Page 11 of Pursuing a Duke
Two hours later, Emmeline was sitting with her maid in her carriage for the four-hour trek to London. Behind them, Andrew, Weston, and Caldwell rode on horseback while Aiden’s body was strapped to the top of Andrew’s carriage inside awooden box. Behind them was Beckett with her and Aiden’s trunks. Rolling behind them all were Weston’s coach, their valets, and trunks.
Sitting beside Emmeline, Amanda held her hand. Not a word was said during the carriage ride, and they never made a stop. She couldn’t speak as she was shrouded in sorrow so acute she didn’t know if she would ever come out the other side. Ever be whole again. Ever feel anything else but this sadness overwhelming her soul. As she sat, holding Amanda’s hand, Emmeline stared out the window, seeing only a blur of green and brown.
Eventually, the countryside was replaced with the sights and sounds of London. Emmeline tugged her hand from Amanda’s and covered her ears. She felt suddenly eight years old again, a little girl hiding beneath a table during a ball. Her senses were hyper-aware, and she wanted to scream, run, and hide away where no one could find her. The sounds bombarding her were the worst. They surrounded her, paralyzing her in her seat and making her gasp for air. The noises cocooned her body and refused to let her free.
When the carriage door opened, her eyes widened, and her gasps for air increased which made her dizzy. Swirls of blackness spun in her eyes until nothing.
*
Andrew swept Emmelineinto his arms as her mother rushed down the front stairs. “What has happened?” the dowager baroness asked, pale with worry.
“She has fainted.”
“Come this way.” The baroness led Andrew into the house and up the stairs and had him place Emmeline on the drawingroom settee. “Why did my daughter faint? And where is her husband?”
Weston and Caldwell followed them into the drawing room, looking as if they wanted to be anywhere but there. Weston replied before Andrew could. “There was a riding accident. I’m so sorry. Aiden is dead. His body is being brought in.”
“No,” the baroness cried as she sat on the edge of the settee, stroking her daughter’s hair. “My poor, poor girl.”
“Mama,” Emmeline murmured as her eyes fluttered open, and Andrew’s entire body froze as he glimpsed the silent agony from deep within her eyes.
Her mother continued stroking Emmeline’s hair. “Gentlemen, thank you for returning my daughter and Aiden’s body, but we would prefer to be alone with our grief.”
Andrew, Weston, and Caldwell left with their heads down and hearts heavy. At least Andrew’s heart was, and he had no doubt his friends’ were as well.
*
The next fourdays were the worst of Emmeline’s life. Aiden’s body was laid out in the public drawing room. People came by and paid their respects. Her mind and body refused to comprehend it all. It was better that way really. She didn’t cry, nor did she feel much of anything. She was just numb. Her body moved, and she heard herself say all the proper things to the visiting mourners, yet somehow, she didn’t exist. A fog blanketed her, protecting her from her pain and allowing her to go on.
When Aiden’s body entered the earth in the graveyard on Mount Street for the parish members of St. George’s, Hanover Square, she walked away knowing half of her had gone into the ground with him.
*
Two and ahalf long years after Aiden’s death, Emmeline was shocked when Andrew showed up at her door late one night, drunk. She’d barely seen him since the day she’d buried Aiden. She’d become a recluse, barely leaving the house and not socializing except for the Ladies’ Society of Mayfair she belonged to. The members and her charity work kept her busy enough and saved her sanity. She did not need the London social scene. Life as she had known it was over for her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling him inside. “Get in here before someone sees you.” Once inside, she tugged him up the stairs and into the drawing room, forcing him to sit in a chair. Before settling on the settee, she checked the ties to her robe, hoping she was sufficiently covered.
Sitting, her hands trembling on her lap, she studied Andrew. Gone was the impeccably groomed and put-together young man, and her heart ached. Before her sat a man she didn’t recognize; his hair was overlong and disheveled. His clothing was askew, and his cravat was untied and bore wine stains. His scuffed boots looked like his valet hadn’t polished them in weeks. But what shocked her the most was how much weight he’d lost. His cheeks were hollowed out, and his eyes sunken, bloodshot, and rimmed with dark circles. His overall pallor was gray-tinged. If she didn’t know any better, she would think he was on death’s door. Tears sprang in her eyes, and she fought them back along with the lump in her throat. It went without saying that her heart had pounded inside her chest from the moment she opened the door.
“Can I get you anything? Something to drink or eat?”
His hands tugged at his hair, and he made an unintelligible sound. “Something to eat would be nice.”
“Excuse me while I see what I can find in the kitchen.” She hurried down the stairs to the kitchen, where the cookalways left food for such an occasion as visitors in the middle of the night or someone needing a snack. Mostly, she left it for Harrison, her butler, as he spent many wakeful nights in the kitchen. Emmeline fixed a plate of cold turkey, bread, and cheese with a glass of lemonade and hurried back to Andrew, surprised to see him still awake. She had been almost positive he would fall asleep while she was in the kitchen. She handed him the plate and placed the glass of lemonade on a side table.
He ate in silence, his attention focused solely on his food. When only crumbs remained on his plate, he put it on the side table, picked up the lemonade, and downed the glass.
“Thank you,” he mumbled.
She barely heard him. She cleared her throat. “What brings you to my door at this hour?” She would be lying to herself if she hadn’t been waiting for him to come to her door once her mourning for Aiden had ended. But the more time passed—and he still hadn’t come—the more she sank into despair that he would never come. Perhaps he had never loved her. Now finally he came, one and a half years out of mourning, and he looked to be at death’s door. She fought back the tears—her intuition warned her he wasn’t here for her.
His shoulders rose and fell as he inhaled and exhaled. “My father threw me out. Threatened to disown me. I’ve been staying at Mayfair Imports and Exports. Weston and Caldwell have a sofa in their office.”
Emmeline’s mouth opened in shock as she tried to find the words to speak. “He threw you out?”
“I think I made that clear.”
“But why?” Her eyes connected with his, and Emmeline’s heart stopped at witnessing tears slide down his face. The only other time she had seen Andrew cry was when Aiden died.
