Her Reluctant Groom (32 page)

Patrick nodded once. “I can’t verify from firsthand knowledge, but we had a talk or two about his activities at Oxford.”

Marcus twisted his lips bitterly at the thought. This was what he’d wanted, he reminded himself. What he’d planned, even. Patrick was right when he said Emma would be happier with Wallace than with the other gentlemen who pursued her. At least Wallace, with his bizarre tendencies, wasn’t likely to hurt Emma in any way.

“
You know, Marcus,” Patrick said slowly, resting his elbows on his desk and leaning forward to rest his chin on the little bridge his hands were making. “Even after five years, I still miss Abigail as much as I did the day she died. There’s no land or estates or possession I own that I wouldn’t give to go back in time and change the outcome that day. And while I love my girls more than anything, nothing quite replaces the feelings I had for her.”

Marcus stared at him. It all seemed so easy for Patrick. He’d had a wife, however, ill-suited for Patrick Marcus may think she’d been. And though Patrick had lost her through childbirth, at least he’d been able to give her those children. Marcus shut his eyes again and thought about Abigail. She’d been so happy and full of life around Celia and Helena. She’d take them outside and laugh and play with them in the sunshine, abandoning the norms of society right along with her slippers.

But that’s what had made Lady Drakely so happy: her girls and being able to play with them. Before she’d had them, she was a different person entirely. She’d been quiet and reserved, barely even noticeable. Quite odd really, her sudden transformation. He shrugged uncomfortably. Emma would be the same way with her children. Except, while Abigail used her children as an excuse to indulge her inner child, Emma would see them as a gift to be truly loved. That’s why she needed to marry Sir Wallace, even if he was considered a bit of a pansy.

“
You’re certain he can perform?” Marcus asked again, startling both of them with the roughness of his voice.

“
He has a duty to his title, meager as it may be,” Patrick said easily. “He may not be rumored to enjoy the activity as much as most men, but he does know his duty. Though why you’re so eager to know Emma will be bedded by another man is rather odd, don’t you think?”

Jerking his eyes away, Marcus clenched his teeth together so tightly his jaw hurt and he thought at any minute one of his teeth might crack. He
didn’t
want
to think about Emma being bedded by another, he just wanted to make sure she’d have a child, even if it was just one. That’s what he wanted to think about, not her warming another man’s bed.

“
Just make sure he fulfills that particular duty, or it’ll be your neck I throttle.”

Patrick shrugged. “I already told you he would. Besides, I think he just might have a sincere interest in Emma. Perhaps she’s just what he needs to indulge himself, so to speak.”

Marcus growled and shot to his feet so fast a casual observer might have thought he’d been tapped on the bottom with a hot branding iron. “Not another word about that, Patrick. In the next six months I had better read in a scandal sheet that she’s retired to the country to await the birth of her babe. No other details are necessary.”

“
I have no control over her breeding,” Patrick said tightly, an unmistakable sadness filling the man’s eyes. “You know, Marcus, as much as I love my daughters, I would have still loved my wife just as much had we not had children. Perhaps, Emma feels the same.”

Swallowing hard past the lump in his throat, Marcus gave one final glance at his forlorn friend and stalked from the room.

Patrick was wrong. Emma would be happier with a man who could give her the life he couldn’t. Patrick wouldn’t have loved his wife just as much if they hadn’t had children. It was the children who brought out the fun, lovable side of Abigail. That’s what all women wanted. What made them come alive.

And that was what he was determined Emma would have, no matter what he had to do to get it for her.

Chapter 23

Today was
the
day. The day Emma would become Lady Benedict, making her a real lady, a baronetess, and a wife, all at the same time.

Closing her eyes tightly to keep the tears pricking her eyes inside where they belonged, she scooted to the edge of her bed, swung her legs over, and let her bare feet fall into the thick crimson rug. She squeezed her toes together, making a sad mental note of the soft fibers of the carpet. This would be the last morning she’d get to wake in a familiar house with familiar surroundings. Tonight she’d go to Sir Wallace’s house and wake up tomorrow in a bed that she was nearly certain she’d never be able to feel comfortable in. She swallowed and stood. She needed to get ready for her wedding.

