Year After Year (Hathaway/Wallflower Next Generation)
As promised to xlovebecomesher and lapiccolina, here is more of my Hathaway/Wallflower 'verse. I even went back and filled in all the missing gaps I didn't post yesterday (no pressure to go back, this is set up like a soap opera, so you can 'fast forward' through things that don't interest you). I just decided, fuck it, I'll post the whole damn thing. It's not my best writing, but I had a blast doing it.
Title: Year After Year
Characters: Elizabeth Rutledge, Jeremy Hunt, Jake Valentine, Cat Hathaway, Leo Hathaway, Adelaide Hathaway, Emmaline Hathaway, Russell Bowman, Harry Rutledge
Rating: pg
Word Count: 5,275
Summary: You put your arms around me and I'm home...
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Note: Random cuts from my 2011 NaNo, Next Generation fic for Lisa Kleypas's Wallflower & Hathaway series. Not all will be posted, but if you have any certain character you would like to see, let me know and I will see what I have (or perhaps write something new in this universe). This is all set about 20 years after the Hathaway series.
Elizabeth’s first instinct was to turn and run away from this stranger. Who else would hide in a linen closet but a thief...or worse? But even as she frantically jiggled the doorknob behind her, it wouldn’t budge.
The stranger sighed. “I told you that I wish you hadn’t done that.” As Elizabeth’s eyes adjusted to the dark, she took in this man. Tall, nearly as tall as her Uncle Kev, but a bit slimmer and more graceful like her Uncle Cam. He was dressed well very well, he looked as though he was dressed for the ball. Obviously a guest. His hair was dark and slightly unkempt, and his jaw had the slight shadow that all men with heavy beards always had. Not yet thirty but older than her, that was certain. And very dark eyes, glittering black in the dark room. He looked somewhat familiar, but Elizabeth did not know how she could have met a man who looked so extraordinary and not remember his name.
With a rueful smile, he held up the small, intricate box of springs and levers that were installed on every door in the hotel. They were her father’s own invention, a door could not be opened without the specific key to each. They were exceedingly difficult to remove and even more so to install. Elizabeth stared at it. “How did you get that? Wait a moment, who are you?”
The stranger laughed, a rich, hearty sound, with a smile that crinkled his eyes at the corners. “My, but you are bold. I could ask the same question, what is an unaccompanied maiden doing sneaking around the hotel, darting into cupboards? Could it be you’re having a scandalous, clandestine meeting?”
The gall! Elizabeth had never been spoken to in such a manner in her life. (Her father would have flattened any one who attempted it, and her uncles and cousins would have been close behind.) She cleared her throat. “Excuse me, sir, but this is my hotel.” It was her home, anyway.
The man leaned one shoulder against the wall, cocking his head to one side, and quite clearly unimpressed. “You’re Miss Rutledge,” he said softly. His eyes wandered down briefly, and Elizabeth could feel herself go flush, grateful for the dark. “I should have known,” he added. “You’re just as beautiful as they say. So this night is all for you, then?”
“I...” It had sounded like a compliment but came out more like an accusation. “Not all for me. It’s also...” She shook herself out of her twisted tongue. “Sir, this isn’t proper.”
The man laughed again, popping his shoulder off the wall, and he took a step closer. He really towered over her, and it took all Elizabeth’s Hathaway steel to not step back into the door. “You’re quite right, Miss Rutledge, we really should observe the niceties.” He held out a hand for her to shake. “Jeremy Hunt, at your service.”
That’s who he was. Her family did not socialize with the Hunts often, even though her mother and Mrs. Hunt were fond of each other, because surely a war would erupt at the dinner table between her own father and Mr. Simon Hunt. Still, the Hunt children were the toast of London. When Isabelle Hunt got married six years ago to a Parisian artist, it had been a social event the likes of which the ton had not seen in years, perhaps decades. When her parents returned from that particular evening, her father had been scowling (which was actually quite normal for when he had to put on a formal suit) and her mother had paid him no mind, telling Elizabeth and her sisters every last detail of all of the finery and elegance, Anna asking for every detailed stitch on Isabelle’s ornate wedding gown.
Mr. Hunt pointedly looked down at his proffered hand, but Elizabeth kept her fists firmly at her sides. That was not to be done, shaking hands with Simon Hunt’s son. Never mind the rest of this. “Oh come now,” he smiled gently. “You can’t place any stock into that silly fight between our fathers.” He reached out and grabbed her hand firmly, pulling it close and grasping it tightly. She hadn’t yet put on her gloves and his hand was so warm, large enough to completely engulf her own. Elizabeth was too shocked to move. “See now? Properly introduced.” Mr. Hunt’s smile was mocking, but there was a kind edge to his laughter. He still clasped her hand, but loosened his grip. “I can see why Rutledge wants to show you off.”
At this, Elizabeth couldn’t help but let out a frantic giggle at his outrageously forward flirting. Truth be told, she was far more used to young men being a bit more foolish around her. But she supposed being raised by Simon Hunt, with the powerful Earl of Westcliff as his godfather gave a young man a certain sense of rightfully achieved arrogance. “Oh please now, do stop that. It’s not at all the reason that Papa...well, whatever the purpose of all this is.”
He finally relinquished her hand, and Elizabeth couldn’t be sure, but she thought she might have seen a flicker of reluctance to do so. He held up the lockbox between them. “Well, Miss Rutledge, whatever the purpose of tonight is, I’m very sorry, but it looks as though you are going to miss it entirely.” Her face fell. She had somehow forgotten all about that.
“Oh, blast,” she cursed, without meaning to. She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, but Mr. Hunt grinned -- he was quite clearly pleased. “No, we must get out of here. You’ll have to re-install it, and quickly. How did you get it out anyway? Why would you take it out? Were you intending to steal it?”
Mr. Hunt shrugged his shoulders, not at all contrite. “Not exactly. I wasn’t intending to leave with it, in any case.”
Elizabeth quirked her head. “You wanted to see how it works.”
Mr. Hunt laid his forefinger against his mouth. “Clever girl. Yes, I wanted to see how it works.”
Elizabeth laughed to herself. “Then you, Sir, are only the second gentleman I have ever met who is so fascinated in the mechanics of a lock. What use is that to your affairs?”
Mr. Hunt bit his lip. “Miss Rutledge...do you know why it is that your father and mine have such a...difficult friendship?” When she shook her head, he continued. “Well, it began with a little something like this. It wasn’t this exactly -- I don’t think anyway, I was a bit young to really know the inner workings of my father’s business at that time but your father had an idea for a little spring for locks. Such a simple fix, but it would make it nearly impossible for thieves and lockpicks. My father wanted the patent for it, and felt he offered your father a fair price. And well...I’m sure you know how your father feels about locksmithing.”
