Scandalous Regency Secrets Collection. Louise Allen
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your luggage, and that your usual chamber is prepared.”
“Oh, no, don’t do that. I’m staying only a few miles away with Lord Edmunds—dearest Ferdie—marvelous house party. You weren’t invited, Emmaline? Shame on them! Just because you said your last prayers years ago doesn’t mean you couldn’t be included, at least for the tamer entertainments. At any rate, I heard the news, and knew I must have someone drive me over here for a few hours,” Helen said with a wave of her hand.
“How fortunate you managed to pack that gown,” Emmaline said without inflection.
“Yes, isn’t it, darling? I had to borrow the bonnet, but I wear black quite often in the evening, as it shows off my hair so well. Strange that we’re both blonde, and yet black...well, perhaps a little visit to the paint pots, hmm? At any rate, I’m only here to make certain my son is being installed as he should be...and to lend you my support of course, my dearest Emmaline. So alone in the world now. How difficult it must be to be a spinster. Being a widow is much more fun! Why, only Rafe’s charity will keep a roof over your head now, won’t it? But not to worry—I’m sure he’ll find someplace to put you.”
Grayson and Emmaline exchanged looks as Helen wandered off ahead of them. “As my late brother said, Grayson, the woman has a tongue that runs on wheels, but only rarely engages with her brain box. She means well.”
“As you say, my lady. His...that is, your guest awaits you in the morning room.”
Emmaline hastened down the hallway, realizing that putting Helen within fifty yards of any young, handsome man was akin to setting a plate of sugar cookies within easy reach of a precocious child.
She stopped to take a settling breath, and then turned the corner and entered the morning room, just in time to see John bowing over Helen’s hand.
Her sister-in-law turned to her with a wink and a smile. “Well, now, aren’t you the naughty one? While the cat’s away the mice will dance, hmm? Or did Charlton know about this...houseguest of yours?”
“Captain Alastair was there on the scene, just after the yacht sank, Helen. It is he who brought me the sad news.”
“And then decided to stay for the funerals? How accommodating of you, Captain. I may have to attend the services myself, after all,” Helen said, once more turning her back on Emmaline. “Alastair? John Alastair. Now why is that name so familiar to me, hmm?”
John shot a quick look past Helen, to where Emmaline stood. “John is a fairly common name, Your Grace.”
“Common as dirt, yes. But Alastair? No, I think I...oh, wait! I think I remember now. Not John Alastair. Jonathan Alastair. You’re William’s son. The sailor. How he loathed that you’d put the line in jeopardy, haring about on the high seas and all of that nonsense. Poor William, although Dame Rumor has it that he died quite happily.” Helen sank into a graceful curtsy. “It is so delightful, again, to meet you, Your Grace.”
Emmaline found that she couldn’t breathe.
And Helen, who always noticed such things, noticed. “Emmaline, dearest? Are you quite all right? How could you have forgotten to tell me that the Duke of Warrington is your houseguest? Your Grace, you simply must return to River’s Edge with me, as there is nothing quite so dull and dreary as a house of mourning. So sorry you won’t be able to join us, Emmaline. What with your brother so newly dead and all.”
“Emmaline, I—Emmaline, wait!”
But Emmaline was gone, turning about so quickly she nearly tripped over the hem of her gown before running out of the room.
He caught up with her in the large foyer, before she could mount the stairs and lock herself in her bedchamber, where she would remain for the next hundred years, if possible.
“Grayson,” he said, his eyes on Emmaline, his hand holding tight to her arm, “if you’d be so kind as to keep Her Grace occupied elsewhere.”
“But...but how should I do that, sir?”
“I don’t care if you tie her to a chair. And it wouldn’t depress me if you included a gag. The woman is a feather-witted menace. Go, and everyone else—leave.”
“John, you cannot just go ordering the servants to—and let go of my arm.”
“I was going to tell you, Emmaline, I swear I was. This morning. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you immediately...but it all just seemed...easier if you thought me a more...a more simple man.”
“I thought we’d live in a cottage. And...and raise our children. I thought... I thought I would be your helpmeet, your companion.”
“And how does my being a duke change any of that? Granted, Warrington Hall is not a cottage, but as for the rest of it? Being duke and duchess does not preclude us from being loving parents. From loving each other, staying true to each other. We won’t ever have to go to London at all, if you don’t want to go. Is that it? Have you taken a firm dislike to London, to Society?”
She shook off his hand. “I’m not a recluse, John. Charlton refused to take me, that’s all. I adore London, at least most of it.”
“Oh, good,” he said, relaxing slightly. “Because I really think we need to go there from time to time. That is, if you can love a duke even half as much as you could love a simple sea captain?”
Emmaline looked down at the floor. “I’m being silly, aren’t I? I saw us as being so simple, our lives so uncomplicated. Being Charlton’s sister was...very complicated.” She turned her gaze on the man she loved. “How did you know I felt that way?”
“I don’t know. I felt that if I told you who I am, about the damned title, then you’d not relax your guard around me, tell me the sorts of things you told me yesterday. About your family, about your life.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have, you’re correct about that. I don’t think I would have worried about how you’d pay for your room at the inn, either.”
“Darling, do you remember when I said we can’t choose who we love, but we can choose who we like?”
“Yes,” she said, allowing him to take her hands in his.
“I knew I loved you the moment I first saw you. That was the easy part. But then I knew I liked you when you showed such concern for my welfare, when you were more worried for me than concerned with the suddenly altered circumstances of your life. Now, am I forgiven?”
“I don’t know,” she said coyly—imagine, a twenty-eight-year-old almost-virgin, being coy! “I really believe I may have had my heart set on a thatched cottage near the sea.”
He slipped his arms more fully around her and brought his mouth down to nearly meet hers. “We’ll work on that...”
THERE WERE TWO musty old aunts in the second pew, a quiet and reserved-looking Charlotte Seavers and her father in the third, and only Emmaline and John sitting in the first pew as the vicar looked uncomfortable in the small chapel hung in black crepe but glaringly absent of coffins.
Helen Daughtry had not only sent her regrets, but had forbidden her twin daughters from attending the service. “Much too depressing for the young dears,” she’d insisted, which was, Emmaline knew, another way of saying, “If they’re there, then I have to be there, and I don’t want to be there.”
Last night, while the two of them were in bed together after the rest of the household was asleep, John had proposed a wine toast to Helen’s absence. If it were possible to love him even more, she did, because he was so impervious to Helen’s beauty and wiles.
The quickness of the memorial ceremony and the absence of the trio who would provide raucous entertainment for them had kept Charlton’s friends firmly in London. As for George and Harold, they