How Miss Rutherford Got Her Groove Back (21 page)

“What about me, Emily?” he asked, his voice softening marginally. “Do you not wish to marry me?” He gazed at her with the same eyes that she had grown so fond of. Gone was the menacing fury—instead she saw his pain, and it wounded her like a knife to the heart to realize that this had been the consequence of her actions.

“You have a mistress,” she heard herself say, shaking her head in bewilderment as if she was no longer able to believe such a thing herself. Certainly he wouldn’t look at her in such a way if what Kate had told her was true. But what reason would Kate have to lie to her? Emily just didn’t know what to think anymore.

Francis stiffened at her accusation. “Would you rather marry Edward then?” he asked.

“No, of course not!” she cried.

“Well, those are your choices, Emily.” His voice was once again fierce and menacing. “You can marry Edward, or you can marry me . . . or you can decide to live a life of poverty. The choice is yours.” He paused for emphasis. “So what will it be? Will you marry me?”

“There’s so much I don’t know about you, Francis . . . I told you I wouldn’t say yes until you told me what it was that caused you so much pain. I don’t want there to be any secrets between us.”

He watched her with a steady gaze, carefully concealing his true feelings from her. He loved her more than he thought it was possible to love, but her actions had still pained him. In truth, they had pained him
because
of how much he loved her. He was hurt by how easily she’d believed Kate’s word over his—hell, she hadn’t even
asked
him about Charlotte. And what if Charlotte
had
been his mistress? She’d still chosen a far worse fate for herself by going to Edward. He just couldn’t fathom what the devil had possessed her to do such a stupid thing, but it angered him so much that he couldn’t stop himself.

“Beggars must not be choosers, Emily,” he told her. “And if I were you, I’d hurry up and answer, for I will not ask you again.”

“So you’ve no intention of telling me until after we’re married?” she asked in genuine surprise.

“Who knows . . . I may not even tell you then,” he said with a grimace that told her just how unpleasant he found the whole situation. “You haven’t been very trusting of me, Emily, though maybe I haven’t given you enough reason to. Perhaps it’s past time we both started. I will tell you this: I will love none other than you.”

Her heart skipped a beat as she held his gaze, those dark eyes of his drawing her in. He hadn’t said it directly, but he’d implied it to the best of his abilities, and she’d be a fool to ignore what had been right in front of her for so long. It was suddenly as if her mind’s eye zeroed in on everything that Francis had said to her over the past few weeks—and everything that he had done. And then, in a heartbeat, as a warm heat spread to her extremities and her stomach flipped in that old familiar way, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he loved her. How it was possible that she hadn’t seen it sooner, she wondered.

She made a heartfelt decision. If he happened to have a mistress named Charlotte Browne, then so be it. Emily was, however, willing to bet her virtue that it wasn’t the case—no man could look as besotted as Francis did at that very moment, whilst having a mistress on the side. Taking a determined breath, Emily reached out to clasp his head between her hands, then drew him toward her until their lips met in a perfect kiss.

His surprise was evident in the stiffness of his shoulders, but he did not push her away. Instead, he brought his hands up behind her head to push her closer, parting his lips, and thrusting his tongue eagerly inside her mouth to tangle with hers. Passion overtook her with such force that she paid little heed to the bumping and swaying of the carriage. It wasn’t until she heard a loud cough, followed by a lighthearted “cut it out, you two,” that she was reminded of Jonathan’s presence.

Releasing her hold on Francis, she quietly settled back onto her bench and began straightening her dress. “I beg your pardon, Jonathan. I do believe that I got carried away a bit.”

Jonathan met her smile with laughing eyes. “If that’s what you’d like to call it,” he said. “However, I’m quite confident that Francis has a soft and comfortable bed that will be quite up to that sort of behavior later this evening.”

“Good God, Jon,” Francis blurted out. “Must you embarrass the poor woman? That’s hardly the sort of thing that one says to a lady.”

“Well, for some peculiar reason, I’m quite sure that Emily wasn’t offended by it in the least.”

“On the contrary, I now have something to look forward to,” she smirked.

“By deuces, she is a feisty one, if ever I did see one,” Jonathan hooted.

