Page 4 of Miss Hawthorne’s Unlikely Husband (The Troublemakers Trilogy #3)

If Ada wasn’t there, then Elodia had no real opportunity to give Richard his gift.

Now it was nearly two years later and she still had it.

The longer it took, the more likely he would be upset that she had kept something so precious to him for so long.

What if he thought she was cruel and selfish instead of recognizing her true intentions?

Perhaps it was better to simply get it over with and damn the consequences.

If he was angry, she’d wait. If he was appreciative, she’d press her advantage.

“Ellie, dear,” her father called, and she looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Yes, Papa?” He was staring at her expectantly. As if he’d been calling her for some time.

“Are you well, sweeting?” he asked, his brow creasing in concern.

“Yes.”

He stared at her for a moment, unmoving and unflinching, then he put down his quill. “I’ve a mind to take a turn in the garden, will you accompany me?”

“What, now?” It was nearly ten at night.

“Yes, I think so,” he replied, rising to his feet and tugging his jacket and waistcoat into place.

“There’s nothing better than a garden at night,” Isolde commented, snatching Elodia’s book from her hands.

She looked back to her father who was now somewhat amused at her reticence. “Of course, Papa,”

She stood and followed him out the door, down the staircase and out the back door to the grounds.

Isolde was correct, of course, even if it was still a bit chilly at night.

She folded her arms around her torso, waiting for her father to speak.

Was he upset with her? He didn’t seem angry or annoyed, and typically he was straightforward with that sort of thing.

Then his arm slid around her shoulders, pulling her against his side, keeping her warm. They went through the grass like that, her head leaning against his chest, his hand rubbing her arm.

“Is there anything you’d like to say, sweeting?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play that game with me, Miss Hawthorne,” he grumbled, giving her an affectionate squeeze. It was his first warning when he suspected she was up to something.

“Are you really going to marry this year?” she asked.

He sighed and kissed her hair. “I’m afraid I have to, sweeting. Your grandfather’s stipulation affects your dowry.”

“Oh.” She’d never liked the old man. Even in his grave he was a menace. “Do you know who?”

“No, but his requirements will make it difficult to find someone who will treat you in the way you deserve. I don’t want to subject you to that, so I thought it better to wait until you were married.”

“But I took too long.”

“It’s my fault. I should have pushed you harder, or made you aware sooner. But I didn’t want to pressure you, especially when you were enjoying your girlhood with your friends. And I didn’t want to part with you so soon after—” he broke off sharply and took a deep breath.

“After Mama,” she finished, stealing a glance up at him, noting his tight jaw and pursed lips.

He nodded but didn’t meet her eyes. His pain was always difficult to witness.

After her mother’s funeral, he’d locked himself away for weeks in their room, unable or unwilling to deal with anything in the aftermath.

Elodia had stayed away, missing him but at the same time unwilling to see him so broken.

That was until she’d gotten lost coming back from the beach.

One evening she’d slipped out to sit on the beach, the only place she could feel close to her mother.

A place to grieve without being seen. But on the way back, she’d lost her way.

Those two hours had been truly terrifying.

Everything had been pitch black, with only the sounds of the rainforest around her, reminding her that she was not alone and yet still unfound.

Then she’d heard the calls of her name. She would never forget the sight of her father, Bearded, his eyes and hair wild, his clothing damp with sweat and blood from scrapes, emerging from the darkness with nothing but a cutlass and a lamp.

That night and every night for the rest of that year, he’d slept in her room, squeezed in behind her on her little bed, holding her tightly.

Elodia still didn’t know if it was to keep an eye on her, or to comfort the both of them.

What she did know, was that her father had never left her side again.

She’d believed they would always be that close to each other, but now she understood that it was a childish idea.

Viscount’s needed heirs and daughters needed husbands.

“So I must marry first,”

“For your own benefit, I believe that would be best.”

“What if I cannot find anyone?” she asked.

“You?” he asked in disbelief.

“It’s possible.” Especially if she was unsuccessful in winning Richard’s love.