Elizabeth had to bite her own lip to keep from chuckling. He did have Jay Harry Rutledge to a t, but she wouldn’t betray her own family to this relative stranger. “Is that really all?”
Mr. Hunt shrugged. “Our fathers are two of the wealthiest men in the country. They both always get whatever they want, so when anything opposes that, whenever the smallest hint of a challenge arises well, it makes their lives a bit more interesting.”
“And you intended to bring the mechanism back to your father?” Elizabeth asked, her temper flaring a bit on her father’s behalf.
“I don’t tell my father everything,” Mr. Hunt smiled conspiratorially. “I intend on keeping a few secrets for myself. I’m very good at keeping secrets, you know.”
She had never seen a smile that felt more dangerous. And yet, Elizabeth knew she had to get away from him. She was supposed to be debuting at the top of the grand staircase with her father, along with Emmaline and Uncle Leo soon enough, and if she wasn’t there...how would she explain this? “Please, you took it apart. You must know how to fix it.”
Mr. Hunt rolled his eyes. “God woman, but you’re of a single-minded purpose. And I was actually trying to figure that out when you interrupted me and disrupted my concentration.”
“So...have you figured it out?” Elizabeth asked hopefully.
He shrugged in that unapologetic way of his. “I was getting there.”
“Please do hurry!” Elizabeth cried, desperation rising in her voice. “If it’s discovered that-”
“If it’s discovered that you’re shut away in a closet with a man before you are even debuted-” Mr. Hunt grinned at her awestruck expression. “Why, you’ll be ruined. You’ll never marry and be a complete and total social outcast.”
Oh, it was too humiliating for him to say it out loud like that. “Please, Mr. Hunt. Your mother is a respectable and gracious lady -- surely she has taught you better behavior than this.” She tried to fix him with an imitation of her mother’s best dignified stare, which had very often shamed her father into behaving himself when he was at his worst.
Mr. Hunt crossed his arms in front of his chest. “My mother taught me that it takes much more to ruin a young lady than a simple conversation.”
Her mother had taught her the same, always rolling her eyes at the dozens and thousands of rules a lady must follow in society, while always upholding them in a completely effortless manner. It didn’t make any difference though. Her reputation would be in tatters, just the same.
And he had the gall to laugh at her.
“Oh you...You wretch,” she hissed at him. “It’s not my fault that a girl needs to be so silly, but it’s the way of our world just the same, isn’t it? I have two younger sisters, you know, and I won’t ruin things for them just because I had the poor sense to get locked in a linen closet with the likes of you, Mr. Hunt.” He look struck, finally, and she knew she had gained a bit of an upper hand. “You have a sister yourself, don’t you, sir?”
“Isabelle,” he answered, softly.
Elizabeth lifted her chin. “And what would you do if a gentleman had ever spoken to her the way you have to me this night?”
“I’d thrash him soundly,” Mr. Hunt answered without hesitation. And then he leaned close to her, nearly touching his nose to hers. He smelled of Indian tobacco and Bowman’s soap, a combination which she surprisingly liked very much. “But you’re not my sister, are you, Miss Rutledge?” He stayed close to her for an interminable second, and she was very aware of how still and silent they were. Had the whole world closed in on this very closet? Was this all there was to be? But then there was his mocking smile again. “Those eyes of yours,” he chuckled softly. He did not finish the thought. He leaned back, holding the lock mechanism close to his face, squinting at it. After a moment, he started to tinker and poke at it, and Elizabeth could hear springs snap and pop.
“Are you fixing it?” She prodded, leaning over him.
“I’m trying,” he said, with a note of irritation in his voice. He looked up. “Is there any light in here? Any candles? Oh, never mind.” He stripped off his coat jacket, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice the way his body moved under the cloth, lean muscles stretching and flexing. He rummaged through his inner pockets and produced a stubby candle and a book of matches. “Do you mind?”
“Well, aren’t you prepared,” Elizabeth chided, striking a match and illuminating the room with soft, flickering light.
“I do try to be,” he answered with a smile, bending over to continue his work. He stuck the tip of his tongue out the corner of his mouth, caught in concentration and Elizabeth found herself staring at it. The minutes ticked by as his fingers moved over her father’s blasted, beloved invention, and he very much so seemed to be making up a solution as he went along. “Aha!” He finally cried.
“Have you fixed it?” Elizabeth asked hopefully.
He spun around her, to quickly work it into the doorframe. Elizabeth stared, dumbfounded. She had seen her father tinker at that same task for nearly a half hour at times. He turned, smiling down at her, but not moving from in front of the door.
“Well...” she began, starting to panic slightly. Why didn’t he let them out. “Shall we make our exit?”
He clasped a hand over his heart. “I have rescued you this night, and no measly gesture of thanks?”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Thank you, Mr. Hunt. Can we please leave now?”
He crossed his arms in front of his chest again. “Miss Rutledge...it’s not uncommon in such a situation for a lady to perhaps offer...a small liberty, or-”
“A kiss?” Elizabeth was too shocked to censor herself, and his eyes lit up.
“A kiss, I would be delighted.” He could barely contain his excitement it seemed, watching her squirm. He stood there though, just looking down at her, until he raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Don’t tell me you’ve never been kissed.”
“I-” Elizabeth couldn’t speak. Blast him. Damn him even! She clamped her mouth tightly closed. “Of course I haven’t.”
“Oh that’s right, here we are on the night of your debut.” He was so easy, so relaxed, such a content hunter. This was not to be borne. He reached a hand toward her collarbone, where her grandmother’s pearl teardrop lay. He didn’t touch her though. “Well, it’s up to you, Miss Rutledge. Being a gentleman, I shall not press. But I had to ask.”
“A gentleman,” Elizabeth repeated, allowing herself a rather unladylike snort. She considered it all, Mirela and her boy back in Ireland, and Emmaline, probably celebrating her engagement with a passionate kiss and embrace at this very moment. Why shouldn’t she? She looked up at Jeremy Hunt. “Yes, Mr. Hunt. You may have a kiss.”
Whatever he may have been expecting, it was not that. His eyes went wide and for the first time since they had made their acquaintance, all traces of mockery left his face. He reached out with one finger to her necklace again, but brushed against her skin this time. He was so very warm, and her own skin felt feverish. He moved his finger from her collarbone, up through the hollows of her neck and along her jawline. She was caught in his eyes, unable to move. She had forgotten about her desperation to get out of the closet, get down to the ball to get anywhere in the world other than this place, right at this moment, with this man. When he bent his head towards hers, her heart stopped beating for a second.
