CHAPTER THIRTEEN
* * *
The following morning, the Post made no mention of an encounter between Miss D— and Lord R— scandalous or otherwise.
Rathburn searched the copy again and again to be sure. He even asked Stewart if he was certain this was the entire paper. When the head butler looked at him peculiarly, he realized that he sounded like a crazed buffoon.
He probably was. In fact, he’d lain awake all night, practicing the speeches he’d prepared for his grandmother and the Archbishop of Canterbury, listing the reasons why he required a special license. Why he must marry Emma Danvers.
Yet, in the morning, when it was clear he didn’t need to deliver any speech at all, a rise of unspent energy churned inside him.
While he kept himself busier than usual of late—primarily to abstain from compiling a list of ways he could get Emma Danvers alone in order to prove to her that his intentions were serious—he gave himself another occupation.
Restless, he left the townhouse and drove to Hawthorne Manor. It wasn’t uncommon for him to remove his morning coat and roll up his shirtsleeves to assist the laborers. So, when he came prepared to expend more than his share of energy, the workmen kindly let him apply himself to constructing the massive four-poster bed in the viscountess’s bedchamber.
The servants now referred to it as Miss Danvers’s room, and he’d never bothered to correct them. Referring to it as Emma’s chamber in his own mind was probably the reason why he’d had the plaster workers add sprays of jasmine to the corner molding in the room and over the doors. The finest silk wallpaper decorated the space in a beautiful pearlescent cream color, with ribbons of pink adorning thin stripes of chocolate brown. The colors worked perfectly together, creating a space that was simple and yet elegant, just like the woman who’d inspired his choice.
This is all for her, a voice whispered inside him. Not just this chamber, the sitting room, or even the bathing chamber, but the whole house and the view from each window. Each day, he found himself wondering about her opinion on everything from the colors of the draperies to the buds sprouting from the earth outside. “They’re just beginning to bloom,” she’d said to him that day he’d given her a tour. “It would be a shame not to give them a chance.”
A profound realization coursed through him as sudden and as exhilarating as a summer storm. They were the blooms, fragile, fresh and new, waiting to blossom. Waiting for a reason to end the pretense in favor of a true betrothal.
Rathburn could no longer deny it. He wasn’t pretending any longer, or acting according to his grandmother’s expectations. In fact, he doubted he ever was.
He wanted to marry Emma Danvers.
She’d told him how only a fool would lose her heart to him. Yet, that’s exactly what he wanted from her. He wanted her to lose her heart, or more to the point, to give it to him of her own free will.
Now, the only problem was convincing her that he would take proper care of it once she did. He needed to convince her that he was a suitable—
A gasp at the door broke his concentration and he dropped the corner post on top of his foot. However, seeing that it was his grandmother doing the gasping, he bit back the curse on the tip of his tongue. Gingerly, he eased his boot out from under the bruising weight.
“When the servants said I’d find you working in the viscountess’s bedchamber, I didn’t actually imagine I’d find you . . . laboring.” The last word held the same censure as if she’d learned he had leprosy and didn’t want to catch it. “Surely, you should be overseeing the laborers, not doing their work for them.”
“Good morning, Grandmamma,” he said as pleasantly as he could with his foot throbbing. “Did you come all this way to ensure I wasn’t holed up in a den of debauchery?”
“It is the afternoon, and don’t be cheeky with me,” she scolded as she walked into the room. Once she finished leveling him with her glare, she surveyed the room, pursing her lips, occasionally nodding. She pointed the tip of her cane to the corner molding. “Inspired by Miss Danvers, I presume?”
He half shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”
That earned him another glare as she lowered her cane and tapped it against the freshly varnished floors, the sound echoing around them. Yet, for some reason, he had the suspicion her crossness was merely a fa?ade. Was that a trace of a smile he spied? Surely not.
“There is a rumor flitting about of a picnic to be held here in a week’s time,” she began, but turned away to examine the view from the windows, effectively telling him that she didn’t want or expect his response. “A week is hardly enough time to make the garden acceptable. Unless, of course, you remove the old boxwood and put in a temporary screen of sorts. That way, the guests can still dine on the patio and their view won’t be an unpleasant reminder of this home’s tragic past.”
Her words hit him harder than they should, the wound still too tender for him to respond. Yet, it was her use of home that gave him a sense that she wasn’t as unfeeling as she’d usually appeared.
She continued her perusal of the room, her steps and the tip of her cane marking her slow journey. She usually walked with purpose, so her change in pace left him to wonder about the reason.
