in agreement, my dear, and I am certain that you are, you and Lord Wyldewood shall have your engagement announced this evening.”
Emily did not dare indicate that this was news she was already aware of.
After all, she could not very well inform her mother that Wylder had spent most of the night in her bed while she lay curled against him.
Taking her mother’s hand, she squeezed it hard.
“You have no idea how happy this makes me, Mother. I have loved Wylder for as long as I can remember. And he loves me, too. I know he does.”
“Then, all will be well,” Lady Blackthorne said, pulling Emily into a tight embrace and kissing her forehead. “Wyldewood left for London this morning to secure a special license. Upon his return, you may wed as soon as you wish.”
*
Late in the afternoon, Emily convinced her mother that she was well enough to go downstairs. Although her wrist throbbed a bit, she barely noticed it. The happiness in her heart overwhelmed everything else until she was floating on air.
The entire household was abuzz with excitement for the ball that evening.
Servants rushed here and there, bringing in fresh flowers, polishing furniture even where it was unnecessary, and dusting chandeliers and candelabras.
Guests chattered and laughed in groups as a general atmosphere of gaiety permeated every corner of the enormous manor.
Emily successfully avoided going into much depth regarding her injury and the faint bruising that shadowed her cheek.
Mother had fluffed a bit of rice powder over the mark, which toned its coloring down, but one could not mistake the fact that it was there.
Settling onto a chaise in the Sapphire parlor, she gazed out the open windows and pondered Wylder’s return.
It was a three-hour carriage ride from Thorne Park to London.
Depending on how long it took to obtain the license, Emily believed it was possible he could be back at the manor before midnight.
She shivered, thinking how wonderful it would be if Wylder enfolded her in his arms upon his return without a care that others might witness the embrace.
Soon. Very soon, there will be no reason to hide our love.
There was a commotion at the doorway of the parlor, and glancing in that direction, Emily watched Patrick Bashear enter the room.
He escorted his great aunt on his arm, and the elderly lady immediately noticed Emily.
She smiled at Emily while whispering something in private to Patrick.
His gaze landed on her as he nodded in apparent agreement to whatever Lady Bashear said.
Within an internal groan, Emily watched him seat the lady in a small grouping of other ladies before he determinedly headed in her direction.
“There you are, Lady Emily.” Patrick smiled as he bowed to her. “Would it be acceptable to sit with you for a few moments?”
“Of course,” Emily replied graciously, nodding at the chair opposite the chaise. Once he was settled, Emily waited for him to begin the conversation since she was unsure what he might say. After all, had he not declined her invitation, he would have been with her during the thunderstorm.
Patrick’s gaze ran over her face and form, a critical glint in his brown eyes. “I am relieved to see you are relatively well following your unfortunate accident yesterday.” His eyes flickered down to her ungloved hands and the bandaging that wrapped her wrist. “Does it pain you very much?”
“Oh, no,” Emily said with a breezy smile. “A minor ache is the extent of it, Lord Bashear.”