The Maverick's Bride

“Of course he did. You’re meant to be dancing with Mr. Bond. He’s your escort.”

“Adam asked about my nursing.”

“Adam? You call him Adam?”

But Emma did not hear her sister’s words. She was gazing at the gloves on the side table beside the door. Lifting her eyes to the window, she looked out into the moonlit night.

A movement caught her attention and she focused on the long gravel drive lined with flowering trees. Down its silvery path galloped a dark shadow of a horse. As the rider urged his mount through the gate and turned onto the street, Emma gingerly lifted her gloves from the table.

Chapter Three

“Emmaline.”

At the deep voice, Emma turned from the ballroom window to face her father. Lips rimmed in white, he stared at her.

“Yes, Father?” She heard the tremble in her voice.

“Come with me, Emmaline.”

Emma glanced at Cissy, whose face had paled to ash. With a quick squeeze of her sister’s hand, Cissy nudged Emma toward their father. Godfrey Pickering turned on his heel and strode across the room toward the hallway.

Hurrying after him, Emma swallowed at the fear of what was to come, a scene father and daughter so often had played out. Knowing what to expect did nothing to calm the thundering of her heart. She ventured a look at Nicholas. He had risen from the sofa, his eyes narrowed in curiosity.

“Father, what is it?” Emma called after the man, though she knew her offense too well.

He opened the door to a study some distance from the ballroom. “Emmaline, sit down.”

She perched on the edge of a long, overstuffed couch and knotted her hands together in her lap. Standing in front of a heavily curtained window, Pickering gazed at his daughter. He placed the tips of his fingers on the back of an armchair.

“Emmaline, did my eyes deceive me just now?”

She studied her fingers. “What did you see, Father?”

“I believe I saw you walking outside with a man. The American.”

“Sir, Mr. King wished to speak to me about a matter of some import. Truly, you saw nothing untoward.”

She stopped speaking, eyes on her father. Was he angry enough to strike her? It would not be the first time.

“Must I defend my actions on every occasion, Father?” she asked him. “You insist that I marry, and the sooner the better. Why should it trouble you where I place my attentions?”

Pickering’s eyes blazed. “Of course I want you to marry. I expect you to marry, and you will—as every woman should. But your husband must be suitable, Emmaline. A man like Nicholas Bond.”

“I have no interest in Mr. Bond.” Emma stood. “Nor do I want Adam King, for that matter. If I have my way, I shall never marry.”

“Emmaline, lower your voice,” Godfrey ordered. “Our words can be heard in the hall.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” she said with a sigh. “Forgive me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Sit down, Emmaline.”

“Father, I am twenty-two years old. Please speak to me as an adult.”

“I might consider it if you would act like one. But you insist on disobedience—as though your own feelings and desires are all that matter to your future.”

“What else can be of any significance to me?”

“The right and proper thing to do! Emmaline, you will one day be a woman of immense wealth.”

She had heard this speech so often she could almost recite her father’s words.

“You must see to it that your inheritance is not squandered,” he continued. “My money can only be entrusted to a man with a good head for business.”

“Do you wish you could take every tuppence with you when you die, Father?” She tried to hold her tongue. “I’m nothing more than a bank to you. If I marry the right man, your wealth will increase—and that’s all you care about. My feelings don’t matter. My future happiness makes no difference. My only purpose is to ensure that your precious holdings continue to grow so that your name may be remembered with admiration.”

“How dare you speak to me in this way?” Pickering’s voice quivered with rage. He walked toward Emma as he spoke. “You are my daughter and you will obey me. You must marry, or you will never have a farthing to your name. And you will marry the man I select.”

“I shall not.” Emma took a step backward. She had never spoken her thoughts so freely, but something inside her had changed. “I don’t care if I never see tuppence from you. I shall do what I’m meant to do, and you cannot stop me.”

“I can stop you and I will stop you.” Her father loomed before her now, his nostrils flaring as one hand gripped his chest over his heart.

Emma trembled as she faced him. “You can do nothing to me, sir. Nothing—ever again.”

As her words registered, his hand shot out and caught her across the cheek in a stinging blow. Her head jerked backward. The ceiling spun and went dark. Then she was on the floor, clutching her burning face.

Her father took a step and set his foot on her skirt, crushing the soft pink roses. “I am telling you now that you will marry the man I select,” he hissed. “You will have nothing more to do with Miss Nightingale or her nursing school or any other harebrained scheme of yours. Never forget your mother’s wickedness. I shall not allow you to disgrace me as she did. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.” Her head felt as if it had burst and she licked at the blood on her lip.

“Your behavior tonight was unfortunate, indeed. You embarrassed me, Emmaline.”

Nodding, she closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry, sir.”

She had always tried to do as he asked. These many years she had taken the place of her mother in restraining Cissy, in managing the household, in acting as hostess to her father’s associates. She had done all in her power to prevent his ire.

Cissy had no idea how often Emma had protected her from their father by blocking the advances of unsuitable would-be beaux. And yet when Cissy fell in love…and she often did…her father lightly reproved her, then hugged and pampered his younger daughter. Emma, who looked and acted so much like her mother, bore the brunt of his rage.

“Priscilla is in your charge,” he reminded Emma. “You must set a worthy example for your sister. I expect you to take care of her and protect her. I cannot be both mother and father to my daughters. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Then go to your room, Emmaline. I shall inform our hosts you were feeling tired.”

Struggling to her feet, Emma tugged her hem from beneath her father’s foot. At the door, she picked up the lavender gloves and held them to her lips. Her injuries would not look bad now, but she knew it could not be long until her face was blue and swollen.

As she stepped into her room, Emma shut the door behind her and ran to the window. Pushing back the curtain, she pressed her cheek against the cool glass and let the tears flow.

Her father was right, of course. She could never escape him. She must do as he said. Always.