Читать книгу Scandalous Regency Secrets Collection - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 39

EPILOGUE

THERE WERE TWO musty old aunts in the second pew, a quiet and reserved-looking Charlotte Seavers and her father in the third, and only Emmaline and John sitting in the first pew as the vicar looked uncomfortable in the small chapel hung in black crepe but glaringly absent of coffins.

Helen Daughtry had not only sent her regrets, but had forbidden her twin daughters from attending the service. “Much too depressing for the young dears,” she’d insisted, which was, Emmaline knew, another way of saying, “If they’re there, then I have to be there, and I don’t want to be there.”

Last night, while the two of them were in bed together after the rest of the household was asleep, John had proposed a wine toast to Helen’s absence. If it were possible to love him even more, she did, because he was so impervious to Helen’s beauty and wiles.

The quickness of the memorial ceremony and the absence of the trio who would provide raucous entertainment for them had kept Charlton’s friends firmly in London. As for George and Harold, they were the sort who had acquaintances, men to whom they either owed money or were owed money. Not friends.

It was a sad statement about three wasted lives, lives that could have been so rich as well as privileged.

Now Rafael Daughtry was the Duke of Ashurst, even if he was probably still unaware of his new title. His mother would drive Grayson and the other servants to distraction when she was in residence, and Nicole and Lydia would make them happy again, as all the staff adored the twins.

But Emmaline, who had thought she’d never leave Ashurst Hall, would be departing in the next few weeks to become the Duchess of Warrington. It was obscene, unheard of, for a woman in mourning to wed so hastily, but when she and John had realized that neither cared what Society thought, Emmaline had set her maid to bringing down trunks from the attic so that they could begin packing up her belongings.

“We mourn our brothers, Charlton, George, Harold,” Vicar Wooten droned on—he’d been droning on for nearly an hour and even he seemed fatigued. “Dust to dust, ashes to ashes...um, well, not perhaps in this particular case, begging your pardon.”

One of the aunts stifled a giggle and, for some reason she would never understand, that caused Emmaline to shed her very first tears for her brother and nephews.

Not in this case. No, nothing was quite like this case. The deaths had been senseless, unnecessary and much too soon.

She dabbed at her moist eyes with the corner of her handkerchief, knowing her tears now were for what might have been, for the past that could never be changed.

And then John slipped his hand into hers, squeezed it, and she turned to look at this man she loved. Every question she’d ever had, any answer she’d ever sought. They were all there, in his eyes. She smiled through her tears as she saw her future.

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