“I don’t regret much in my life,” she remarked after a short while. “However, I do regret never telling your father how much I admired him for making my only daughter happy. And for bringing up a fine grandson for me.” At that, she offered a crinkly smile before she quickly cleared her throat and resumed her usual severe expression. “It is because of that, I’ve come here with this letter.”
She withdrew a thick packet of papers from her reticule and held it out. Curious, he moved forward to take it, but found her grip stayed firm.
“Before you read it,” she said with a slight shrug, the uncharacteristic action making her look softer and approachable. Heaven forbid if he told her such a thing. “I’ll simply tell you that I’ve released your inheritance to you, without condition. You’ve done a remarkable amount of work here and all on your own. I thought it high time—before time gets away from me—to tell you, I find that an admirable quality.”
Rathburn stood there, speechless. It took him a moment to recover and realize that she’d released the letter. The bulky packet felt heavy in his hand, as if weighted by the responsibility that went with it. “Without condition?”
“While you may have believed that I wanted you to prove yourself worthy, the actual reason I withheld your inheritance was for you to come to terms with the demons of your past. After your father died, you closed yourself off from the world for a time. Your behavior worried me and I feared you would end up traveling the same path as so many of your predecessors. As long as I limited your funds and kept you thinking about your true goals, instead of getting lost, I felt you had a chance.” She flipped her hand in a gesture as if to say that was over now. “You needn’t marry, if you aren’t so inclined—though I say that with reservations, because it would be nice to enjoy the sight of a great-grandchild before I’m bedridden and half blind.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
A sigh escaped her pursed lips as if she were perturbed, yet there was a gleam of amusement in her gaze. “Under these circumstances, it’s appropriate to kiss your grandmother on the cheek and thank her, I’m sure.”
He did just that, and then hugged her for good measure, startling a laugh out of her as she swatted him away. “You are coming to the picnic, aren’t you?”
“Is that my invitation?”
He bowed. “Grandmamma, I would be honored if you would attend a picnic here at Hawthorne Manor in six days’ time.”
She turned away and walked at a fine clip to the door. “I’ll check my schedule.”
Normally Emma dragged Maudette with her on her weekly errand to the shop in St. Giles, but today she was in too much of a hurry. After paying the hack, she walked across the sidewalk, ignoring the filth beneath her feet, and stepped through the door with a basket in one hand and a bundle of clothes in the other.
A cheerful bell chimed as the door closed and a fresh-faced young woman in a ruffled cap came out of the back room, wiping her hands on her apron. “Miss Danvers!” she greeted with a broad and genuine smile, rushing forward to help with the burden. “Why, today isn’t your day, at all. You usually come here on Thursdays.”
Emma gratefully handed over the clothes so she could use both hands to hold on to the heavy basket. “You’re right, Penny, but this Thursday I have another engagement. So, I thought I’d come early.”
Penny and Archie Smith, owners of the shop, had once worked at Hawthorne Manor. Married less than a month before the night of the fire, Penny had been a parlor maid and Archie a footman. However, that night, everything changed. Neither Penny nor Archie managed to escape the fire unscathed, Archie worst of all.
“Gracious,” Penny said as she set the bundle down on the long chest of drawers near the back of the room. “What if his lordship decides to come early today?”
“Then you’ll have to stuff me in the wardrobe,” Emma said with a grin as she lifted the basket.
She’d been coming to High Street once a week for the past three years. Initially, she’d asked Penny to keep her visits a secret, though over the years, she’d become less concerned about it. Even so, neither she nor Rathburn brought it up in conversation. However, today, because she was here without a chaperone, she would hate for him to discover her, especially after she was always making a big fuss about propriety. If he caught her, and if—heaven forbid—his grandmother were with him, she would never hear the end of it. Not only that, but the consequences could be disastrous for Rathburn gaining his inheritance.
Penny untied the string around the bundle, fumbling a bit with the knot due to the gloves she always wore. While her natural beauty had been saved due to the wet blanket over her head as she’d rushed from the house, the hands clutching the blanket hadn’t been as lucky. Terribly burned, scarred flesh covered her hands and her lower arms.
Archie wouldn’t have suffered such an awful fate if he hadn’t been the one who rushed back into the burning house with Oliver to search for the late Lord Rathburn. When Oliver emerged from the fire, carrying Archie over his shoulders, he’d told the story of how the brave footman had pushed him out of the way of a falling beam.