And then he very gently brushed his lips against her brow and stood back up to his full height. He reached behind him for his dinner jacket, brusquely pulling it on, without taking the care to make sure it was straight. “Come on,” he said, his voice much gruffer than it had been. “I’ll escort you back to your room.”
“That’s all?” Elizabeth couldn’t help herself. Her voice came out in shallow breaths, and she felt that her corset was laced much too tightly.
He yanked the door open, peeking his head out to check from side to side, and then turned back, offering his arm. That mask of arrogance was back firmly on his face. Glimpsing him for the first time in the light of the hallway, Elizabeth realized how very much color there was in him. His hair was a very rich shade of brown, and his skin was brown too, as if he spent a good deal of time outdoors. It gave him a slightly piratical appearance. And his eyes were black, black, black, heavily lashed and positively glittering with amusement at life.
As he led her down the hallway, he leaned his head down to whisper close to her ear. “Miss Rutledge, when I kiss a girl, I don’t ask politely first, and I never accept it as a reward for being a gentleman.”
“Then how do you-” Really, she just could not stop herself with this Mr. Hunt.
He laughed before she could finish her question, mercifully. “Oh my darling Miss Rutledge,” he chuckled. She turned to look up at him and he winked at her. “I have the distinct feeling that you will soon find out.”
The words were a challenge, and they echoed in Elizabeth’s head.
“Miss Elizabeth?”
Blast. Elizabeth whirled at the sound of her own name, and the familiar voice which spoke it. Mr. Jake Valentine had worked for her father since before she was born, and he had been a permanent fixture in her life. She couldn’t recall him ever taking a vacation or indicating that he had any sort of life outside of the Rutledge. He was always there, always two steps behind her family, always this silent source of support, one that she had to admit she forgot about at times. It should have been no surprise to find him on this floor, but sometimes he did have quite a stern look when he was displeased. Caroline had been scared of him when she was a little girl, and Elizabeth would never have admitted it, but sometimes she was, too. He did nothing to attract suspicion, and her father trusted him with everything -- she believed he would trust him with his own life -- but still. Sometimes she was very unsettled with Mr. Valentine.
She turned to him warily. “Mr. Valentine, I was just...” Her unfinished explanation hung in the air, between the three of them, heavy and unmoving. Mr. Valentine looked from her to Mr. Hunt (slouched against the wall, hands casually thrust in his pockets, as if he didn’t have a care in the world), and back to Elizabeth again.
He turned to Mr. Hunt. “I thank you, sir, for chaperoning Miss Rutledge through the hallway. I am Jacob Valentine, her father’s valet.” He stopped on introducing himself, shifting slightly so he was standing between Elizabeth and Mr. Hunt. Mr. Valentine was over forty, and not nearly so tall as Mr. Hunt, but he had a hard edge, and she didn’t doubt that at least some of the work he did for her father was dangerous, perhaps illegal. He waited for Mr. Hunt to explain himself, which took a bit of a moment.
“Jeremy Hunt.” If Mr. Valentine was at all affected by his surname, he didn’t show it at all. “Miss Elizabeth seemed lost in the hallways,” Mr. Hunt tried to smile easily. “I was only concerned -- I did not know that she lived here.”
“She is quite familiar, yes,” Mr. Valentine didn’t budge from between them, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest. The motion made his rather worn evening coat stretch slightly over the broad muscles of his shoulders. “I don’t think she has any further...use for your services, sir.”
“I’ll just be heading back to my suites, I just needed...” There was no good excuse, Elizabeth knew, and her voice sounded weak, hollow, in her head.
Mr. Valentine turned and looked at her. “Just a...turn about the floor, understood, Miss Elizabeth. Easily forgettable.”
Oh, dear man. Elizabeth tried not to sigh with relief, but instead gave her best attempt at a friendly smile, and he was caught, looking at her, completely expressionless for a moment. He turned back down the hallway the way he had originally came.
Mr. Hunt looked as though he was ready to burst out laughing. “Well you do have him wrapped around your sweet little finger, don’t you?” He chuckled once Mr. Valentine’s footsteps had receded.
“Oh hush,” she hissed. “That’s not true. He has worked for my father for my whole life.”
He laughed harder at that. “Poor bastard. Whatever you say, Miss Elizabeth.”
She was confused, thinking of his words, as she led them back to hers and Emmaline’s apartments. They were only a few doors down.
“You can leave me here,” she said to Mr. Hunt at the door. All was quiet on the other side, but it wouldn’t do for him to see Emmaline and Russell on the other side, in whatever state they happened to be in now.
“Nonsense, I should see you safely inside,” Mr. Hunt grinned, placing a hand on the doorknob.
“I really don’t think that’s necessary-” But Elizabeth could not finish her thought when the door opened abruptly and Russell Bowman nearly walked straight into her, or maybe even through her. He did not look happy. This was not what she had been expecting.
He looked up in surprise to see her and Mr. Hunt staring back at him with equally as many questions. Elizabeth looked past him, to her cousin who was pale-faced and looked as though she were fighting tears. This was not the scene she had envisioned interrupting at all. “Is everything all right?” She asked softly, only looking at Emmaline.
“Rusty? What are you doing here?” Mr. Hunt apparently did not have the astuteness to observe that the tone of the room was less than jovial, and looked completely amused by their impromptu meeting in the doorway.
Russell winced at the nickname he obviously hated. “Jeremy, I could ask you the same thing.” He looked from Mr. Hunt to Elizabeth, and back again. She did not care for the judgmental glance, and pushed back to him, going to her cousin.
“Emmaline, what happened?” She whispered, reaching out and squeezing her hand. She looked back at the gentlemen at the door. “Thank you, sirs, if you wouldn’t mind leaving us now, our fathers will soon be here to escort us. I trust we can expect your discretion on tonight’s events.” She looked pointedly at Mr. Hunt but Russell was angry, wilder looking than she was used to seeing him.
Mr. Hunt seemed to notice this as well, and he placed his hand at the back of Russell’s shoulders. She knew that their families were closely connected, and they appeared as cousins, the way she had seen her cousin Jado or Rye reach out to one of the younger boys. “Don’t worry, Miss Rutledge. I’m quite good at keeping secrets, and I’ll keep Rusty here in line.” Russell was staring at Emmaline, seemingly unable to move, but with a firm push, Mr. Hunt dragged him off, glancing over his shoulder one last time at Elizabeth and exchanging a look laced with meaning.
Meaning what though?
