Page 7 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl (Marriage Mart Scandals #2)

“...and some pearls here, my lady?” Rebecca’s voice was loud in Emmeline’s ear. Emmeline looked up at where her maid was gesturing and saw, in the mirror, the pearl pins positioned on the left side of her hair.

“Yes. Yes,” she said without much thought. Inside, she was numb and cold, like winter had visited her heart. What her hair looked like or how many pearl pins she wore was meaningless to her.

In four or five hours, she would be wed.

“Emmeline. We could still ask Papa,” Amelia said from where she sat on the bed. Amelia was wearing a pale blue gown, a beautiful one of muslin that brought out the colour of her big dark eyes and made them soulful pools. Emmeline swallowed.

“I have decided, Amelia,” she said gently. “I shall not change my mind.”

“But Emmeline, you place yourself in such peril—and all on my account,” Amelia whispered. She was close to tears and Emmeline glanced up at Rebecca, who was still adding some touches to her hair.

“It is good like it is,” she told her maid kindly. “Could you go and fetch Mama?”

“Of course. Of course, my lady.” Her maid tucked a pin into place and turned, going to the door. When Rebecca had hurried to Lady Radley’s chamber, Emmeline turned to Amelia.

“It is not your fault,” she said firmly. “The choice is mine alone, and there are certain... conveniences to it. For one, I shall never again be obliged to endure the torments of Almack’s Assembly.”

Amelia stared at her in disbelief. Emmeline made herself smile.

“Imagine,” she continued, “enduring an entire afternoon standing about, listening to idle chatter and nibbling on those insipid sandwiches.”

“Yes!” Amelia was laughing too, now, though her eyes were still sorrowful. “And their horrid lemonade. It is most unbearable. Every soul in London agrees upon it.”

Emmeline smiled. She was pleased to be able to make her cousin laugh. It helped her to forget her own numb emptiness.

“I daresay I could not endure having to go there again,” Emmeline admitted .

“No. Me neither,” Amelia said seriously. “I hated it. So much noise, so many people staring. And one just knew that the scandal sheets would be full of something or other the next day. It was horrible.”

“Yes,” Emmeline agreed. They both hated balls in London. Going to events like that together had made it easier, but still, they both found it hard to bear. And this was a way out of all of that.

“You must let me visit you,” Amelia said slowly. “I shan’t be able to stop worrying unless I can see you often.”

“Of course,” Emmeline said softly.

“And you must write once a week,” Amelia continued. “As for me, I shall pen you every week, without fail. I shall make a nuisance of myself.”

Emmeline chuckled. “You will never be a nuisance,” she said gently. Her heart twisted with fondness. Amelia was her best friend and contacting her would help a great deal. They had both been trying to laugh and make light of things, but Emmeline knew it was an effort for them both. The pain hit her again as she saw Amelia’s gaze flooded with tears.

“I am so very fearful for you,” Amelia admitted. “If I were the one doing this, I would die of fear.” Her limpid brown eyes were pools of terror.

Emmeline took a deep breath. “I shall be quite all right,” she promised. “I don’t see why he would want to murder me. But if I had to go to Almack’s for another Season, I might murder someone.” She made herself laugh, turning the conversation back to an amusing topic to lift their spirits.

Amelia laughed. “I know! Probably that footman who always loses things.”

Emmeline chuckled. “No, it would be one of those frightful patronesses, I assure you.”

They were both laughing when Rebecca knocked at the door. Sudden fear flooded in, clutching at Emmeline’s stomach like cold fingers were twisting it. Laughing with Amelia had distracted her, but now that Mama and Rebecca were arriving, she had to think about what was really happening. She did not wish to recall any of it.

“Emmeline, my dear?” Lady Radley called from the doorway. Her eyes showed recent tears and Emmeline swallowed hard. It was difficult enough to say farewell to Mama without thinking about how hard it must be for her as well.

“Mama. I just wanted to ask you if I need anything else,” Emmeline said. She had sent for her without really thinking about it, simply wanting her to be there. Mama frowned, studying her appearance. Mama herself was wearing a soft lavender gown, her long hair with its grey streaks arranged in curls about her face and covered with a brief turban headdress.

“I think you lack nothing, my dear. You look lovely.”

Emmeline swallowed hard. “I just need the flowers,” she said lightly.

“I’ll fetch them,” Amelia said swiftly and hurried to the door. Rebecca followed her and Emmeline faced her mother.

Lady Radley stepped closer, her perceptive gaze softening as she took in her daughter’s pale face. “You are afraid,” she said gently.