Francis, on the other hand, was doing his utmost to stop from ravishing her there and then. “There’s still the small matter of your answer, my dear,” he told her in the calmest tone that he could muster.

She reached for his hand, taking it gently in hers as she looked him straight in the eye. “Nothing in the world would give me greater pleasure than becoming your wife, Francis,” she told him with such sincerity that he thought his heart might burst with joy.

“And not a moment too soon,” Jonathan cheered, as the carriage drew up to a large mansion and the door was flung open by a footman.

“Where in the world are we?” Emily asked, her eyes scaling the walls of the imposing stone structure as she stepped down from the landau.

“Dunhurst Park,” Francis told her as he strode past her to greet a middle-aged woman who’d come to meet them. “Hello, Mrs. Reynolds,” he said.

“Good evening, sir,” The woman replied. “It’s good to have you back home again.”

“Thank you.” He pulled Emily forward to stand beside him. “I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Miss Rutherford. She will become Lady Dunhurst before sunrise tomorrow, so please ensure that everyone who needs to be informed is made aware of the matter, so that they address her in the appropriate fashion—we don’t want anyone to embarrass themselves, now, do we?” he added with a smirk. “That said, I do encourage you to be discreet. We wouldn’t want our friends and relatives to find out before we have the chance to tell them ourselves. Do you follow my drift?”

Mrs. Reynolds nodded assent, then made a quick curtsey without as much as batting an eyelid at the prospect of having a sudden mistress in the house. Emily couldn’t help but be impressed, for she was certain that the woman must be the housekeeper. In her experience, such women often considered a house to be theirs if the owner happened to be a bachelor, as was the case here.

But Emily’s mind had soon forgotten all about Mrs. Reynolds. In fact, it kept replaying
before sunrise
over and over and . . . yes . . . over again. In fact, Emily had been so surprised when Francis had said they’d be married before the sun rose the following morning that she couldn’t help but let her jaw drop wide open.
Before sunrise
. That was very, very soon indeed. But instead of being worried or feeling as if she might be rushing into something that she might later regret, she was suddenly beside herself with nervous excitement.

“And have Mr. Beacham sent for posthaste,” Francis added. “We’d rather not be delayed any further.”

“Very good, sir—I’ll see to it right away,” Mrs. Reynolds promised. “It’s a true honor to make your acquaintance, Miss Rutherford,” she added before bustling away to attend to her duties.

“She seems very likeable,” Emily said as they headed up the stone steps and entered the massive foyer.

“Couldn’t wish for a better housekeeper,” Francis admitted. “She gets the job done efficiently and with a cheerful disposition to boot. I couldn’t be happier with her, and I’m sure you’ll find her just as agreeable, my dear.”

Emily found herself smiling like a love-struck schoolgirl at the sound of his verbal affection. “I’m sure the two of us will get on famously,” Emily replied, already looking forward to sitting down with Mrs. Reynolds for a chat. “So who’s Mr. Beacham, by the way?”

“The local vicar,” Francis told her plainly, then turned to face her as he took her hands in his. “I know you would have liked for your sisters to be present, but we can have a big bash of a wedding one of these days in London. For now, I’m, just so damn eager to make you my wife that I’d rather not wait a moment longer.”

His honesty cut straight to her heart, sending it soaring. How on earth this had happened, she wondered. She’d no idea how they’d ended up so captivated by each other, and in truth it didn’t matter. She only knew that she’d never thought to know so much joy and happiness, and to see it reflected in his eyes was more than she could ever have hoped for. “The faster, the better,” she grinned anxiously. “I’m sure my sisters will understand. But is it even possible? Don’t we need a license of some sort?”

Francis looked at her steadily. “I took care of that while you were having your little chat with Kate this morning.” He spotted the pained look in her eyes and hurried on in hopes of lightening the mood once more. “I’ve known for some time that I wanted you to be mine—even before I began courting you, I knew. And then we shared such a wonderful day together yesterday. . . . Emily, I never wanted it to end. I knew then that I wanted to spend the rest of my life strolling through Vauxhall Gardens with you by my side. I love you, Emily—so much that my heart aches when you’re not by my side, and leaps with joy when you are near. So, I took the liberty of attaining a special license in the hope that when the opportunity arose, you’d marry me straight away.”

