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Emmett found the fact that he had slept at all to be remarkable. The hard earth beneath him, the chilly air on his back, and everything his wife had confessed about her past had kept him awake for hours. Eventually he’d started to doze, though, so he had woken Miriam and asked if she would keep the fire going while he tried to get a little sleep.
Sometime later he jerked awake, feeling disoriented. Why was he lying on the ground instead of in his hotel room? Emmett sat up and took in the sight of the fire, the lightening sky, and the other people, all sleeping, save for him and Miriam. Remembering rushed back then, overwhelming his thoughts with all the horror and pain from the day before.
He staggered to his feet as his stomach rumbled with gnawing hunger. “I’m going to get some water,” he quietly told the maid, “and see if I can’t find more oranges for breakfast. You’re welcome to sleep until I return. The fire will be fine until then.”
The fire still burned strong, its presence truly a miracle. Without it they might not have survived the cold night. Emmett could admit it was a godsend that Clare had known how to start it.
“Thank you, my lord.” Miriam immediately curled up in her blanket and closed her eyes.
Hefting the empty bucket, Emmett set off for the well. The air felt frigid away from the fire’s heat. He shivered as he reached the edge of the field. It had already been twenty-four hours since the earthquake, and yet the eleven of them were still homeless and without true relief from their injuries and hunger. Emmett wasn’t sure Helena’s baby and husband would survive another night out in the open countryside.
Perhaps it was time for all of them to venture back into Messina and see if they could find a reliable means of transport. It seemed the only way to leave the ravished city behind, unless they walked to Taormina. Emmett dismissed that idea at once. Most of their group was in no condition to walk more than thirty miles. Besides, he didn’t know how damaged the other city was at present. No matter where they went, he might be leading them into an equally precarious situation. But he didn’t want to leave the island altogether without first seeing if his grandfather’s villa was still standing. Clare would likely wish to do the same.
Thinking of Clare, he recalled what she’d shared with him last night. Emmett still couldn’t believe his heiress wife had once lived as a poor farm child. Some of the shock and anger he’d felt after her confession churned anew inside him as he walked. Why hadn’t she told him about her past sooner? Was it because she feared he would judge her? Or had Clare kept her secret because she trusted him so little?
Emmett had asked himself these same questions over and over again as he’d lain awake through most of the night. He didn’t judge Clare for her humble beginnings; he simply wished she’d told him, at the very least, before their wedding. What had bothered—and hurt—him most of all, though, was the idea that Clare didn’t trust him enough to tell him sooner. And since she’d withheld this information even during the early days of their marriage, when all had seemed rosy and hopeful between them, he couldn’t help wondering if she’d ever truly trusted him at all.
The possibility stung, poking anew at his doubts. Was his wife’s humble past further evidence that she had only married him for his title? Going from farm girl to heiress to wife of a future marquess would certainly be a social coup. And yet Clare had never struck him as being socially ambitious.
Even as he’d listened to her story, he hadn’t gotten the impression she was soliciting sympathy or exaggerating. She’d shared the details of those difficult years with openness and, as far as Emmett could tell, with only a touch of embarrassment. In addition, she’d never seemed to feel anything but love and admiration for her father, despite his “somewhat unpolished manners,” as she’d put it.
Still, if his wife had chosen not to tell him something as poignant as this, what else might she be keeping from him? His mind circled back to the rumors he’d heard. Was Clare too embarrassed to tell him that she had hoped for a titled match, that such a thing had been her reason for coming to England in the first place?
Emmett scraped his fingers through his hair in agitation. His hand came away speckled with dust, in spite of yesterday’s rain and sleeping outside. He didn’t have the answers. And though not having them was a simmering source of frustration for him, he wasn’t sure he wanted answers right now anyway. There were other more critical matters to consider. He needed to get everyone to safety first, then figure out if and when Clare might return to England with him.
Their conversation about Antonina filtered through his thoughts. He’d been relieved to hear Clare also wanted to keep the little girl with them and raise her as a member of their family. There had even been a moment as he’d helped Clare with her blisters when Emmett had sensed her softening toward him again. It had happened when she’d bantered with him about being asleep too.