“
May I come in?” Caroline asked a moment later, opening the door a crack and peeking inside.

Emma smiled. “Please.”

Caroline’s blue silk nightrail swished as she walked into the room and over to Emma’s side. Impulsively, Emma gave her a quick hug.

“
You can stay here as long as you’d like, you know.”

“
Thank you, Caroline. But I cannot. I must marry. Wallace really isn’t as bad as you think he is.”

“
I know,” Caroline admitted with a slight laugh. “I don’t know if it’s because I’ve gotten used to his odd tendencies, or if he simply doesn’t do them anymore. I’m sure he’ll be a good husband.”

Silence filled the air as both women stared at each other, an unspoken message passing between them. A message filled with unanswered questions, curiosity, pain, sympathy, and more than anything, confusion and hurt. It had been more than five weeks since Emma had last seen Marcus. He truly wasn’t coming back.

The day Alex had gone to speak to him, Emma had tried to intercept him before he left, but found she’d slept too long, thus reverting her back to her original plan—to let Alex talk to Marcus before publicly accepting Wallace’s proposal. She’d once again dared to dream he’d return to his senses and would come to collect her. But once again, he hadn’t.

Alex returned home alone that next night, his solitary presence silently confirming what she’d already known in her heart: she’d marry Wallace and do her best to put aside any feelings she held for Marcus. She may never come to love Wallace, but she could do her best to make their marriage work.

“
Let’s get you dressed,” Caroline said with feigned excitement. She stood up and walked to Emma’s vanity. “These are awfully nice. Why haven’t I paid them any mind before?” She picked up the silver-plated brush Marcus had given her.

Emma frowned. She really shouldn’t have those combs and brushes. They belonged to Marcus, not her. “I’m glad you like it,” she said, walking up to the vanity. “It’s yours.”

“
Pardon?”

“
Marcus gave it to me. I think it belonged to his grandmother or something like that. I really shouldn’t have kept it, and since his grandmother is also yours, you should have the brush. You can take the comb and mirror, too, if you’d like.”

Caroline gently set the brush down. “I think he wanted you to have them.”

“
I don’t think so.” Emma fought to keep control of her emotions. “He only let me use them when I came to stay with him. I hadn’t brought anything with me.”

“
I disagree. He wanted you to have them. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have given them to you in the first place. Heaven knows Olivia required so many brushes and combs to manage that nest of hair she had, she could keep an army properly groomed.”

Emma’s rebellious fingers reached out and traced the intricate designs on the handle of the brush. She closed her eyes and yanked her fingers away as if she’d been burned. “I can’t keep them.”

“
All right,” Caroline said softly. “I’ll take care of them for you. Why don’t you go find your gown, and I’ll help you put it on.”

With a quick nod, Emma walked to her wardrobe and withdrew a silken pale blue dress. Caroline had commissioned one of the most experienced modistes in England to make this dress—at Marcus’ expense, of course, Emma reminded herself bitterly; unaware her fingers were squeezing the fabric so hard they were leaving marks. Loosening her grip, she laid the garment over the back of her dressing stool and weakly smiled at Caroline.

Anxious feelings welled up inside Emma as she watched Caroline wordlessly loosen the fastenings of the blue gown to get it ready for wear. Maria, the maid who had been attending Emma the past five weeks, would be in shortly to attend Emma’s hair, because Caroline declared only a large mound of overflowing curls would be acceptable. Caroline, however, had made such a big to-do about helping Emma get ready for her wedding, Emma knew better than to argue about it. Maria may be allowed in to fix her hair, but
Caroline
would help Emma put on her dress.

Three hours and two burns with the hot curling tongs later, Emma was a vision of beauty with a stilted smile and salve-glistening skin as she walked out the front door of Watson Townhouse to Alex’s carriage.

