Chapter 3
Chapter Three
E mma should leave, that was for certain. A dark garden, a strange man, no chaperone to speak of. He held her hand . But he held it with such gentle warmth, she knew he would release her if she even flinched at his touch.
She held a man’s hand in a dark garden, and she should leave because he begged her to stay.
But the moon had stepped out from behind the clouds, and for the first time, she saw him fully. Well, as fully as one could see a man beneath a moon at night. When she’d tripped over him, the clouds and her own body had cast him in darkness. Then as he’d stood, she’d been given only a flash of a look at him before the clouds had hidden him once more.
He'd been like the figures she stitched at the cuffs of her sleeves, made of the same color as that which surrounded him. Like her fingers brushing over those shapes, she’d had only impressions to make sense of him—tall and broad, dark of hair and pale of face, full of sighs and chuckles and with a voice like wine. Rich and complex and stirring warmth in her belly. If she were to stitch him, it would be as a wine-red geometric pattern on wine-red silk. You could not see the sharp angles and intricate shapes unless you looked closely, but you felt it, a series of raised welts on the smooth fabric.
But now she saw him. Thick dark brows slashed above dark eyes. A wide, generous mouth, bottom lip fuller and top lip a wide set M. A sliver of a shadow gathered in the middle of his chin where there must be a cleft. His hair—thick, dark as night, with a bit of grass stuck in it above his ear.
Those details, the strands that created the whole shape, meaningless on their own. Taken altogether, though, finally revealed all at once beneath the silver light of the moon.
They transfixed her. Shoulders wide to carry the worries he spoke of but curved slightly beneath them. He moved with silent precision in every way, big and small, to sit or stand or cock a brow or lift a corner of a lip. Or hold a hand. His body shifted in and out of positions like water pouring into a cup, filling the edges and corners in fluid ease. Confident. Capable.
Yet the way he waited for her answer, with a tilted head, rigid spine, and slightly parted lips… He owned hesitation, too. Or it owned him this very moment.
She inhaled deeply, the air a bit wobbly in her chest. A mistake, this. But she’d been cornered by a man she knew, and she’d known herself in danger, then.
This? Her gentle garden gentleman? A danger she didn’t mind facing for a night. For a few moments more at least.
You should return inside , he’d said.
“Not yet.” She scooted closer. No space between them now. Decimated entirely. “I might as well enjoy… whatever this is.”
“Danger most likely.”
She could not disagree. “This”—she lifted their interconnected hands—“means nothing. I still do not agree to sprawling .”
“Of course you do not. We are merely taking succor in one another. Two eldest siblings commiserating.”
“It feels good to be seen, acknowledged. Odd it’s happening in the dark. Have you ever done anything quite so unconventional before? Holding a stranger’s hand in a garden at night?” Stranger. He didn’t feel like one. Their hands together did not feel like danger. It felt like… an unexpected gift, a moment of pure whimsy before she stepped back into battle.
“Never. Tell me something about you. That no one knows.”
“Why?”
“I’ve no idea. I suppose I… wish to keep it with me. A secret between strangers.”
“Hm.” She dropped her head, and the air swept cool across her neck where the cloak dipped low, revealing skin. Oh, why not. She’d never meet this man again, and she needed to confess it. Perhaps then, she could free herself from it. “I am scared. And unsure.” About her father, about this London venture, about the duke she’d meet tomorrow and about her sisters’ futures.
“I bet you’d rather die before letting anyone know it.”
“How did you know?”
“Because I feel the same. Perhaps that is why you can tell me without dying. Do not, by the way. I’d rather not have to explain away the corpse in the garden.”
She hid a laugh behind her hand. Yes, perhaps somehow she’d known he was the same. He would not laugh or wave away her fears. Because he knew what it was like to have to hide your weaknesses. “I’ve no plans to expire so soon. You now. Tell me a secret.”
He swallowed hard. “Do not laugh. I’m a man, and I’m not supposed to, but… I want to fall in love. Wanted to. That is now quite impossible. I’ll die before I let anyone know that particular desire.”
She laughed again. Though what he’d said did not make her feel like laughing. “Except for me.”
“I’m not convinced you’re real. I conjured you.”
Her heart galloped, leaping out of its lazy rhythm to make its frantic self known against each rib. Fairytale words in a wine-rich voice. She should have left. She should nudge the conversation in an entirely different direction.
Instead, she said, “To fall in love with?”
He stroked his free hand down her cheek, dragging his knuckles across her jaw to the very tip of her chin. Oh… she’d not known… but a man’s touch could feel like safety and risk all at once. It could burn with delight and shiver with dread. It could force a woman to realize she was a fool and tempt her to jump into foolishness with both feet.
