Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance) (27 page)

“And yet here we are,” Katherine said, sipping wine.

“And yet here we are,” the Duke echoed. “I must admit, and perhaps it is an awful thing to say, that I chose the wrong cousin. You are, Katherine, the most dangerous, mad, unconventional woman I have ever met. I love you, and I do not want you to leave the Castle. I know your mother is asking for your return. But I believe I have a strategy that will stop all that. Lady Katherine Ellsworth, my lady, I wish you to be my wife.”

“Truly?” Katherine said, unable to hide her surprise. She had given some thought to this in the first week after the madman had been killed, but nothing had come of it so she had discarded it from her mind.
He wants
me
to be his wife. The Duke wants me to be his wife!
But it wasn’t in Katherine’s nature to get giddy, so she said calmly: “I accept.”

She hesitated, and then pushed forth: “It is for the best, Duke,” she said. “I have been meaning to tell you…”
Just say it!
“I have been meaning to tell you that I am with child. I am pregnant with
your
child.”

Harry jumped across the table and pulled her into his arms. Katherine squealed and allowed herself to be carried around the dining-room. The maidservant came in, looked around, and then tactically retreated. Harry set her down and beamed at her. “I am so happy,” he said. “War, death, heartache, and now I am happy!”

“I am happy, too,” Katherine said. She was happy. She was as happy as it was possible for her to be. The future no longer looked dreary and boring. How could it be, when she was going to be the Duke’s wife? “Shall we retire for the evening?”

“Are you not hungry?”

“Oh, I’m hungry,” Katherine said, stroking the front of his britches. “That is why I wish to retire.”

Epilogue

Christopher ran around the garden, chasing butterflies and screaming like the maddest little boy in the world. Elizabeth (named after her deceased relative) bounced over to Katherine. “Mother,” she said, “I was talking to Christopher and he said you and Father met when a crazy man tried to hurt you. Is that true? Father told him that a crazy man was on the hunt for you and Grandmother! But that can’t be true, can it? That is like something out of a novel!”

Katherine laughed aloud at her daughter’s perceptiveness. Had she herself not thought the same exact thing when it was all happening, all those years ago when she and Harry had fallen in love in the strangest circumstances, when all the social mores and constructs had fallen away and they had become two animals hungry for each other? “Listen here, dear,” Katherine said, leaning forward. “Your father and I met in the most normal circumstances you can imagine. We walked in rose gardens and he talked to me of flowers and—and, why are you laughing?”

“You’re lying, Mother!” Elizabeth squealed, her cheeks red. “Isn’t she, Father?”

Harry emerged onto the porch. Katherine turned to him as he kissed her on the cheek and squeezed her shoulder. Even now, after all these years, she was looking forward to bedtime. “Oh, no,” Harry said. “You see, it was the most normal and romantic circumstances one can imagine. I wrote her poetry. Yes, Elizabeth, I did! Don’t look at me like that!”

Elizabeth giggled.

“I did!” Harry went on. “And I knitted for her! Yes! I was quite the craftsman!”

Harry had lost none of his handsomeness in the intervening years. Katherine looked at him with a deep love that would have shocked her years ago, before she met him. It was the kind of love she had never thought to feel.

“Liar! Liar!” Elizabeth cried.

Katherine let her head fall back and a smile touched her lips. She closed her eyes. Sunlight glowed red on her eyelids, and the sounds of her husband and her children came to her ears like birds tweeting. Perhaps one day he would tell the children the story of how they had met, perhaps one day when they were older and knew more of the world.

But for now,
she thought,
let them have their dreams of roses and poems.

Let them think it is all a fairytale.

The wind blew through the open window, fluttering the thin, flowy curtains and chilling the cozy bedroom. The room itself was small but well decorated, with a big family painting above the small wooden fire place.

With a huff, Emily rose from the king sized bed, gathering up her skirts and marching over to the open window. Long blonde hair fell in her eyes as she stood on her toes to shut it, pale hands stretching upward.

As the window slid closed, Emily spotted something from the corner of her eyes. Not something -
someone.
Specifically, a young man she had seen before. Eugene Partridge. He climbed out of an elegant, expensive horse-drawn carriage, brushing down his black trousers. Even from such a distance, his shock of pale blonde hair was evident.

Not a moment later, Emily’s mother shouted from the stairs, “Emily sweetheart! The lovely Eugene Partridge is here!”

Emily grimaced. He was intent on marrying her, despite Emily’s clear disinterest in such an agreement. She had told her mother time and time again she knew
exactly
who to marry - and it wasn’t him. Still, she had to be civil to the man, and at least
pretend
she was interested, to keep the peace. So she gathered up her energy and drifted downstairs, biting on her lip so hard she thought it might bleed.