Over the last twenty-four hours, there had been flickers of returning connection between them, giving Emmett hope that they could return to England as more than a couple living behind a façade of happiness. That they could reconnect beforehand. But then something would happen, like Clare’s confession about the past, and the tentative bond would slip away. It made him wonder if they could actually endure having to pretend to be perfectly happy while he campaigned for his seat in Parliament.
For the first time since leaving England a week ago, Emmett was grateful he’d had the wisdom and courage to stand up to his father’s idea about having a reporter accompany him to Sicily. There was enough for him to navigate with Clare without someone reporting their every move. But it was only a matter of time before they would have to become accustomed to the constant scrutiny when Emmett began campaigning. And he hated to think what that would do to their already uncertain relationship if they didn’t breach the distance between them first.
He couldn’t fail to bring Clare back though. If he did, he would fail his father.
His tasks, both before and since the earthquake, pressed heavily against his shoulders. Thou hast brought us this far, Lord. Please continue to be mindful of us. Help me be the person I must to accomplish what I need to. He ended his prayer with a heavy sigh as he reached the well.
Emmett drew a full bucket of water. A glance at the ruins behind him gave him an idea, and he set the pail down. Perhaps there was a little food left among the rubble. His search unearthed nothing but some crusts of hardening bread. However, it was still something to eat. He pocketed the bread, picked up the water bucket, and returned to the field.
He came upon Clare, Miriam, and Antonina near the grove of trees. They’d apparently been looking for more oranges. But the only one who carried anything was Antonina.
“We found just the one orange,” Clare said as he joined them in their trek back. Antonina lifted the orange for him to see. She looked pleased at her find, but Clare’s expression was strained, her face slightly pale.
“There were some bread crusts at the farm.” He nearly ended their conversation there, but his conscience wouldn’t allow it. Whatever tension and mistrust still brewed between him and Clare, she was his wife, and he cared what happened to her. “How are you feeling this morning?”
She shot him an almost panicked glance, similar to the one yesterday when he’d found her waking up after the robber had knocked her unconscious. Emmett wondered what it meant and if he would ever know the answer. “I’m tired and hungry, same as everyone else.”
“And your head?”
Reaching up, she touched the back of her hair. It lay in a long, red-and-gold plait down her back. “My head is still a little sore, but I don’t have a headache anymore.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
A short distance from the group, Clare stopped and waved for Miriam and Antonina to go ahead. Emmett paused as well, sensing she wished to speak to him in private. Was there more she needed to tell him? Alarm flickered through him at the prospect.
“I want to apologize again, Emmett.” The words were full of earnestness, though she didn’t meet his eye. “I’m sorry for not telling you about my childhood when we were courting. I don’t blame you if you’re . . . well, embarrassed . . . by my humble background.”
He waited until she finally brought her gaze to his. “You believe I feel embarrassment?”
“I don’t know.” Frustration threaded her reply. “You didn’t say anything last night, so I’ve been left to guess . . .” He thought he heard her whisper “again.”
Emmett set down the bucket. “I was shocked and angry, Clare, not at what you said but at not knowing sooner. However, there is nothing about your childhood that either of us should be ashamed of.”
Relief replaced the worry on her face—a face he still found as lovely as ever. He couldn’t allow himself to be completely relieved though. Not when their future, today and tomorrow and in the weeks ahead, was still uncertain.
“I’m grateful for your experiences and the benefits they’ve brought us,” he said, hefting the water bucket again. “It was nothing short of a miracle that you were able to light that fire. We would have likely lost some people without it.”
A pleased blush drove the paleness from her cheeks. “I’m glad I was able to help. It was nice to feel useful.”
As they approached the group, he considered Clare’s last words. Did she not usually feel useful? It was another revelation he hadn’t expected. Ever since their marriage, she always seemed occupied with something, and yet there had been real satisfaction and a hint of yearning in her voice just now that he didn’t think he’d heard before.
