Page 21 of The Valentine Skates
Frederick stood suddenly, straightening to his full height and thereby towering over the indignant vicar. “Reverend Duncombe, I regret your bitter disappointment in me as the father of your granddaughter, but Emilyismy daughter. We’ve stumbled along for many years now, and we’re a family.” He laid a protective hand on Lili’s arm. “Lady Lilianne Howick has been very kind to Emily, and I won’t allow you to malign her in her own home. We’re announcing our engagement at midnight. We’d like you to share in our celebration, but if doing so would be repugnant to you, then I’d respectfully request you leave.”
At Frederick’s warning, all of the tension and indignation seemed to leech out of Reverend Duncombe’s body, and he slumped onto a nearby chair. He buried his head in his hands for a few moments before stumbling to his feet and weaving away from them.
Lili beckoned to a nearby footman and when he bent low over her chair, she gave him instructions to follow the vicar and make sure he made it safely to Howick before he left. She knew her brother would ensure the elderly man would be returned safely to the vicarage.
Frederick remained silent next to her, and she occupied herself trying to figure out which members of thetonhid behind the many fantastical costumed figures passing by. She noticed with a grim sense of humor that harem concubine costumes were extremely popular. If only the cosseted, isolated women of thetonknew the truth of life in a harem.
She smiled when a masked Puck gracefully danced past with a radiant Titania. Her brother was enjoying his well-deserved anonymity as well that night.
When Frederick finally spoke, his voice betrayed his fatigue. “I’ve tried all these years to do the right thing, but it seems I can’t ever please the vicar.”
She pulled one of his cloven-hooved “paws” close to her cheek. “You’ve been a good father to Emily. You’ve made her happy. That’s all that counts. Jane would be so proud of both of you.”
Later, after their announcement to the stunned gathering, Frederick and Lili watched the embers of the last of the fire in the grate in his bedchamber at Weyford. Her eyes fixed to the dying glow, Lili was the first to speak. “I love you more than life itself, Squire Meredith, but there’s no need to rush into marriage now that we’ve made our betrothal public.”
He growled a little and pulled her close to his side. “I want you here with me, and with Emily, where you belong.”
She pushed away and gave him a long look. “Jane’s father is so frail. He’s not well. We shouldn’t make him endure not only seeing us married, but you do realize he would have to be the one to marry us in Wembledon’s chapel.”
Frederick stood suddenly and paced in front of the warm hearth. “It’s been nearly six long years since…since Jane died when Emily was born. Why can’t that old man move on with his life?”
“The memory of Jane’s death is obviously still too painful for him. Those six years must feel like yesterday to him.” She was silent for a few more minutes and then insisted. “Come back to bed, my love. Let me warm you.”
When he gave her a cross look, she added, “We have a love that will last forever. A few more years can’t change that.” And then he gave a reluctant smile and rejoined her on the bed.
“Come here.” He growled again and reached for her, only this time, not in anger.
Epilogue
1835 - Weyford Manor
“Emily—. Please, do stop fidgeting.”Lili gave her lady’s maid, Margaret, a sympathetic glance when the poor woman retreated a few feet. They’d been trying to build an elaborate pile of curls intertwined with flowers, ropes of pearls, and intricately folded grosgrain rosettes when her daughter had given one of her impatient shrugs and the whole pyramid had come tumbling down.
Lili instantly regretted her sharp tone when a tear leaked from the edge of one of Emily’s eyes and rolled down her cheek. Emily never cried.
When she knelt down to give the young woman a reassuring squeeze, Emily stared over with a look Lili had come to know so well: her father’s “I’ve had enough, leave me alone” look. Of course, she shouldn’t be surprised.
The two of them were so close, they worked as one during lambing season. Emily and Frederick never spoke during the nights they’d spend in the barn, tending to ailing ewes, or hand-feeding abandoned lambs. Words were unnecessary. Each knew what the other needed before the question was asked.
Sometimes she caught her young son Freddy watching his father and sister with something like admiration tinged with a pinch of jealousy. He was now just a bit older than Emily had been when Lili had first encountered the child over a tattered bear and a cup of cocoa.
In fact, Freddy’s first favored toy had been poor Mr. Withers, who’d been banished to the back of a nursery closet when one of his furry ears had fallen off. Lili hadn’t had the heart to toss away the old stuffed bear that had meant so much to Emily. But, somehow, Freddy had found the poor old creature and adopted him. Lili had stitched shut the opening where the missing ear had been to keep his stuffing from falling out all over the nursery.
Frederick insisted the small boy accompany him everywhere on the farm. He’d at first wailed mightily when his father would scoop him from his cot in the nursery to accompany him to the dairy in the dark morning hours. However, he’d adjusted to the early rising quickly and now was ready and waiting when his “da” summoned him to milking chores.
“Mother—come help us. Please?”
She realized with a start that Emily was crawling across the floor in her chemise, chasing the escaped, rolling pearls, while Margaret crouched to receive the precious globes and re-string them on the garland for the bride’s thick, curling brown hair.
The Emily she knew and loved was back, readying for marriage in Wembledon’s chapel to the man with whom she’d share the rest of her life.
There was a sharp rap at the door followed by Frederick’s bellow he usually reserved for calling in cattle. “What in blazes is taking so long in there? We were expected at the chapel twenty minutes ago. Young Charles will think you’ve changed your mind, Poppet.”
The use of his favorite nickname for Emily softened the tone of his impatience. Lili knew how hard it would be for Frederick to give away his beloved daughter at the chapel altar. Although, in truth, she knew he was exceedingly proud of the capable young woman Emily had become, and her choice to marry young Squire Charles Waverly whose land adjoined theirs. She’d decided to join her life with that of a farmer like her father, in spite of offers she’d had from young, eligible lords in the Howick family’s social circle in Mayfair.
Margaret quickly simplified Emily’s coif, pulling back sections of her hair to braid through with the once-again secured pearls which had been a gift from Lili’s brother, Lord Howick. Howick, she knew, would be as impatient as Frederick at their delayed arrival at the chapel.
He’d returned from an early session at the House of Lords to see Emily wedded to the young man she’d chosen. Emily and Howick had formed an unusually close bond when Lili, Frederick, and Howick’s daughter, Lydia, had traveled to Algiers ten years earlier to find Lydia’s long-lost love, Royal Marine Captain George Neville.