“Emmaline, what happened?” Elizabeth asked again, once they were alone. Her cousin looked as though she had just been notified of a death. But how could this be, if... “My love, I apologize for presuming but I thought that you and Mr. Bowman...that is, I thought....”
“He proposed,” Emmaline breathed, still focusing only on the floor in front of her, and did not seem to be addressing Elizabeth at all.
“But, that’s wonderful, isn’t that what you wanted?” Elizabeth finally gently took her face in her hands, turning her cousin to look her in the eye, and her heart broke as one tear slipped down Emmaline’s porcelain cheek, and then another.
“I thought...yes, that is what I want, but...” Emmaline took a deep breath before she continued. “I never thought...He’s leaving. I just always thought we would be here all together...”
“What do you mean, leaving?” Elizabeth was confused. Russell clearly loved Emmaline more than anything in the world, why would he leave her?
“Not me,” Elizabeth delicately swiped at her eyes, careful not to leave any tracks behind her. “England. Going back to New York. He wants me to go with him.”
Elizabeth could have slapped herself for being so naive. The Bowmans were a business family, like hers, but the Rutledges were stationary, in their hotel, the point was to always be there. The Bowmans chased their fortune by currency (and they were damn good at it, so she had heard her father say, in high praise coming from him). But she and Emmaline had grown up together, always in each other’s pockets and confidences. They were the ‘town Hathaways’, the two oldest girls who had the privilege and the burden of setting an example for their younger sisters and cousins. But they had always had each other. And Emmaline was the steadiest of all of them -- they surely could not get along without her, especially Elizabeth.
But then...to lose her one great love. “Oh Emmie,” Elizabeth sighed, pulling her close around the waist, and not giving a care to wrinkling their lovely gowns.
A sharp knock came at the door, and it opened without either of the girls giving consent. Papa and Uncle Leo entered the room, looking as though they were ready for battle by their grim expressions. At seeing his daughter, Uncle Leo immediately crossed the room. “What’s happened, sweetheart?”
“Nothing Papa,” Emmaline answered quickly, shaking herself into composure. “I’m ready to go downstairs now.” She quickly led him from the room and Harry approached Elizabeth.
“Are you ready as well, love,” he asked.
“I don’t know, Papa,” she answered honestly. It seemed so much had happened since he and her mama had left them up here -- an offer for her first kiss (rejected), and now this heartbreak with Emmaline. The night seemed completely different than it had.
He smiled softly and chuffed her gently under the chin. “Somehow, it makes me happy to hear that.”
She smiled at her father and laid her hand in the crook of his arm.
*
Cat had to smile when she opened the door to the bedroom she shared with her husband of nearly twenty years. Their youngest child, Adelaide, was asleep, curled up in the center of their bed, with one corner of the counterpane wrapped over her. It was a habit she’d had since she was a very little girl, when Cat and Leo were out at a ‘fancy dress party’, always trying to wait up to see her mama for a good night kiss and to ask her to tell all about the enchantments she had seen that night. Cat was very happy that she hadn’t grown out of this habit yet.
Leo walked into the room behind her, and stopped, resting his hands lightly on Cat’s shoulders. “Wouldn’t it be easy if they could just stay like this?” he whispered, leaning down to his wife’s ear.
Cat turned into him, giving him a quick, light kiss. “If only it were that easy.” She sighed and moved to the bed, carefully sitting down next to Addie and softly brushing her hair off her brow. “Wake up, sweetheart. We’re home now.”
Adelaide blinked her eyes, disoriented for a second, and then smiled at her mother. “Mama, Papa, how was the ball?”
“It was lovely, dear,” Cat smiled, looking up at her husband and silently requesting him to not say anything further. He nodded and sat down next to them.
“We can tell you everything about it tomorrow, but now it’s time for you to be back in your own bed, with your sister. Shall I carry you?” Leo smiled as his baby laughed at him.
“Papa, I’m too old for that now.”
Leo looked at his beautiful daughter very carefully. She had his eyes, a lighter, clearer blue than his sisters and their children. “You will never be too old for that, my sweet one.”
Addie was an innocent one, even for her age, believing whole-heartedly in princesses and fairy-tales, but she seemed to understand that not was all right with her parents, but also understood that now was not the time to ask what was the matter. Such was the wisdom of babes. She gave a hug and a kiss to her mother and a longer, tighter hug to her darling papa, and bade them good night, off to bed with her sister. Perhaps, they might have a sister’s confidence between them as to what had happened this night.
Cat watched her pad down the hallway in her wrapper and slippers and when the door shut softly at the far end, Cat turned back into her own bedroom, closing the door behind her to have a serious discussion with her husband.
Leo had already shed his evening coat and tie, and he went to her, turning her around so that he could unlace her corset. She had joked many times that her husband was the best lady’s maid she’d ever had. She sighed with relief when the heavy whalebone finally eased away from her back, and Leo massaged his thumb down the base of her spine. “These damn things are barbaric,” he said, as he often did.
Cat turned and smiled at him. “Ah, but society would surely fall down if women did not wear them. If a lady could breathe properly, she might end up speaking her mind now and then.” Leo grinned back. He had already pulled out a clean cotton nightgown for her.
After she had slipped it over her head, and was settling herself under the covers, Cat finally asked the question that had been on her mind all night. “Whatever happened between Emmaline and Mr. Bowman?”
Leo looked at her. “I was hoping that you would be able to tell me.” He sighed. “The boy was completely respectful about it, and I gave my consent for him to ask her hand because I thought that was what would make Emmie happy. She turned him down, and she was completely miserable about it all night.”
“Maybe it was just too soon for her, she’s still practically a child,” Cat said, suddenly overcome with images of her daughter playing in mudpies and running barefoot through the meadows of Hampshire with a kite and her twin brother chasing after her. “And the Season hadn’t even begun but that’s not our Emmie, I never believed she cared for such things.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s it either,” Leo agreed, pulling his wife into his arms and stroking his hands over her hair in an absent-minded manner. He’d always loved her hair, and still thought of the day he’d first seen it, unbound and glimmering in the sunlight in the gardens at Ramsay House. She was the only person in the world with hair that color, the pink tint of champagne, even his own beautiful daughters had the rich brown curls of the Hathaways. “Emmaline’s not like Edward. She’s always followed her heart. I don’t know why she would turn away from it now.”
“They do love each other, don’t they?” Cat asked, turning her head up to look at Leo.
“I believe so,” Leo answered, sleep starting to claim his voice and thoughts. It had been a hell of a long night. “But they are so young...what do they really know of anything?”
Cat chuckled softly. They were all still her babies, they always would be. “You’re probably right, husband.”