Archie had saved his life. A miracle that Emma was grateful for every single day. A world without Rathburn would seem far too empty and lackluster—or at least her world, her life would be. A fact that had occurred to her the night of the play, when she’d found herself wishing his bold declaration could be true.
For an instant, she’d forgotten their engagement was only a pretense, and she found herself wishing she could have him in her life forever.
That wish had made her speak from her heart and very nearly kiss him without thought of consequence. And then she’d heard voices in corridor and remembered where she was. Her insecurities had resurfaced as she thought of the beautiful, ethereal Lily Lovetree, and how Rathburn might still have her as his mistress if not for his need to prove himself to his grandmother. And the realization that he would never have considered Emma for his bride out of his own desire.
“These are too fine,” Penny said, looking at the gowns Emma had collected from her own wardrobe and her mother’s. “Surely you can’t part with these.”
“My mother wears only bright fabrics now, with garish flower prints. You would shudder to look at her,” she exaggerated with a laugh and earned one in return. There was even a dress her mother had wanted Emma to wear this Season, but the peacock blue was far too flamboyant and wouldn’t have suited Rathburn’s quest. Although, she did wonder if he’d have remarked on the color should she have worn it. Would he have found her pretty, perhaps?
Penny knew better than to argue with her and accepted the clothes with a gracious smile. There were also a few of her father’s more sedate shirts and waistcoats, along with little odds and ends for the shop that Penny’s parents had owned. Inside the basket were a few essentials: cakes of fragrant soap, hair ribbons, handkerchiefs, and ruffled caps. She’d also brought a crock of soup, a loaf of bread, and a small ham that the cook had prepared special for the Smiths. It was the least she could do to repay the Smiths for all they’d sacrificed.
“You are too kind.” Penny fought back tears this time. “When I think of the generosity your family and Lord Rathburn’s family have bestowed on us, it makes my heart burst for how much it swells.”
Emma leaned in and hugged her, though she wished she could do so much more. “Both you and Mr. Smith are the kindest—”
“Gracious me!” Penny said with a start. “His lordship. Oh dear! I just knew it would happen.”
Emma jerked her gaze toward the storefront window. Sure enough, Rathburn’s curricle was directly outside. Oh dear, indeed! “Is he alone?”
“I’m not sure, Miss Danvers.” Penny fretted, pressing her knuckles to her lips. “Though he would hate to know you were here without a chaperone.”
Surely, he wouldn’t bring his grandmother here. Nonetheless, she couldn’t risk being seen unless she were absolutely certain. “Is there a back entrance to your shop?”
“No. Only the front,” Penny said in a rush, dashing through the door that led to the back room, gesturing madly. “Quick. Through here. There’s a curtained pantry between the kitchen and the parlor.”
Emma didn’t hesitate. “Thank you, Penny,” she whispered as she dashed to the room.
She found the heavily draped pantry and slipped into the darkened alcove just as she heard the jingle of the bell. The familiar rumble of his voice made her heart quicken. She needed to calm herself, and her audible breathing, or else he’d discover her the moment he passed by on his way to the parlor, where Archie spent most of his time.
Having lost his leg in addition to having severe burns on the same half of his body, Archie had trouble getting around. Yet, his mind was still as sharp as ever, and he had the use of his dominant hand to help him earn income by fixing clocks. Rathburn seemed to find a clock or personal timepiece each week for Archie to fix.
When the thud of his footfalls came near, she held her breath, waiting for him to pass by.
He opened the parlor door, but didn’t bother to close it behind him, which kept her prisoner in the pantry.
“Just the man I wanted to see,” Rathburn said, his voice cheerful. “No, don’t you dare try to get up. It’s only me, after all. Besides, I’ll only be here for a minute.”
Lighter footsteps crossed in front of the pantry and soon Penny peeked through the curtain, her face pale and anxious. Emma nodded, letting her know that all would be well.
“It’s good to see you, Lord Rathburn,” Archie said, his voice raspy but strong. “Unfortunately, I haven’t finished the clock . . . as you can see by the state of the workings strewn over this table.”
Rathburn chuckled. “There is no rush. Of late, I need no clock to remind me of the passage of time.”
Hearing this, Emma felt a pang of remorse. The date of their wedding was fast approaching. Fifteen days. It must be weighing on his mind as much as hers. Strange, she hadn’t realized until now how difficult the situation must be for Rathburn. The more that time passed, the more strained and fragile their bargain became, and their options for severing it even fewer. And the less she wanted to.
