Emily had, at one time, considered Prescott’s estate, Eden’s Court, imposing. And although her awe persisted, she’d grown somewhat accustomed to the grandeur of the foyers, the elaborate dining room, and the endless gardens. Eden’s Court exuded a warmth, much the same as Sophia herself. Emily wondered if the estate had felt the same before the old duke passed away—if the older duchess had imparted her own particular warmth to the great manor. She certainly didn’t now, hiding at the dower house most of the time.
Would her own mother-in-law move to a dower house as well?
Would she hate Emily as much as her father-in-law was certain to?
As the carriage approached Candlewood Park, Emily shivered. A thick stand of trees protected the castle from all sides. Tightening her shawl about her shoulders, Emily felt as though the temperature dropped at least twenty degrees when the carriage pulled to a stop at the end of the winding drive.
Twin turrets loomed over the U-shaped steps leading up to the large oak door like soldiers guarding a fortress. The various leafy vines clinging to the walls seemingly held the castle fast to the hill. Sunshine landed on the south side of the stone walls, leaving the remainder in dark shade.
It would be easy to imagine ghosts from the past hiding amongst the shadows.
Cecily raised her brows ominously when she met Emily’s eyes.
Before either could speak, sounds of the steps being lowered preceded the carriage door opening.
A uniformed footman stepped back as Stephen Nottingham reached in to assist his wife and son. Emily noticed tentative smiles on both their parts.
“Did he fuss?” Cecily’s husband reached for little Finn and then gathered him up so Cecily could climb out more easily. Before backing out, though, he pressed his lips to the curve of her cheek.
“He was an angel.” Cecily’s entire countenance changed. She damn near glowed.
The liveried manservant then assisted both Cecily and Emily to the ground. Marcus stepped out from behind Mr. Nottingham to take Emily by the elbow.
This menacing structure had been his home as a child. What thoughts raced through his mind at this moment? He’d taken her by the arm as soon as she’d alighted. Was he protecting her or using her to safeguard himself? She nearly snorted at the thought.
It didn’t matter what he wanted. That wasn’t what their union was about. She was a shield for him against the woman he’d been betrothed to for over a decade.
And she was also, she admitted to herself, something of a weapon. She was present only so that Marcus could lash out at his father.
Marcus stood mere inches away from her. Closer than necessary.
She did her best to ignore his warmth.
Impossible.
Not impossible.
Necessary.
She needed her own shield, her own weapon. Something to protect her from what was to come.
“Are you well?” His voice rumbled behind her.
She braced herself against imagining he sounded as though he cared for her. He’d likely say the same to any woman.
Nothing special about her.
Just a wife.
“I’m fine.” Her voice came out a whisper. She cleared her throat. “I’m fine.” There. She sounded stronger this time.
The imposing doors opened, and two women emerged followed by an elderly gentleman who was not the duke. Emily immediately recognized Marcus’ sister and the Duchess of Waters. She’d seen them numerous times over the past two years but never been introduced.
Lady Hartley had the same coloring as Marcus: dark hair, deep green eyes. Proud bearing.
Although his mother held her head high, she appeared drawn and tired.
Marcus drew Emily toward them. “Emily, I’d like to present to you my mother, the Duchess of Waters, Mother, my wife, Emily, Lady Blakely.”
Emily dipped into a deep curtsey. Such a different sort of duchess than Sophia! The woman carried herself as though she’d been born to the role.
The duchess’ mouth tightened into a hard line, almost causing Emily to drop her gaze. Even in one of her newer gowns, she knew she would not be considered any prize.
She’d known this all along. They would see her plain brown eyes, mousy-colored hair, and unimpressive figure.
And her spectacles. Of course, his family would not see past her dratted spectacles.
Rather than speak, the duchess dipped her head slightly.
“And my sister, Lady Hartley, Corinne, this is Lady Blakely, Emily.” Emily couldn’t remember any time when Marcus had stood beside her like this, acknowledging her position in his life.
She could almost believe herself a wife.
Only… many aristocratic marriages were no different than hers.
“His grace is resting. I’m sure you remember Lord Quimbly.” Marcus’ mother gestured toward the stooped gentleman beside her.
Quimbly. Quimbly… Where had Emily heard that name before?
Marcus stiffened beside her and barely nodded. His grip on her elbow tightened. Emily stifled the urge to comfort him.
Oddly enough, she wished she could comfort his mother as well. She’d been estranged from Marcus, too. This family had experienced too much bitterness. They needed to forgive one another.
But Emily could not succumb to Marcus’ needs right now. Instead, she stepped away from him, both physically and emotionally.
Marcus presented Mr. Nottingham, whom the family was already familiar with, and Mr. Nottingham presented Cecily.
Lady Hartley and the duchess exchanged an enigmatic glance.
Emily wondered if they knew Cecily was of the merchant class. What would they think of Emily’s own mother?
“Beatrice will show you to your chambers.” The duchess indicated a middle-aged housekeeper hovering nearby.
“Oh, we are not staying.” Cecily grimaced in apology at what must have been a pained expression on Emily’s part. “We’ll be staying—”
“We’re going to travel on to April Downs,” Mr. Nottingham interrupted his wife.
Cecily’s expression softened upon locking eyes with her husband.
Seeing this kind of love, seeing Cecily’s husband defer to her wishes, nearly brought another round of tears to Emily’s eyes.
Not all couples entered into marriage without love.
Feeling exposed, feeling like an imposter, Emily shivered when she noticed the withering stare Lord Quimbly pinned upon her. And then she remembered who he was. He’d been beside the woman Marcus had been betrothed to. Her father. He must be Marcus’ betrothed’s father.
Of course, the man hated her! Probably more so than Marcus’ father would.
She. Emily Goodnight… er Roberts… had usurped the man’s daughter from ever becoming a duchess.
No laughing matter, that.
Emily schooled her features to return a pleasant façade. She wouldn’t cower. She wouldn’t hide.
Meaningless conversations swirled around them as Quimbly took hold of the duchess’ arm and led them into the manor.
Marcus looked around but before he could take hold of Emily, his sister stepped forward and wound her hand around his arm.
Emily glanced around nervously, suddenly feeling quite as though she did not belong. Although not an unfamiliar emotion, she hated that she felt this way.
Would it never go away? The sense of not being good enough?
Even little Finn had his nanny.
She clasped her hands behind her back, lifted her chin, and locked her gaze on the back of Cecily’s head as she followed them all inside.
Dark and cold, the foyer’s austere décor matched the architecture perfectly. Marcus had grown up here? This was his home? Emily wrapped her arms around herself to suppress a shiver.
Cecily and Mr. Nottingham did not stay long. Lucky them! After taking an uncomfortable tea with Marcus’ family, they excused themselves to make a quick escape.
How had their plans changed so drastically?
Cecily apologized with a warm embrace and told her to write daily.
Write? She nearly laughed out loud. A foreboding washed over her that after the next few days, she just might have the makings of a novel.