Page 47 of Truly, Madly, Daring

First, I wish to apologise. You were not entirely correct in assuming I wasn’t sorry to have trapped you. Yes, I wanted to be Lady Kilbane, I cannot deny it, but I never meant to do it this way. You will think me a fool, I know, but I hoped that one day you would choose me. I knew it was a forlorn hope, and I know most people believe me to be reckless and irresponsible, and it is true enough. I am tenacious and patient when I must be, however. I am like my father in that respect. Please believe me when I tell you, I would never have wished to take your choices away from you, and I deeply regret having done so.

I cannot help but wish you had given me a chance, though. I know you think me young and naive and foolish, and perhaps you are correct, but I feel I understand you. I cannot help but believe this is why you despise me so, because you do not wish to be understood. There is the world, and then there is Lord Kilbane, and that is the way you prefer it. You have become accustomed to being an outsider, to being reviled, and there is comfort in familiarity. Trying for anything more makes you vulnerable, it gives others power over you, and you do not want that.

I have no power over you, my lord. I am your wife, and I am in your hands. There is no risk here. If you ever change your mind. I shall be waiting for you.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Most Hon’ble Lady Catherine ‘Cat’ St Just, Marchioness of Kilbane (daughter of The Most Hon’ble Lucian and Matilda Barrington, Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu) to her husband, Ciarán St Just, Marquess of Kilbane.

17th of February 1845, Cawston Hall, Cawston, Norfolk.

Lady Lucinda Steyning was an elegant woman in her early fifties, tall and slender, and with piercing blue eyes of a shade lighter than her niece and nephew. The resemblance was marked, however. She shared Wrexham’s high cheekbones, fair hair, and remarkable looks. Though she must have been an extraordinarily lovely young woman, she was still stunning, shining with confidence and an air of vibrancy that made one suspect she was plotting mischief. Yet she had never married. Emmeline admitted herself intrigued, but was far too polite to ask questions.

“Rex, you wicked boy. You know very well I’ve been sat upon thorns these past days and still you make me wait. Surely you might have left off primping and preening for a few moments to come and see me?”

“Sadly, no, Aunt,” Wrexham said, shaking his head and adopting a sorrowful expression. “For I am a shallow and frivolous creature, as you well know.”

“Scapegrace,” the lady said, shaking her head as she walked to him and took his free hand. “Embrace me, you horrid boy.”

Wrexham laughed and did as he was told until Lady Lucinda straightened and turned her attention to Emmeline.

“So, your wife,” she said, her expression unreadable.

Emmeline quailed inwardly, instinct telling her Aunt Lucy was no pushover and was exceedingly protective of her nephew. However, she was disinclined to be pushed around either, or intimidated. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, my lady. Wrexham speaks most fondly of you.”

“I did nothing of the sort,” Wrexham retorted. “I said you were a frightful old bat and not to be trusted.”

“Wrexham!” Emmeline muttered, mortified. She turned back to his aunt. “Indeed, he did not. My husband is teasing me, I’m afraid. It seems to delight him to do so.”

Lady Lucinda looked from Emmeline to Wrexham and back again.

“Is she glaring at me, aunt?” Wrexham asked, clearly hellbent on being a devil. “No, don’t answer, I know she is. I can feel it. Such a glower she has, I swear it could etch glass.”

Emmeline blushed, uncertain what to say but as ever she could never resist a tart remark. “If that were true, there would be no windows remaining in your travelling carriage, my lord, only a small pile of sand.”

“Oh, Rex, were you beastly on the horrid journey to Scotland?” Delia asked, her expression one of concern. “And I begged and begged you to be patient.”

“I was patient,” he said, folding his arms. “I was saintly and impeccably behaved for the entire journey. A perfect gentleman.”

“Ha!” Emmeline said in outrage, unable to hold her tongue despite his aunt’s unnerving gaze. “You were a perfect nuisance. Poor Humboldt could have murdered you five times over, you provoked him so, and I’d not have lifted a finger to help you.”

“There, you see, Aunt? You see how she scolds me.”

“I do see,” his aunt replied, and Emmeline’s heart dropped at the cool comment. “And I’m relieved to discover you’ve married a woman with wit enough to keep up with you. Well done.”

“Knew you’d like her,” Wrexham said, smirking as Emmeline sighed in relief.

“Welcome to Cawston Hall,” Lady Lucinda said, her expression warm as she held out her hand to Emmeline. “Not that is my place to welcome you, but we are so pleased to see you. That brute of a brother of mine needs thwarting, and Delia and I are not up to the job alone. Delia is in a precarious position as his daughter, and the duke knows too many of my secrets. You, though, you have spirit. I can see it in those green eyes of yours. You’re very like your beautiful mama, aren’t you?”

“Thank you, my lady. I consider that a great compliment,” Emmeline replied sincerely.

“I wish you could see her, Rex. You’d be exceedingly smug.”

“Describe her to me,” Wrexham asked, suddenly intent. “I asked Humboldt, but you know what he is for keeping things brief.”

Emmeline fidgeted as Delia and Aunt Lucy looked her up and down.

“Oh, Rex, she is beautiful,” Delia said with a sigh. “Her hair is thick and lustrous, a dark chestnut, but it sparks bronze in the firelight, and her skin is fair, smooth as cream.”

“I must agree, she is quite lovely,” Aunt Lucy said in a considering tone. “An excellent figure, slender but not skinny. A classically proportioned face, straight nose, and rather an imperious slant to her eyebrows that gives her character, but it’s her eyes. Don’t you agree, Delia?”