“However, I bring good news,” he continued. “Mrs. Smith, come into the room, for you will want to hear this, too. I have just received word from Dr. Kohn, the great surgeon from Germany, whom I mentioned to you before.”
He waited a beat, leaving Emma enough time to wonder what this could be about. Rathburn had never mentioned correspondence with a surgeon from Germany before.
“The good gentleman has accepted my offer. In two months’ time, he will be here in London, and it is my greatest hope that he will find Goswick Hospital to his liking.”
Emma heard Penny’s cry of joy. Her own hand came up to cover her mouth, even though she wasn’t entirely sure what was being said. Goswick Hospital? As far as she knew, there was no such hospital near London.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Penny,” Archie said, even though his voice had gone softer, as if he were holding back emotion. “It’s been years since the fire, and there might not be anything he can do for me.”
“It’s true, my friend,” Rathburn said. “He stated the same to me in his letter. However, that is not to say he doesn’t know a thing or two about making you more comfortable. So, he leaves us to hope for small things.”
Emma listened carefully as they continued to speak about the hospital and how long the project had taken, from the first brick to the last. Apparently, Rathburn had decided soon after his father’s death that he wanted to leave a legacy in his father’s name.
Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, her heart breaking for him. A lesser man would have allowed the loss of a parent to excuse poor decisions. Yet, Rathburn had chosen to rebuild Hawthorne Manor and a hospital to honor the memory of his beloved father instead.
She’d known all along that Rathburn was a good man at his core. Now, she had proof.
No wonder he’d been desperate to gain his inheritance.
A small sob escaped her. Covering her mouth, she finally admitted to herself the traumatic truth—she loved him. Some part of her always had.
The painful realization struck a mighty blow that wrenched her heart: She could never marry him.
After all, how could she, in good conscience, jeopardize his inheritance? He needed to marry someone of whom his grandmother approved. If the dowager ever discovered how similar Emma was to her father . . . all would be lost. Society had shunned him, just as surely as they would shun her if her secret were revealed. Therefore, Rathburn would be ruined by association in the eyes of his grandmother and the funds he needed to finish Hawthorne Manor and Goswick Hospital would be forever out of his reach.
Not only had she lost her heart to him, but her head as well.
Oh, Emma. How could you have been so foolish?
Feeling brokenhearted and bereft, she needed to leave and figure out her next course of action. However, before she could make her escape, the curtain jerked to the side. Emma started. The sound of the rings sliding over the pole reverberated in the small pantry.
Rathburn stood there, staring at her in stunned disbelief. “Emma, what are you doing in here?”
“I—” Guilty, she swiped the tears from her cheeks. As his expression altered, she realized there was no use pretending she hadn’t heard everything. He’d already figured that out. “Why didn’t you tell me about the hospital?”
His shoulders lifted in a shrug and his gaze disconnected from hers for a moment as if he were embarrassed. “For the same reason, I suspect, that you never speak of coming here each week. Although, I would prefer it if you would allow me to chaperone you in the future. After all, Maudette certainly isn’t”—he stopped and his gaze collided with hers again—“Where exactly is Maudette? And I don’t believe I saw your father’s carriage . . .”
Now it was her turn to look away.
“You came here alone? Without any chaperone, or any protection at all?” His tone was deadly quiet. Reaching out, he took her chin in a gentle but firm grasp, commanding her to look at him. “Promise me you will never . . . ever . . . do that again.”
Mutely, she nodded. His eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and fear. Was he actually worried about her?
He lowered his hand, but instead of stepping back, he reached for hers. His mouth hitched up on one side in a smug grin. “Good. I see no reason why we cannot combine our visits from this point forward.”
She would argue with him, but this was not the time or place. In fact, she was starting to believe all this talk about her venturing out without a chaperone, when it had never concerned him before, was nothing more than a way to distract her.
“Goswick Hospital,” she said softly, steering the conversation back to the issue at hand. The real reason behind his desperation for his inheritance. “I think it’s a very noble endeavor. Your father”—her voice cracked, threatening to break—“he would have been so proud.”
Rathburn squeezed her hand. With a slow shake of his head, a dark shadow of overwhelming sadness snuffed out the golden specks of light in his eyes. “I couldn’t save him, Em,” he whispered as if this was a secret he could share only with her. “I tried, but I couldn’t . . .”
And in that quiet moment, standing in the pantry, she fell in love with him even more.