“Well, we are indeed fortunate that you were so thoughtful and farsighted—good qualities indeed in a husband,” she giggled as she drew him close for an affectionate kiss.

“Would you like a tour of your new home before the vicar arrives?” Francis asked her. “Or would you prefer a drink in the library?”

“Let us have a drink,” Emily said decisively.

“What a splendid choice,” Jonathan said with obvious relief.

“A woman after my own heart,” Francis concurred as he led the way down a wide corridor.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
T
WO

J
onathan quickly made his excuses after dinner, saying that he had some reading to catch up on in the library. Francis couldn’t help but grin, for he knew that Jonathan never read anything other than the morning paper. He appreciated his tact, however, as he now sat alone with Emily in the parlor. She looked radiant, though she’d been unable to change her clothes—married life apparently agreed with her. Nevertheless, he would have to have some of her garments sent for in the morning.

The ceremony had been quick and to the point. Still, the sound of her “yes” had gone straight to his heart, filling him with so much hope for a happy future together. He regretted that she hadn’t had a proper wedding gown, and that her flowers had been hastily picked in the garden, but for some reason, he sensed that she’d been perfectly happy with that. In fact, it had seemed that all that had mattered to her was that she was now his, and that she didn’t give a fig about what dress she wore as that came to pass. He regarded her for a moment as a warm feeling of comfort washed over him. She was his, and she would remain so. He suddenly had a desperate need to pamper her—to show her how eternally grateful he was for that simple “yes.”

“Since you’re without your abigail here, I’ve spoken to Mrs. Reynolds and requested that she send up a maid to assist you in the meantime.” He walked across to the side table and picked up a crystal carafe, pausing with his hand on the stopper as he turned to look at her. “Would you care for sherry or brandy tonight, my love?”

“I was hoping for a glass of port, perhaps,” she replied.

“Well, if you insist on being difficult,” he countered with a crooked smile.

“Ah, my lord, I’m afraid this is just the beginning,” she chuckled wryly.

“In any event, it is well worth it,” he told her as he picked up a dark bottle and poured two glasses from it. He handed her one of them as he sat down beside her on the blue silk brocade loveseat. He clicked his glass against hers. “To a marriage filled with joy, happiness, and a house full of children.”

Emily blushed at the thought of how all of those children were to come about, then lifted her glass to her lips and drank to his toast. She felt a nervous excitement wash over her as she watched his eyes roam over her like a hungry man surveying a vast feast. Tonight was her wedding night, and she knew intellectually what that would entail. But there was no doubt that she’d only sampled a very small part of what lovemaking might involve, and her stomach now tightened at the thought of what was yet to come.

Taking her hand in his, Francis turned it over, mesmerized by the slenderness of her fingers and the transparency of her skin. Placing his lips against the top of it for a kiss, he felt it tremble ever so slightly beneath his touch. It took so little for Emily to arouse him, yet he forced himself to keep his primal urges at bay. They had the whole night ahead of them, and before he took her to his bed, there was much that they needed to discuss. “Why don’t I ask Mrs. Reynolds to have a bath drawn for you so that you can bathe before bed?”

“Oh that sounds like a wonderful idea, Francis. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he said as he went to ring the bell. A moment later there was a soft rap at the door, which opened at Francis’s request to admit a cheerful Mrs. Reynolds. “My wife would like to take a bath before retiring this evening. Would you please see that it is taken care of?”

“Certainly, sir,” Mrs. Reynolds replied. “I’ve sent Georgina up already to prepare her ladyship’s bedroom. Georgina will also be acting as a temporary replacement for her ladyship’s abigail—I trust that her ladyship will be pleased with this decision.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds,” Emily responded with a smile. “I’m quite certain that everything will be to my liking.”

“Very good, ma’am,” Mrs. Reynolds replied with a bobbing curtsey before closing the door behind her as she went to see about the bath.

“In the meantime,” Francis said, his eyes suddenly more serious than Emily was comfortable with. “I believe there are some things that I must tell you.”