“Aren’t I always?” At this, they both laughed sleepily.
“So that’s tomorrow’s battle then?” Cat murmured against Leo’s chest, through a yawn.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It will have to be. Good night, Marks.”
“Good night, my lord.”
<<<333
Title: Year After Year
Characters: Elizabeth Rutledge, Jeremy Hunt, Jake Valentine, Cat Hathaway, Leo Hathaway, Adelaide Hathaway, Emmaline Hathaway, Russell Bowman, Harry Rutledge
Rating: pg
Word Count: 5,275
Summary: You put your arms around me and I'm home...
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Note: Random cuts from my 2011 NaNo, Next Generation fic for Lisa Kleypas's Wallflower & Hathaway series. Not all will be posted, but if you have any certain character you would like to see, let me know and I will see what I have (or perhaps write something new in this universe). This is all set about 20 years after the Hathaway series.
Elizabeth’s first instinct was to turn and run away from this stranger. Who else would hide in a linen closet but a thief...or worse? But even as she frantically jiggled the doorknob behind her, it wouldn’t budge.
The stranger sighed. “I told you that I wish you hadn’t done that.” As Elizabeth’s eyes adjusted to the dark, she took in this man. Tall, nearly as tall as her Uncle Kev, but a bit slimmer and more graceful like her Uncle Cam. He was dressed well very well, he looked as though he was dressed for the ball. Obviously a guest. His hair was dark and slightly unkempt, and his jaw had the slight shadow that all men with heavy beards always had. Not yet thirty but older than her, that was certain. And very dark eyes, glittering black in the dark room. He looked somewhat familiar, but Elizabeth did not know how she could have met a man who looked so extraordinary and not remember his name.
With a rueful smile, he held up the small, intricate box of springs and levers that were installed on every door in the hotel. They were her father’s own invention, a door could not be opened without the specific key to each. They were exceedingly difficult to remove and even more so to install. Elizabeth stared at it. “How did you get that? Wait a moment, who are you?”
The stranger laughed, a rich, hearty sound, with a smile that crinkled his eyes at the corners. “My, but you are bold. I could ask the same question, what is an unaccompanied maiden doing sneaking around the hotel, darting into cupboards? Could it be you’re having a scandalous, clandestine meeting?”
The gall! Elizabeth had never been spoken to in such a manner in her life. (Her father would have flattened any one who attempted it, and her uncles and cousins would have been close behind.) She cleared her throat. “Excuse me, sir, but this is my hotel.” It was her home, anyway.
The man leaned one shoulder against the wall, cocking his head to one side, and quite clearly unimpressed. “You’re Miss Rutledge,” he said softly. His eyes wandered down briefly, and Elizabeth could feel herself go flush, grateful for the dark. “I should have known,” he added. “You’re just as beautiful as they say. So this night is all for you, then?”
“I...” It had sounded like a compliment but came out more like an accusation. “Not all for me. It’s also...” She shook herself out of her twisted tongue. “Sir, this isn’t proper.”
The man laughed again, popping his shoulder off the wall, and he took a step closer. He really towered over her, and it took all Elizabeth’s Hathaway steel to not step back into the door. “You’re quite right, Miss Rutledge, we really should observe the niceties.” He held out a hand for her to shake. “Jeremy Hunt, at your service.”
That’s who he was. Her family did not socialize with the Hunts often, even though her mother and Mrs. Hunt were fond of each other, because surely a war would erupt at the dinner table between her own father and Mr. Simon Hunt. Still, the Hunt children were the toast of London. When Isabelle Hunt got married six years ago to a Parisian artist, it had been a social event the likes of which the ton had not seen in years, perhaps decades. When her parents returned from that particular evening, her father had been scowling (which was actually quite normal for when he had to put on a formal suit) and her mother had paid him no mind, telling Elizabeth and her sisters every last detail of all of the finery and elegance, Anna asking for every detailed stitch on Isabelle’s ornate wedding gown.
Mr. Hunt pointedly looked down at his proffered hand, but Elizabeth kept her fists firmly at her sides. That was not to be done, shaking hands with Simon Hunt’s son. Never mind the rest of this. “Oh come now,” he smiled gently. “You can’t place any stock into that silly fight between our fathers.” He reached out and grabbed her hand firmly, pulling it close and grasping it tightly. She hadn’t yet put on her gloves and his hand was so warm, large enough to completely engulf her own. Elizabeth was too shocked to move. “See now? Properly introduced.” Mr. Hunt’s smile was mocking, but there was a kind edge to his laughter. He still clasped her hand, but loosened his grip. “I can see why Rutledge wants to show you off.”
At this, Elizabeth couldn’t help but let out a frantic giggle at his outrageously forward flirting. Truth be told, she was far more used to young men being a bit more foolish around her. But she supposed being raised by Simon Hunt, with the powerful Earl of Westcliff as his godfather gave a young man a certain sense of rightfully achieved arrogance. “Oh please now, do stop that. It’s not at all the reason that Papa...well, whatever the purpose of all this is.”
He finally relinquished her hand, and Elizabeth couldn’t be sure, but she thought she might have seen a flicker of reluctance to do so. He held up the lockbox between them. “Well, Miss Rutledge, whatever the purpose of tonight is, I’m very sorry, but it looks as though you are going to miss it entirely.” Her face fell. She had somehow forgotten all about that.
“Oh, blast,” she cursed, without meaning to. She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, but Mr. Hunt grinned -- he was quite clearly pleased. “No, we must get out of here. You’ll have to re-install it, and quickly. How did you get it out anyway? Why would you take it out? Were you intending to steal it?”
Mr. Hunt shrugged his shoulders, not at all contrite. “Not exactly. I wasn’t intending to leave with it, in any case.”
Elizabeth quirked her head. “You wanted to see how it works.”
Mr. Hunt laid his forefinger against his mouth. “Clever girl. Yes, I wanted to see how it works.”
Elizabeth laughed to herself. “Then you, Sir, are only the second gentleman I have ever met who is so fascinated in the mechanics of a lock. What use is that to your affairs?”
Mr. Hunt bit his lip. “Miss Rutledge...do you know why it is that your father and mine have such a...difficult friendship?” When she shook her head, he continued. “Well, it began with a little something like this. It wasn’t this exactly -- I don’t think anyway, I was a bit young to really know the inner workings of my father’s business at that time but your father had an idea for a little spring for locks. Such a simple fix, but it would make it nearly impossible for thieves and lockpicks. My father wanted the patent for it, and felt he offered your father a fair price. And well...I’m sure you know how your father feels about locksmithing.”