“We will cross that bridge when we get to it,” he said, “but rest assured, I will not abandon you to the English ton.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you capable of that, Papa,”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve made things harder for you. I should have been trying harder during the season, instead of indulging myself with my friends and wasting time.”

“Nonsense. You are a gift to me from your mother, a treasure. I have never taken it lightly even before you were born, and I have no intention of doing so now.”

“I know.”

“Well then, let us say it suited us both to dilly dally and leave it at that.”

She smiled and nodded. “Agreed.”

“Good. Now, who are these gentlemen who have caught your eye?”

Richard came to mind again. She had truly never met a more perfect man in her life.

Tall and strong yet elegant with sharp features and a sinful mouth, with eyes like obsidian that sparkled with laughter and mischief.

Every time she thought of him, from his deep voice to his elegant hands, her stomach became infested with butterflies.

There was no one cleverer, more loving and kind or more honorable than him.

His consideration and care for Ada while she was at school had been her first insight into the sort of man he was.

The stories Ada had told about the big brother who teased her by squeezing her cheeks, but also allowed her to sleep in his bed whenever she had nightmares.

Even knowing she wasn’t alone, he always sent her letters and thoughtful gifts from the dried persimmons they loved so much to strange molded cakes he had made himself for what Ada called the Mid-Autumn Festival.

His love for her was always visible and tangible.

In the years since they met, Richard hadn’t kept his thoughtful attentiveness to Ada alone.

Elodia had realized years ago that he seemed to favor her, from including her in conversations or claiming a dance at balls.

More than once she’d imagined and hoped there was more to all of that than kindness.

That perhaps, he saw her as something special and was giving her time to grow into her own person before expressing his interest.

“Ellie?”

She glanced up at her father with wide eyes, her mind scrambling to remember his question. “Yes, Papa?”

“Who are the gentlemen you are interested in? Perhaps I can speak to them or their fathers.”

“I will let you know when I am more certain, Papa,”

“More certain of what?”

“Of everything.”

“Why are you being so secretive?” He was getting too curious now, so there was only one approach.

“Why are you turning into Aunt Theo?” she asked. He gasped, his eyes wide with outrage, but then the corners of his mouth twitched against a smile.

“The temerity of this young miss,” he muttered, shaking his head and looking away from her. “It is the disrespectfulness I cannot seem to manage.”

She giggled and pressed her face to his side, squeezing him tightly.

He always smelt of old books, lemons and talc and had always been a steadfast source of love and safety.

In the coming months and years, she wouldn’t be able to spend as much time with her father as she was used to, but for now, for now, she could enjoy his attention and his love.

*

Lodge Hall, Cumbria

May, 1853

There were two letters in Richard’s hands from two of the dearest women in his life.

One was from A’wei, his sweet mèimei, or Ada as she was called by everyone else, and the other was from his wài pó, his maternal grandmother who lived in his mother’s ancestral home in Wuhan.

Every year, his grandmother sent barrels and crates to them at Lodge Hall.

The items varied over time: lotus seeds, red beans, soy sauce, wine, ink blocks, new brushes, strings for the guqin, new sheet music, brocade silks, paper or soap, but one thing was always constant.

One more thing that he and Ada had always fought over as children.

Persimmons.

Every year, thousands of carefully peeled and packed persimmons arrived dried to chewy, sugar crusted perfection.

He remembered meeting his maternal grandmother twice in his life, once with his parents when he was fifteen and again when he was twenty-three.

He had been utterly foreign and confused, but her warmth and humor was something he’d never forgotten.

She’d been so excited by his interest in books, music, calligraphy and food preparation.

He missed her almost as much as he’d missed his parents.

Those fruits were like a hug from her, the last tenuous connection to his mother and her family. His family.

A’wei’s letter informed him that she and her small family would be spending the season with him.

He was glad of it. He was all too eager to meet his young niece and nephew again.

He wanted to see how much they had grown now that they were a few months older.

The second letter from his grandmother heralded a starker new future, informing him that this last shipment would be the last for the foreseeable future, between a rebellion in Taiping and growing tensions between the Qing government and England.