“Yes,” he said when she did not pull away from his touch, “perhaps to fall in love with. For one night.”
“Aye.” Her breath caught. She leaned into him, her lips parted and waiting. What was she doing? This… so unlike her. But the night was so much like a dream. She’d stumbled out of reality and into a fairy land, and now the prince wished to kiss her, and she shouldn’t. She shouldn’t . But she wanted to, seemed to need it. Needed a moment out of time, a reprieve, a reward. So, she leaned even closer and whispered, “Perhaps.”
He kissed her.
Lips soft and firm against her own.
Breath warm and willing.
Something in her heart clicking open, bright as the moon. Did he feel it too?
They parted at the same time, and the shadowed wonder she saw in his eyes must have mirrored in her own. She might see him during the day tomorrow or some day after that. They’d pass as strangers in the street outside Lady Macintosh’s house. Would he recognize her? Would she recognize him? If she did, she’d look away and pass by, pretending she did not know him.
It had to be that way.
Her hand fluttered to her lips, rested gently against them. Protecting them from another kiss? Or trying to keep the feel of his kiss there despite the cold trying to steal it away?
She stood, stepping back as she did so, skirts swinging against her legs. “I must go.” Another step backward. “I… I wish you luck. With you sisters. Do not disappear. Not entirely. They need you.” Another series of stumbling steps backward until the shadows hugged her tight. “Thank you. For the kiss. I will, I think, treasure it always. No matter how unwise.”
He pushed to his feet but glued them to the ground. No running after her. “Not unwise. Not tonight.”
She shifted in the dark, looked at the moon. “No. Not tonight.” Then she ran, the grass crackling beneath her feet, the gate squeaking beneath her hand, the street hard and the door of her cousin’s house cold. Lips still warm and trembling, Emma shut out the cold street and leaned against the closed door in Lady Macintosh’s entry hall. What had she done?
Proved herself to be what Edinburgh thought her, no doubt. She’d done what she’d come here to escape.
But no… it hadn’t felt like that. Parkington’s attempts at seduction had been clumsy and forceful. She’d escaped only because they’d been caught.
Her gentleman in the garden had not attempted to seduce, and the force that had pulled them inexorably together had been something more powerful than lust, something that felt like a pink handkerchief in a pocket on a much-anticipated day. The moon controlled the tides of the ocean. Perhaps it controlled the tides of the heart as well.
Madness.
Aye. She’d sleep and forget him. She must. Too much to do tomorrow. Too much at stake.
She dropped her face into her hands with a groan. She would never forget him, but she must think of him only at night time when the moon spilled across her bed.
“Emma? Has something happened?” Lady Macintosh peered down at her from the drawing-room doorway, her still young face round and smiling. Despite her youthful countenance, her hair was gray, a soft sort of color that reminded Emma of early morning shadows broken up by pale yellow light. She was lovely, plump, and friendly, and Emma had known as soon as they’d met why her mother had loved Lady Macintosh. She was the type of woman you could love without trying.
“No. Not at all.” Emma pushed off the door. “I am merely tired. But the walk has done me well. My legs feel better.”
“Good.” She wound her arm through Emma’s and pulled her up the stairs. “Let me show you to your room.”
Emma had seen the girls run from the coach and into Lady Macintosh’s terrace home as if they lived there themselves, had seen the cousin she’d never met before grin and laugh, and begged to take a walk before going inside. They’d arrived so very late, and she’d been cramped inside a coach with her three sisters for so very long. Lady Macintosh’s brown eyes had gentled as she’d waved her toward the garden and begged her to be safe.
She’d not warned Emma that gentlemen grew from the ground like flowers in London.
“Briar, Glenna, and Diana are bathed and dressed for bed. They should be enjoying a small meal now. You have your own bedroom, connected to theirs. I thought you might like being close. But the entire second floor is close and cozy. You may have a different room, an entire set of rooms to yourself if you prefer.”
“What you’ve prepared is wonderful. Thank you.”
“No, thank you, dear. For helping my friend and for the opportunity to know you and your sisters. Your mother… before we married, we were as close as sisters. She was bright and beautiful and clever, and I’m afraid we produced nothing but mischief.”
“I never knew her that way.” She knew her sad and empty-eyed and aching from the previous pregnancy or the current one.
“You are much like her in looks. And your sister Briar much like her in personality. Fifteen is a difficult age, but she seems to be handling it well.”
Emma did everything she could to keep her happy. And innocent. Diana, too. But somehow she was more somber than a twelve-year-old girl should be. And at seventeen, Glenna knew too much of heartbreak, knew too well how the world was cruel to those who broke the rules.
