Forever Yours Series Bundle (Book 1-3)

“That would be allowing me to live my life however it makes me happy, Anthony.”

“Do you not want a family, Emma? Children of your own.”

A surge of longing darted through her heart, and a lump grew in her throat. She wanted a family, love, comfort, security, and happiness. She acknowledged the argument that she was like other women in wanting those things, but there was also an untapped desire that had brewed in her soul over the years. It had grown as she had come to terms with the fact that she was maimed. That part of her desired adventure, something different from the terrible predictability that was her life. Quite often the two needs mashed together painfully inside, disturbing any contentment she found with her current situation. Marrying Coventry when she did not love him, and when she would be the object of his pity and derision was not the sort of life she wanted. “Not with Coventry.”

Her brother’s brows came together in a considering frown. “He is only two and forty. He likes you despite…despite.” He broke off with a frustrated growl.

Emma stood. “Despite my scars which he has not see

n? Despite my limping? Despite that, on the days when the cramps are terrible, I use a wheelchair? Despite the fact I may truly never be able to have children? Did you or papa inform him of all the facts when he made his offer?”

His expression hardened. “He will call upon you tomorrow. I expect you to be courteous and give him a fair chance.”

“I cannot promise to be available.”

“You are unreasonable.”

“I am not,” she said firmly. “The last suitor you and papa pushed in my path informed me in no uncertain terms when we wed, I would remain in the country and never venture into society. I hadn’t even accepted his offer, and he was ashamed of my situation. I cannot bear being trapped with anyone who would make me feel inferior and an object to be pitied. Can you assure me Lord Coventry would be different?”

Before her brother could reply, the door opened and in sailed their aunt Beatrice, who despite her short and plump stature, looked very elegant in a dark green riding habit, and matching hat with a decorative dyed feather. Bright blue eyes scanned the drawing room. “How delightful that you are both here! I’ve just arrived from Bath where I left your father and mother taking the waters. I’ve heard the wonderful news that Lord Coventry will be courting you. I thought you would need my guidance, my dear.”

Exasperation rushed through Emma. “Not you too, Aunt Beatrice.”

Her aunt shot her a bird-like look of inquiry. “But this is great news is it not?”

“No, it is not, I have no wish to be courted by Lord Coventry.”

“But he is an earl!”

“My goodness, I’m a trifle tired. I am sure Anthony will explain.” She ambled over to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for caring, brother, but I do not need you to direct my life, just to love and support me.”

Anthony scowled. “Emma—”

She walked away from his absurd orders, and her aunt’s query of ‘upon my word, have her senses departed her?’Emma moved out into the hallway, closing the door softly on her exit. Her family wanted her to be happy. She supposed one had to make allowances for that. But she would not let them dictate her life when she was of age, and had an inheritance of five thousand pounds and could manage her affairs herself. They evidently thought her an invalid and were willing to foist her onto the first man who showed some interest in her.

Except for Elliot…

Her throat tightened with remembered pain and happiness.

The acquaintance between herself and the duke had been longstanding, except he hadn’t been the powerful and arrogant duke of Hartford then, merely the charming, good-natured, and ambitious Mr. Elliot Winthrop.

She was the second daughter of a gentleman, the viscount Sherwood, and Elliot was the son of the local doctor. He’d always treated her with kindness and pleasant sweetness, never objecting as her brother had done when she insisted on riding astride in breeches with them across the fens or swimming in the lake in her chemisette, their laughter ringing across windswept grasslands. He hadn’t thought her improper or ill-bred as her brother had often lamented, but had merely encouraged her to be daring and true to her own nature.

She had been fifteen at the time, to Elliot’s nineteen, and had been quite desperately in love with her brother’s friend. She had known without a doubt he was the man she would marry and had believed he felt a similar attachment.

Life had seemed happy, then the curricle race had happened, and everything had been unbearable for months. When Elliot had asked her to marry him while she lay hurt in bed, with pity in his eyes, she had said no for she had loved him too much to saddle him with a broken wife. He’d asked again, and she’d said no. She’d cared deeply that the two doctors her papa had consulted with, had declared the possibility of her never walking or having children because of her injuries. Her family had objected most passionately for he’d had no connections and wealth and had aspired to visit Edinburgh to study and become a doctor like his father. That aspect hadn’t mattered to Emma though. He had renewed his offer several times over the next few months, and she had refused until he had stopped asking.

Then a few months later what had seemed like an army of solicitors and the Duchess of Hartford had tracked him down to Devon. Her Elliot had been the next in line for a dukedom.

‘Don’t forget me,’ she’d whispered fervently when he had been collected by the duchess whom Emma had dubbed the dragon.

‘Will you…remember me?’ she had asked with such aching sadness.

He’d given her a brief, wordless nod. Instead of walking away he stood for a timeless moment. “Wait for me, promise.”

Her heart had soared with gladness. “I will,” she’d replied, though knowing in her heart once he glimpsed the world before him, he wouldn’t care to remember the broken daughter of an impoverished viscount. Eager to keep her promise to Elliot, she had written to him often, but he had been an indifferent correspondent, only replying to a few of the dozens of letters she had posted to him.

Of course, he had become imminently suitable to her family after it was confirmed he was the next duke of Hartford.