Emmeline hesitated, then nodded, a lump forming in her throat. “He’s so...closed, Mama. I cannot help but wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Her mother’s hands reached for hers, holding them tightly. “Emmeline, my dear, you are far stronger than you give yourself credit for.

Emmeline blinked, her eyes filling with tears. “But am I, Mama? How can I be so sure of this choice, especially with such rumours? What if they are true? What if I’ve made a mistake?” Her voice broke.

Lady Radley shook her head, her expression firm but kind. “I know society loves to talk. It thrives on whispers and rumours, often turning baseless stories into grand narratives. We cannot live our lives bound by the judgments of others, for they are often flawed.”

Her words, filled with faith in her, stirred something steady within Emmeline. “But what if they aren’t just rumours? What if Lord Rilendale is everything they say?”

Her mother smiled faintly. “I cannot claim to know Lord Rilendale, but I see a man burdened by the weight of something unresolved, some trauma he carries. That iciness people speak of may well be his shield, his way of surviving in a world that has perhaps not been kind to him.”

Emmeline’s eyes flicked back to her mother’s. “You truly believe that?”

“I believe in you, Emmeline. Your ability to see people as they are and bring out the best in them is remarkable. Whatever the truth of Lord Rilendale, I know you are more than capable of handling it. You are strong, my dear, so much stronger than you know.”

Despite her mother’s words, doubt still lingered in Emmeline’s heart. “And if I’m not strong enough? If it all goes wrong? ”

Lady Radley’s grip tightened; her voice soft but unwavering. “No matter what happens, I will always be here for you. You are not alone in this. Trust yourself, Emmeline. Trust the heart that has guided you this far.”

Emmeline nodded, a flicker of hope lighting her eyes as her mother pulled her into a reassuring embrace.

She glanced briefly in the looking glass, trying not to focus on her mother and how much she would suffer not seeing her often.

She looked at her gown. It was white silk, with a fitted bodice and puffed sleeves, the neckline a modest oval. The long skirt reached just below her ankles, the fabric soft and swaying as she moved.

She looked up at her hair. Her maid had arranged it in a chignon, a few long curls left loose at the front. Here and there, small pearl-topped pins decorated it, tucked in carefully. The veil was pinned to the bun at the back and hung smoothly down her back. Later it would be lifted to cover her face, but now it hung in a thin line down to the floor.

“You do need something,” Lady Radley said softly and held out her hand. She had a necklace there with a single pearl drop pendant on it. “This was your grandmother’s. It is right that you should wear it.”

“Mama,” Emmeline said softly. Her mother was close to tears and Emmeline reached for her, clasping her tight and holding her to her chest with fierce care.

“Shh. Don’t cry, dear,” Charlotte murmured, reaching for her handkerchief. Tears ran down the viscountess’ face unashamedly and Emmeline cuffed at her own face, feeling the watery tracks of her own weeping there.

“I will see you often,” Emmeline promised. “You’ll have to have me removed from the premises as a nuisance. I swear it.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I’ll visit just as often,” she promised. She was not fooled by Emmeline’s attempts to be jolly.

Emmeline hugged her again and stepped back, struggling not to cry. She held the necklace to her neck and clasped it, wanting to think about something else.

“I shall write every day,” she told her mother, her heart twisting. She could not bear the thought of not seeing her every day. “Or at least once a week. I promise.”

“I shall write every week too,” Charlotte said firmly. “I promise to do that. ”

Emmeline gazed at her, and the viscountess gazed back, and Emmeline wished that she could think of something diverting to say, to make the moment a little lighter for them both, but she could not think of something.

Lady Radley took Emmeline’s hand in her own and clasped it firmly.

“You look so beautiful, my dear,” she said gently. “Alexander would be so proud.”

Emmeline swallowed hard. Alexander Ashmore was her father. She did not want to think of that. She looked at the fireplace and tried to think of how it would feel to ride on the moors. She had insisted that her horse, Starlight, be taken to the estate of the Earl of Rilendale. She would not go anywhere without her. Lady Radley had promised to organise it, and the groom would ride Starlight over to the manor within a day of Emmeline’s travelling there.

“Emmeline?” Amelia called through the door. Emmeline let out a breath, grateful to hear her cousin there.

“Come in,” she called.

Amelia opened the door and went inside. She had a bunch of white and pink flowers in her arm, and she passed it to Emmeline. Emmeline took it, feeling her heart twist. In a few minutes, she would be in the coach and on her way to Rilendale, where her life would be entirely changed.

“Shall we go down?” Charlotte asked. Her voice was level, and Emmeline nodded.

“Yes. We shall.”

