The Emerald Duchess (19 page)

“My name is Charles Alistair Saint Allyn,” the duke told her, causing the screen behind them to tremble from some sudden movement. Neither one of them noticed. “I am sorry you do not remember, but I can assure you that we are in love—very much in love—and that the child that you carry, my darling, is mine.”

Emily lowered her eyes after a quick glance at Miss Hortense’s blushing face and the doctor’s quiet nod.

“See, I have a special license so we can be wed at once.” The duke showed her the paper, much creased now from the time it had spent folded in his note case, and Emily saw her name and his written on it.

She took a deep breath. “If what you say is true, sir, and I am truly Miss Wyndham, I am of course grateful to know it. But who were Mrs. Wiggins and Miss Nelson? Why did I carry their names and not my own in my purse? And what was I doing in Brighton?”

“That must remain a mystery that may never be solved, my dear, unless you regain your memory,” the duke said firmly, without a moment’s hesitation. “You disappeared from London just before our wedding could take place and I have been searching for you ever since. Thank God I found you! Miss Rutherford, I can never thank you and your sister enough for your care of my bride. I shall always be grateful.”

“Hmmmph!” said the screen.

It seemed to be indeed the very short time later that the duke had prophesied that arrangements had been made for an immediate ceremony. The vicar was sent for and the maids set to preparing some food while Miss Hortense, wiping a flood of tears from her eyes, took Emily away to pack her bags and change her gown. Miss Horatia came in and kissed her, asking if she were quite sure she wanted this marriage to take place. Emily stared at her reflection in the glass as Agnes, all aflutter at maiding a future duchess, arranged her hair.

“Yes,” she said at last. Her face was pale but she was composed and quiet. “I seem to know that I can trust the duke, and I believe everything he has told me.”

“Hmmph!” Miss Horatia snorted, trying to hide her feelings, for she was just as upset as her sister that Emily was to leave them, to say nothing of her distaste that she was to marry one of
them.
“If I had not heard you calling his name in your sleep, night after night, I might not have agreed,” she said. “But if he is your Charles indeed, then the marriage must take place, if only for the child’s sake.”

And so, under the old elm, for even for a wedding Miss Rutherford would not relax her standards and admit all of
them
into the hall, Emily Margaret Wyndham became the bride of Charles Alistair Saint Allyn. He was attended by Doctor Spears as his groomsman, and Emily had little Miss Hortense by her side. There was another bridesmaid hidden behind the large screen, but no one mentioned her, not even the large group of elderly maids who came to watch and cry and exclaim.

Charles thought he had never seen anyone so lovely as his bride in her simple pale-green muslin gown. She carried
a
bouquet of wild flowers in her arms, and her blond hair gleamed in the sunlight under a matching wreath. Nor did he think any wedding ceremony could ever be so meaningful and solemn as the one that now took place on the green lawn of Rutherford Hall, even ungraced as it was by throngs of fashionable wedding guests, large choirs, or pomp and circumstance.

His eyes were worshipful as he said his vows and placed his own heavy signet ring on her finger. Emily could not look at him. Her mouth felt dry and her heart pounded when he took her in his arms at the end and kissed her gently, his lips just brushing hers before he stepped back and placed her arm in his with a proud, proprietary air.

After a short repast of sandwiches and little cakes, and
a
toast in Miss Horatia’s best dandelion wine given by Doctor Spears to the newlyweds, they prepared to leave. The new Duchess of Wrotherham took Miss Hortense in her arms for
a
final embrace and retired behind the screen for several moments as well.

“Oh, my dearie, you will come back and visit us, won’t you?” Miss Hortense begged, looking up at Emily as she sat in the carriage between her new husband and the doctor. “And you will come alone, won’t you? Er, that is—I mean, not that I am
wishful
of being unkind, but—”

The duke broke in to assure her that the duchess would come by herself, and Emily added, “I shall bring the baby with me when I come, dear Miss Hortense,” and the round old lady beamed with happiness.

As the carriage drove away, the maids throwing rice that the doctor privately thought most unnecessary in this particular case, Miss Hortense called out again.

“But only if it is indeed Rachel Rose, dearie! I quite understand about heirs and direct lines and so forth, but I know you take my meaning.”

Emily smiled when the doctor broke into laughter and the duke joined in, and she stole a glance at that handsome, aristocratic face, now so alive with happiness, and knew in her heart that she had done the right thing and that the calmness she was experiencing came from the feeling that she was safe home at last.

But when they left the doctor off in Monk Street, a silence fell between them. Emily chided herself for her shyness, for if she was carrying the duke’s child, she must have been very intimate with him at one time, and this terror of being alone with him now must seem both unnecessary and ridiculous.

Charles looked down at her still, white face and turned his team away from the entrance to the inn yard. He drove until they reached a quiet lane that fronted the sea, and then he stopped the team and turned to take her hand.