The dividing of the bread crusts and the orange drew Emmett’s focus elsewhere. Everyone expressed gratitude to him and Antonina for having water to drink and a bit of something in their bellies. The food disappeared quickly, though, along with nearly all of the water. What little remained was used to tend to the viscount’s wound and to wash some of the grime from all of their hands and faces. Even the scant washing seemed to lighten everyone’s spirits.
However, when Emmett suggested it might be best for them to return to Messina, a cloud of melancholy shrouded the group. Rushford, Clare, and Miriam agreed with his suggestion. But the rest wanted to remain in the field for the time being. Emmett didn’t see how he had any other choice but to defer to the wishes of the majority.
The rest of the morning crawled by, with little to break up the monotony save for dozing and light conversation. Occasional tremors still shook the earth now and then, which prompted cries of alarm from some in the group and wide-eyed looks of fear from Antonina. Eventually Emmett could remain inert no longer. He returned to the well for more water, taking Antonina with him as well as two of the maids, who wished to walk around.
He wanted to search the farm ruins for more scraps of food, but the wreckage had already shifted since earlier. Emmett was more likely to end up trapped, or worse, if he disturbed the former cottage anymore. A search of the yard produced nothing else edible. Likewise, the four of them found nothing more to eat on their way back to the field.
A short time later, the piteous cries of Helena’s baby and the gnawing in Emmett’s own stomach drove him to his feet again. They were in desperate need of bread and a doctor. And they wouldn’t find either if they remained where they were.
“We can’t stay here,” he said, glancing at everyone in turn. “We need more help than this place can provide us.”
Helena’s face went white as she looked from Emmett to her injured husband. “The city isn’t safe either. We could be crushed to death.”
Emmett wrestled back yesterday’s memories as they threatened to overpower him. “It is a risk to return, but it’s also a risk to remain here.”
“I don’t want to go back to Messina either.” Clare rose from where she’d been sitting. “But Emmett is right. We’ve run out of things to eat and have nothing to help Rushford and Lord Vickley. I think we should return to the city.”
Miriam stood as well, her expression resigned but determined. “If you go, my lady, then I go too.”
“My place is with you, Lord and Lady Linwood,” Rushford said, standing. His slightly haggard face was the only telltale sign, besides his makeshift sling, that his arm still pained him.
Coming to her feet as well, Antonina grasped Emmett’s hand firmly in hers. He wasn’t sure how much of what they were saying she understood, but he recognized her silent action as a resolution to go where he went, even if it was back into the city she likely feared. Two of the three maids from the viscount’s household finally stood too. The remaining young lady peered hesitantly from her friends to her mistress.
“Do you really believe we are in as much danger here as back in Messina?” Helena gave Emmett a searching look.
He paused, wishing he felt more certain that he wasn’t leading them into greater trouble. But there were no guarantees of help and safety here or in the city. He—and they—would simply have to keep hoping and praying, whatever they chose to do.
“I don’t know what awaits us in Messina,” he answered honestly. “We may not find the aid we need, but I do know if we stay here, it will be much longer in coming.” His gaze went to her baby and husband. “Too long perhaps.”
Helena smoothed back the matted hair of her little boy and breathed out an audible sigh. “He needs milk and bread, and we don’t have that here.” She climbed to her feet, as did the third maid, and reached out a hand to her husband. “Come, Leo. I don’t want to stay here alone.”
The viscount rose slowly with his wife’s help. Only then did Emmett allow himself to breathe with relief. The group would stay together.
“Very well then.” Emmett directed that they tear one of the blankets into strips to tie around the feet of those with no shoes. Once that was completed, he directed Antonina to climb onto his back. “Stay close,” he told the rest of them, “and keep a careful watch out for anything dropping from above.”
A unified murmur of agreement sounded as they followed him. They left behind the water bucket but brought the remaining blankets. Emmett took the same path back to the city that he had the day before. This time he wasn’t alone, though, so he slowed his steps to match those trudging along behind. Clare remained near him. She didn’t speak, but he found her presence comforting nonetheless. Her confidence in his decision to return to Messina bolstered his own, bringing with it a renewal of the connection they’d shared.
Still, feeling more confident didn’t stop him from praying often that they’d be spared any further harm and find the help they needed.
