Page 16 of Truly, Madly, Daring

Wrexham laughed, and Emmeline’s heart did an odd little jump in her chest. She paused with the ladle in mid-air and just stared at him. How she loved to hear him laugh, to know that she had made him happy, at least a little, enough to draw the merry sound from him. With some difficulty, she forced her attention back to the job at hand and set the bowl in front of him again.

“Thank you, pet,” he said, such warmth in his voice that Emmeline shivered, the desire to shift closer to him, to lean into his large frame, making her nerves leap.

“I’m not a beagle,” she retorted instead, retreating to the safety of bantering with him to avoid making a fool of herself. “Nor a terrier or a dachshund.”

He grinned, and Emmeline smothered a sigh of despair at the effect it had on her poor, bewildered heart.

“No, I should say not,” he agreed rather too readily. “Rather, a pampered little kitten, with tremendously sharp claws.”

Emmeline narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t patronise me. I’m far more fearsome than a kitten, and you’re a fool if you believe otherwise.”

He laughed again, delighting her. “Ah, this is true. I do you a disservice. You beard the fearsome angry lion in his den, do you not… my little lioness?”

Emmeline tried hard not to preen, rather too pleased with this portrait and uncertain how to scold him for the rather flattering comparison.

“Ah, you liked that,” he observed, making her flush scarlet as she wondered how on earth he could have discerned such a thing.

“A lioness is a not a displeasing image,” she replied, struggling to keep her voice even. “Better than a beagle.”

“I should never have imagined you as a beagle,” he said, which immediately made her wonder what he did imagine.

“What do you think I look like?” she asked suddenly, and instantly wished to take the words back. “No, don’t answer that. I should not wish you to think me vain. I’m really not.”

“Then you’re in the minority here,” he replied gravely. “And Humboldt told me you were petite and brunette and lovely, with big green eyes, but… I should like a clearer picture, if I may?”

“Oh, you cannot possibly ask me to describe myself. I told you before I won’t do it,” she protested.

“Then I shall just have to imagine you,” he replied, shrugging. “And besides all the lovely attributes Humboldt imbued you with, I suspect you have a turned-up nose and a stubborn tilt to your chin.”

“I do not have a turned-up nose,” she objected at once.

Wrexham burst out laughing, and Emmeline huffed at him.

“Well, perhaps I am a little vain,” she admitted ruefully, which only made him laugh all the harder. “Very well, and stubborn.”

This delighted him so much he threw his head back, apparently enjoying himself immensely. Emmeline sighed and gave in to the inevitable, gazing at him adoringly. Lord, but he was handsome, and she was smitten. Drat the man.

Chapter 5

Dearest diary,

How long it has been since I wrote anything here, and too much has happened for me to fill in the gaps.

Today is my last as Lady Catherine Barrington. By this time tomorrow, I shall be Lady Catherine St Just, The Marchioness of Kilbane.

Everyone is talking about me.

I am trying very hard to appear as if I do not care at all, and to look like Papa does, all remote elegance, but it is terribly difficult when one is constantly on the verge of tears. It is only now I truly appreciate how hard he works to keep his feelings hidden from the world.

Oh, what a blessed mess I have made of everything. But I shall come about. You just wait and see.

―Excerpt of a diary entry by Lady Catherine ‘Cat’ Barrington (daughter of The Most Hon’ble Lucian and Matilda Barrington, The Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu).

15th of February 1845, Holbrook House, Sussex.

Cat watched despondently as her nephew, Jacob, entered the library with one of his friends in tow. Jacob, Viscount Ridley, was the eldest son of her parents’ adopted daughter Phoebe. This actually made him her cousin, for Phoebe was her Uncle Thomas’ daughter. Thomas died when Phoebe was a baby, so Papa had taken Phoebe on himself. She had been a wonderful big sister to Cat, and her husband, Max, was an absolute darling. Jacob was a pain in her derriere, and the two of them usually squabbled, especially if one of his loathsome friends were with him. Now, however, she noticed the honourable Mr Peregrine Bancroft, who was actually very decent.

“Well, you’ve landed yourself right in the basket,” Jacob said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and staring down at her.