Page 58 of The Mister I Married

Chapter Fifteen

When Emmy awoke the following morning, she was alone. She’d rolled onto her back, expecting to find her husband lying beside her, but Alex was nowhere to be seen, and his pillow was cold to the touch.

Evidently, he’d slipped away in the night and returned to his own room to sleep.

His departure had surprised her, though she knew it really shouldn’t have, considering her behavior the morning prior when she’d rushed him out of her bedchamber. It stood to reason he would wish to avoid that again.

Still, after such a pleasant—and pleasurable—evening together, she had expected him to stay, and she’d been disappointed when she awoke to find that he hadn’t. Her own hypocrisy was not lost on her. This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? She’d erected boundaries and Alex was making an effort to abide by them. She should be pleased. She should not be disappointed, and she certainly should not be irritated with him.

Yet, she was.

Even now, hours later, as the carriage carried her and Tess toward the village, her thoughts kept straying back to her husband, and to her own muddled feelings.

She was a married woman now with a duty to her husband and his family, but that did not mean she was willing to relinquish every last drop of independence. Her life was still her own, and she would not allow herself—or Alex—to forget it.

They were husband and wife, and they shared a common goal, but even so, there must be some separation between them, a bit of freedom to think their own thoughts and pursue their own interests.

The problem was, she enjoyed being with him too much. And that made it easy to forget the rules.

Irritated with herself now, Emmy pursed her lips and tried to focus her mind on the afternoon ahead. She was on her way to a village she’d never seen before, with people she’d never met. She ought to be excited.

And I am, she told herself stubbornly, as the carriage rolled up the lane toward Gladwin and the village green came into view.

“Oh, how charming,” she said, leaning into the window to get a better look.

The village square was modest yet tidy, flanked by shops painted a cheerful blue and white, and oak walkways dotted with colorful flowers in pots. A lovely little church sat just beyond the village green, gleaming beneath the warm summer sun, an idyllic backdrop to the comings and goings of proprietors and patrons alike.

“Gladwin is just a little village,” Tess said, “but Mr. Clive’s sweets shop is first-rate, and the Martindale sisters’ gowns and hats are as lovely as anything you’ll find in London.”

Emmy smiled, her gaze sweeping over the picturesque square. “Then we shall not leave without visiting them both.”

And a few minutes later, they filed through the Martindales’ door and into the cozy, colorful shop.

Every corner, every nook, was used to display their wares—hats, gloves, parasols, fans, gowns in a variety of fabrics and colors.

The shop was not teeming with patrons, but neither was it totally empty. A pair of young red-haired women who looked far too alike not to be related were at the counter speaking with an older woman with graying brown hair who had to be one of the shop’s owners.

Another pair of women stood at a display case lined with gloves, one older, one younger. A mother and daughter, Emmy would guess. She drew nearer to them, her gaze roving over the selection of fine silks and satins as Tess followed.

“These would go well with my new ivory gown, would they not, Mama?” The younger woman, petite and pretty with raven-black hair and big blue eyes, held up a pair of yellow gloves for her mother’s consideration.

The other woman, an older, slightly plumper version of her daughter, nodded in approval. “Indeed they would, my darling. Most elegant.”

“Oh, my,” Emmy broke in with a bright smile. “What a gorgeous pair of gloves, and such an uncommon shade of yellow. ”

It was, of course, considered very bad form to address a stranger without first being introduced to them. Presumably, this was the reason why her comment was met with twin expressions of cool disdain.

“Please forgive the interruption,” she said, pressing on when still no response came. “I’m afraid my manners leave a lot to be desired. I am Lady Emmaline, and this is my sister-in-law, Miss Whitcomb.”

Tess bobbed a curtsy, her lips turned up in an uncertain smile.

“Sister-in-law?” the older woman echoed, brows arching high. “Oh, then you must be Whitcomb’s new bride.”

Emmy widened her smile. “Indeed I am.”

“I see.” She sniffed, exchanging a glance with her daughter and then, begrudgingly it seemed, said, “I am Lady Delafield, and this is my daughter, Miss Daisy Delafield.”

Emmy curtsied. “It is a pleasure to meet you both.”