When they reached the first of the city’s outlying streets, their progress slowed to a painful slog. Piles of wreckage had to be carefully scaled, and twice Emmett had them retreat to find a different route when it became clear the way ahead was impassable.
The continued tremors of the earth made both the rubble and the few remaining buildings shutter and shift. More than once their party barely escaped being struck by toppling masonry. At the far edge of one square, the wall of a house had collapsed, leaving the front rooms exposed. The furniture inside was undisturbed, making Emmett feel as if he were viewing a giant dollhouse that awaited its owner’s return.
He guessed they were getting closer to the harbor when Clare put her hand on his arm to stop him. “Do you smell that?”
Emmett sniffed the air. The scent of something baking wafted beneath his nose and sent his gut into fresh spasms of hunger. “It smells like bread.”
“That’s what I thought. Should we follow it?”
Was it worth changing course to go after something that might end in disappointment? The others gathered around them and began to exclaim over the tantalizing aroma too. It was Antonina, though, who settled the matter when she whispered “pane” in the most animated voice Emmett had heard from her yet. That did it—they would go in search of the bread. Besides, he recognized he wasn’t likely to convince any of them not to follow the smell now.
“We’ll see if we can find where it’s coming from.” Emmett turned and headed in the opposite direction from where he’d been leading them.
Before long, the smell of bread grew stronger, overcoming every other sense. Emmett moved as fast as he could through the demolished streets, and he wasn’t the only one. Even the viscount appeared to have been revived by the heavenly scent and no longer walked half bent over. At last they turned a corner and found themselves at the back of a small crowd. Over the heads of those gathered, Emmett saw some Italian soldiers handing out bread. Behind the soldiers a temporary kitchen had been set up, and this was the source of the wonderful smell.
Would the bread be gone before their group was able to have some? Emmett hoped not. The soldiers’ expressions were full of sorrowful kindness. But they were keeping a sharp eye on the crowd too to maintain order.
Finally a warm loaf was placed in Emmett’s hands. At once he helped Antonina slide to the ground. He tore the bread in half and gave the girl the larger portion. She ate it hungrily, her dark eyes shining when she peered up at him. Once he’d made certain the rest of the group had their portions, Emmett sank his teeth into his own serving. Nothing had ever tasted sweeter or more filling, and he had to blink back tears of gratitude. Never again would he take a bounteous table for granted.
The wonder and thankfulness he felt was reflected on the face of every other member of their small cluster. Returning to the city hadn’t been a fools’ errand after all. Another wave of appreciation swept over Emmett as he finished every last crumb.
After everyone had eaten, including Helena’s baby boy, Emmett asked one of the soldiers the best way to leave the city. The man told him the rail lines from Messina to Palermo had only just been restored to working order. There were also boats in the harbor providing aid to the homeless and wounded refugees, and others that were conveying evacuees to Sicily’s capital city, Palermo, or across the Strait of Messina to other cities in Italy. Emmett asked about the status of Taormina, but the soldier was uncertain how well the other city had fared. He did assure Emmett that Palermo had received no damage, so it was possible Taormina had withstood the devastation too.
Emmett shared what he’d learned with Clare, and she agreed that they ought to try to make their way to Taormina. “What will you do?” he asked the viscount and Helena. “We’re going to try our luck at the harbor and hope someone is willing to take us to Taormina.”
The viscount exchanged a long look with his wife. The sight of it prompted the tiniest bit of jealousy in Emmett. He missed communicating in that intimate way with Clare.
“We are most appreciative for all of your help, Linwood.” The viscount held out his hand for Emmett to shake. “But since we know Palermo still stands and there are likely doctors there who can patch my forehead, I believe we’ll take the train there.”
“Will you rebuild your villa?” Clare directed her question to both of them.
Helena shifted her baby from one hip to the other. “Perhaps. Right now I only care about finding some decent clothes and a bed for Little Leo to sleep on.”
“Write soon,” Clare said as the two women embraced. “Let us know if you stay in Palermo or return to England.”
The other woman nodded and reached out to clasp Emmett’s hand. “Thank you again, Lord Linwood. None of us would have survived without your help.”
