Page 19 of The Mister I Married

Chapter Seven

“Please do sit down, Emmy,” Lady Keswick said from her usual seat on the drawing room sofa, a distinct note of impatience in her voice. “All that pacing is distracting me from my embroidery.”

“I’m too nervous to sit,” Emmy said as she finished yet another turn about the room. “I’ve never asked a man to marry me before.” She flicked another glance at the clock on the mantel and swallowed. “Eighteen minutes to go. Do you think he’ll come?”

“Mr. Whitcomb is a gentleman,” Lady Keswick murmured. “I am certain he would not ignore a lady’s request.” She raised her embroidery ring in the air and scrunched up her nose, inspecting the nearly-finished depiction of Artemis, the little black cat Emmy’s brother had adopted last year.

“You’re right,” Emmy said. “He’ll be here.” Her brow furrowed. “But do you think he’ll marry me?”

She knew it was silly to ask—there was no earthly way for her mother to know—but she couldn’t help herself. The waiting was driving her mad.

“I don’t know, darling,” her mother replied. “But I see no reason why he shouldn’t. He would be lucky to call you his wife.”

Emmy sighed, her gaze on the carpet as she circled the room again. “I suppose so. Marrying a marquess’s sister would certainly be a boon for his family.”

“Yes, it would, but that is not what I meant,” Lady Keswick said. “I meant he would be lucky to have you.”

Emmy’s head came up, and she looked at her mother, her steps slowing to a halt beside the sofa. “Would he?”

Lady Keswick nodded, her gaze still trained on her embroidery. “Of course he would. You are a strong, intelligent, kind-hearted young woman, and he would be a fool not to want you for his wife.”

Emmy slowly sank onto the sofa beside her mother, flummoxed by the unexpected praise. “Oh,” she said faintly. “Thank you.”

Lady Keswick looked up and cocked her head to one side. “Why do you seem so befuddled? Do you disagree with me?”

“No,” Emmy said, shaking her head. “Not exactly. It’s only that I have never heard you speak that way before, and I…it surprised me, that’s all.”

“You’re my daughter, Emmy. I love you.”

“I know you do, but…” She shrugged. “Well, we are very different, you and I, and I know how exasperating I can sometimes be. I suppose I always assumed you would love me better if I were more like you.”

Lady Keswick set her embroidery aside and turned to face Emmy, drawing her hands into her lap. “Do I sometimes wish you were less outspoken and more circumspect?” She smiled. “Of course I do. But you are my daughter, and I love you just as you are. In many ways, you remind me of your father.” Affection filled her eyes. “He was a little too outspoken, as well, you know.”

A delighted smile curved Emmy’s lips. “Was he?”

“Oh, yes. His outspokenness could get him into trouble sometimes.” She chuckled softly. “Indeed, it almost ended our courtship before it had even begun.”

Emmy’s brows shot up. “It did?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “But that is a story for another time.” Her smile sobered and she gave Emmy’s hands a squeeze. “I know you are nervous about becoming a wife, but that is a feeling we all experience before we marry. And, for what it’s worth, I think you have made the right decision.”

“Well, of course you do,” Emmy said. “You’ve been trying to marry me off for years.”

The words were light, but there was an edge to them, too, borne of some underlying emotion she could not contain. It wasn’t resentment, exactly—never that—but it was…something. Exasperation, perhaps.

Her mother, ever astute, seemed to notice it, too. She patted Emmy’s hand. “You’re right, I have. I’ve harped on you and your brother both because I want grandchildren, and I will not apologize for that.” Her mouth had gone mulish, but then she sighed and said, “Mostly, though, I want you to be happy, and I think marriage to the right man can bring a great deal of happiness. It certainly did for me.” Her expression turned wistful. “Though I do hope your marriage will last longer than mine did.”

Emmy squeezed her mother’s hand. “So do I,” she said softly before drawing in a deep breath. “Of course, this is all assuming I can find someone to marry me. I am not exactly the ideal bride.”

“That is nonsense,” Lady Keswick said firmly. “Maybe you are not some soft-spoken English rose, but that does not mean you will not make an excellent wife. It simply means you must find a husband who will appreciate your personality, and even complement it.” She leaned in as if imparting a secret. “And I think Mr. Whitcomb will do just that. He obviously admires you.”

Emmy gave her mother a weak smile, though she was not so confident. Yes, Alex seemed to like her well enough, and he seemed to enjoy their conversations as she did, but she’d never seen any reason to believe he admired her. And even if he did, would it be enough? Was admiration inducement enough for a man to agree to marry a woman he barely knew? A woman he’d known for less than a fortnight?

Saints be, this was probably a terrible idea. And yet, it was too late to back out now, wasn’t it? She’d already summoned him. He was likely on his way at this very moment, and when he arrived, he would want to know why he was here.

And you will tell him why. There is no room for cowardice now.

After all, what did she have to lose?