Eugene sat on one of the overstuffed sofas in the living room, back straight and head high. He looked impassive -
bored,
even - but he smiled brightly when his dark green eyes landed on Emily. “Hello, Emily dear,” he greeted fondly.

“Eugene.” His Christian name sounded odd on her tongue. She didn’t think she would ever get used to calling him so informally.

“I had thought we could go out together today - there’s a lovely little place in town, and I think it would give us a wonderful chance to get to know each other.” Eugene simply beamed, gesturing for Emily to sit across from him.

“I would
love
to, but you see I’m so busy today,” she replied, wincing at how false she sounded. Lying had never been a talent of hers. “I’m very sorry.”

“You mean to say you cannot spare me a few hours? I’m sure-”

Emily’s mother - Adele - laughed loudly as she opened the front door with a flourish. Even though the living room door was between them, Emily could hear her clearly. That in itself wasn’t unusual - she was a loud woman - but the sound of a man’s voice was odd indeed.

Emily would have recognized that voice anywhere. Roland Everard. A smile graced her features as she leaned forward unconsciously, eager to hear his voice.

A moment later a dark haired, bearded man burst through the door, grinning wildly. “Emily, I-” he paused, taking in the sight. His face dropped as he saw the other man, and he backed out. “Terribly sorry, I didn’t realize you weren’t alone.” He disappeared a moment later, smiling sheepishly as he closed the door.

“Who was
that
scoundrel?” Eugene demanded, blue eyes narrowed. “Bursting in here like that! How rude.”

Emily gently patted his hand, before adjusting her skirts and standing up. “I’m so sorry Mister Par- Eugene. Excuse me for a moment.” She gave him what she hoped was an apologetic look as she followed Roland into the hall.

“What is
he
doing here?” Roland demanded in a hushed whisper. “Your mother isn’t still trying to marry you off, is she?”

Emily nodded. “Of course she is. To him
or
the Duke of St. Albans. She doesn’t care as long as money is involved. Eugene might not be an Earl like this father - especially now he’s disinherited - but he’s as good as.” She huffed, running a hand down her face. “Besides, Eugene Partridge really does claim he loves me - whether or not that’s true, I don’t know.”

“Well, is there nothing you can do to convince him otherwise? You can marry whoever you wish. You could marry
me,
if that was what you wanted.” He gave her a grin, one she was used to seeing. He wanted her too, though not for love.

It wasn’t that easy though, was it? Her mother was too determined, and when Adele Brooke wanted something, she usually got it.

“Emily? Do come back, would you? I didn’t come all this way just to sit in your living room alone.”

Emily winced. “I suppose I should go back. Sorry, Roland.” With a quiet sigh she turned back and went back to the living room.

He regarded her for a long moment, eyes lit. “So what have you been doing this week?”

Not bothering for subtlety, Emily answered simply, “I had a visit from the Duke of St. Albans on Monday.” Brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she watching him for a moment.

His reaction was small, but nevertheless there. He stiffened slightly, eyes widening ever so slightly. “Oh, really?”

“Yes. I suppose he wants to marry me too. So does that lovely man who just came in - you don’t know him, but he
is
nice.” A while back she would never have
dared
speak to a man of such power like that - now though, she was only focused on making him leave her be.

“I’ll have to fight for your attention then.” The grin he gave her – cheeky, yet slightly reserved - sent a shiver of shock down her spine. “After all, Emily, I love you more than they do.”

“You love me most? Are you sure?” she challenged, peeking at him through strawberry blonde hair.

“I do indeed.”

*****

The second visit that week was from the Duke of St. Albans - Miles Horlock. He was a tall, slender man who possessed a somewhat intimidating air.

Emily was already in the cramped living room waiting for him to arrive when she heard the horse-drawn carriage clatter up to the front door. Her mother answered it eagerly before Emily could even stand up - proof that Adele was much more interested in these men than she was.

He appeared in her view a moment later, dressed in an expensive suit, blonde hair perfectly styled to show off his narrow, depthless dark eyes. She had to admit, he
was
quite attractive.

“Hello, Duke Horlock,” Emily spoke politely.

“Hello, Emily.” He lowered himself onto the chair across from her, regarding her with those impossibly dark eyes.

She was used to talking to men by now, with three in her life that seemed intent on marrying her. The son of an Earl who claimed he loved her, a Duke who she had met only a handful of times, and a man whose feelings were purely lustful. She really did have poor luck, didn’t she?

“I am holding a ball next week,” Horlock stated with a calm smile, “I hope you will attend?”

Emily blinked, surprised. “Oh, of course.” Her reply was automatic. She had no interest in spending a night dancing with him. Then a thought occurred to her. “Who else will be attending?”

“Oh, people from all over. The Duke of Rutland, Earl Christopher Partridge - perhaps even that son of his will attend, though I doubt the Earl will have it. They’re entire family is a disaster waiting to happen, isn’t it Emily?”

