Page 20 of Taming the Earl (The Earls of the North #3)

T he rain started slowly at first, but by the time the torches were lit in the great hall, it had become a deluge. Angus stood at the arched windows and watched as enormous puddles formed in the courtyard. His stone lions were half hidden by a curtain of rain; the musical splashing of the fountain entirely drowned out by the staccato drum beats of rain falling upon granite walls.

He turned to Emelia, who had silently drifted to his side. “It is just as Sir Henry foretold.”

She raised a perfect eyebrow. “Heavy rain?”

“More than heavy.” He let go of the drape, allowing it to fall back into place. “You will have to stay here overnight.”

Emelia pursed her lips. “That was not my intention. I had planned to continue to Foxton Hall.”

“That will not be possible.” He was gruff with the inevitability of it all.

“The rain may yet ease.”

He pulled back the drape and pointed towards the grey sky, thick with cloud. “Not likely.”

“But Foxton Hall is not far away.”

“’Tis far enough in weather such as this.” Angus folded his arms in an effort to quell his impatience with the situation, but it rose up inside him and could not be denied. “God’s Bones, Emelia. Do you imagine I plan to sneak into your chamber and ravish you?”

She surprised him with another tinkling laugh. “You forget, I have spent many a summer in the debauched halls of Cheltenham Castle. Mayhap I have grown accustomed to sneaking around and ravishment.”

Angus was speechless with surprise. His eyebrows disappeared beneath his thatch of hair as he regarded his former playmate. As children, they had been evenly matched for height and strength. Now he towered above her, but Emelia was nonetheless a tall, competent woman. Her blue eyes sparkled with determination. She was not, as he well knew, one to back down from any situation.

“Are you serious, Emelia?”

She put a hand on his arm and leaned close. He caught his breath, half expecting a confession.

“I am not.”

He couldn’t help but bark with laughter as a servant came near with a silver platter holding two goblets of wine. He took one for himself and passed the other to Emelia. Behind them, rain-drenched men-at-arms filtered into the great hall, shaking out their cloaks and pulling benches closer to the roaring fire.

“You are full of surprises,” he said.

She sipped steadily, her eyes dancing over the rim of the goblet. “Am I correct, Angus, in thinking that the notion of me sneaking around Cheltenham Castle has rather unsettled you?”

He swallowed a large mouthful of wine, feeling more relaxed as the heady liquid ran down his throat. “It was not what I expected to hear,” he hedged.

“You anticipate a more innocent wife?” The challenge was implicit in her voice.

Angus shook his head, slowly. “You know as well as I do, Emelia, what our betrothal was all about.”

She held his gaze. “An heir for the Earl of Wolvesley.”

He inclined his head. “Indeed.”

“And your brother considered me a suitable mother for this future heir.” She tossed her blonde head, apparently unconcerned with the perceived propriety of their conversation.

Angus cast his eye about the hall, satisfied that no one was within hearing distance. “As did your father.”

Emelia nodded slowly before draining her goblet and holding it out towards him. “More wine, please, your lordship.”

“Our wine is strong,” he warned.

“As am I, dear Angus.” Emelia smoothed her silken skirts. “Though I should like to sit.”

“Of course.” He offered his arm, as etiquette dictated, and together they ascended the steps to the dais. He pulled out a wooden chair for Emelia and held it as she lowered herself gracefully down, unable to help admiring her slender neck and the golden-hued slope of her shoulders.

Lady Emelia Foxton was a beautiful woman.

But she is not the woman I want.

He heaved out a breath as he sat beside her and waved for more wine.

“What ails you, Angus?”

Her question took him by surprise, as did the proximity of her deep blue eyes.

“Nothing at all. I am quite well.” He nodded his thanks to the servant who delivered a flask of richly-coloured red wine to their table.

“You were surprised to see me, this morning?”

“I was, I do not deny it. Your last letter said to expect you before All Saints Day.” He poured a generous measure of wine for each of them. “That is still some weeks hence.”

“Are you not pleased to see me, Angus? Have you not missed me dearly?”

He kept his voice level. “It has been more than ten years, Emelia.”

“I know it.” Her face became still and watchful.

“Much has changed,” he ventured.

“Much.” Her blue gaze seemed to hold him in a trap.

His hands shook as he was suddenly taken by an unaccountable urge to tell her the truth.

I love another.

The clatter of booted feet and conversation around them diminished as Angus played the scenario out in his mind. Emelia had always been honest and straight-talking, but had the years changed her?