Elizabeth had to bite her own lip to keep from chuckling. He did have Jay Harry Rutledge to a t, but she wouldn’t betray her own family to this relative stranger. “Is that really all?”
Mr. Hunt shrugged. “Our fathers are two of the wealthiest men in the country. They both always get whatever they want, so when anything opposes that, whenever the smallest hint of a challenge arises well, it makes their lives a bit more interesting.”
“And you intended to bring the mechanism back to your father?” Elizabeth asked, her temper flaring a bit on her father’s behalf.
“I don’t tell my father everything,” Mr. Hunt smiled conspiratorially. “I intend on keeping a few secrets for myself. I’m very good at keeping secrets, you know.”
She had never seen a smile that felt more dangerous. And yet, Elizabeth knew she had to get away from him. She was supposed to be debuting at the top of the grand staircase with her father, along with Emmaline and Uncle Leo soon enough, and if she wasn’t there...how would she explain this? “Please, you took it apart. You must know how to fix it.”
Mr. Hunt rolled his eyes. “God woman, but you’re of a single-minded purpose. And I was actually trying to figure that out when you interrupted me and disrupted my concentration.”
“So...have you figured it out?” Elizabeth asked hopefully.
He shrugged in that unapologetic way of his. “I was getting there.”
“Please do hurry!” Elizabeth cried, desperation rising in her voice. “If it’s discovered that-”
“If it’s discovered that you’re shut away in a closet with a man before you are even debuted-” Mr. Hunt grinned at her awestruck expression. “Why, you’ll be ruined. You’ll never marry and be a complete and total social outcast.”
Oh, it was too humiliating for him to say it out loud like that. “Please, Mr. Hunt. Your mother is a respectable and gracious lady -- surely she has taught you better behavior than this.” She tried to fix him with an imitation of her mother’s best dignified stare, which had very often shamed her father into behaving himself when he was at his worst.
Mr. Hunt crossed his arms in front of his chest. “My mother taught me that it takes much more to ruin a young lady than a simple conversation.”
Her mother had taught her the same, always rolling her eyes at the dozens and thousands of rules a lady must follow in society, while always upholding them in a completely effortless manner. It didn’t make any difference though. Her reputation would be in tatters, just the same.
And he had the gall to laugh at her.
“Oh you...You wretch,” she hissed at him. “It’s not my fault that a girl needs to be so silly, but it’s the way of our world just the same, isn’t it? I have two younger sisters, you know, and I won’t ruin things for them just because I had the poor sense to get locked in a linen closet with the likes of you, Mr. Hunt.” He look struck, finally, and she knew she had gained a bit of an upper hand. “You have a sister yourself, don’t you, sir?”
“Isabelle,” he answered, softly.
Elizabeth lifted her chin. “And what would you do if a gentleman had ever spoken to her the way you have to me this night?”
“I’d thrash him soundly,” Mr. Hunt answered without hesitation. And then he leaned close to her, nearly touching his nose to hers. He smelled of Indian tobacco and Bowman’s soap, a combination which she surprisingly liked very much. “But you’re not my sister, are you, Miss Rutledge?” He stayed close to her for an interminable second, and she was very aware of how still and silent they were. Had the whole world closed in on this very closet? Was this all there was to be? But then there was his mocking smile again. “Those eyes of yours,” he chuckled softly. He did not finish the thought. He leaned back, holding the lock mechanism close to his face, squinting at it. After a moment, he started to tinker and poke at it, and Elizabeth could hear springs snap and pop.
“Are you fixing it?” She prodded, leaning over him.
“I’m trying,” he said, with a note of irritation in his voice. He looked up. “Is there any light in here? Any candles? Oh, never mind.” He stripped off his coat jacket, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice the way his body moved under the cloth, lean muscles stretching and flexing. He rummaged through his inner pockets and produced a stubby candle and a book of matches. “Do you mind?”
“Well, aren’t you prepared,” Elizabeth chided, striking a match and illuminating the room with soft, flickering light.
“I do try to be,” he answered with a smile, bending over to continue his work. He stuck the tip of his tongue out the corner of his mouth, caught in concentration and Elizabeth found herself staring at it. The minutes ticked by as his fingers moved over her father’s blasted, beloved invention, and he very much so seemed to be making up a solution as he went along. “Aha!” He finally cried.
“Have you fixed it?” Elizabeth asked hopefully.
He spun around her, to quickly work it into the doorframe. Elizabeth stared, dumbfounded. She had seen her father tinker at that same task for nearly a half hour at times. He turned, smiling down at her, but not moving from in front of the door.
“Well...” she began, starting to panic slightly. Why didn’t he let them out. “Shall we make our exit?”
He clasped a hand over his heart. “I have rescued you this night, and no measly gesture of thanks?”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Thank you, Mr. Hunt. Can we please leave now?”
He crossed his arms in front of his chest again. “Miss Rutledge...it’s not uncommon in such a situation for a lady to perhaps offer...a small liberty, or-”
“A kiss?” Elizabeth was too shocked to censor herself, and his eyes lit up.
“A kiss, I would be delighted.” He could barely contain his excitement it seemed, watching her squirm. He stood there though, just looking down at her, until he raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Don’t tell me you’ve never been kissed.”
“I-” Elizabeth couldn’t speak. Blast him. Damn him even! She clamped her mouth tightly closed. “Of course I haven’t.”
“Oh that’s right, here we are on the night of your debut.” He was so easy, so relaxed, such a content hunter. This was not to be borne. He reached a hand toward her collarbone, where her grandmother’s pearl teardrop lay. He didn’t touch her though. “Well, it’s up to you, Miss Rutledge. Being a gentleman, I shall not press. But I had to ask.”
“A gentleman,” Elizabeth repeated, allowing herself a rather unladylike snort. She considered it all, Mirela and her boy back in Ireland, and Emmaline, probably celebrating her engagement with a passionate kiss and embrace at this very moment. Why shouldn’t she? She looked up at Jeremy Hunt. “Yes, Mr. Hunt. You may have a kiss.”
Whatever he may have been expecting, it was not that. His eyes went wide and for the first time since they had made their acquaintance, all traces of mockery left his face. He reached out with one finger to her necklace again, but brushed against her skin this time. He was so very warm, and her own skin felt feverish. He moved his finger from her collarbone, up through the hollows of her neck and along her jawline. She was caught in his eyes, unable to move. She had forgotten about her desperation to get out of the closet, get down to the ball to get anywhere in the world other than this place, right at this moment, with this man. When he bent his head towards hers, her heart stopped beating for a second.
