The Emerald Duchess (25 page)

“Well, I like that,” Jessica said, unable to control herself. “Charles, you are being a bear.” She glanced again at Emily’s set white face and added, “I daresay the baby has just now awakened, for Emily is a wonderful mother, you may ask anyone you like.”

The duchess seemed to recall herself, and now she dragged her eyes from her husband’s face and took a deep breath.

“Thank you for your support, Jessy, but both of you must excuse me now. Go home, my dear friend, and I will speak to you later. And Charles”—here she turned to the
stern
figure of the duke—“I shall hope to see you again soon, so I might introduce you to your son. Perhaps in half an hour’s time?”

Her voice was calm as she nodded to them both and moved regally to the stairs, her back ramrod-straight and her head
held high. There was a heavy silence in the hall until she disappeared and they heard a door closing above them, and then in a few moments, the baby’s wailing ceased. The sudden silence seemed to wake the duke from his frozen state and he came forward, holding out his hands and trying to smile.

“Jessy, your pardon. I am indeed a bear not to greet you more cordially. Say you forgive me.”

He took her hands, but the lady was having none of such a formality and stood on tiptoes to kiss him. “Bad Charles! But I will forgive you this time in honor of your homecoming, for you do not look as if you have slept for days. I will go away immediately, and hope to see you later, when you are more yourself.”

She moved to the door, which Wilkins hurried to open for her, and added, “Remind Emily, if you please, that there can be no impediment now for her to attend our ball. She would not go to any formal parties without you, Charles, even though I told her she was being positively gothic! But now Nigel and I will be expecting you both.”

Waving her hand in farewell, she left the house. As Wilkins closed the door behind her, he saw the duke frowning
down at the floor, one hand rubbing his chin, his eyes bleak with his thoughts.

“If I may suggest it, your Grace,” his butler said with all the insouciance of the old, privileged retainer, “Lady Cathcart is right. You will feel better after you have washed and changed and had something to eat. By then, the baby will be ready to receive you.”

The duke shook himself and started slowly for the stairs.

“Thank you, Wilkins. Send Greene to me as soon as he has seen to the baggage, for I would not meet my son for the first time in all my dirt. No food, though; just a glass of sherry if you will.”

It was well over half an hour later that the duke knocked on his wife’s door. Emily was sitting in a low chair near the window, holding a sleepy, replete baby in her arms, and he caught his breath as he entered at the picture she presented. How often had he dreamed of her just this way!

“Thank you, Betty,” she said to the nursemaid waiting to remove her charge. “You may go. I will call you when I wish you to take the baby.”

“Very good, your Grace,” the girl said, bobbing a curtsy and smiling shyly at the duke.

“Come in, Charles,” Emily said, trying to ignore her rapidly beating heart. As the duke tiptoed forward, she added, “There is no need to be so cautious. He won’t cry again, not now.”

She rose and held out the baby. “May I present your son, your Grace?”

“Is he all right? He is so tiny!” the duke said, looking
more than a little panicked, and Emily wished she felt more like laughing, for his expression was so comical. He took the baby gingerly in his arms and stared down at that rosy little face, and then he smoothed the blanket back. For a moment there was silence and then he said, “I see he has black hair, madam.”

“I never doubted he would for a moment, Charles,” Emily replied. The duke raised his rapt eyes to her face as she continued, “He does not have your eyes, though, not yet at any rate. His frown, however, is the exact duplicate of yours;
everyone has remarked it. Here, sit down in this chair for you look tired.”

Stop babbling, Emily, she told herself as the duke obeyed
.
“Was the birth hard?” he asked, his face frowning again.

“Hard enough, and long, although Doctor Randall said it
went well and everything was normal. He assures me the next one will be easier.”

The duke’s head snapped up, but before he could question that last statement, little Charles opened his eyes and stared up at his father. One tiny hand fluttered for a moment, and then he yawned widely and seemed to grin before he fell fast asleep.

“Did you see, Emily?” the duke asked in an excited whisper. “He smiled at me.”

The duchess wisely did not mention gas or burps or full stomachs, as she nodded, but she could not help but say, “Of course he yawned as well. Not ve
r
y awestruck by his papa or the occasion, is he? Aunt Amelia says he is the most ducal baby she has ever seen.”

As she went to sit across from him, Charles raised his head again. It seemed to take a visible effort for him to look away from the baby’s face, and Emily was glad she was not in the least offended by this treatment after their long separation.

“You call Lady Staunton ‘aunt’?” he asked in a bemused tone.

“She asked me to. There was some unpleasantness when we first met, but the baby has brought her around. And she arranged the christening. I am sorry you were not here, but Aunt Amelia would not let me wait. The Cathcarts stood godparents; I was sure you would approve. And Aunt has been so helpful in introducing me to society, as has the countess as well.”

Charles frowned a little. “I see. Of course, it is an objec
t
with you to stand well there, for I can see you mean to cut quite a dash among the
haut ton,
but I beg you, Duchess, to conside
r
your
cicisbeos.
Sir Philip, Mr. Day, bah!”

Now Emily’s brows rose. “You have some objection, Charles? I see no reason why the Duchess of Wrotherham should not take her proper place in society. I am not little Emily Wyndham or Margaret Nelson, lady’s maid, now. O
f
course, I plan to be in the first ranks as the wife of a premie
r
duke.”

What the duke might have replied to this startling stateme
nt
was lost, for just then the baby’s hand closed around one o
f
his father’s large fingers.

“See here, what a grip he has!” the duke exclaimed, t
he
warm smile she loved so well coming to his dark face. “I do believe he likes me.”