“Francis,” she implored him. “There’s no need to do it now—why don’t we just enjoy this evening without letting our pasts interfere with our happiness?”

“Because,” he told her gently. “I don’t wish for there to be any secrets between us when I take your innocence later tonight. Such a sacred act must not be tarnished by anything. It’s all but too easy to brush it off until later, and there will always be another excuse to do so again. In truth, however, there is no better time for it than the present.”

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for what was to come. He could see the fear in her eyes, and understood only too plainly the source of it. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. There are things that I must tell you about myself—things that are quite painful and difficult for me to talk about, but I trust you with my heart, Emily, and for this reason, you must know about them. Believe me when I tell you that what I am about to say can never change the way I feel about you—if anything, it will only bring us closer.”

“I lost you once because of this, Francis. I don’t want to lose you again,” she whispered with downcast eyes.

He paused momentarily as he lifted her chin with his fingers to look her straight in the eye. “Take courage, my love, and have faith that what I am about to tell you will only strengthen our relationship. It is the not knowing that threatens to hurt us.”

“Very well, then,” she said with determination as she kissed him lovingly on the lips. “Tell me what it is and let me help you carry this burden.”

Francis sighed deeply as he rose to his feet and strode across to the window, where he stood for a moment in silence, looking out onto the driveway. “Lady Elisabeth Riley, the woman I have always addressed as mother—and whom I have always loved as such—is not the woman who gave birth to me,” he began.

Emily decided at that point that it was very fortunate that he’d turned away from her, for it prevented him from seeing the shock that surely must have been visible upon her face. Her mind was immediately filled with a flood of questions, but she forced herself to remain silent, having no desire to keep him from continuing. Instead, she took a deep sip of her port and allowed the loveseat to support her as she settled back against it.

“After many attempts and a series of humiliating doctor’s visits, it was eventually discovered that Lady Elisabeth was unable to bear children. She and my father were, needless to say, devastated—she perhaps more so, as she continuously blamed herself for not providing him with an heir.

“She loved him very much, you know—more than he ever deserved, as it turns out.” Francis turned back toward Emily after a moment of pensive silence. “In fact, it was she who suggested that my father should take a mistress—another woman to carry the child that she could not give him. Do you have any idea how hard that must have been for her?” Francis’s eyes glistened, though his voice remained firm. “He refused to . . . at first . . . but he so desperately wanted what she could not give him. The temptation, coupled with her blessing . . . well . . . it was too strong for him to deny.”

Francis’s eyes clouded over again with sudden rage. “He was a weak man who wasn’t satisfied with what he had—and he had a lot.”

“But . . .” Emily said softly with a great degree of caution. “If he hadn’t done what he did, you never would have been born.”

“I often think that would have been for the best, Emily,” he told her grimly. “You see, it was my mother —I mean, Elisabeth—who handpicked Charlotte for him herself. She wanted his mistress to share her features, so that any child she gave birth to would be likely to resemble her. But my father was reeled in by Charlotte’s charm and feigned sincerity. He became enamored of her, and she gradually tightened her hold on him, latching on, and refusing to let go.

“The only commendable thing that she ever did was hand me over to Elisabeth the minute that I was born. I’m told that she didn’t even wish to look at me. And Elisabeth showered me with love and affection—she was a wonderful mother. But, she wanted her husband back, too.”

Emily was shocked to see a damp line form on Francis’s right cheek. He didn’t seem to register the tears himself, so caught up was he in his story. “I don’t recall ever meeting Lady Elisabeth,” Emily said, unable to think of anything else.

“You would have liked her. She was pure of heart, with nothing but goodness and the best of intentions. She wasn’t as strong as she needed to be in order to fight Charlotte, however. And Charlotte’s incessant haranguing—the way in which she taunted her, dangling the fact that my father had finally chosen his mistress over his wife—it ate away at her. Do you know, he even moved Charlotte into the room adjoining Elisabeth’s—at Charlotte’s request—so that when he would visit her at night—and he did so often—Elisabeth was forced to listen to the sounds of their constant lovemaking, even if she didn’t wish to. And the house in London . . .” His words faded as if he couldn’t quite bear to continue.

