Emma’s heart pounded with excitement as she selected and packed many of her worldly belongings in her trunk. The things she didn’t take she’d give to her friends here, and she would donate the rest to the town’s Female Charitable Society. Emma had been told her other belongings from various estates were in storage until the time she was located permanently somewhere.
So she was finally sailing for England. She would never let the handsome, domineering duke know how excited she actually was to be traveling to his homeland with him. Excited as she was, she still had reservations about leaving her beloved America behind. And she would not make this departure easy on him.
Something nagged at her that things were not as they appeared. No matter the questions she’d asked and the answers she received… There was a shadow of secrecy surrounding the death of her dear papa. Somehow Emma would find out exactly what the duke was hiding from her regarding his death.
Before packing, Emma had handed out several items of clothing to Amy. They included her favorite plum riding habit that she had outgrown. Amy had said how much she liked it. Even so, Emma hoped the duke allowed the females of his family to mount a horse. Since coming to school, she had missed riding and the sense of freedom and exhilaration that came from it. Not to mention her favorite mare, Petunia, who had passed away last year from colic.
And this year, Emma had grown considerably. Several of her day dresses needed a small bit of altering, so Emma let down the hem and loosened the seams at the bodice before she packed those. Though she hadn’t felt it happening, her figure had changed in the past year.
In the rush to accomplish all, she flew around her bedroom in a whirlwind of energy that spiked her pulse and sent her heart banging against her ribs. The duke would arrive within the hour, and she needed to calm herself. Emma would rather cut her hair short than admit to him the thrill and romantic anticipation drumming inside her at the thought of traveling with him to England—Jane Austen’s England.
Would she have the chance to meet Miss Austen? To profess her utter devotion to her for making the years at Miss Beauregard’s Finishing School less lonely and more interesting? To tell her that to make it tolerable, Emma had put herself in the stories and vicariously lived the lives of the heroines?
Then there was Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. Emma wrapped her arms around her waist and spun around. Could any lady read that book without falling hopelessly and completely in love with him? She did not think so. She imagined that even old ladies past their prime dreamed about him. And if they did not, then it was surely their loss.
Would she meet her Mr. Darcy in England? She sighed loudly, closed her eyes, and prayed she would. Falling in love, she imagined, would be wondrously exciting and passionately satisfying. How could it be otherwise in her romantic mind? Oh, dear, Emma would have to work hard to remind herself she did not want to marry. Or, at least, keep up that pretense while in the duke’s company.
“Oh, my,” she sighed as she tied her buttercup bonnet on her head. It matched the only day dress that fit her properly. Next, she donned her royal blue pelisse and kid gloves. She took one last look around her bedroom and gave a silent farewell to her girlhood, ignoring the slight ache in her chest. Yes, she would miss some of her time here and some of the people, but the adventure of her life, as an adult woman, lay ahead, and she could not wait to step into it.
Confident her trunk was packed and ready to be transported to the ship, she walked in the direction of Amy’s room, hoping Amy’s roommates were elsewhere so their goodbye could take place in private. She’d already said goodbye to Penelope last evening, and that was hard enough. Leaving Amy would be torturous.
“Amy, may I come in?” Emma waited until she heard Amy’s soft voice answer. The moment Amy opened the door she wrapped her arms around Emma’s waist and held on tight.
“Please don’t leave me,” Amy whispered.
“I wish I didn’t have to. But we all grow up and have to move on.” Emma rubbed Amy’s back. “Please do not cry.” But really, how could she expect Amy not to cry when she herself had tears running down her cheeks? “I have something for you.” Emma handed Amy a small piece of parchment. “This is the duke’s address in London. Write me if you ever need anything. And I promise to help. And here’s something for you now.” Emma handed her a purse full of coin. Amy protested but Emma insisted. “There’s a note within in case you get in trouble for having it and another note to my banker who will help you invest this.”
“How can I ever thank you, dear friend?”
Emma pulled out of Amy’s arms. “There is no need. You deserve it. I will write you as soon as the ship docks. I love you.”
With a heavy heart, Emma walked slowly down the stairs to await the duke in the receiving room.
With both sadness and excitement filling her mind, her manners escaped her and she rushed into the salon, nearly knocking over the duke in her exuberance. His eyes widened in shock, yet he reached out with his long arms and caught her around the waist and steadied her. Thank goodness. It would not do to start off their travels sprawled willy-nilly on the floor.
Emma’s cheeks flushed with the image of the two of them intimately entwined on the salon floor. She thrust the thought aside and tried to compose herself. The touch of his hands tingled on her skin and seemed to burn through her clothing, sending flames she did not understand licking her body.
“Your Grace,” she squeaked out as she looked up into his wide, clear blue eyes. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
“Excuse me,” Emma said, stepping back and curtsying, hoping he didn’t hear the quiver in her voice or notice her body trembling. “Please accept my sincere apology for my unladylike behavior. I had not expected anyone to be here.”
“Were you not expecting me?” the duke asked with a scowl.
“Oh, yes, but not quite so soon.” After she blurted out her apology she breathed deeply to settle her nerves. “I trust you’ve had a pleasant and productive visit here in America?”