Emmett appreciated her thanks, but he hadn’t succeeded alone. “All of you were as much a part of our pulling through as I was.”
The viscount led his wife, son, and the three maids away from the bread kitchen. When they were no longer in sight, Emmett turned to face the remaining four members of their group. “If the rest of you wish to stay here, I can go to the harbor—”
“We can all come,” Clare announced, taking Antonina by the hand. The little girl gave Emmett a decisive nod, which Rushford and Miriam repeated.
He couldn’t help but chuckle, and the sensation of it felt as wonderful on his tongue as the bread had earlier. “Very well. We’ll all go.”
They set off for the harbor. It wasn’t far, but their trek was constantly hampered by the wreckage and the crowds of other refugees clamoring to leave the ruined city behind. Finally they reached the waterfront. Emmett and Rushford split up to speak with as many sailors as they could, in hopes of finding a captain and vessel willing to convey them to Taormina.
Nearly an hour must have passed before Emmett returned to where Clare, Antonina, and Miriam were still waiting. Their expectant demeanors drooped when he approached and shook his head. “No one is traveling to Taormina today.”
“Lord Linwood!” Emmett looked up to see Rushford hurrying toward them through the throng of people. “I found a boat!”
Gratitude swallowed up any disappointment Emmett might have felt at not being the one to secure a ship personally. “Where?”
“Back this way,” Rushford said, his breathing coming fast and labored. “They’re about to shove off, so we have to hurry.”
Emmett swung Antonina onto his back again and moved quickly after the valet. Clare and Miriam kept pace behind them. “You’re sure they’ll take us to Taormina?”
“I spoke with the captain himself.” Rushford winced and gripped his broken arm as another man raced past, jostling him. “That’s where they were bound before they heard about the earthquake. He has another passenger to let off at Taormina. And a doctor on board to boot.”
“Excellent.” His valet would finally get his arm properly cared for.
Emmett glanced back at Antonina and said in Italian, “We’re going to take a boat to Taormina.” Her small hands gripped him tighter around the neck in an evident show of worry. “It’ll be all right. I will be with you and Clare and Miriam and Rushford. You won’t be alone.” Her grasp relaxed a little. “Hopefully in a few short hours, we’ll be sitting down to one of Signora Russo’s delicious meals.”
When they arrived, out of breath, at the spot Rushford indicated, a sailor was just preparing to launch the small skiff. Inside sat the captain and two others bound for the waiting steamer. “Climb aboard,” the captain said cheerfully, his British accent a welcome reminder of home. “And watch your step.”
Once they were all settled, the sailor gave the small boat a shove and hopped inside as the craft slid into the water. The captain introduced himself, and Emmett did the same. As the sailor rowed them away from Messina, the captain exclaimed over the devastating changes to the city. Emmett shared a brief account of their own experiences as they moved toward the steamer.
Clare and Miriam were the first to ascend the ship’s ladder, then Emmett helped Antonina. Soon the five of them were aboard the vessel. A small group of people were gathered at the deck railing. Emmett guessed these were the steamer’s other passengers.
“We’ll have you back to your villa in no time, Lord Linwood,” the captain reassured him before striding away.
A gentleman spun away from the railing and stared wide-eyed at Emmett. “Did I hear the captain correctly? You are Lord Linwood?”
“That is correct.” The young man with dark-brown hair appeared to be a few years younger than Emmett. “Do I know you?”
With a grin that looked out of place against the backdrop of Messina’s destruction, the man pumped Emmett’s hand up and down in a hearty handshake. “We’ve never been formally introduced, but I’m Theo Sharpe. Reporter for the London Times. My father and Lord Hadwell are old school chums. In fact, your father is the one who . . .”
Emmett didn’t hear another word of Mr. Sharpe’s explanation. Not with the ice-cold suspicion chilling him and his thoughts.
His father hadn’t backed down after all—he’d simply ignored Emmett’s insistence and then bided his time for a day or two before sending someone after him. What was Clare going to think about having a reporter around? Emmett turned toward her and caught her confused expression as she studied Mr. Sharpe. What was Emmett supposed to say? He hadn’t expected his father to go behind his back, but he couldn’t plead complete innocence of the reporter’s presence either.
