Harry

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Chapter One

Homecoming

Emma took a deep breath and made up her mind. It was time to pick a new husband.

She closed the door of her wardrobe, shutting all the black, grey and lavender dresses away, and picked up the jade green silk dress she had been avoiding for the last month. This dress was her declaration that her mourning period was over, and she was on the hunt.

Her bedroom door opened and her sister-in-law slipped inside. When Niamh saw the green dress, she squealed with delight. “You’re going to do it! I’m so happy for you. Here, let me help you into it.”

Without waiting for an answer, Niamh dismissed the maid and, with her own hands, helped Emma into the dress. She twitched the folds into place and adjusted Emma’s ringlets to best advantage.

Emma tried to feel properly grateful. Niamh Castleton was the acknowledged beauty of not just Tullamore, but the whole of central Ireland. Her pure blonde hair, delicate features and elegant figure attracted gentlemen at all social events, and her eye for fashion made her equally popular with the ladies. With Niamh’s help, even Emma would show to advantage.

Niamh finished fussing and stood back to survey the result. “Oh yes. I knew that shade of green would show off your chestnut hair.”

Emma shifted uneasily. “It feels a bit skimpy. Should I really be showing so much décollage?” The tiny puffed sleeves provided ridiculously little coverage and her entire top half felt naked. She attempted to pull the neckline of the dress higher. The reflection in her mirror revealed far more of her bountiful figure than was seemly.

“Nonsense,” Niamh said sharply. “You’ve been buried in widow’s weeds too long. I’m delighted to see you out of them and on the hunt for a new husband.”

“I’m doing no such thing.” She was, of course, but how could she admit this to her dead husband’s sister.

Niamh widened her artfully shaded eyes. “In that case, I’m going to look a veritable fool, as I’ve invited every eligible man in the county to come to dinner tonight.”

“You didn’t.”

Niamh ignored Emma’s shock. “I did. But don’t worry, you know all of them.” She linked her arm in through Emma’s. “Now come along, I think I hear the first of your guests arriving.”

Two hours later, Emma reflected ruefully that all the eligible men in Co Offally didn’t exactly amount to a wide choice, and as Niamh had said, she did know all of them. They were her fellow land-owners in the area, and she had already dealt with many of them, giving aid or occasionally competing against them. She had certainly crossed swords and exchanged sharp words with some of them.

Still, it was different when she was considering them as possible husbands.

She put down her napkin and rose from the table. “Ladies, shall we?” As the hostess and the highest ranked lady in the area, it fell to her to take the lead in social affairs. All the other ladies rose obediently, prepared to follow her to the drawing room and tea.

“Of course, Lady Castleton, lead on.” Mrs Durrow, twenty years her senior, fell into line behind her, leading the other ladies.

Emma still had to restrain the urge to laugh hysterically at the notion of herself as the senior lady of the county. Somewhere inside, she was still the gawky young girl who had attracted the passion of young Harry Castleton long before he had inherited the title or been killed, and no amount of study of the rules of precedence had made her confident in her role as society hostess.

Peter Belvedere stood up. “I say, Lady Castleton, I was thinking that perhaps the gentlemen could forego the port in favour of a cup of tea with the ladies. I wanted to discuss your recent reforms with you.”

She inclined her head. “Of course, Mr Belvedere, I would be glad to.” On this subject, she could hold her own, and frequently had, against the objection of other land owners who felt a woman could not manage the large Castleton estates. Peter Belvedere was one of the few men who had not tried to take her to task in public for her stance.

As the gentlemen took their tea from Niamh and joined her for a discussion of the damage done by the incessant rain and subsequent floods, Emma evaluated them as potential husbands.

Not Sir Thomas Kinnitty. He might be on the hunt for a new wife, but he was easily fifty and had four daughters older than Emma.

Peadar Mulligan was a bruising rider, but his lack of kindness to his horses did not suggest he would treat a wife well.

Septimus Grey was said to have fathered dozens of bastards on his serving maids, and while the evidence of his potency was welcome, his lack of concern for the welfare of his children was not.

Emma listened with half an ear to the men clustered around her, arguing about the cause of the bad weather and the effects it would have on crop production. Instead she examined them as potential husbands, and found them all wanted. That one was known to despise strong-willed women. The other one was known to be cruel to his tenants. This one smelled bad.

In the end, there was only one choice. When Peter Belvedere held out his arm to her and suggested a stroll, she smiled at him. “I’d be delighted.” She put her fingers on his arm and walked with him along the humid warmth of the conservatory. Through the large glass panels that some extravagant and long dead Castleton had ordered, she could see the sun setting across the park and a rider approaching on a tired horse.

She made a mental note to check out other forms of horse feed, since the oat crop was looking exceedingly waterlogged, before she returned her attention to Peter Belvedere.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a round ruddy face and kind eyes. His sandy hair had a habit of flopping into his eyes which Emma had never decided if she found childish or endearing. When he was in earnest, he occasionally stammered.

He was stammering now. “Lady C-c-castleton, it is over t-t-two years since your h-h-husband died. You m-m-must know how I f-f-feel about you.” To her shock, he dropped to one knee. “Lady Castleton. Emma. It would give me the g-g-greatest joy if you would consent to be my w-w-w-wife.”

Emma looked down into his earnest face and curbed her urge to finish his sentences for him. She ignored the rise in noise coming from the drawing room. Peter was a good man and would make a good father to the children she hoped to have. She took a breath and committed herself. “Yes, Mr Belvedere, I’ll marry you.”

He leaped up, a delighted smile rendering him handsome, and took her tenderly into his arms. “You won’t regret this, I p-p-promise. You will be a w-w-wonderful w-w-wife.” He bent his head to kiss her, and Emma suffered a start of surprised. The last man to kiss her, so long ago, had been closer to her own height.

The door of the conservatory burst open, and a wet muddy figure burst in, bringing with it a smell of horse, leather, sweat and rain. Even in the dim light, Emma could see the fury in the thin, scarred face.

“What the devil do you think you are doing?” the stranger demanded.

Emma caught her breath. It couldn’t be….

Peter scowled at the interruption, but managed to remain polite. “You may be the first to congratulate us, sir. Lady Castleton has just agreed to marry me.” He kept his arm around Emma.

The man advanced, rage pouring off him in waves. “You can just take your damned hands off my wife.”

Peter recoiled, shocked speechless.

“Emma, come with me and explain this.”

His bearing, his face, his figure, even his voice had changed, but nothing could disguise the electric blue Castleton eyes. “Yes, Harry,” Emma said. Somehow, her husband had risen from the dead to come back for her. And he was beyond angry.

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