“Listen, my dearest, it is all right. I know what you are experiencing, for even though I may tell you of our past love, to you, without any memory of it now, I am as much a stranger as if we had just met this morning. I understand and I will not press you.”

Emily tried to smile at him through her stiff lips. “I thank you, your Grace.”

“Charles, never your Grace, never again,” he said, raising her hand to kiss it. “I told you that once before, my love. But come! Are you tired? I thought, if you should not dislike it,
to leave Brighton this afternoon. We can be in London by ten this evening, and I have a great wish to take you immediately to Wrotherham House, my love, but only if you feel up to the journey. I would not tire you.”

In his eyes was a concern for her and the child, and Emily smiled. “I should like that. I have not been unhappy here precisely, but for some reason I should like to leave Brighton and all its memories behind,” she told him.

The duke drove briskly back to the inn and secured a private parlor for his new wife so she might rest while his clothes were packed, his curricle brought around, and his groom informed of the morning’s events.

Thomas’ eyes widened for a moment when he learned that the new duchess was Miss Nelson.

“You and Greene are the only ones who know, Thomas, and I know I can rely on you both to keep the duchess’s former occupation and identity a secret.” He went on to explain her memory loss and her rightful name, and Thomas, who had spent so much time searching for the lady, was quick to assure his master that not by a single word would he betray the bride.

They were on the road to London a short time later. The duke’s team was swift and his curricle especially built for speed, but still it was almost ten before they arrived in Park Lane. At the last stage, Charles had sent the groom ahead on a hired hack to alert his servants, and especially his valet, of their imminent arrival, and when the duke handed Emily down from the curricle, she found Wrotherham House a blaze of welcoming lights, all the staff assembled in the front hall to welcome their new mistress, and an elegant supper, complete with champagne, prepared for the two of them.

Charles was so proud of her. He knew she must be tired, but she held her head erect and smiled as the butler introduced her to the staff, all of whom, from the tiniest tweeny to the duke’s valet himself, were impressed by her quiet, assured manner.

The housekeeper took her up to a suite of rooms adjoining the duke’s that had been prepared for her, and after she had bathed and changed, the duke joined her there for supper. It was a lighthearted meal served by Greene himself, and when he had poured the last glass of champagne, and left them, the
duke came around the table to take her hands in his, dropping a kiss on her golden hair as he did so.

“You are weary, my love. Go to bed now and I will see you in the morning,” he said, looking into her beautiful, troubled green eyes. When she would have spoken, he put his fingers over her mouth. “No, I insist. There is no hurry, my dear, for we have all the rest of our lives together now.”

With a final kiss he was gone, promising to send a maid to assist her, and Emily, who was indeed weary, wiped a tear from her eyes. How good he was, how kind, she thought. She was asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillows, and this evening at least, she was not troubled by nightmares.

The following days were filled with activity. First, the duke insisted on taking her shopping, showering her with gorgeous gowns and ensembles, and furs and jewels. When Emily protested, he hushed her by reminding her that, as the Duchess of Wrotherham, naturally she had an obligation to be beautifully dressed. He insisted on hiring her a lady’s maid himself, and he took her all over Wrotherham House so she might see what improvements and new decorations she wished to initiate, and he bought her a large square-cut emerald surrounded by diamonds with a matching wedding band for her hand, and reclaimed his signet ring with a kiss.

The duke had sent an announcement to the newspapers of his marriage, and as soon as some of her gowns had been delivered, he took Emily to concerts, the theater, and the opera, but as if they were really on their honeymoon and wrapped in a cloak of invisibility, he saw none of his friends or relations.

They were in London for only two weeks, and if it never occurred to Emily to wonder why Charles did not introduce her to his family, or mention hers, it was probably because she was so busy, so constantly in her new husband’s company that she never thought about it. Besides, he had told her that she was an only child and that both her parents had died some time ago.

At length they set out for Wrotherham Park. Emily was feeling much more at ease with Charles now, although sometimes the light in those black eyes troubled her when he smiled at her, or she was surprised by an eager expression on his handsome face, so quickly controlled, and privately she
wondered how long such a virile man as the duke appeared to be would be content with this platonic marriage that they shared.

She herself was not at all averse to having him make love to her now, but she knew no way to let him know she would welcome it, and although she still could not remember being with him before, somehow she was sure it must have been wonderful. Sometimes when he kissed her lightly, she wished she might throw her arms around him and kiss him back until he refused to let her go, and she sighed with frustration. She had no idea how much more frustrating and difficult all this was for the duke, since he had promised himself he would do nothing to upset her until she was ready.