He hesitated too long. Mr. Sharpe stepped around Emmett and offered his hand to Clare. “You must be Lady Linwood.” The young man acted as if they were in a receiving line in a London drawing room rather than standing before him bedraggled and half-starved—and in Clare’s case, still shoeless and in her nightgown.
“Yes.” She threw Emmett a puzzled look. “What brings you to Messina, Mr. Sharpe?”
The grin was back. “Why, you and your husband, of course. Now that he’s going to run for Parliament, Lord Hadwell felt it was important to get both your names in print sooner than later.”
Clare’s cheeks went white in color. “So you are here to write about . . . us?” Her question was for the reporter, but she peered straight at Emmett. “As a couple?”
“Yes, my lady.” Mr. Sharpe rocked back on his heels. “People at home will soon be demanding stories about the illustrious Linwoods, especially now that you’ve both survived the earthquake.”
The young man didn’t seem to notice the reddening shade of anger that now spread across Clare’s face, but Emmett saw it. “And this was all arranged when?”
“A month or so ago,” the reporter replied. “I would’ve been on the same ship as Lord Linwood, but for some reason, I was told I wasn’t needed right away. I caught the next steamer after his.”
In the echo of the man’s words, Emmett imagined he heard the loud snap of the bond that had temporarily connected him and Clare, like a sail rent into pieces by a fierce wind. How many more times could it endure being patched and mended before it gave out altogether? He considered tossing Mr. Sharpe overboard, and yet that would only bring a temporary reprieve to this newest dilemma. The incorrigible reporter was still likely to turn up in Taormina, eager for a story.
Whether now or later, Emmett would eventually have to respond to the silent demand for answers in Clare’s darkening green eyes. Eyes that had looked on him with confidence and appreciation hours ago. That look was gone now, and in its wake, Emmett was left with one sobering reminder. They had escaped with their lives from Messina, but their troubles were far from over. In some ways, he thought as he glanced again at Mr. Sharpe, they were just beginning.
Somerset, England, March 1908: Nine months earlier
Emmett rapped lightly on Clare’s door, wondering if she was sleeping. However, when he twisted the handle and stepped into the room, he found his wife sitting before a roaring fire. It had been ten days since her miscarriage, but he still insisted she have a fire in her room during the day. He didn’t understand why she was always cold, indoors or out, but a constant source of warmth seemed a small concession after the loss of her pregnancy.
“May I come in?” he asked when she didn’t acknowledge him.
At his voice, she turned from staring in the direction of the flames to look over her shoulder. “Oh, Emmett. Yes, do come in.”
Her red-rimmed eyes and haunted expression cried at him to reach out to her, to unburden his own sorrow at not being a father this year. But Emmett swallowed the words as he shut the door. He wouldn’t add to her grief by sharing his or incite more tears from her.
He took a seat in the chair opposite hers. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine, I suppose.” Clare offered him a shrug, then drew her blanket-like shawl around her shoulders. She had on a dress today, which he hoped was a good sign. “I’m still tired.”
Emmett nodded. “The doctor said that was to be expected for some time.”
“Yes,” she murmured, her gaze once more on the fire.
He breached the space between them and settled his hand over hers where it rested along the chair arm. Her fingers felt cool to the touch, in spite of the warmth of the fire. “We can try again, Clare. The doctor reassured me that there is no reason to believe we won’t be parents someday soon.”
It wasn’t the right thing to say. She slid her hand out from under his and placed it out of reach on her lap. “That may be true, but I don’t want to think about that right now. Not after I just lost . . .” Her words faltered as her voice hitched with emotion.
The need to unburden his thoughts, to confide in her, nearly overwhelmed him. But he had to stay strong. Never again would he trouble someone with his mourning as he had all those years ago when his grandfather had died. Instead Emmett had to think of a way to lift Clare’s shroud of sorrow and bring back the laughter he missed.
She twisted to look at him. “Is there something you need?”