She walked to the door, feeling her knees buckle, each step seeming an impossible one. With each step, she was walking away from her former life and towards a terrifying unknown.

She stepped out of the door and into the hallway. Lady Radley and Amelia followed her, and she went down each stair, her stomach churning, and her heart thudding. The staff of the London townhouse were there, and Uncle Henry and Aunt Patricia were waiting at the foot of the stairs. She swallowed hard.

“You look lovely, dear niece,” Uncle Henry said softly.

“Thank you,” Emmeline whispered.

She walked out of the door, seeing the household staff smiling warmly at her as if they were happy for her. They certainly were, she realised distantly. They had no idea why she was marrying Lord Rilendale or anything about him. The gossip from the Ton was different to servants’ gossip and they had probably never heard the story of how he had murdered his grandfather.

Perhaps if they didn’t know, then he didn’t, she thought distantly.

She stopped thinking about anything in particular as Uncle Henry stepped up to help her alight into the big family coach. He helped Mama and Amelia get in next, and then Aunt Patricia, before he jumped in and shut the coach.

“Onward,” he called out of the window, and the coachman set them moving.

Emmeline gazed at the window, but she barely saw anything as the scenery rolled by. Soon they would be at Rilendale. The earl had requested the ceremony to be at his house, explaining that his grandmother was too unwell to make the journey to London.

Mayhap he is not so wicked as people say, Emmeline thought frowningly. If his grandmother’s happiness was so important to him, could he really be that bad?

Lord Rilendale’s face drifted into her mind, his expression the cold, icy one that he had shown to her when she had talked to him later. His pale blue eyes made her shiver, his mouth set in a firm line that showed how distasteful he seemed to find the world. She shuddered at the memory. It was hard to imagine him being friendly to anyone, even to his grandmother, and her frown deepened. He was a confusing man, impossible to understand and she had no idea what might be true of him.

Not one of them spoke as the coach rattled and jolted on and Emmeline gazed out as if in a trance. She was not really aware of what was happening or where they were, and she blinked in surprise as the trees thinned and they turned down a leafy path, the coach slowing to a stop.

“Rilendale Manor,” Uncle Henry announced.

Emmeline stared. The house was on her left, but she could not really see, obscured as it was by a big, spreading tree. She waited for Uncle Henry to help her out, a knot of anticipation tight in her stomach. She had a burning need to lay eyes on it. Perhaps it would answer some of her questions about the enigmatic Earl of Rilendale.

“There it is,” Uncle Henry murmured.

Emmeline’s eyes widened. The place was stone, like Ashmore, their estate in the country, but where Ashmore had tall gables and scrollwork and many windows, Rilendale Manor was of a much older design. It had false battlements and unadorned stone facing that had been popular two hundred years earlier. The effect should have been grand but the house seemed deserted. The gables were crumbling, the wall cracked. Windows stared emptily at her from a wing she guessed was abandoned. The path was lined with weeds and the garden was ruinous. Plants filled the beds, hedges were untended, and trees shadowed the house, giving it an air of gloom even greater than it already possessed. She could easily imagine the flapping of ragged birds around the gable.

“Well,” Uncle Henry murmured, trying to sound happy. “Here we are. Should we go in?” He asked Charlotte, who he was helping down from the coach. She came to stand beside Emmeline. Emmeline gazed up at the house, fear shivering down her back.

“Here we are,” Uncle Henry repeated brightly, as Aunt Patricia and Amelia came to join them. “Let’s go inside. I believe that must be the door there.”

They all walked to the front door, where a butler admitted them. The entranceway seemed moderately well kept...it was clean, at least, and the tiled floor was swept and polished. The lamps burned low, allowing enough light to see by. She gazed numbly at the stairs that led up to, presumably, the drawing room. They were bare stone and cold and the banister was dusty. She could only imagine how the rest of the house might appear, and she shuddered. She focused on the friendly butler, trying to calm her terror.

“His lordship, and her ladyship, the dowager countess, are awaiting your arrival in the chapel,” he announced grandly. He was a pleasant-looking man with a gentle face and Emmeline was surprised that she trusted him instantly.

“Thank you,” Uncle Henry murmured. “If you could show us where that is, we would be grateful,” he added with a small laugh. Emmeline knew how tense he was—he only laughed like that when he was extremely uncomfortable.

They walked down a hallway that echoed with their steps, and into a dining room where the wallpaper was scuffed and spoiled here and there, and then out into the garden. Emmeline held her breath at the overgrown, ruinous state of the place. They followed the butler towards a small stone construction.

“Here it is, my lord. My ladies,” the butler told them and went up the path. Emmeline stood where she was, facing the door. Once she had walked through it, her life would change .

