Still, he would’ve followed her if Rebecca hadn’t talked some sense into him. She’d begged him to stay, pointing out the scandal he’d create if he pursued Lady Emeline so soon after she’d left. Personally, he didn’t care two figs about possible wagging tongues. But Rebecca was a different matter entirely. She’d been spending quite a bit of time with several of the young ladies from good English families. Scandal would kill any budding friendships.
Sam had tamped down his raging need to hunt Emeline, catch her, and hold her until she came to her senses and stayed by him. He’d sat on his hands and made polite conversation with giggling girls and insipid matrons. He’d dressed in his best clothes, played idiot games, and ate overly rich foods. And at night he’d dreamed of her snapping tongue and her soft, warm breasts. For three days, he’d restrained himself, until finally members of the house party had begun to leave and Rebecca deemed it appropriate for them to depart Hasselthorpe House as well. It had been three days of hell, but that was hardly Rebecca’s fault, and he was a cad to be such a boring traveling partner.
He tried to make up for the hours of silence she’d endured. “Did you enjoy the party?”
“Yes.” She smiled at him in relief. “At the end, many of the other young ladies were talking to me and the Hopedale sisters have invited me to come have tea with them some afternoon in London.”
“They should’ve been talking to you at the beginning of the party.”
“They had to get to know me, didn’t they? It’s really not all that different from people at home.”
“Do you like it here in England?” he asked softly.
She hesitated, then shrugged. “I suppose so.” She looked down thoughtfully at her hands in her lap. “And what about you? Do you like England enough to stay here with Lady Emeline?”
He hadn’t expected such a blunt query, although he should have. Rebecca was a very perceptive girl. When they’d arrived in London, he’d planned on staying only long enough to do his business with Mr. Wedgwood and look into the Spinner’s Falls massacre. Now his business was finished, and soon he hoped to talk to Thornton and clear up Spinner’s Falls as well. What then? “I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
He glanced at Rebecca impatiently. “She hasn’t stood still long enough for me to talk to her, for one thing.”
Rebecca watched him for a moment, then asked hesitantly, “Do you love her?”
“Yes.” He answered without considering the matter, but he found that it was true. Somehow, without his even realizing it, he’d fallen in love with his prickly Emeline. The thought was strange and at the same time perfectly natural, as if he’d known all along that she was the woman he needed. It was a joyous feeling, as if he’d been waiting all his life for this missing piece.
“You should tell her, you know.”
He looked at his sister in exasperation. “Thank you for tutoring me in love. I’ll tell her as soon as the lady permits me to catch her.”
She giggled. “And then what will you do?”
He thought of Lady Emeline and how she argued with him every chance she got. He thought of how far apart they were in rank. He thought about the fear she tried to hide, successfully with everyone, it seemed, but him. He thought about how startled she looked when she fell apart in his arms, as if she couldn’t fathom not being in control of everything around her, including her body. And he thought about the sadness he sometimes saw in her eyes. He wanted to hold that sadness, cradle it and comfort it until it turned to happiness. He wanted to feel her hands on him again, like the night she’d bound his broken feet, soothing him, laying her balm on his soul. She’d warmed him. She’d healed him.
And he knew what he would do. He grinned at his sister. “I’ll marry her, of course.”
“WHY ISN’T MR. Hartley home yet?” Daniel asked.
Emeline looked up in time to see her only child poke a piece of paper into the fire in her room. The paper caught and Daniel dropped it just before the flame reached his fingers. The burning sheet fluttered down, fortunately landing in the hearth rather than on her carpet.
She paused in writing out a series of last-minute instructions for the party tonight. “Dearest, would you mind not setting Mother’s room afire? I don’t think Harris would be particularly pleased.”
“Aww.”
“And I’d rather you not burn up your fingers. They are quite useful, you know, and you might need them in later life.”
Daniel grinned at this silliness and came over to climb into a chair near her desk. She winced as his shoes scraped against the satin chair cushion but decided not to comment. It was nice to have him here with her again after being separated so long.
He leaned on her desk, his chin in his crossed arms. “He must come back soon, mustn’t he?”
Emeline looked back at her writing, struggling to maintain a composed expression. She didn’t have to ask who Daniel was referring to; he was a tenacious child and obviously wouldn’t give up the subject of their neighbor—her lover—easily.
“I don’t know, dear. I’m not privy to Mr. Hartley’s plans.”
Daniel scratched one finger across her blotter, wrinkling his nose as he made an indent in the paper with his fingernail. “But he is coming back?”
“I assume so.” Emeline inhaled. “I believe Cook was making pear tarts in the kitchen today. Perhaps you should go see if they are done.”
Usually the mention of freshly made tarts would be an immediate distraction for her son.
Not today. “I hope he comes back. I like him.”
And her heart contracted. Three simple words and she was reduced to near tears. Carefully, she laid aside her pen. “I like him, too, but Mr. Hartley has his own life to lead. He can’t be always around to entertain you, to entertain us.”
Daniel was still watching his fingernail, his bottom lip beginning to protrude now.
She tried to make her voice cheerful. “There’s always Lord Vale. You like him, too, don’t you? I can see if he’d escort us to Hyde Park.” Her son’s lip protruded farther. “Or...or to a fair or perhaps even fishing.”
Daniel cocked his head to look at her skeptically. “Fishing?”
Emeline tried to picture Jasper with a fishing pole, standing beside a rushing river. Her imaginary Jasper immediately slipped, flailed wildly, and fell into the river.