With liquid grace the duke bowed formally, sending her pulse racing. Would she ever feel comfortable in his presence?
“Yes, Miss Hamilton, my extended stay in America proved successful and interesting. I trust you have been well? And judging by your attire, do I understand you are no longer in mourning for your father?”
“Yes. I know I should be in half-mourning, but I believe wholeheartedly Papa would want me to begin my new life in England out of mourning.” Tears threatened to rain down from her eyes at the thought of her dear departed papa. She fought them back. It would not do to cry in front of the duke like some immature schoolgirl.
The duke strolled forward to the large windows overlooking a park across the lane. “Our ship sails with the late afternoon tide. I trust you are ready to go?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The duke looked away from the window. His eyes narrowed while he regarded her for several moments. “Also, there is the matter of your two guards. I compensated them well and gave them letters of recommendation as you will not require their services in England.”
“That was kind of you, Your Grace.” Yet she remembered her abduction and why her father had assigned them. That was a lifetime away. She turned back to the duke.
While he continued to speak Emma wondered how one man could grow more handsome in a year’s time. The duke most certainly had. His clothing was expensive and tasteful, but not the type of clothing she expected a peer of the realm to wear. His understated clothing suited him and highlighted his sandy hair to perfection.
“Please, since I am your guardian, I prefer you address me as Wentworth when we are in private.”
“Yes, Wentworth.” It rolled off her tongue like dewdrops on rose petals. Wentworth. It was a fine name for a more than fine gentleman.
“Splendid.” He waved one arm around the room. “If you’re ready, I will have the coachmen attend to your trunk.”
Sometime later, seated in the rolling carriage, Emma watched as the bustling waterfront came into view. Butterflies waltzed inside her stomach in anticipation of this next phase of her life. Yet her heart broke at the thought of leaving home.
Everything about life here reminded her of her papa. And she was afraid that leaving it all behind and settling in another country was also leading her away from his memory. Oh, Emma knew she was being melancholy. She could never forget her papa, but still it worried her that she might.
The duke, lounging next to Emma, appeared to all the world as if nothing weighed on his mind. Would he be kind to her once they arrived at his estate? Many unanswered questions floated around inside her head, each one wanting to be answered. She rubbed her index fingers against her temples, trying to quell the sudden onset of a migraine. It would not do to be confined to her cabin the first day at sea. She did not want the duke to think she had a weak constitution. Emma took pride in her good health.
As the carriage rounded a bend the Georgina rose majestically out of the water. Emma couldn’t take her eyes off the ship that would be her home for weeks. Never, in all her eighteen years, had she traveled on a luxury ship.
Her papa’s ships were made for whaling. There was nothing luxurious about them. Memories of her time on his ships brought tears to her eyes and a lump in her throat. Would she ever stop missing him?
Emma wiped away her tears and focused, once again, on the ship in front of her. Three masts rose up from the deck of the Georgina. Once it was in full sail, this ship would spirit them across the vast Atlantic in no time.
As they approached the dock, the sight of it close up took her breath away. The touch of Wentworth’s hand on hers as he helped her down from the carriage did not help. Sparks ignited and smoldered, sending tingles of awareness up her arm. Certainly he would be shocked by her reaction to him, if he were to find out. It would not do to dwell on these feelings. He was her guardian and nothing more. He probably looked upon her as just another irritating female he needed to marry off, or as an unwanted family member who would drain his coffers.
Just as Emma lightly placed her gloved hand on his proffered arm, she heard him say, with a hint of humor, “Well, I’ll be… If it isn’t my long-lost friend, Norwich.”
Wentworth released Emma, and the two men clasped hands, “Now don’t you look like an American frontiersman. Emma, you remember my friend Norwich? He disappeared shortly after we arrived in New Bedford, saying he needed to see all America had to offer.”
Myles, his face darkly tanned with little crinkled lines around the eyes, grinned at Wentworth while he tipped his fedora to Emma. “Are you jealous because I traveled this wild land?” He wiggled his brows up and down. “Not to mention New Orleans and the Creole ladies with their delightful charms and elegant manners. Ahh, the joys of being young and handsome in such a fruitful new world.”
Wentworth burst out laughing, shaking Emma’s hand off his arm. “You are so conceited and full of yourself. But still, I would like to hear of your travels when we are in private and can talk freely.”
Emma wanted to hear Myles’s stories, too. But when she wasn’t invited, a bit of the sparkle wore off the day.
Myles’s eyes wandered freely up and down Emma’s body, a half-smile quirking his mouth. The intensity in his friend’s dark green eyes as they scanned his ward caused Thomas to clench his hands into fists. Out of the blue, he wanted to beat his old friend to a pulp. Instead, he maintained a smile for the sake of appearances.
“Miss Hamilton.” Myles bowed with noble grace. “You look lovelier than ever.” He reached out, took her gloved hand, and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “I trust this past year has been good to you?”
Emma seemed to take her time retrieving her hand from Myles’s grip, and then she curtsied oh so gracefully. Thomas scowled. Could she make it any plainer she found Myles to her liking?
