Page 35 of The Marquess and the Wallflower
“It shows how perceptive they are, doesn’t it? Seeing things that I should have seen all along.” He lifted a hand to his lips another time. On this occasion, he was more formal with his kiss as they were surrounded by others, but that did not stop the excitement that shot through Emily at that kiss.
As he pulled her toward the card table and the two of them sat down together, they never once separated their hands, staying permanently connected, with their fingers entwined all evening.
* * *
“What a weekend it has been!” Charity said as she bustled into Emily’s room. “I am so happy for you my dear.”
Emily smiled as she turned away from the window, packed and ready to leave. Wearing her spencer jacket with her bonnet over her auburn locks, she was ready to leave, though she found her feet reluctant to part from the room. Her mother came toward her, taking her cheeks in her hands and patting her lovingly.
“Two days and already your suitor has to be the most attentive I have ever seen. It makes me envious,” Charity said playfully. “It makes me long for the days your father was courting me.”
Emily giggled, scarcely able to believe what was happening herself. Since Lord Tattershall had laid his heart bare at the beginning of their trip, there had scarcely been a moment where she and Lord Tattershall had been apart.
The first day they had gone sightseeing, wandering through the Royal Pavilion and the surrounding gardens. The second day had been spent mostly at the seaside before lazy walks around the coast. Lord Tattershall had never left Emily’s side and the two of them had always been jesting together, constantly smiling.
“Oh, we mustn’t forget these.” Charity stepped away from Emily and picked up the vase of flowers that was placed at the side of the room. “Where on earth did he find these at this time of year? Perhaps he found a hot house in Brighton?”
“He refuses to tell me. I think he has a few tricks up his sleeves. Like some sort of illusionist!” Emily said, laughing as she took one of the red roses out of the vase and inhaled the perfect scent. Lord Tattershall had brought them for her the night before, saying the red rose was perfect for her, beautiful, yet bold and seductive. She practically wriggled with delight at the description.Me? Seductive?
“I will take them to Mrs. Hall. She may have some paper we can wrap the stems in.” Charity crossed back to Emily again, resting her hand dotingly on Emily’s cheek. “I am so happy for you, dearest.”
“Thank you, Mama. I can tell. Your cheeks have such smiling dimples I wonder if they have been created with hat pins.” Her jest brought a raucous laugh from her mother who bustled out of the room, holding the flowers out in front of her.
For a minute, Emily could not leave the room. She turned in a circle, not wanting to escape. This was the place that had made her so happy. This was where Lord Tattershall had given her his heart. It made her reluctant to leave at all.
“Lady Emily?” A voice called from outside of the room.
“Yes?” Emily moved to the door, finding Mrs. Hall on the other side proffering her a letter.
“Another letter has arrived for you, my Lady.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, taking the letter and nodding her head to the lady. Only after Mrs. Hall had left and Emily pushed the door ajar again, did she turn her eyes to the letter, then her smile wavered.
There was something wrong. The handwriting was the same as in that note she had been given before. Something about the f’s and s’ were very distinctive, slanting sideways and curving down as low as y’s and g’s.
“Not another.” Emily felt the happiness leave her in a woosh, as though it had been captured by a breath of wind that rattled through the window, sweeping it away and taking it far out of reach. She sat heavily down on the window seat and ripped open the plain red wax seal in a hurry, noting how thick the letter was as she worked. It felt bulky, as if something had been pressed between the pages.
As the letter unfolded, shreds of material fell out, drifting to the floor in loose strands. Emily stared, wide-eyed, gazing at the shreds in wonder. It took a minute to recognize the material. It was the same Pomona green silk that had been in her last reticule.
“That’s not possible. I dropped that reticule in the river.” She tossed the letter to the side for a minute, trying her best to pick up the material as quickly as she could, grasping each shred with frantic fingers. As fast as she picked them up, they began to slip away again. “What is happening?” She bundled the shreds on the window seat beside her before she found one particularly strip of green silk. It bore the label of the maker, the same label that was in her reticule. “It is my reticule. Who would do this?”
She reached for the letter again, scrambling with such purpose and panic that she knocked some of the shreds back onto the floor. Pulling open the letter and flattening it out, she found this letter was much shorter than the last.
It had to be sent by the same person, for the handwriting was just the same, yet they made no attempt to hide their meaning this time. It didn’t even take the form of a full letter, it was just written hurriedly, in such haste that there were ink splodges around the side of the page and down the bottom where they hadn’t even signed off.
‘Lady Emily,
I have told you to stay away from Lord Tattershall and you have not listened. Such gossip has reached London now that it leaves me in no doubt of what your connection with him is. This is your very last warning. Take heed, or you will find more problems as such has befallen your reticule here. Enjoy trying to sew your reticule back together.
Stay away from him.’
Emily dropped the letter to the shredded green material, feeling her fingers were shaking.
“Who is sending these letters?”
Chapter Twelve
“Is my mother home?” Aaron asked as he stepped through the doorway, into his father’s house. He walked with a spring in his step and a practical bounce as he handed the top hat over to the butler.