Emily took a sharp breath. “That’s why they’re joined?” Her eyes were brimming with sympathy for him. “She lived at number five, didn’t she?”

Francis could only nod. “Charlotte is a cold, manipulative bitch who drove Elisabeth to the brink of insanity—so much so, that even I could not stop the inevitable outcome.” His face was contorted with such fierce anger that the fine hairs on the nape of Emily’s neck stood on end. The man that she loved looked as though he was spinning out of control on a downward spiral into a place so dark that she feared he was bound to unravel before her very eyes. Tears came in a heavy gush amidst choked breaths as he stumbled onto a chair. “It’s because of Charlotte that Elisabeth finally lost hope, gave up on love, and killed herself by jumping off the roof.” He closed his eyes against the images that appeared before him. “I was the one who found her, you know . . . her eyes cast open, her neck awkwardly twisted, and her head battered.”

Emily’s hands flew to her mouth as her gasp filled the silence. “Oh God, Francis,” she muttered. “I never thought . . . I mean, I never knew . . . oh God . . .”

“Nobody knew,” he continued as he stared off into space. “Elisabeth’s maiden name was used in the report—everything was hushed up, and everyone was led to believe that she died of tuberculosis.”

“I’m so sorry . . .” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. She wanted to go to him, to comfort him and heal his wounds, but something stopped her. Somehow she sensed that there was more to come, so she waited, drowning in the silence that flooded the room.

“Even to this very day, she continues to haunt me,” he said as he lifted his gaze to meet Emily’s. “Both of my parents are dead, and still Charlotte harasses me—claiming that I owe her the right to enjoy a portion of the wealth that my father left behind. It’s not enough that he left her five thousand pounds. She spent that money a long time ago, having grown used to a lifestyle well beyond her means. So she shows up at intervals, demanding whatever sum strikes her fancy,” Francis laughed self-mockingly as he raised his eyes to admire the ceiling. “And God help me, I pay it. Why?” His voice was instantly loud and defensive. “Because the bloody woman has a letter in her possession—a letter signed, sealed, and dated by my father—in which my birthright, Elisabeth’s suicide, and every other bloody piece of information that might effectively tarnish the family name is plainly stated for the world to see. It would be devastating if it got out.” He sighed, downed the remainder of his port, and slumped back against his chair, raking his hair with his hands. “What am I to do, Emily?”

Rising to her feet, Emily swiftly closed the space between them, put her arms around him, and hugged him against her. She didn’t say a single word until she was quite certain that there was not a single tear left in him. When he let out an exhausted sigh, she eased her grip, but held on still as she bent to kiss the top of his head. He had suffered such a devastating loss, she realized, and had endured it alone, keeping all emotion bottled up inside for more than ten years. Not once had he cried over the death of Lady Elisabeth. Not once had he let another person close enough for him to lean on. All those years of buried emotions had finally been released. Emily only hoped that it would set him free.

“I love you, Francis,” she whispered into his hair. A soft scent of chamomile wafted over her, so enticing that she buried her nose deeper in his thick locks. “We’re together now, you and I, and together we’ll find a solution.”

Moving away from him, she sank to her knees before him and pulled his head toward her. Their kiss was gentle at first, but soon turned urgent as his hands came up against her face in such a loving gesture that her heart swelled with hope for their future together as husband and wife. Nothing would ever replace a moment such as this, she thought as they eased away from one another, her lips bruised by his.

They looked up at the sound of a soft knock at the door. It was Mrs. Reynolds who had come to inform them that Emily’s bath was ready. “Thank you,” Francis said to her. “Lady Dunhurst will be up presently.”

As soon as the door had closed again they turned to each other, and as their eyes met, they both burst out laughing. “I doubt she’s ever happened on a more delicate situation in her life,” Francis grinned. “I’m sure it must have taken a great deal of willpower for her to maintain a steady countenance. It’s not every day that one finds one’s master looking a fright because he’s been bawling like a baby, and one’s mistress on the floor with a look of passion in her eyes that most would consider quite sinful.”