And then he very gently brushed his lips against her brow and stood back up to his full height. He reached behind him for his dinner jacket, brusquely pulling it on, without taking the care to make sure it was straight. “Come on,” he said, his voice much gruffer than it had been. “I’ll escort you back to your room.”
“That’s all?” Elizabeth couldn’t help herself. Her voice came out in shallow breaths, and she felt that her corset was laced much too tightly.
He yanked the door open, peeking his head out to check from side to side, and then turned back, offering his arm. That mask of arrogance was back firmly on his face. Glimpsing him for the first time in the light of the hallway, Elizabeth realized how very much color there was in him. His hair was a very rich shade of brown, and his skin was brown too, as if he spent a good deal of time outdoors. It gave him a slightly piratical appearance. And his eyes were black, black, black, heavily lashed and positively glittering with amusement at life.
As he led her down the hallway, he leaned his head down to whisper close to her ear. “Miss Rutledge, when I kiss a girl, I don’t ask politely first, and I never accept it as a reward for being a gentleman.”
“Then how do you-” Really, she just could not stop herself with this Mr. Hunt.
He laughed before she could finish her question, mercifully. “Oh my darling Miss Rutledge,” he chuckled. She turned to look up at him and he winked at her. “I have the distinct feeling that you will soon find out.”
The words were a challenge, and they echoed in Elizabeth’s head.
“Miss Elizabeth?”
Blast. Elizabeth whirled at the sound of her own name, and the familiar voice which spoke it. Mr. Jake Valentine had worked for her father since before she was born, and he had been a permanent fixture in her life. She couldn’t recall him ever taking a vacation or indicating that he had any sort of life outside of the Rutledge. He was always there, always two steps behind her family, always this silent source of support, one that she had to admit she forgot about at times. It should have been no surprise to find him on this floor, but sometimes he did have quite a stern look when he was displeased. Caroline had been scared of him when she was a little girl, and Elizabeth would never have admitted it, but sometimes she was, too. He did nothing to attract suspicion, and her father trusted him with everything -- she believed he would trust him with his own life -- but still. Sometimes she was very unsettled with Mr. Valentine.
She turned to him warily. “Mr. Valentine, I was just...” Her unfinished explanation hung in the air, between the three of them, heavy and unmoving. Mr. Valentine looked from her to Mr. Hunt (slouched against the wall, hands casually thrust in his pockets, as if he didn’t have a care in the world), and back to Elizabeth again.
He turned to Mr. Hunt. “I thank you, sir, for chaperoning Miss Rutledge through the hallway. I am Jacob Valentine, her father’s valet.” He stopped on introducing himself, shifting slightly so he was standing between Elizabeth and Mr. Hunt. Mr. Valentine was over forty, and not nearly so tall as Mr. Hunt, but he had a hard edge, and she didn’t doubt that at least some of the work he did for her father was dangerous, perhaps illegal. He waited for Mr. Hunt to explain himself, which took a bit of a moment.
“Jeremy Hunt.” If Mr. Valentine was at all affected by his surname, he didn’t show it at all. “Miss Elizabeth seemed lost in the hallways,” Mr. Hunt tried to smile easily. “I was only concerned -- I did not know that she lived here.”
“She is quite familiar, yes,” Mr. Valentine didn’t budge from between them, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest. The motion made his rather worn evening coat stretch slightly over the broad muscles of his shoulders. “I don’t think she has any further...use for your services, sir.”
“I’ll just be heading back to my suites, I just needed...” There was no good excuse, Elizabeth knew, and her voice sounded weak, hollow, in her head.
Mr. Valentine turned and looked at her. “Just a...turn about the floor, understood, Miss Elizabeth. Easily forgettable.”
Oh, dear man. Elizabeth tried not to sigh with relief, but instead gave her best attempt at a friendly smile, and he was caught, looking at her, completely expressionless for a moment. He turned back down the hallway the way he had originally came.
Mr. Hunt looked as though he was ready to burst out laughing. “Well you do have him wrapped around your sweet little finger, don’t you?” He chuckled once Mr. Valentine’s footsteps had receded.
“Oh hush,” she hissed. “That’s not true. He has worked for my father for my whole life.”
He laughed harder at that. “Poor bastard. Whatever you say, Miss Elizabeth.”
She was confused, thinking of his words, as she led them back to hers and Emmaline’s apartments. They were only a few doors down.
“You can leave me here,” she said to Mr. Hunt at the door. All was quiet on the other side, but it wouldn’t do for him to see Emmaline and Russell on the other side, in whatever state they happened to be in now.
“Nonsense, I should see you safely inside,” Mr. Hunt grinned, placing a hand on the doorknob.
“I really don’t think that’s necessary-” But Elizabeth could not finish her thought when the door opened abruptly and Russell Bowman nearly walked straight into her, or maybe even through her. He did not look happy. This was not what she had been expecting.
He looked up in surprise to see her and Mr. Hunt staring back at him with equally as many questions. Elizabeth looked past him, to her cousin who was pale-faced and looked as though she were fighting tears. This was not the scene she had envisioned interrupting at all. “Is everything all right?” She asked softly, only looking at Emmaline.
“Rusty? What are you doing here?” Mr. Hunt apparently did not have the astuteness to observe that the tone of the room was less than jovial, and looked completely amused by their impromptu meeting in the doorway.
Russell winced at the nickname he obviously hated. “Jeremy, I could ask you the same thing.” He looked from Mr. Hunt to Elizabeth, and back again. She did not care for the judgmental glance, and pushed back to him, going to her cousin.
“Emmaline, what happened?” She whispered, reaching out and squeezing her hand. She looked back at the gentlemen at the door. “Thank you, sirs, if you wouldn’t mind leaving us now, our fathers will soon be here to escort us. I trust we can expect your discretion on tonight’s events.” She looked pointedly at Mr. Hunt but Russell was angry, wilder looking than she was used to seeing him.
Mr. Hunt seemed to notice this as well, and he placed his hand at the back of Russell’s shoulders. She knew that their families were closely connected, and they appeared as cousins, the way she had seen her cousin Jado or Rye reach out to one of the younger boys. “Don’t worry, Miss Rutledge. I’m quite good at keeping secrets, and I’ll keep Rusty here in line.” Russell was staring at Emmaline, seemingly unable to move, but with a firm push, Mr. Hunt dragged him off, glancing over his shoulder one last time at Elizabeth and exchanging a look laced with meaning.
Meaning what though?
“Emmaline, what happened?” Elizabeth asked again, once they were alone. Her cousin looked as though she had just been notified of a death. But how could this be, if... “My love, I apologize for presuming but I thought that you and Mr. Bowman...that is, I thought....”