“
You look very lovely, Emma,” Alex murmured, giving her a hand up into the carriage.

Emma looked down at him and smiled a genuine smile. Caroline had been very fortunate to find him. He might be unusual and rather awkward at times, but next to Marcus, he truly was the kind of husband girls dreamed of. “Thank you, Alex.” Sitting down on the red velvet squabs, Emma watched as Alex handed Caroline up into the carriage, determined not to get jealous at the loving look the two of them exchanged.

“
I wonder if Wallace is already there,” Alex mused aloud, presumably just trying to fill the awkward silence.

“
I’d assume so. He’s probably counting the pews,” Emma jested playfully.

Caroline grinned. “That or the tiles on the floor.”

“
Oh, anything but that.” Emma shook her head. “We may never get to the ceremony if he’s doing that.”

“
Don’t worry,” Alex said. He stretched his long legs out in front of himself and removed his black top hat. “If he insists on doing that, I’ll just suggest for the sake of time he just counts all the tiles going in each direction and multiply them. That should give him a rough idea of how many tiles are in the church.”

“
But what about the missing tiles around where the altar upfront?” Caroline asked as if this topic of conversation was the equivalent of ferreting secrets out of Napoleonic spies.

“
That’s why I said it would give him a rough idea, Caro,” Alex said gently. “If he really must know, he can do as I suggested by finding the number of all the tiles, and then walk around to all the little areas where the tiles are absent or covered and deduct the number that should be there from the whole.”

Emma leaned her head back and closed her eyes, trying as hard as she could to block out Alex and Caroline’s rather disturbing conversation. To quote Caroline,
Good grief!
She was about to marry a man obsessed with counting and numbers.

Barely aware her fists were clenched so tightly the seams of her white satin gloves were about to burst, Emma relaxed her fingers and took a deep breath through her nose. Exhaling, she tried to think of the good things about Wallace. He was…he was…he was…he was nice. Yes, that was a start. He was a nice man. He was also kind. Wait, that’s the same thing. She clenched her hands tightly again. He was something else besides nice, she knew it. He had to be. Everyone had more than one positive attribute to recommend themselves to others.

Squeezing her eyes even tighter, she desperately tried to think of another adjective for Wallace. What else was he? Boring. That’s what he was. He was boring and bland. Dull, even. She sighed. The undeniable truth was that awful tea Marcus’ temporary cook made was more interesting than Wallace. Drat! Drat! Drat! There she went thinking of dratted Marcus again.

“
Emma, calm down,” Caroline murmured. She picked up one of Emma’s tightened fists and unfurled her fingers. “Wallace will not really insist on counting the petals of all the flowers. Stop scaring her, Alex.”

Emma’s eyes widened and a little strangled sound from deep in her throat escaped her lips. Though Alex and Caroline might have been jesting, Emma wouldn’t so easily dismiss the idea that Wallace would think to do such a thing.

“
You weren’t even listening, were you?” Caroline asked, cocking her head to the side.

Shaking her head slightly, Emma just stared at her friend.

“
You were thinking of Marcus, weren’t you?”

She nodded sadly. “I promise I’ll stop. Right now, I’ll stop. I won’t think of him again.”

“
I’m sure Wallace will be glad to hear that.” Alex picked up his hat from the cushion next to him and with a fluid motion put it on his head. “If you want to cry off, now is the time.”

The anxiety showing in his face urged Emma to swallow her own unease. Last year, Alex had quite a scare when Caroline was nearly late to the start of her wedding and Alex thought she was jilting him. That was yet another reason she had to go through with her promise to marry Wallace, she didn’t want to force Alex into the uncomfortable position of cleaning up her mess. He didn’t deserve that any more than Wallace deserved to be jilted.

The carriage came to a jolting stop, or perhaps the jolting of the carriage was caused by Gregory pounding on it, causing it to shake violently. Emma shook her head. That was absolutely the most favorable aspect of marriage to Wallace: she’d no longer have to have contact with Gregory or Louise in any manner if she didn’t wish it. And she didn’t wish it.