The thought of brilliant, pretty Emily Baylor becoming a drudge in someone’s household made his gut clench in denial. Although the bleak truth was that she was unlikely to find employment, even without taking the other night’s hullabaloo into consideration. No sensible lady would take on such an attractive girl, if there were any virile males in the vicinity.
"A governess needs a spotless reputation, Emily," he said quietly.
He saw the second the full horror of her changed circumstances hit her. Her eyes rounded, and her mouth dropped open. "But we’re innocent of anything but stupidity."
"The world doesn’t believe that." Aching regret weighted his voice. "And the world has the last word on this matter."
He rose and bowed to her. He knew her well enough to see that all he could do now was leave her to stew on their predicament. "I’ll call tomorrow to hear your answer."
Emily went back to looking hunted. "Tomorrow?"
"Yes. And if we’re proceeding with this match, I’ll call on your father on Friday morning so you can prepare him for my visit." He picked up his hat and turned to go, but paused at the door. "I’m sorry, Emily. This is all my fault. My damned temper got the better of me."
When she didn’t respond, Hamish glanced back. As unmoving as a marble statue, she stared after him. He could guess the thoughts whirling through her mind, and he couldn’t help but pity her. She’d soon understand the inescapable price of their recklessness.
His shoulders slumped as he left the room and the woman who was to become his bride. However much she might wish to evade that fate.
Chapter 6
Hamish stood outside the tall white house in the heart of Bloomsbury and knocked. Polly opened the door to him as if she’d been waiting in the hall.
She probably had.
Yesterday he’d turned up uninvited on the Baylor doorstep. Last night, he’d received a brief note from Emily asking him to call at eleven in the morning. She hadn’t said anything else, so he remained unsure whether she meant to agree to marry him or send him on his way with a resounding refusal.
He hoped to the devil she intended to accept him. As he’d gone about yesterday, he’d resented the curious glances cast in his direction, and conversations cut short the moment he came into earshot. The longer he and Emily delayed announcing their engagement, the worse the talk would get. As he’d said to her, he’d meet with some disapproval and the official support for his activities would evaporate, but he’d be able to continue his life as a young buck about town. Emily, on the other hand, would become an outcast. It wasn’t fair, especially when the fault was his. But it was the way of the world.
If common sense prevailed, he’d leave this house to see Emily’s vicar, then arrange the betrothal announcement in the Morning Post. He’d decided to proceed as if scandal hadn’t precipitated this engagement. Having the banns called and pretending that wedding Sir John Baylor’s daughter was his dearest wish would combat the nasty rumors.
At the thought of how his life was about to change, his gut clenched with useless denial. He didn’t want to marry Emily. He didn’t want to marry anyone, not under duress.
If Emily had let her resentment get the better of her – and he wasn’t the only one in this partnership who could build up a head of steam – he’d have to abide by her decision, however unwillingly. It was up to her if she wished to accept his offer later, once she realized how the scandal was going to destroy her life. He’d seen enough of the world to know that if they did nothing to scotch the talk, life was going to turn very unpleasant indeed for her. Whichever way he looked at it, a wedding loomed in his future.
"Mr. Douglas has called, Miss Baylor," Polly said, ushering him into the library.
Even the usually irrepressible housemaid seemed to know that something momentous happened here today. This morning, there had been no indiscreet chatter.
Looking composed and pale, Emily rose from behind the desk. "Good morning, Hamish."
She’d dressed for his visit in a dark blue gown that lent her an austere air. Her lovely hair was confined in a tight knot that made him want to wince. She looked like a nun.
Hamish searched her wan face for some sign of emotion, but her eyes were opaque and her lips didn’t curve in a smile. He began to suspect she’d called him here to reject him. "Good morning, Emily."
She indicated two chairs in the center
of the room, clearly placed ready for this interview. He noted the more than tactful distance between them. "Please sit down."
He waited for her to take her place, then sat down. "How is your father this morning?"
Now Hamish was closer, he noticed that she looked even wearier than she had yesterday. There were shadows beneath her fine eyes, and he guessed some of her pallor must be due to sleeplessness. Had she lain awake worrying about her future? Or had she nursed her father through another troubled night?
Whatever happened today, Hamish had decided to pay for a qualified woman to assist with Sir John’s care. He owed it to his mentor, although right now he was more interested in restoring the bloom to Emily’s pretty face.
With more of that studied calmness, she folded her hands in her lap. "He had a better night, thank you."
"I’m glad."
So Hamish must blame his proposal for robbing her of sleep. He wished it was otherwise. But then he’d wished things were otherwise since he’d faced that wall of avid faces in Greenwich.