Emily was astounded at the size of Wrotherham Park as they came up the mile-long drive. Made of rosy brick, it had been built many generations ago and added onto as the fortunes of the Saint Allyns grew and prospered, until now it encompassed several stories and wings. She admired the formal gardens, the wide terraces that overlooked the park and ornamental water, and told Charles the peacocks were the crowning touch.

“So ... so ducal!” She laughed, her emerald eyes mischievous, and Charles had all he could do not to drop the reins and catch her up in his arms then and there. All unaware, Emily continued to tease him, “And I suppose there is another army of servants to be greeted, as well as gardeners, grooms, and gameskeepers? What state, sir! I am not only impressed, I see I shall have to take great care not to grow haughty and proud, and addicted to the use of the royal we.”

“You have my permission to be and say anything you wish, child,” Charles told her, tooling his curricle briskly around the circular gravel drive and coming to a halt at the bottom of a long flight of stone steps that was lined with footmen in livery and headed by his austere butler.

“I wonder if
I
should care for it?” Emily mused as the duke came around to lift her down, motioning the footmen away. “Hmm. ‘Her Grace is not receiving this afternoon
’ ... ‘
Her Grace would be pleased to dine’
...
‘Her Grace wishes to retire.’ ”

“May I suggest ‘Her Grace would be pleased to love His Grace’?” Charles whispered as he held her close to him for a moment before setting her on her feet.

He felt her stiffen and moved away to greet his butler, cursing himself for his clumsiness. Fool, he told himself. It was too soon, and he had startled her. He was polite and attentive as he shepherded her through the welcoming routine and turned her over to his housekeeper, Mrs. Turner, and so formal that Emily was sure she could not have heard him correctly. She barely saw the beautiful rooms that were to be hers, and was glad when the housekeeper finally shooed the maids out before her and left her alone to rest and think.

She did not see the duke again until evening when they dined in the great dining chamber. Emily was glad that Charles had had her placed beside him instead of what seemed a mile away down the long expanse of mahogany, and she was also glad that he did not refer to the awkwardness that had occurred at their arrival; he seemed to have forgotten it.

She went to bed early, something she had been doing with regularity in these early days of her pregnancy. Charles remained in the library, going over some papers. He came in to her before he went to his own rooms next door, and found her sleeping in the large bed with its satin covers, looking as beautiful as any angel with her blond hair loosened on the pillow. He had to clench his hands and turn away quickly.

But sometime during the night, he awoke to the sound of desperate sobbing, and when he came back into her bedroom, he heard her calling his name. He saw she was still fast asleep, and he sat down on the bed to draw her into his arms and hold her close, as he might have a child who was frightened of the dark.

“Hush now, Emily. It is all right, for I am here,” he said, his deep voice husky and unsteady.

Emily opened her eyes, looking perplexed for a moment.

“Why do you cry like that, love?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Ever since I lost my memory, I have had nightmares where I seem to be lost and afraid I will be all alone forever,” she whispered, trying not to sob.

The duke wiped her eyes. “You will never be lost again, my dear,” he reassured her, and then he stayed beside her, rocking her in his arms until her breathing calmed and her eyes closed as she rested her head on his broad chest. But when he made a reluctant move to lay her back down in bed and take his leave, her eyes flew open and she threw her arms around him.

“No, do not leave me! Do not leave me ever again,” she cried, and without speaking, the duke got into bed beside her and took her in his arms.

And then it all came right at last.

Throughout his lovemaking, Emily felt the great wave of warmth and joy that she was sure she had known before, and his whispered endearments and strong caressing hands made her reach out in turn to draw him even closer. “Yes,” the little voice in her head told her as he kissed her with such, familiar ardor, “yes, he is the one, the only one.” She was almost fainting with the myriad sensations she felt when his lean body quickened its movements, and she arched her back to draw him deeper inside her, as if somehow she knew this would please him. She felt him catch his breath in a little gasp, and then there was nothing but Charles, in her and around her, permeating every inch of her body with a growing sensation of love and fulfillment. For a long moment, she drifted away from the world, and then she was aware that he had lowered his head to rest it besides hers on the pillow. In the candlelight, Emily saw that his eyes were closed and a little smile curled his chiseled lips. She watched him for a moment, raising herself on one elbow so she might see the expressions that played over his face. Suddenly his eyes opened and he turned toward her, both hands smoothing her hair back from her face so there was no golden curtain between them.

“My dearest,” he said, his black eyes glowing, “how beautiful you are. Why, you were made for love!”

For a moment, something dark came into the room, and Emily shook her head to dispel it. A memory from another time, something that had happened to her once—no, she would not remember it! The only thing that is important was that Charles, my dear, dear husband, she amended, has come to me at last. She snuggled down into his arms and sighed as she closed her eyes. She was safe here; he would keep the dark thoughts and memories at bay. She felt his arms tighten around her, and just before she dropped off to sleep, she murmured, “I love you, Charles.”