Page 17 of The Husband Gamble
She took a breath with a bit of a shudder, as if suppressing tears, but her voice was even when she spoke. “I came to tell you my story, my lord. If, afterwards, you wish to withdraw your offer, I will understand.”
Hythe nodded, not bothering to tell her that Smythe’s attack made it essential for them to marry. Two men had been in her bedchamber, and one of them could not be trusted to keep his mouth shut. All Hythe’s doubts about the wisdom of his course had been laid to rest. It was his duty to marry Miss Fernhill and save her reputation.
He might have been resigned to the necessity. Instead, he was exultant. The lovely Amaryllis Fernhill would be his wife, and neither her doubts nor his, nor the opinions of the rest of the Polite World, mattered a farthing.
Miss Fernhill began her story. “Perhaps you will guess when you know that Lady Emma Pilkington has been my best friend since we were both infants. We grew up on adjoining estates. She fell in love with a young army officer. However, her father would not entertain his suit, but instead attempted to betroth Emma to Alfred Hargreaves, the son of the baron next door to us both. He is a horrible man, who would have treated her terribly.”
Hythe recognised the name Emma Pilkington and had an inkling of where this might be going. “And her preferred suitor was Joseph Pilkington, I take it. She eloped?”
Miss Fernhill was focusing on her hands, and on his thumbs, stroking her fingers over and over. “Yes, overseas with the army. They married. Then Joseph received a small inheritance and Emma became enceinte. He sold out and they used his money to start a small acting troupe.”
“Which came to your rescue when you needed them, and staged the heavenly rescue,” he guessed.
She looked up, searched his face, and then returned his smile. “You do not mind?”
“I am grateful to them. You must introduce me when we are back in London so I can thank them.” She had travelled with an acting troupe! That would take a bit of getting used to, and was likely to cause a scandal if it got out.
“I cannot act, of course, and—besides—I was anxious to stay out of sight, at least at first. So, I was their stage manager and wardrobe mistress. For two and a half years, until I was nearly twenty-five. Emma and Joseph had graduated to playing in theatres, and they took me to Cousin Felicia when they had an engagement in York. She knows everything, by the way. And now, so do you.”
He lifted her fingers to his mouth for a kiss. “I do. And it is not such a great matter, is it? You had to hide from a forced marriage to a wicked brute. You took refuge with a married couple, one the daughter of an earl and the other the grandson of a marquis. You stayed in their protection until you were free of the guardianship of your larcenous uncle, and then your cousin sponsored your Season.”
He was reasonably certain the clever ladies of his family could cast the situation in that positive light. Even if they could not, the scandal would blow over in time. It might slow his advancement in the House of Lords, but he was too useful a diplomat for that part of his career to be affected.
“Will you marry me, Amaryllis Fernhill?” he asked.
“I thought you wanted your sisters to meet me first,” she protested.
“If you need more time before you give me an answer, I will wait,” he agreed. “For my part, my heart is set on you, dear one. I admire you. I enjoy your conversation and your company. I desire you more than I care to discuss while you are still an innocent. I want to spend the rest of my life with you at my side, as my countess, my wife, and my friend. Do you need more time, Amaryllis?”
She blushed, but she did not avoid his eyes. “Are you certain? If you change your mind, you need only…”
“Trust me, dear one. I will not change my mind.”
“Then, yes. If you think I would suit.” She cast her eyes down then looked up through her lashes. “I admire you. I enjoy your conversation and your company. I want to spend the rest of my life with you at my side. And I am an innocent, as you say, but if desire is the burning need for your touch, and the conviction that you, and you alone can show me the mystery of why that should be…”
She got no further, because he had taken her mouth with his, leaning across the table and scattering chess pieces every which way.
EPILOGUE
Others argue that the rumours are untrue. Would a maiden who had spent three years in the Faerie Kingdom settle for a mere earl in faraway London? Amaryllis Fernhill never returned to Pluffington-on-Memmerbeck, and none of the villagers are ever likely to go to London, so every granny and each gaffer is free to hold their own opinion.
[“The Abduction of Amaryllis Fernhill”, inCollected Tales from the Villages of England, by a Gentleman]
* * *
The Earl of Hythe rolled his countess to her side, still within his embrace. “Good morning, Amaryllis Belvoir,” he murmured, the same morning greeting he had given her the day after their wedding fifteen years ago, and repeated every day since.
Rilla gave him the same saucy answer she’d made fifteen years ago. “It has been good so far, Nathan Belvoir.”
He kissed her again. “Every time,” he told her, and it was true. Physical intimacy with her husband had been wonderful from the beginning, and it just got better over the years.
They had married in London three weeks after the end of the house party—a small ceremony at St George’s with a handful of witnesses. Cousin Felicia, the Pilkingtons, Hythe’s sister Sophia and her husband James, and the Duke and Duchess of Winshire. The newly-weds spent Christmas at Belvoir Close. By the time they returned to Society in the Spring, the duchess and her friends had convinced Society that Rilla was a romantic heroine—the innocent victim of villainous plotting saved by the cleverness of a faithful friend, and now returned to her rightful place through the true love of one of Society’s favourite sons.
Yesterday had been their wedding anniversary. They had been travelling, but still found the energy to celebrate in the time-honoured fashion. Twice. Last night before they slept and again this morning.
They lay for a while, enjoying the comfort of one another’s arms and the warm blankets on this cold December morning. “We have to get up,” Rilla said, with little conviction. There were probably warm embers under the banked fire and, elsewhere in the inn, the twins would be awake. Their younger sister, too, but she was probably still in bed with a book. The boys rose with the larks, bright eyed and ripe for mischief.
“Five more minutes,” Hythe decreed, and Rilla snuggled closer.
