Emily of this? It would break her heart to know that her mother was well aware of the caliber of man her daughter was marrying.
He couldn't imagine how painful it would be to know that her own mother was secretly glad of the danger in which her daughter's life would be until she bore the marquess a son and heir. It was only to be hoped that the countess did not realize the marquess was a murderer as well as an unscrupulous seducer. Surely even she would draw the line at such a man for a son-in — for propriety's sake at least.
* * * * *
Emily had been allowed to take a turn in the garden — with an eager footman at her elbow. It was most vexing to feel as if one were boxed and packed in cotton. Despite the years of seclusion at the castle, she had never felt her isolation and imprisonment so oppressively as she did now. Perhaps, she reflected, it was because the marquess was stalking her like a fox with a hare, or perhaps it was because Valentine was under the same roof, and yet still as far away as he had always been since the duke had halted their elopement attempt.
Nan assured her each day and night that he remained unnoticed in his role as footman. But she had little more information on how he fared. She thought she could have borne the marquess's attentions, wanted or not, if only she had been able to look at Valentine, to find out what he was thinking, what he was planning. At the very least, to tell him what she was planning herself. She had been too afraid to even send messages through Nancy. Though Valentine obviously thought her trustworthy, Emily herself was too aware of how her previous maid had betrayed her.
Perhaps she should be surprised at how unexpectedly difficult it was to forget that Valentine was under the same roof, considering that she had been separated from him for three years. But she had never lost her faith in him and now she knew the depth of her feelings--how fully she trusted him, and how much she wished she could discuss this situation with him.
For one brief moment, she had hoped that Soames would assign Valentine as the footman to accompany her in the gardens, but he had not. She glanced at the face of the young servant who had been chosen to accompany her. Deliberately, she memorized his features. Soames had called him Ned. She promised herself she would call him by name from now on. And perhaps it was even a blessing that Ned had been chosen rather than Valentine, considering what she planned to do.
Valentine had an uncanny knack of knowing when she was about to spring some plan into action. He might have stopped her out of misguided chivalry. After being locked in her room for so long, the fresh air in her lungs was sweetness itself. She breathed deeply, and wandered the gardens aimlessly, keeping just ahead of Ned so she could pretend that she was actually alone — perhaps even waiting for Valentine to join her for a stroll. A pleasant but useless fantasy.
She was not terribly surprised when her mother and the marquess joined her after only fifteen minutes. If she hadn't had a plan in place, she might have dreaded seeing them. But she not only had a plan, she had a great deal of hope that she would at last convince the marquess that she was unhappily star-crossed — even for a man who had been born with the nine lives of a cat. A quick glance confirmed that there was a bench nearby. Without warning Ned, she veered from the path and headed for it. With an ostentatious sigh of exhaustion, she sat.
It would not do for her mother to insist she walk with Francis. They must be seated for her plan to work. They approached her deliberately, neither hurrying nor dallying. She felt like a mouse being toyed with by a pair of cats. Nervous tension crept into her fingers and toes, and she pushed it back down. Now was not the time for timidity or cowardice.
Carefully she took the bottle full of bees from her skirt and placed it under the bench. It had taken three days to collect the bees
He couldn't imagine how painful it would be to know that her own mother was secretly glad of the danger in which her daughter's life would be until she bore the marquess a son and heir. It was only to be hoped that the countess did not realize the marquess was a murderer as well as an unscrupulous seducer. Surely even she would draw the line at such a man for a son-in — for propriety's sake at least.
* * * * *
Emily had been allowed to take a turn in the garden — with an eager footman at her elbow. It was most vexing to feel as if one were boxed and packed in cotton. Despite the years of seclusion at the castle, she had never felt her isolation and imprisonment so oppressively as she did now. Perhaps, she reflected, it was because the marquess was stalking her like a fox with a hare, or perhaps it was because Valentine was under the same roof, and yet still as far away as he had always been since the duke had halted their elopement attempt.
Nan assured her each day and night that he remained unnoticed in his role as footman. But she had little more information on how he fared. She thought she could have borne the marquess's attentions, wanted or not, if only she had been able to look at Valentine, to find out what he was thinking, what he was planning. At the very least, to tell him what she was planning herself. She had been too afraid to even send messages through Nancy. Though Valentine obviously thought her trustworthy, Emily herself was too aware of how her previous maid had betrayed her.
Perhaps she should be surprised at how unexpectedly difficult it was to forget that Valentine was under the same roof, considering that she had been separated from him for three years. But she had never lost her faith in him and now she knew the depth of her feelings--how fully she trusted him, and how much she wished she could discuss this situation with him.
For one brief moment, she had hoped that Soames would assign Valentine as the footman to accompany her in the gardens, but he had not. She glanced at the face of the young servant who had been chosen to accompany her. Deliberately, she memorized his features. Soames had called him Ned. She promised herself she would call him by name from now on. And perhaps it was even a blessing that Ned had been chosen rather than Valentine, considering what she planned to do.
Valentine had an uncanny knack of knowing when she was about to spring some plan into action. He might have stopped her out of misguided chivalry. After being locked in her room for so long, the fresh air in her lungs was sweetness itself. She breathed deeply, and wandered the gardens aimlessly, keeping just ahead of Ned so she could pretend that she was actually alone — perhaps even waiting for Valentine to join her for a stroll. A pleasant but useless fantasy.
She was not terribly surprised when her mother and the marquess joined her after only fifteen minutes. If she hadn't had a plan in place, she might have dreaded seeing them. But she not only had a plan, she had a great deal of hope that she would at last convince the marquess that she was unhappily star-crossed — even for a man who had been born with the nine lives of a cat. A quick glance confirmed that there was a bench nearby. Without warning Ned, she veered from the path and headed for it. With an ostentatious sigh of exhaustion, she sat.
It would not do for her mother to insist she walk with Francis. They must be seated for her plan to work. They approached her deliberately, neither hurrying nor dallying. She felt like a mouse being toyed with by a pair of cats. Nervous tension crept into her fingers and toes, and she pushed it back down. Now was not the time for timidity or cowardice.
Carefully she took the bottle full of bees from her skirt and placed it under the bench. It had taken three days to collect the bees
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