She simply nodded, holding her tongue. If Eugene was also attending, perhaps she could use that to her advantage. She wasn’t going to allow herself to be married off to some random man - if she could get the two of them together, well, she could do things her own way.

“People from town will be attending too, of course. We have to give the poor ones a chance to enjoy life, don’t we?”

Emily winced at the words, feeling her blood begin to boil. How
dare
he say something like that? Just because he was rich did not mean he could talk as if everyone else was miserable. She said nothing, though, as she knew angering this man would not end in her favour.

The conversation continued, Emily hardly paying attention as she allowed Horlock to continue his idle chatter. Her mind was elsewhere, lingering on the ball. She had never been to one before, and it sounded exciting. It was also the
perfect
chance for mischief.

*****

Emily grunted as one of the many pins holding up her dark blonde hair fell to the ground, where it joined a growing collection by her feet. Why was it so difficult to keep her hair nice?

“Hurry
up,
Emily, or you’ll be late!” Her mother called from downstairs.

“Two minutes!” she called back, wincing as a hair pin scraped against her skull. In the end, she left it with strands hanging in her face. It wasn’t worth the effort.

Almost the second she was downstairs, her mother was shooing her out the door. As Emily hit the cold air, she gasped. Who holds a ball in winter? Ridiculous!

“Now remember, Duke Horlock of St. Albans might be a respectable man, but he is a man nonetheless. Be careful.”

Emily rolled her eyes as she climbed inside her carriage, ignoring her mother’s insistent babying. She was a grown woman, for goodness sake, not an infant.

As she sat down and waved goodbye, the carriage jerked forward. Thus began her journey to her very first ball.

By the time the carriage stopped, Emily was almost asleep. She yawned as she stepped out, feet hitting cold pebbles. She glanced up, hand over her mouth as her heart stuttered. The house was
beautiful
- like nothing she had seen before. It seemed to stretch on in either direction forever, a never ending tower of brick and huge glass windows.

People were already there, stepping out of their own carriages and chatting excitedly. It seemed Emily was the only one who had come alone. Following the crowd, she tried to blend in. Rich people held themselves in a certain way she couldn’t quite place - but it was clear who in the crowd had power, and who was lower class.

Duke Horlock was inside the immense lobby when she stepped inside. She saw him immediately, though it took a moment for him to see her. When he did, he smiled broadly and strode over.

A group of women giggled as he walked past them, but their faces fell when he barely gave them a glance, eyes focused entirely on Emily. For a moment she felt sympathy for the poor women - but they should have been glad he paid them no mind. Emily’s situation was not one to be pleased about.

“Emily, how wonderful to see you! I hope you’ve had a comfortable ride?”

She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

Horlock seemed to forget about his other guests as he grasped her hand in his, leading her to the ballroom. The room was larger than her entire street, filled with beautiful, glittering chandeliers and a ceiling so high she could barely make out the intricate, handmade painting adorning it.

“Impressive, isn’t it?”

She could only nod. “It’s
amazing.
”

“Shall we dance?” Horlock questioned, gesturing to where dozens of people danced to the slow music.

Together they walked across, Emily finding it hard to maneuver in her thick blue dress. She simply wasn’t used to wearing something so elegant, so lovely. Even the sleeves annoyed her, too puffy for her to move properly.

Horlock took her hand in his, spinning her around to face him. He was so tall, at eye level she was faced with his chest. He led her in the dance, so regal and elegant compared to her fumbling. To anyone watching, they must have looked like an odd pair.

Emily spent much of the dance searching for Eugene. There were no guarantees he was even there, or that she would see him - but no, there he was, standing talking to another young man at a table of food.

The song dwindled, and Horlock released her from his vice-like grip. “Shall I get us a drink?” he questioned.

Emily shook her head. “I will, if you like. I’d love the chance to see more of this lovely room.”

“Of course. Do be quick.”

Emily hurried off, gathering up her skirts so she could move more easily.  The man Eugene was speaking to left, giving her the perfect opportunity to say hello. She came to a stop beside him, smiling brightly. It felt false, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Hello Mis- Eugene.” She mentally cursed herself for doing it again. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

“I did not think you would be, either - though I’m glad you are.” He was positively
beaming.

She inched closer to him, resting a hand on his. She glanced behind her, seeking out Horlock. There he was, glancing around impatiently for her to return. “I’m terribly sorry for how I acted the other day,” she told him, “Roland should not have barged in like that, and I shouldn’t have left you to speak to him.”

Eugene’s eyes widened, though his hand remained in hers. “Please, do not worry about it. You cannot control that rakehell - I doubt anyone could. Emily, would you like a dance?”

“Of course.”

They made their way to the dance floor. They had barely begun when Duke Horlock strode over, eyes dark. “What are you doing?” he demanded, eyes snapping from Emily to Eugene.

“He wanted to dance. I could hardly say no.”