“I wished to talk about the London house.” He bent forward, his arms on his knees, his hands splayed toward the heat. “I know we had to delay our departure . . .” They’d been packed and ready to leave the very morning Clare had begun bleeding. “But I’m afraid we may be hard-pressed to find something if we don’t hurry and do so before the season starts next month.”
Clare nodded absently. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Which is why I thought I would pop over to London tomorrow and begin our search. If I find something, I thought I might solicit the help of one of my sisters in hiring the staff.” It was something else he could do to ease things for Clare while she recovered. He glanced her way but couldn’t read her features to determine what she was thinking. “I shouldn’t be gone more than a fortnight, three weeks at the most. Then I’ll return to Hadwell House, and we’ll go back to London together.”
To his surprise, she suddenly rose to her feet. “I don’t want to wait that long.”
“For a house?”
Clare shook her head and crossed the room to where her trunk still sat. “For us to go to London. There’s no reason I can’t go with you now.” She slid the trunk away from the wall, but after opening the lid, she sagged against the bedpost.
“Clare, you don’t have to come with me.” He stood and moved toward her. “You still aren’t well, and searching for a house is likely to be tiring.”
Her chin rose in defiance, though there were visible tears glittering in her eyes. “I can’t stay here. I won’t stay.”
The firmness of her tone confused him. Did she wish to escape the memories of her miscarriage? Or something else? It was evident she didn’t love this place as much as he did, and he’d noticed she hadn’t painted anything new in weeks. But Emmett had attributed all of that to adjusting to living in a new country. Not to mention, the winter weather had been especially hard on her. It would be spring soon, and yet in spite of that promise, Clare acted as if she couldn’t leave for London soon enough.
“Are you . . . unhappy . . . here?” He hated the bitter way the adjective tasted on his tongue, but he needed to know. Was his wife unhappy living at Hadwell House—or perhaps even unhappy with him?
Several of her tears escaped her lashes and cascaded down her pale cheeks. “Yes, Emmett. I won’t be a mother this summer; I miss my parents something awful; and I feel as if this shawl has become a part of my skin after wearing it so much, and I still can’t get warm. So yes, there have been moments and hours and even days of unhappiness. Is that such a crime?”
“No,” he answered softly.
Closing the distance between them, he gathered her gently to his chest and let her cry. Each quiet sob squeezed at his lungs and threatened to bring tears to his own eyes.
After a few minutes, her weeping gave way to an occasional shudder. “Do you really wish to come to London with me now?” he asked. If that would bring her smile back, Emmett would spirit her away to the city tonight.
Clare nodded against his now-damp shirt. “I do.”
“Very well.” He eased back and tilted her face upward. “Is this your way of telling me I’d do a frightful job of hiring a staff on my own?”
Her lips creased slightly at the corners. “You’ve seen through my ruse, my lord. Besides, I have been preparing for this.”
“A fact not to be overlooked.” He let the merriment slip from his countenance. “Will you promise not to overexert yourself in our hunt for a house? The season can be exhausting and busy enough as it is.” Particularly when his father was dictating the number of events they attended.
Emmett typically enjoyed interacting with friends and acquaintances during the season, but he’d especially been looking forward to being in charge of his own social schedule now that he was married. Unfortunately Lord Hadwell had reminded him the night before of the importance of being seen this season, especially since his wife was no longer pregnant.
Must maintain the image that all is well, his father had intoned.
“I promise I will be careful,” Clare said. “May I come, then?”
The earnest look on her lovely features had him whispering “Yes” right before he lowered his mouth to hers in what he imagined would be a brief kiss. Clare would likely draw back quickly as she had for more than a week. However, today she kissed him in return. It wasn’t an overly long kiss, but it was no less welcome or delightful.
As he released her, he offered her a smile. “We’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, Emmett.”
For two or three heartbeats, she smiled. The action was nearly as short as her kiss, but it had been there nonetheless. It gave Emmett hope for the first time since finding her crumbled on the floor of her room, in pain. As long as he and Clare could smile and banter together, as long as she wasn’t unhappy living with him, then surely they could weather whatever came their way.