Here they would be safe, though.
“I must write a letter to your father,” Lady Macintosh said, “and thank him for sparing all of you this Season.”
He’d almost not let her sisters come. But Emma would rather suffer his wrath in every way imaginable than leave them there alone with him. In the end, he’d been convinced that having three fewer mouths to feed meant more whisky for him.
Emma’s garden gentleman would understand. The fear, the determination, the love.
They reached the second floor, and Lady Macintosh swung open a door to a crackling fire, a small table laden with food, and three beloved faces turning their way. Happy. They wore happiness like they’d been born to it, and it almost brought Emma to her knees. For now, they were fed and warm and safe and happy. She’d do what she must to keep them that way.
Perhaps the kiss had been a reward for her devotion. The ghost of his lips warmed hers with each inhale and exhale. She’d treasure his kiss like a reward, remember it when she needed strength and sustenance to continue.
“Sit, Em.” Glenna patted a seat next to her, throwing her long red braid over a shoulder. “You, too, Aunt Georgie.”
Lady Macintosh had told them to call her such as soon as they’d arrived, and she sat among her sisters now, filling Briar’s teacup and putting another hunk of bread on Diana’s plate. “Eat up, darlings, eat up! My, but I am delighted your sister brought you along. While she is busy matching the duke’s sisters, you will keep me busy. My own daughters left me ages ago, and I’ve been bored ever since. Tell me, will you be bored entertaining an old lady all day?”
“What will we do?” Diana asked. The freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks almost glowed in the fire light.
Lady Macintosh tapped her chin and examined the ceiling as if she was choosing an answer from the boards above. “New gowns for all of you, naturally. A visit to Hatchards. Walks in Hyde Park. Astley’s Circus if you wish.”
Briar bounced, blue eyes wide. “Yes! I wish!”
Lady Macintosh chuckled. “Consider it done.”
Emma leaned against the door, letting the fire and the conversation warm her.
Lady Macintosh jumped to her feet. “Let me show you your rooms, my dear. You’re exhausted and likely wish to bathe as well. You may use this as your personal sitting room.” She led her across the hall. “The room to the left here is for the girls to share. You may have this one to the right.” She opened the door, letting Emma enter before her. “The door just there leads to a shared dressing room between your chamber and the other. The tub is in the girls’ room. Shall I have it refilled?”
“Aye. That would be lovely. Thank you.”
Lady Macintosh disappeared, and Emma wandered around the chamber. Neat and simple but everything solid and well cared for, elegant and pretty. She sat on the edge of her bed and unclasped her cloak, stretched her neck, and unbuttoned her spencer. The curtains were closed, keeping the warmth from the nearby fireplace from seeping out the glass, and she wandered toward them, slipped between the thick, gold brocade, and looked outside. The clouds covered the moon once more, making the garden below, in the middle of Grosvenor Square, a tangle of dark shadows.
Where had he gone to, her garden gentleman? No matter. He’d appeared when she’d needed him and disappeared when their moment out of time was done.
Tomorrow she’d meet another man, the one who lived across the garden from Aunt Georgie. She’d told Emma little about the duke in her letter. Only that he lived across the square from her, that she’d known him since his birth, and that he was in desperate need of a skilled matchmaker for his sisters.
Sisters . A veritable plague her garden gentleman had called them. It appeared the plague extended beyond them two. She chuckled, and a door somewhere creaked open, followed by the muffled sound of splashing. Then the door to Emma’s room opened, and Aunt Georgie slipped in.
“The maids will have it ready soon,” she said, standing beside Emma.
“Tell me about the girl I’ll be meeting tomorrow.”
“Ah, yes. She lives just there, across the way.” She tapped the glass. “See the window blazing bright on the second floor? That’s the duke’s residence. Perhaps you might help him as well. He’s an old bachelor. Every year, we think he’ll take a bride, and every year, he disappoints the London ladies. He’s clearly not found what he’s looking for yet.” She reared back a bit and considered Emma. “Hm. Perhaps he has simply failed to look in the right place. Perhaps… he should have been looking more north.”
Oh no. Emma knew that look, that tone. “I’m afraid I must ask you to banish those thoughts. I have no intentions of marrying until my sisters are happily wed.” She couldn’t leave them alone with her father. She could take them with her, of course, but she’d yet to find the man who would gladly take on three young women in addition to a wife. Besides, she did not want an old bachelor who likely enjoyed employing the same control over his family that her father did.
