He waited, his eyes somber.
“It’s hard to explain; I didn’t even understand how it happened myself, until long afterward, when it was all too late anyway.” She took a deep breath. “But somehow, suddenly, everyone in Bucklebury—that’s the village closest to our—to Papa’s house—was talking about me behind my back, saying—” She swallowed, unable to force the hateful words out.
“Saying?”
“Saying that I was, that I—that I’d been fornicating with stableboys and grooms.” She looked at him, anguished. “This was more than two years after Sam had left the country, you understand—not that I’d ever...” She shook her head. “They weren’t talking about Sam. Papa had kept that very quiet. But somehow, it came out, two years later, only... vilely twisted and horribly exaggerated. They said—” She broke off, her voice shaking. Her whole body was shaking.
She forced it out. “They said I’d been acting the whore for anyone in breeches, all over the parish, preferring farmhands to the attentions of gentlemen.”
He made a small sound. She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t, not until she’d told him everything. “It wasn’t true, I promise you—but everyone seemed to believe it, everyone was talking about it. Someone told Papa—well, half the village seemed to have told Papa, including the vicar. But in particular our neighbor, Papa’s friend, Mr. Irwin, passed on all the dreadful stories—but they weren’t true, none of them.”
Tears were rolling down her cheeks, “None of it was true, Cal, Ipromiseyou. I never didanyof those things they were—”
“Hush.” He reached forward and placed his finger over her lips. “I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me those rumors were a pack of filthy lies.”
She blinked at him through her tears. “Really? You believe me?”
“I think I know you a little by now.” His voice was gruff.
Her mouth wobbled. “Do you?” Papa didn’t seem to, even after a lifetime.
He nodded. “I know you give yourself with reckless generosity—and I’m not talking about that swine who seduced you when you were seventeen, I’m talking about agreeing to marry a man you’d met a bare handful of times—none of them particularly auspicious.”
His voice deepened. “You married me, you took on my wild girls, became their guide, their friend and their defender. You took me on and showed me how to be a brother and an uncle. And a husband.”
Her face crumpled. The tears were flowing faster now.
“You’re reckless, you’re loyal and you’re true. I couldn’t have found a better wife if I’d searched for a decade. Even if those vile rumors were true—and don’t look at me like that, Iknowthey’re not—but even if they were, it would make no difference to me.”
He cupped her face in his hands and wiped away the tears with his thumbs. “Marry in haste, Aunt Agatha said to me, but marrying you is the best thing I’ve ever done in my life.”
“Oh, Cal...” Tears flooded her again, and he drew her into his arms and started kissing them away.
“Don’t worry about the rumors. We’ll fix everything.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet, but we will. We’ll face them down together, my dear. Don’t worry.” There was a little pause and then he said in quite a different tone, “Now, since you’re not feeling ill, how do I get to you through this amazingly thick and voluminous nightgown?”
She gave a tremulous laugh and showed him.
He was such a gift, this dear, kind, trusting, honorable man. Emm ached to tell him how much she loved him, but it wasn’t part of their arrangement, and though he’d madeit clear he was pleased with their marriage, and with her, he’d never said anything to make her think he felt anything deeper toward her.
It was gratitude he was talking about. And satisfaction with his choice of wife. She would hate to spoil everything by spouting words he could never return.
She showed him instead.
***
The next morning, despite their late night, they rose early, as usual, to go riding. At that hour the few other people in the park were those who were also actually riding their horses, instead of walking them in order to be seen and admired, as people did during the fashionable afternoon hours.
It was fast becoming their family habit, as long as it wasn’t pouring with rain. As soon as they reached the park and had a good gallop in the morning mist, the three girls rode off, their groom, Kirk, a phlegmatic middle-aged Scotsman, following behind to keep an eye on them, while Emm and Cal walked their horses and talked.
“You said you didn’t understand how the gossip happened until long afterward,” Cal said, showing that it was on his mind as much as hers. “So what did happen?”
“I think it all came from Mr. Irwin, Papa’s friend and our neighbor.”
“Why do you think that?”