Even if they had, would she not prefer the truth?

But when he looked at her, the words died on his lips. The woman seated beside him may appear to flout convention, but she was the daughter of one of the oldest families in England.

He could not offend her.

“We were little more than children when last we met.” Emelia’s elegant fingers traced a line around her goblet. “Now I see that the tousle-haired boy with a liking for honey cakes is a man grown.” She nudged him gently. “A fine man grown.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “I believe that is usually what happens.” He suppressed a comment about Emelia’s own lovely appearance. She had turned from a tall, long-legged girl into a woman of beauty and poise. The only thing unchanged was her air of bright, unfaltering courage. A trait he had long admired. “I will not compliment you, Emelia,” he declared, beginning to feel the effects of the wine. “I suspect you received compliments enough down in Cheltenham.”

“I will not deny it.” She looked at him again over the rim of her goblet. “And I am not surprised by your rough manners. I have always found company in the south to be far more polite than that of my cousins in the north.”

He snorted with laughter when he realised she was teasing him. “Were you always this outspoken?”

“Yes,” she answered shortly. “I believe it was one of many things you liked about me.”

He was instantly sober. “Mayhap you are right.” There were many things he liked about Emelia.

As a friend.

He found someone had placed a trencher full of food beside them. He must eat and soak up some of this wine.

“So tell me, Angus.” Emelia forked some roast meat delicately into her mouth. “Were you pleased to see my carriage arrive?”

His mouth was full of food which he suddenly could not chew. Long moments passed until he swallowed. “Why should I not be?”

“That is my question to you.” Emelia’s voice had lost some of its gaiety.

This was his moment. He could appeal to the long years of friendship between them, and the equally long years of little contact. Emelia herself had agreed that neither of them had input into their betrothal.

He could speak up now and declare his love for Morwenna.

The words were upon his lips. In another moment he would give voice to them, moving one step closer to claiming Morwenna as his bride.

And then Emelia hiccupped.

“Excuse me.” Her blue eyes opened wide with surprise.

“I warned you the wine was strong.” He heard his own words slurring against each other.

“Mayhap it is stronger than I am accustomed to.” She put down her fork with deliberate care. “Forgive me, Angus. We must continue this conversation in the morn.”

“I shall have someone escort you to your room.” He waved to the Seneschal.

Heads turned as the lovely Lady Emelia walked from the great hall on the arm of his grey-haired Seneschal. Her skirts flared around her slender ankles and her golden hair shone in the candlelight, but Angus was immune to her beauty.

He loved Morwenna.

God’s Bones, he should not have spent the day showing Emelia about the castle and making well-mannered conversation about their mutual friends and acquaintances. True, he had stopped by the stable yard and tried to find Morwenna just after luncheon; but no one knew where she was and within minutes, the heavy rain had chased him back indoors. But he should have tried harder.

Nay, he should have gone after Morwenna the very second she turned away from them in the paddocks. Instead, he had taken the coward’s way out; standing as if rooted to the spot while Emelia voiced her polite admiration of Fauvel’s condition and the sweep of land down to the woods.

She had been easing an awkward moment, he realised belatedly.

And with that insight came another, hot on its heels.

Was Emelia’s peculiar line of questioning tonight aimed at prompting him to tell the truth? To confess he no longer wished to marry her?

His head swirled and against his better judgement, Angus poured himself another goblet of wine, pushing his unfinished trencher to one side.

He put a hand to his forehead, steadying himself against the solid wooden table as fragments of conversation came back to him. He saw Emelia looking over at Fauvel, soon after Morwenna dismounted.

“I felt sure you would refuse,” she had said.

Had she wanted him to refuse?

Angus drained his goblet and gripped the edge of the table, seized with new determination. He would go out to Morwenna now and tell her what had happened. What he suspected had happened. He would reassure her that he would find a way for them to be together.

He realised, like a slap in the face, that the very worst thing he could have done was stay away from Morwenna all day.

He had been like a man in a dream. A nightmare, more like. So consumed by the twists of fate that he had done nothing to unravel them.

It was time to put it right. He rose from the table, then immediately sank back into the chair as the great hall began to spin around him.

Just like Emelia, he had underestimated the richness of the wine.

With the last of his sensibility, Angus knew that he needed a clear head for this conversation with Morwenna.

It would have to wait until morning. And morning could not come quickly enough.

*

The stirrings of the fortress roused him from a deep but troubled sleep. His head pounded as if it had been beaten; even his limbs felt heavy. But as soon as his eyes opened, Angus knew he must rise from his bed. There was much that he had to put right.

