Page 71 of Dukes Do It Better
Emma’s gaze roamed the kitchen, where she’d learned to bake as Alton danced in her womb. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Wiping them away left streaks of flour over her face, but she didn’t care. “It’s silly. I know it’s silly. It’s just a house. Wood and plaster, and a back door you have to pull on extra hard when it rains. Why am I so upset?” The last bit was muffled in Mrs. Shephard’s shoulder as the cook pulled her into a hug.
“Are you sure it’s the house, Mrs. Hardwick? Or did the man dig in deeper than you want to admit?”
In her mind, the loss of the house was connected to Mal’s betrayal, which was connected to her feelings for him and the undeniable fact that she’d picked the wrong man again. Like her parents, it seemed she was doomed to repeat choices, inevitably creating her own heartbreak. They’d chased love, pleasure, and lust—initially with one another, until monogamy wore thin. Father had left illegitimate children all over the country, and probably the Continent. Truth of the matter was, she’d followed in her parents’ footsteps, right down to the fatherless son.
And she couldn’t rail at her parents for their life choices and the damage they’d done to their family, because they’d had the audacity to die and leave their messes behind.
Leave her behind. Grief roared to life, claiming space in her mind after months of silence, and years of suppressing her mother’s death. Finally, the tears she’d waited for flowed freely.
“I’m sure I speak for Polly as well when I say we’ll follow you to the next house if you stay in the area. A home isn’t only a house, missus.”
Emma nodded and pulled back. “You’ve been a godsend, Mrs. Shephard. Thank you for all you’ve done. I’ll inform you of our plans as soon as I figure out what the next step is.” How had her parents done it? Bounced from relationship to relationship, without appearing to suffer from heartbreak? Perhaps they hadn’t felt as deeply. Or they’d learned to guard their hearts more effectively than Emma had. She mustered a smile through the tears.
“You have a tender heart, missus. And you’re a good mother. It will all work out somehow.”
Emma felt deeply. She loved completely and threw herself into situations with an exuberance Cal had bemoaned more than once. Even her hiding here on the coast had been wholehearted, going so far as to leave her honorific behind.
But, exactly like her parents, she’d covered her mistakes with deception. Unlike them, she had the chance to change. Their stories were done—hers was not. The cook was right. It would all work out. There were places she could go. She and Alton wouldn’t be without a roof or food, or comforts. Many mothers couldn’t say the same if faced with a similar situation.
No matter how heartbroken she felt right now, Emma could still change herself and her life for the better. The tears began to slow as she hiccupped.
Living amid lies was exhausting. Honesty had one clear benefit in its simplicity. Lying took effort, and frankly, beyond the moral implications of breaking free from her previous destructive patterns, telling the truth was easier.
Besides, as she could attest, being lied to hurt. Lordy goodness, she hurt. While she’d love to understand why Mal had done what he’d done, she might never know. Emma couldn’t easily reconcile the man she’d thought he was with who he’d turned out to be. There’d been no hints. No clues.
Which made Mal an exceptionally good liar. He’d certainly fooled her. She wiped her face on her sleeve and sniffed. Swallowing down the bitterness, Emma focused on making the edge of the crust look pretty in the tin. Her fingers trembled, but at least she wasn’t crying anymore. No, she was too angry. These last days had taught her the anger would be replaced by another emotion shortly, and she had to ride it out.
A thump behind them had Mrs. Shephard turning. “Billy, if you eat my broom, I’ll whip your bum with it. Don’t push me, lad.”
The indignant bleat and skitter of tiny hooves on the stone floor answered the cook’s threat as the kid dashed outside. Emma closed the half door behind the goat and said, “He’s going to go tell Leonard you’re a meanie head.” Her voice sounded stuffy from the crying, but it felt good to smile again.
She latched the hook to keep the top of the door open to the sea air. The lawn was a vibrant green against the blue sky. It was a gorgeous day. The kind of day created to make you forget the cold rainy ones and make you think you lived on the edge of a sparkling fairy seaside kingdom. At least, until the next cloud bank moved in.
When she stuck her head out to look for her son, Alton wandered around the corner of the house with a barn cat tucked under one arm and a baby goat following behind. Polly was hanging the wash on the line, and linens blew in the breeze like landlocked sails. A pang near her heart made her sigh. This house was perfect. But Mrs. Shephard was right. Their home wasn’t limited to a house.
Damn, but she loved this house.
Soon, the savory scents of baking pastry, meat, and herbs filled the kitchen and wafted down the hall toward the parlor, where Emma sat reading a magazine, after Mrs. Shephard had gently nudged her out of the room. A fashion plate caught her eye, momentarily distracting her from the gurgle coming from her stomach. The gown on the page had a cinched waist and puffed sleeves clinging to the edge of the shoulders, with a bejeweled brooch nestled in the cleavage. Emma glanced down at her chest. It would highlight her assets.
But where would she wear such a thing? Perhaps they’d spent too much time in London, if she was even considering such an impractical purchase. Still, it was tempting to take the illustration to the local modiste and see if elements of the dress could work in a less elaborate evening gown.
The Claybourne soiree had been last night, not that it mattered anymore. Emma had been looking forward to it, and no doubt she’d hear about it in letters from her friends. Had Simon danced with Adelaide again? An offer looked to be imminent, and she couldn’t be happier for her friend. A trifle envious, perhaps. But happy.
Since the kitchen, her thoughts had been lingering and rolling over in her mind. Mother and Father were past saving. But Emma could change. If these past months in London had taught her one thing, it was that. Not the core of who she was—why would she want to change that, anyway? But the pieces of her parents she carried with her as an adult. Those broken little remnants of deception and entitlement could be left behind. Sometimes it meant doing the opposite of what her mother would have done. And sometimes it meant being true to her desires, such as beginning an affair with Mal, but refusing to hide it from those who loved her. Although the whole thing had ended in disaster, Emma could be proud she’d acted in a way she didn’t have to regret.
There was a kind of peace amid the pain, knowing she’d survived a relationship without lying to those she loved about her actions.
Emma sighed. Introspection was exhausting. She glanced down at the magazine again. The picture was so pretty, she hated to bend the corner to mark the place. Setting the magazine aside, she searched the drawer in the table beside her for something to act as a bookmark.
Crinkling paper made her sigh and close her eyes, already knowing a bookmark wouldn’t be necessary. Sure enough, Lily stood by her leg, happily chewing a sizable chunk of paper. The illustrated woman no longer had a head, and the edge was slightly damp from baby goat drool.
“You’re a menace. How did you get in? I thought you were playing with Alton.” Lily’s nappy was yellow today, with a faint white check pattern faded from years of washing. The goat bleated a reply, then butted Emma’s knee in protest when the magazine moved out of reach.
“Don’t eat my papers. This came all the way from London, I’ll have you know.” Firming her jaw, Emma shot the goat the same look she saved for Alton’s particularly bad days. A stare down followed, but Emma refused to blink. After a moment, the kid seemed to grow bored of the whole situation. Lily wandered over to the open window and hopped out, then pranced over the grass.
That explained how she snuck in, anyway. Jimmy, their caretaker and man of all work, needed to look into more functional penning options than the haphazard gates in the barn. The kids had outsmarted those within weeks, according to Mrs. Shephard.
Emma rose to close the window, then paused when Alton barreled around the corner of the house. The wide grin splitting his cheeks made her smile. If she could, she’d give him every last thing his little heart desired. Alton deserved it all. Everything she had, everything she could offer, even if it came by means of lying, cheating, and stealing.