“This past year was wonderful, such as it was, though I missed my papa terribly.” She eyed Thomas with her pale blue eyes, then looked at Myles again. “Thank you for your interest, Lord Norwich.”
“If you two are done,” Thomas said flatly as he tried to ignore his jealously over Emma’s excitement of seeing Myles. “we should board, or the ship will sail without us.” He turned to Myles, one brow arched. “Am I to presume you’ll be traveling with us?”
Myles slapped Thomas on the back and laughed. “Yes, you can, Thomas. Yes, you can.”
“Good.”
Myles presented his arm for Emma.
“Then shall we?” Thomas presented his arm also.
Emma glanced back and forth between him and Myles. Her eyes hinted at mischief. To Thomas’s utter amazement, she took the arm Myles offered instead of his.
This breach of etiquette would have to be addressed before Emma made her debut into society. His status as duke was higher than Myles’s, and her choice would slight Thomas in the eyes of society. The look he sent Myles should have put his old friend in his place. No such luck.
Myles grinned, winked at him, and turned to parade Emma up the gangplank. Neither glanced back to see if he followed. Thomas had a strong urge to rush forward and wrap his hands around Myles’s neck.
What did Thomas care if Myles took an interest in Emma? As Myles had pointed out months ago before his wanderings across America, he might be interested in marrying her. Thomas’s heart skipped a beat at the thought.
He would probably die of heart failure before he managed to marry her off. Thomas truly believed Emma had no idea how breathtaking she was, and that could only be deemed a good thing. Nothing was worse than a conceited lady who plied her feminine wiles on all the gentlemen, only to leave them panting in her wake. It would be in his best interest to remember that himself.
Not that Thomas intended to fall for her charms. Quite the opposite––she affected him not at all. That’s right. Keep telling yourself that. He still remembered the feel of her waist in his hands when he steadied her. The feel of her hand in his, the feel…
Clenching his teeth, the duke pushed those thoughts from his mind and scowled.
The three of them stood, side by side on deck, waving to the crowd on shore as the ship set sail. Though he frowned, Thomas’s pulse soared. England. He could hardly wait to be home, to visit one of his clubs, smoke a decent cigar, drink nicely aged brandy, and play a friendly game of cards. When the card game with Emma’s father came to mind he tamped it down. He told himself he had nothing to feel bad about.
He forced his attention to the land they’d left, watched Boston slowly become a distant shadow on the horizon, and hoped one day he’d see it again. At the last minute he had decided to hold onto Emma’s father’s fleet of whaling ships. He had sold all properties except for the building on the waterfront that housed his offices, the warehouse, and the gem of a sea captain’s house he could not part with.
Confident he had left his affairs here in order and in good hands, he was traveling back home to put his own estates in order––estates neglected for so many years by his father, and then by Thomas due to his lack of funds. Well, no more. He would personally see them put back in order––back to the point that his estates thrived along with the people working his lands. It was the least he could do after the years of suffering his tenants and staff had endured.
He’d left all responsibilities in the hands of his younger brother Sebastian, believing it would be good for the lad. Sebastian’s letters revealed that improvements were being made, not only to his country estate in Dover, but also to his home on Cavendish Square, which had looked tired and outdated. Certainly not the home one would expect of a duke.
When they docked in London, Thomas was optimistic he’d receive notice from the Prince Regent regarding Sebastian’s commission to His Majesty’s Army. It was past time his brother set out on his own to make his place in the world. Thomas did not envy his brother’s position as second son. In a recent letter, Sebastian said he did not envy Thomas with all his responsibilities as a duke and was looking forward to his brother’s return.
“Wentworth?” Myles’s voice pulled him out of his reverie. “I must thank you for leaving word with Mr. Walsh about your travel plans. I might have booked passage on another ship and missed this delightful reunion.” He was all soft, seductive smiles toward Emma.
The look did nothing for Thomas’s bad temper, boiling within him. “Yes, well, I figured you would wander back this way eventually, and I could hardly leave without you. After all, you traveled here because of me. I felt responsible.” As the words flowed Thomas was thinking the opposite. He wished his friend had traveled home behind them––by months.
Myles patted him on the back. He made the gesture just to needle Thomas, no doubt.
“Yes, well. No need to feel any responsibility toward me, because as you know, I’m capable of taking care of myself. Just like in the old days at Eton.” Myles’s lips curved up into another smile as he turned to Emma. “On the other hand, you, my dear, need to be taken care of. And I hope you will allow me the pleasure of seeing to your every comfort and whim while aboard ship. Especially as you have no lady’s maid to see to your comfort.”
That offer was inappropriate. Thomas suddenly felt nauseated by his friend’s flirting. He felt like calling him out.
“This ship does have servants,” he said calmly, gritting his teeth instead, “and she will be attended to. No need for you to worry over her comfort, Lord Norwich.”
Would it be too much to ask God for a strong tail wind so the crossing happened more quickly? If he had to listen to Myles flirt with Emma during all the weeks ahead, he might have to fling himself overboard to end his own suffering. Or better yet, fling Myles overboard and put everyone out of their misery.