"Apparently not." He was silent for a long moment. "There is something else for which I must apologize."
"Now you are beginning to alarm me, Blade," she said, laughter in her voice. "What was your other grave sin?"
"I underestimated you, my dear. You come across as so naive and optimistic, so determined to see the bright side of everyone and everything, so damn certain that I am some sort of hero when I know perfectly well I am not, that I did not credit you with a proper comprehension of your family situation. I should have known that anyone as shrewd with investments and money as you are could not be entirely blind to human nature. Did you really hate your father at times in the past?"
"Yes." Emily's voice no longer held a light note.
"You were correct when you said I must have hated mine for leaving me to pick up the pieces after he put that damn bullet through his head." Simon clenched his hand slowly and then forced himself to relax each finger. "I did not even realize just how much I hated him until you pointed it out last night."
"It seems a perfectly natural reaction to me, my lord," Emily said gently. "We were, both of us, given adult responsibilities at a very young age and expected to perform as adults. We were obliged to look after the welfare of others at a time when, by rights, someone should have been concerned about our welfare."
"Yes. I had not thought of it that way." Simon gazed out into the gray mist. "It was raining that night when I found him. He had come back from London two hours earlier. I heard my mother asking him what was wrong. He would not speak to her. He went into the library and announced he was not to be disturbed under any conditions. Mama went upstairs and cried. After a while we all heard the shot."
"Dear God, Simon."
"I reached the library first and opened the door. He was lying facedown across the desk. The gun had fallen from his hand. There was blood everywhere. And I saw that he had left a note. For me. Damn his soul to hell. He did not say goodbye or explain why he had to kill himself or tell me how in God's name I was supposed to handle the mess he had created. He just left a damn note telling me to take care of my mother."
"Simon. My dear Simon."
He did not hear her rise from the chair, but Emily was suddenly there behind him, her arms going around his waist. She hugged him with a fierce protectiveness, as if she could somehow banish forever the sight of his father's brains spattered on the wall behind the desk.
For a long while Simon did not move. He simply allowed Emily to hold him. He could feel her warmth and softness and he realized that this was akin to what he experienced when he made love to her, but slightly different. It was not passion he was feeling, but another kind of closeness, one he had never known before with any woman.
After a while it dawned on Simon that he was feeling calmer, more at peace with himself. The restlessness that had awakened him that morning was gone.
There was silence in the library until Greaves knocked on the door to announce the arrival of Simon's secretary.
Emily entered the park at a brisk trot, followed by her groom. The mare she was riding was a beautiful gray with fine, sensitive ears, delicate nostrils, and spectacular conformation. The horse had been a gift from Simon, who had surprised her with it two days earlier after their conversation in the library. Emily and her maid had promptly decided that the very new, very dashing riding habit a la militaire complimented the animal perfectly.
"Ah, there you are, Emily," Lady Merryweather said as she approached on a sleek bay. "You look spectacular in that black habit." She examined the red and gold trim on collar and cuffs with a critical eye. "I confess I had a few doubts when we ordered it, but I am very pleased to see how it sets off your fair skin and red hair. Quite dramatic."
Emily grinned. "Thank you, Araminta."
"You really should have removed the spectacles, however," Araminta admonished. "They do nothing for the habit."
"Araminta, I cannot ride a horse without being able to see what I am doing or where I am going."
"There must be some way to manage. We must work on the problem." Araminta drew her horse up alongside Emily's and the two started along the path, their grooms following at a discreet distance.
"Simon does not seem to mind my spectacles," Emily pointed out.
"Simon has a rather odd sense of humor. He finds your various eccentricities extremely amusing. And I must admit that they do not seem to be hurting your social success. The ton is quite taken with you these days. Your poor husband had a difficult time obtaining even one dance with you last night at Lady Crestwood's ball."
Emily blushed. "He could have had as many dances as he wished and well he knows it."
"Yes, I suppose that is true," Araminta acknowledged with a knowing glance. "I am certain he is well aware that you would trample over an entire mountain of your poor, faithful admirers to get to him if he but crooked his finger at you from the far side of a dance floor. Everyone else in Society is certainly aware of that fact."
"Really, Araminta, you make me sound like a hound who bounds straight to her master's side whenever she is called."
"Well, you do tend to make your preference for your husband quite clear. That is not particularly fashionable, my dear. And, to be perfectly frank, I am not altogether certain it is wise. You do not want Blade to begin to take you for granted."
"Blade takes nothing for granted," Emily stated. "He has a true understanding of everything he chooses to acquire and a full comprehension of the cost of whatever he does."
Araminta chuckled. "I can see it is hopeless to lecture you on the advantages of not giving away your true feelings to your husband. Now, then, my dear, you must tell me how the plans are going for your first soiree. Did you send out the cards?"
"Yesterday. I invited everyone on the list Simon's secretary prepared, Araminta. I trust I did the right thing. It is going to be a terrible crush."
"Just what you want. Trust me, my dear. You must be certain that the house is so crowded it takes people half an hour just to get in the door."
Emily grimaced. "That is what Simon said, but I still think it sounds uncomfortable."
"It is not a question of comfort, it is a matter of cementing your position as a hostess among the haute monde."
"Yes, I know. I must not embarrass Simon in any way," Emily said earnestly. "Believe me, Araminta, I am well aware of how important this soiree is to my husband. As Blade's wife it is my duty to make the affair a great success. The social world will be watching to see what sort of hostess the Earl of Blade has married and I am determined that Simon not be humiliated in any way."
Araminta frowned. "I do not think you quite understand, Emily. This is your debut as a hostess. It is your soiree."
"And everything I do will reflect on Simon," Emily concluded firmly. "The soiree must be perfect in every detail. I have spent hours on the plans already. Very exhausting, if you must know the truth."
Araminta gave up and nodded to a lady being driven toward them in a brown landau. "Smile," she commanded Emily in a low voice. "That is Lady Peppington. I shall introduce you."
Emily smiled cheerfully at the elegantly dressed middle-aged woman as Araminta made the introductions. Lady Peppington inclined her head in a frozen nod and then looked away. The landau went briskly on down the path.
Emily was seized with panic. "Bloody hell."
Araminta raised her brows. "What on earth is the matter now, Emily?"