“Well. Shall we?” Uncle Henry asked. He sounded hesitant.

Charlotte stepped up and opened the door, and a second later she, Aunt Patricia and Amelia went through into the darkened interior. Amelia gazed over her shoulder at Emmelin with worried eyes.

“So,” Uncle Henry said as the door shut. “Next it’ll be us, I suppose.” He smiled and Emmeline gazed into his worried blue eyes. His lighthearted manner was covering up his concern. It was yet another sign of his care.

Emmeline nodded. She lowered her veil and took his hand and Uncle Henry led her in. As her oldest male relative, he performed the duty of walking her into the church. She held onto his hand, blinking in the sudden darkness.

It seemed so strange, as though it was not possible that any of it was really happening. She was utterly numb inside—it was all too much, too enormous to understand.

She blinked as her eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness. The place was lit with candles, and there were pews on either side of her—not many, enough to hold at most perhaps ten people. It was a small private chapel. At the front, a white marble cross stood on an altar and a priest stood before it. He smiled at Emmeline, and she blinked, trying to focus through the veil.

Her gaze fell on Andrew. He was standing at the front of the chapel, his broad shoulders obvious in the darkened space because he had chosen a pale blue jacket. His back was to her at first, but as she walked up, he turned around and his gaze held hers. She saw his eyes widen and she stiffened, feeling confused.

She had expected indifferent aloofness, just as she had seen when she first met him, but his gaze was far from indifferent, and certainly not aloof. She shivered.

I don’t understand him, she thought wildly. She could almost see appreciation in his gaze and that was possibly more confusing than the indifference or even distaste.

The priest began the ceremony, and Emmeline tried to focus, but she was only aware of Lord Rilendale standing by her side. She was aware of his strong, lean frame and how tall he was. She could not stop glancing sideways at him. His eyes were focused on the altar, in a solemn gaze. His expression was soft, almost thoughtful and her heart twisted.

He is not so bad , she found herself thinking. In that unguarded moment, he looked ordinary, if not rather better than ordinary .

His profile was rather handsome, she had to allow.

She flushed, feeling confused. She had never experienced anything like that before. He was the first man she had seen that she thought was truly handsome.

The priest was talking, and she tried to focus on what he was saying. She tensed as she realised the ceremony was almost reaching a conclusion.

“...and do you, Emmeline Margaret Rachel Ashmore, take thee Andrew Hugh Randell to be your lawful wedded husband, to honour and...” The words drifted past.

“I do,” she said automatically because it was the expected answer. She tensed as she said it. She had vowed. It was a fact.

He had turned to Lord Rilendale—Andrew, she told herself firmly. She must call him Andrew now. And as she tensed at the thought, she heard his answer.

“I do.”

It was a brief, intense statement and she tried to glance up at him, but the veil was in the way, obscuring her view of him where he stood rigidly by her side.

She tensed. It was the moment she had not let herself imagine, but which she knew she had dreaded since she had decided on this wild course.

Soon, Lord Rilendale—Andrew—would kiss her.

She heard the priest conclude the ceremony and then Lord Rilendale was lifting the veil, and her entire body stiffened as he bent forward and pressed his lips to hers.

They were warm and surprisingly solid, and she blinked in surprise. She had expected it to be horrid, like touching a lizard, but oddly the sudden, warm touch of his lips on hers was not unpleasant and part of her wished he had kept the touch a little longer.

The priest turned to them and said some words she barely heard, and then they were turning to face the guests—she blinked, her gaze moving from one familiar face to the next—and walking up the aisle towards the door.

They reached the garden and walked down the path towards the house. Emmeline felt as though she floated. She had walked here just an hour before, but then it had been different. Then, it had all been so different and now her world had changed .

“Here,” Andrew murmured as they reached the stairway that led to the dining room. He held out his hand and she took it as he helped her up the stairs.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

His eyes held hers and her heart lifted at the gentle warmth she saw there. His eyes were very pale, the lashes dark around them, and the expression in them was warm, friendly, a little unsure. She shivered in surprise, but then he turned away, and the shuttered, closed-off look was back on his face again.

“We will take tea with our guests in the drawing room. It has been made ready for the purpose.”

Emmeline nodded and followed him upstairs through the ruinous house. She looked ahead and tried not to think past the tea and to the hours ahead.

She could not imagine being alone with Andrew. The look she had witnessed briefly suggested he was not as wicked as she thought, but she still could not imagine it and she was too scared to try. All she could hope was to live through the hours at tea and have strength for whatever might come afterwards.