He stumbled to his nightstand and splashed cold water onto his face, wincing at the chill but relishing the punishment. He left the drapes closed, fearing that any sharp light would hurt his eyes and slow his progress. There was no time to wait for his manservant to help him dress; instead he pulled on yesterday’s emerald green shirt and breeches. His hair, he combed roughly. Never had he been less concerned with his appearance; but for Morwenna’s sake, he must make an effort.

An effort that was mayhap several hours overdue.

He groaned inwardly when a knock came at his door.

“What is it?”

Whatever it was, he would not be delayed.

A young serving boy shuffled into his chamber, head down, cheeks red.

“I have a message for you, milord.”

“Give it here.” Angus held out a hand and nodded his thanks.

He unfurled the parchment with uncharacteristic haste, his anxiety only increasing when he recognised Emelia’s sloping hand.

Dearest Angus,

I do not know if you have ever realised how fond I am of you? Have you?

Either way, I dare to believe you also hold me in some affection.

It is this affection that I now appeal to.

Angus, my friend, I write to release you from our betrothal.

Do you want to be released? I suspect you do. Your face, at the table last night, told me what you could not bring yourself to say.

And I too have my reasons. Perchance one day I will tell them to you.

For now, I have sufficient experience of the world to realise that I may have misjudged the situation. If I am wrong, Angus, you must tell me. Meet me at Foxton Hall before noon today. If I see the Wolvesley carriage approach, I will know that my destiny is to become the Countess of Wolvesley. It is a role that I will perform with dignity and the greatest respect.

Your friend,

Emelia

Angus read the note a second time, the words blurring and reforming before his eyes.

God’s Bones, Emelia had surpassed his expectations yet again. She had done what he could not bring himself to.

His first feeling was one of admiration for her courage and honesty.

His second was one of relief.

But both paled when he realised the implications of this letter. He was now free, entirely free, to marry Morwenna.

He didn’t pause to grab a cloak or consider his next move. It was imperative he reached her. Already it seemed as if he had been gone from her life for too long, when in reality it was her bed that he had woken in just yesterday.

Yesterday, when his life had taken such an unexpected twist. But now he was back where he wanted to be; with the sole exception of taking Morwenna’s hand in his.

He had never told her he loved her.

He had yet to tell her she was a woman of means. His messenger had returned last night, reporting that Ember Hall was clean, comfortable and in a solid state of repair. It wanted only the addition of servants and furniture, and Morwenna could take up residence there whenever she pleased. It was her family home, after all. The estate had passed to Esme upon the death of Lord and Lady Howell. As Wolvesley Castle was Esme’s last known address, the de Nevilles had been keeping it safe and maintained ever since.

But Angus didn’t want Morwenna to live in Ember Hall. He wanted to marry her with all possible haste. She would live in Wolvesley Castle, by his side, always.

He skittered down the stairs and plunged out into the courtyard, wincing at the drizzle which immediately dampened his shirt. Few servants were about at this time; Angus met no one on his journey to the stables, not that he cared.

He was ready to shout from the rooftops that he loved Morwenna.

The drizzle became a fine rain which had slicked back his hair and ran down his face by the time he came to the old stone building which housed a stable below and Morwenna’s room above. Two young grooms looked at him curiously, before quickly walking away towards the low-slung barn where they took their meals.

Angus paused, breathing hard. What if Morwenna was in there with them, breaking her fast?

He would willingly walk in and demand an audience, but she would most likely not appreciate the public spectacle.

With luck, she would still be in her room. His heartbeat quickened as he pictured her rising from her narrow bed, yawning and dressing for the day ahead.

He ran up the wooden stairs with the energy of a young child, hardly pausing to catch his breath at the top.

“Morwenna?” He knocked on her door, uncaring of being overheard.

The door remained stubbornly closed. No footsteps sounded within.

He put his head to the wood, listening hard.

“Morwenna?” he tried again, rapping hard.

Slowly the truth dawned upon him. She was not there.

She would be eating then, in the barn.

But no, deep down he knew that this battle, so carelessly played, would not be so easily won.

A terrible suspicion had lodged deep in his chest, but he had to make sure.

He raised his foot and delivered a swift kick to the door, which splintered easily. He stepped into the gloom, his eyes razing over the neatly-made bed as he took two strides towards the closet.

It was empty.

His suspicion was correct.

Morwenna had gone from Wolvesley.