“He proposed,” Emmaline breathed, still focusing only on the floor in front of her, and did not seem to be addressing Elizabeth at all.
“But, that’s wonderful, isn’t that what you wanted?” Elizabeth finally gently took her face in her hands, turning her cousin to look her in the eye, and her heart broke as one tear slipped down Emmaline’s porcelain cheek, and then another.
“I thought...yes, that is what I want, but...” Emmaline took a deep breath before she continued. “I never thought...He’s leaving. I just always thought we would be here all together...”
“What do you mean, leaving?” Elizabeth was confused. Russell clearly loved Emmaline more than anything in the world, why would he leave her?
“Not me,” Elizabeth delicately swiped at her eyes, careful not to leave any tracks behind her. “England. Going back to New York. He wants me to go with him.”
Elizabeth could have slapped herself for being so naive. The Bowmans were a business family, like hers, but the Rutledges were stationary, in their hotel, the point was to always be there. The Bowmans chased their fortune by currency (and they were damn good at it, so she had heard her father say, in high praise coming from him). But she and Emmaline had grown up together, always in each other’s pockets and confidences. They were the ‘town Hathaways’, the two oldest girls who had the privilege and the burden of setting an example for their younger sisters and cousins. But they had always had each other. And Emmaline was the steadiest of all of them -- they surely could not get along without her, especially Elizabeth.
But then...to lose her one great love. “Oh Emmie,” Elizabeth sighed, pulling her close around the waist, and not giving a care to wrinkling their lovely gowns.
A sharp knock came at the door, and it opened without either of the girls giving consent. Papa and Uncle Leo entered the room, looking as though they were ready for battle by their grim expressions. At seeing his daughter, Uncle Leo immediately crossed the room. “What’s happened, sweetheart?”
“Nothing Papa,” Emmaline answered quickly, shaking herself into composure. “I’m ready to go downstairs now.” She quickly led him from the room and Harry approached Elizabeth.
“Are you ready as well, love,” he asked.
“I don’t know, Papa,” she answered honestly. It seemed so much had happened since he and her mama had left them up here -- an offer for her first kiss (rejected), and now this heartbreak with Emmaline. The night seemed completely different than it had.
He smiled softly and chuffed her gently under the chin. “Somehow, it makes me happy to hear that.”
She smiled at her father and laid her hand in the crook of his arm.
*
Cat had to smile when she opened the door to the bedroom she shared with her husband of nearly twenty years. Their youngest child, Adelaide, was asleep, curled up in the center of their bed, with one corner of the counterpane wrapped over her. It was a habit she’d had since she was a very little girl, when Cat and Leo were out at a ‘fancy dress party’, always trying to wait up to see her mama for a good night kiss and to ask her to tell all about the enchantments she had seen that night. Cat was very happy that she hadn’t grown out of this habit yet.
Leo walked into the room behind her, and stopped, resting his hands lightly on Cat’s shoulders. “Wouldn’t it be easy if they could just stay like this?” he whispered, leaning down to his wife’s ear.
Cat turned into him, giving him a quick, light kiss. “If only it were that easy.” She sighed and moved to the bed, carefully sitting down next to Addie and softly brushing her hair off her brow. “Wake up, sweetheart. We’re home now.”
Adelaide blinked her eyes, disoriented for a second, and then smiled at her mother. “Mama, Papa, how was the ball?”
“It was lovely, dear,” Cat smiled, looking up at her husband and silently requesting him to not say anything further. He nodded and sat down next to them.
“We can tell you everything about it tomorrow, but now it’s time for you to be back in your own bed, with your sister. Shall I carry you?” Leo smiled as his baby laughed at him.
“Papa, I’m too old for that now.”
Leo looked at his beautiful daughter very carefully. She had his eyes, a lighter, clearer blue than his sisters and their children. “You will never be too old for that, my sweet one.”
Addie was an innocent one, even for her age, believing whole-heartedly in princesses and fairy-tales, but she seemed to understand that not was all right with her parents, but also understood that now was not the time to ask what was the matter. Such was the wisdom of babes. She gave a hug and a kiss to her mother and a longer, tighter hug to her darling papa, and bade them good night, off to bed with her sister. Perhaps, they might have a sister’s confidence between them as to what had happened this night.
Cat watched her pad down the hallway in her wrapper and slippers and when the door shut softly at the far end, Cat turned back into her own bedroom, closing the door behind her to have a serious discussion with her husband.
Leo had already shed his evening coat and tie, and he went to her, turning her around so that he could unlace her corset. She had joked many times that her husband was the best lady’s maid she’d ever had. She sighed with relief when the heavy whalebone finally eased away from her back, and Leo massaged his thumb down the base of her spine. “These damn things are barbaric,” he said, as he often did.
Cat turned and smiled at him. “Ah, but society would surely fall down if women did not wear them. If a lady could breathe properly, she might end up speaking her mind now and then.” Leo grinned back. He had already pulled out a clean cotton nightgown for her.
After she had slipped it over her head, and was settling herself under the covers, Cat finally asked the question that had been on her mind all night. “Whatever happened between Emmaline and Mr. Bowman?”
Leo looked at her. “I was hoping that you would be able to tell me.” He sighed. “The boy was completely respectful about it, and I gave my consent for him to ask her hand because I thought that was what would make Emmie happy. She turned him down, and she was completely miserable about it all night.”
“Maybe it was just too soon for her, she’s still practically a child,” Cat said, suddenly overcome with images of her daughter playing in mudpies and running barefoot through the meadows of Hampshire with a kite and her twin brother chasing after her. “And the Season hadn’t even begun but that’s not our Emmie, I never believed she cared for such things.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s it either,” Leo agreed, pulling his wife into his arms and stroking his hands over her hair in an absent-minded manner. He’d always loved her hair, and still thought of the day he’d first seen it, unbound and glimmering in the sunlight in the gardens at Ramsay House. She was the only person in the world with hair that color, the pink tint of champagne, even his own beautiful daughters had the rich brown curls of the Hathaways. “Emmaline’s not like Edward. She’s always followed her heart. I don’t know why she would turn away from it now.”
“They do love each other, don’t they?” Cat asked, turning her head up to look at Leo.
“I believe so,” Leo answered, sleep starting to claim his voice and thoughts. It had been a hell of a long night. “But they are so young...what do they really know of anything?”
Cat chuckled softly. They were all still her babies, they always would be. “You’re probably right, husband.”
“Aren’t I always?” At this, they both laughed sleepily.
“So that’s tomorrow’s battle then?” Cat murmured against Leo’s chest, through a yawn.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It will have to be. Good night, Marks.”
“Good night, my lord.”
<<<333