Emily rose and rang the bell. “Of course he does, but now he must go back to the nursery and sleep, Charles. He sleeps most of the time, it seems, but Darty tells me he will soon be better company. Let me take him.”

The duke gave up the precious bundle with reluctance. “When will he wake again?” he asked, and Emily smiled.

“Probably right in the middle of dinner. He has no thought of anyone else’s convenience at all. I am so glad I named him Charles. Ah, Betty, there you are. You may take the baby now.”

The duke rose and stared at his wife. She looked so beautiful holding their child, so dear and familiar, and yet there was something different about her. When was the last time she had teased him like that? She seemed to have gained a great deal of poise as well, and the smile that he had so seldom seen in the last months now lit her face with almost every sentence. In her smart driving dress and stylish London hairdo, she did not look at all like the young servant he had made love to in Belgium.

She came toward him now as the nursemaid shut the door behind her. “You must rest, Charles. I have never seen you look so tired. Shall we meet at dinner, or do you dine out?”

“I have no plans for the evening, Emily,” he said. “I shall
be happy to join you.”

Emily’s eyes darkened in dismay. “Oh, dear, I had forgotten! Lady Jersey has asked me to join her party for dinner and the theater. I shall send my excuses at once
...”

“By no means!” the duke snarled. “Do not let my unexpected presence curtail your engagements, madam! I shall be happy to dine at my club. And now, if you will excuse me, I am indeed weary.”

Emily curtsied as the duke, his face a black thundercloud, bowed and went away. She sank down into her chair again and stared out the window. It had not gone at all as she had planned. Why was Charles so angry with her? And how was she to tell him she wanted to end this make-believe marriage, to be his wife again, if he would not let her talk to him and be with him? Why, the only time he had spoken kindly to her since he entered the house was when the baby was with them. Whatever could be wrong?

In the next few days, it seemed to a confused Emily that the Duke and Duchess of Wrotherham met only by chance. Sometimes she would find Charles in the breakfast room when she came down, and he would ask after her engagements for the day before he told her the schedule he himself planned to follow. He was always polite, but so cold that she felt the distance between them was wider than it had ever been before.

The truth was that the duke, for the first time in his life, was ridden with jealousy, an emotion his wife never even, suspected. She had been so sure Charles would be pleased by her acceptance into the
ton,
and so proud of her for behaving at last as the Duchess of Wrotherham should, that she was quick to accept invitations to drive or walk, to go to the theater or the opera, or to attend a card party or reception, and she never hesitated to tell him everything she did. She did not notice how angry this made him, nor how often he flung himself out of the house to take refuge in his clubs. The only time they found themselves at all in accord was whe
n
the baby was with them, but since the little duke still slept most of the time, these occasions were few and far between, Greene shook his head over both of them and went about his duties almost as tight-lipped as his master.

They did attend a soiree given by Lady Merks together, Emily had asked rather diffidently if Charles would care t
o
escort her, and he had replied formally that nothing woul
d
give him more pleasure. Emily dressed with care that evening, and Charles, seeing her come down the stairs in her diamond and white silk, caught his breath at her beauty. He resolved t
o
try to win her back by any means it took to do so, but by th
e
time Sir Philip Maynard, whose arrival coincided with theirs helped his wife down from the carriage and begged for dance, and Robert Day asked for the second waltz as they al
l
went up the stairs to greet their hostess, and he saw other me
n
hurrying to Emily’s side as they entered the ballroom, t
he
duke’s resolutions disappeared in a new flood of anger. As h
e
took her in his arms for the first dance, and probably the las
t
he would be allowed to have with her, he thought in fury, th
e
evening was ruined for him. Emily, who had been glowing with happiness to have him at her side, could not fail to notic
e
the hard white lines around his mouth, nor the anger in hi
s
black eyes, and her enjoyment in the first waltz she had eve danced with her husband was gone. When it was over, he left her very much to her own devices for the remainder of the party, and the evening could not be said to have been a success for either of them.

On the way home, she tried to ask him what was wrong, but after observing that he wondered why she needed his escort when she was cutting such a swath in society, and begging her to watch what she was about to be encouraging all the worst fops and pinks of the
ton,
the duke changed the subject and refused to discuss the soiree further. They both retired for the night to their own bedrooms—Emily bewildered and Charles in a rage—to spend a sleepless night, each staring up at their dark ceilings.

Charles was absent all the next day, gone with friends on a riding expedition to Richmond, and so they did not meet again until dinner. The light conversation that they engaged in in front of the servants gave Emily no clue as to how she was to proceed, but when the duke excused himself the minute the covers of the last course were removed, saying he rather thought he would look in at Brooks if the duchess had no objection, she decided she had quite enough.

She signaled Wilkins that she was through, and went alone into the drawing room. She had no engagement herself, for the Cathcart ball was the following evening, and she wanted to rest so she would look her best for it, for Charles had promised he would not fail to attend with her.

She sat for a long time in front of the drawing-room fire, her eyes sad and bewildered. Instead of the dancing flames, she saw only his beloved face: those intent eyes and lean cheeks, the crispness of his black hair, and that dear remembered mouth she longed to feel possessing hers once again.

Suddenly his image faded, and Althea Wyndham’s face, floating in a cloud of blond hair, appeared among the flames. Emily could not hear her voice, but it seemed from the sad way she shook her head that her mother was trying to tell her something. After only a moment, the vision was gone and Emily was left alone. Mother, she begged silently, come back! I need you to tell me what to do! But there was no sound except the crackling of the fire on the hearth, and eventually Emily went to bed in despair.