And if he’d come to advanced years without taking a wife, perhaps he did not hold affection for the opposite sex. If Glenna felt affection only for women, surely there were men who preferred only men. Not that she could say it out loud. Glenna’s secret was not Emma’s to give away, only hers to keep safe.
Thank goodness, she had a convenient excuse for rejecting the man before she’d even met him. “At one and thirty, I am already on the shelf. And by the time Diana is married, I will well and truly be a spinster. I am beyond the age of admiration.”
“Nonsense. You are lovely. He might take a shine to you. Any man could.”
“Please, Aunt Georgie. I am here to help his sisters marry, not to court him, or any man, myself. Besides… I’ve read his articles on courtship. He’s a—” She bit her lip. Her aunt considered the duke a friend. “An interesting fellow whose mind is not in agreement with my own. We would not suit. I promise you. Please do not make things… awkward.”
“Very well.”
“I should not defy you so strongly right away. You’ll become tired of me before I’ve been here a full day.”
“Never. I admire a woman who speaks her mind.” Lady Macintosh winked. “Never silence yourself in front of me. That way, I will come to know you better and sooner. Now, I believe the bath is ready.”
“But what about the girl? The duke’s sister?”
“Lady Felicity is a lovely little thing.” Lady Macintosh tapped on the glass and watched the house as if she could see the lady she spoke of across the way. “She has a bright soul, airy. Despite losing her parents at a young age. I believe her brother and her older sisters protected her innocence as best they could from grief.”
“How many other sisters does he possess?”
“There are eight in total.”
A veritable plague. Emma laughed.
“I assure you,” Lady Macintosh said, “it is not funny to the duke. You’ve read the articles. You know he’s tried his best to do his duty toward them.” She huffed. “I do wish I had not sent you those clippings now. I thought you might find his writings useful, but I see I prejudiced you against him instead.”
“He did that all on his own. I can, however, appreciate how he treats marriage with the gravity it deserves and realizes courtship is a science. It is only he has a long way to go before he masters it. Perhaps that is why he remains unwed.”
Lady Macintosh chuckled. “Could be, dear. Now, off to bed with you. You meet the duke and Lady Felicity tomorrow.” She wrapped an arm around Emma’s waist and guided her through the dressing room into the bedchamber her sisters would share. A large tub rested beside a blazing fire, the water inside steaming.
Emma’s joints and muscles ached for the burn of it. She greeted a waiting maid and turned her back to be undressed.
Lady Macintosh stepped into the hallway. “I am glad you’ve come. More for myself than for others. I am a selfish old woman, I freely admit.”
“I am delighted to be here, Aunt Georgie.”
The viscountess squeaked and grinned and wiped something wet from beneath her eye. “You enjoy your bath and climb into bed. I’ll worry over the girls tonight.”
The door closed, the maid finished her task, and Emma sank into the silky warm water. How odd to let herself float for a breath or two, to put the care and worry into someone else’s hands. She would enjoy it now because tomorrow her challenge began. Match a brokenhearted woman with a man who knows her worth. And tolerate a duke who thinks he knows everything at the same time.
London was entirely new, but humans were the same. They wanted to feel important and needed and safe. If she could figure out what Lady Felicity needed, she could find the right man to provide that. And if Lady Felicity provided what her suitor needed… a perfect match! Just one of many she’d made, but this one the most important. It would rebuild her reputation. If a duke sang her praises, the people of Edinburgh must listen. If they would not, the people of London would. She could simply… remain here.
Only her father would not like to live so far from his golden goose.
She set to work scrubbing her hair and her limbs with a soap that smelled like lemon and lavender, and by the time she’d dried her hair by the fire, the girls were tumbling into the room, yawning and sleepy-eyed. She said goodnight as they tucked themselves into comfortable beds and then found her own, shutting the door behind her softly. She’d left the curtain open, and a slight chill washed over her. Hugging her wrapper tightly about her body, she strode to the window. The other window in the house on the other side of the garden was still lit, though the light dimmed and flickered.
A shadow stepped into the candle-soft glow. A man’s shape, and it leaned against the frame, clearly peering into the darkness outside. The duke?
She let the curtain fall. He could not see her. At least not in any detail. But it felt as if he could, as if that shadow man across the way could pierce right to her very secret-most self.
The men of London, so far, were terribly disconcerting.
Hopefully, the men she identified for Lady Felicity were less so. If they were, though, she’d figure them out. She would match Lady Felicity successfully. The consequences of failing too dire to contemplate.
Her sisters would have the freedom to choose lives and loves of their own. The freedom she’d never have; the future she’d already given up on.
She crawled into bed and pulled the blankets over her head, feeling the gentle press of a man’s kiss beneath the moonlight as she tumbled into sleep.