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After five seasons…
She was still on the shelf!
Part of The Cinderella Spinsters. Miss Emma Henley knows she’s neither pretty nor rich enough to land a husband. Instead she’s thrown her passion into good causes. But this season she’s tempted by a flirtation with Lord Theo. The dashing rake is just as determined to stay unwed as she is. It’s scandalous…but if she’s never to marry, perhaps he can show her the pleasures of the marriage bed!
JULIA JUSTISS wrote her own ideas for Nancy Drew stories in her third-grade notebook, and has been writing ever since. After publishing poetry in college she turned to novels. Her Regency historical romances have won or been placed in contests by the Romance Writers of America, RT Book Reviews, National Readers’ Choice and the Daphne du Maurier Award. She lives with her husband in Texas. For news and contests visit juliajustiss.com.
Also by Julia Justiss
Hadley’s Hellions miniseries
Forbidden Nights with the Viscount
Stolen Encounters with the Duchess
Convenient Proposal to the Lady
Secret Lessons with the Rake
Sisters of Scandal miniseries
A Most Unsuitable Match
The Earl’s Inconvenient Wife
The Cinderella Spinsters miniseries
The Awakening of Miss Henley
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
The Awakening of Miss Henley
Julia Justiss
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-08942-5
THE AWAKENING OF MISS HENLEY
© 2019 Janet Justiss
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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Version: 2020-03-02
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To the tireless Regency experts
of RWA’s Beau Monde Chapter,
whose wealth of knowledge helps me avoid making
(most) historical mistakes. I appreciate you all!
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Extract
About the Publisher
Chapter One
‘Who did you say was calling?’ Emma Henley asked, looking up at the maid who’d interrupted her avid study of the new travel journal recently lent to her by her friend Temperance Lattimar, now the Countess of Fensworth.
‘I didn’t catch the name, miss,’ the maid said. ‘Someone important, which was why Lady Henley sent me to fetch you.’
For a moment, Emma considered refusing, then closed the volume with regret. ‘Someone “important”?’ she repeated under her breath. Why her mama continued to insist she receive visitors with her, Emma couldn’t imagine. As she was now embarked on her fifth Season, it wasn’t as if all the society doyennes hadn’t had ample opportunity to look her over. And who of importance would call this early in the morning?
‘Very well, Marie,’ she said with a sigh, ‘tell her I will be down in a moment.’
‘You look right fetching in that new turquoise gown with your hair up in that twist of curls,’ the maid said. ‘I should think you’d want to be showing off to important visitors.’
‘I do appreciate your efforts,’ Emma said, smiling at the girl as she curtsied. Sweet Marie, she thought, watching the maid walk out, who in the face of all indications to the contrary, seemed to remain as optimistic about her charge’s chances of marrying as Emma’s ever-hopeful mama, despite the fact that Emma had gone through five years on the Marriage Mart still unwed.
Not that she hadn’t had opportunities, she thought as she checked herself in the glass, tucking an errant pin back into her curls. But a lifetime of witnessing her parents’ union, in which each spouse went their own way, had left her with little enthusiasm for the married state. Papa contented himself with his clubs and his mistresses, Mama with her admirers and her circle of friends. Added to that disinclination was the sad fact that her older sister had received all her mama’s famous beauty, leaving Emma tall, plain and unremarkable, and the happy fact that an aunt had given her a competence that would allow her to remain independent without having to marry. Those two factors meant she was able to be as choosy about her prospects as a well-dowered Incomparable.
Confident she could avoid penury even if she didn’t marry, she had not once been tempted to accept any of the several offers made to a girl her own mother described as ‘not pretty enough to tempt a rake and not rich enough to tempt a fortune hunter.’ Her sister, Cecilia, might have dazzled the son of a duke, but Emma knew well her tall, lanky figure, long, pale face and drab brown hair were unlikely to inspire a man with ardour. She simply refused to succumb to the traditional fate of a plain wife, contenting herself with home and children and looking the other way while her husband pursued prettier women.
No, she thought, smoothing the lace at her sleeves as she proceeded to the stairs, she wanted a much more interesting life than managing a household and keeping track of servants, nursery maids and a pack of squalling brats. Or filling her days with calls and shopping and her evenings with endless, and endlessly repetitive, balls, musicales and soirées attended by the same people doing the same things, year after year.
When her friend Temperance introduced her last Season to Lady Lyndlington and her Ladies’ Committee, whose purpose was to write letters in support of the reforms introduced by her husband’s group in Parliament, Emma felt she’d finally found her calling. Women might not yet be able to vote or sit in Parliament, but as a member of the Ladies’ Committee, she could do her part for the betterment of her country.
Now, she wouldn’t consider taking on the burdens of marriage and motherhood unless her spouse were a man of purpose like Lord Lyndlington, who believed a wife his equal and supported her involvement in the reform movement.
A rather unlikely prospect, she conceded with another sigh. If only she could convince Mama to give up her useless husband-hunting! But by the end of this Season, if not before, she told herself firmly as she reached the main floor and turned towards the front parlour, she would dig in her heels and simply refuse to go through another. She would finally secure a home for herself and her friends to share, where they could eschew society and devote their time to the political causes they believed in so passionately.
‘Not in there, miss.’ Haines, their butler, stepped forward from his post to arrest her progress. ‘Lady Henley wanted you in the Green Salon.’
‘The Green Salon?’ she echoed. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, miss. She was quite insistent.’
Puzzled, Emma shook her head. Her mama normally received ‘important’ visitors in the large front parlour, the smaller Green Salon at the back of the house, overlooking the garden, being reserved for calls by friends or for family gatherings. Wondering who might have arrived that would induce her mother to choose that more intimate space, Emma walked past the front parlour and entered the Green Salon.
Where she found, not Lady Henley and some bosom friend, but Mr Paxton Nullford, pacing nervously before the hearth.
Alarmed and irritated in equal measures, she whirled about, intending to immediately quit the room. Mr Nullford hurried over to seize her arm and prevent her escape.
‘Please, Miss Henley, won’t you allow me to speak?’
‘That is entirely unnecessary, Mr Nullford,’ she replied. ‘I expect my mother must have encouraged you, but surely you remember that I have made it quite clear on several occasions that—’
‘I know, I know,’ he interrupted. ‘But won’t you hear me out? You may be…mistaken in what you think I intend to say.’
She wanted to snap back that there was nothing he could say that would be remotely of interest to her. But the earnest expression on his broad face and the pleading look in his watery blue eyes made her hold her tongue.
He might be stocky and stodgy, and not very intelligent—certainly, he seemed not to have taken to heart any of the repeated, quite definite indications she’d given him that she was not interested in his pursuit—but he was also inoffensive and well meaning. She couldn’t quite bring herself to rudely dismiss him.
Maybe it would be better to let him come out with the declaration she’d been trying to avoid for the last month, turn him down with a finality even he must understand and be done with it.
‘Very well, Mr Nullford,’ she capitulated. Avoiding the sofa, where he might try to sit beside her, she took instead one of the wing chairs by the hearth. ‘Say what you must. But please—’ she held out a hand as he seemed prepared to lower his thick body to one knee ‘—say it standing or seated.’
He gave her a brief smile. ‘Seated, then, like the sensible individuals we are.’
Please, Heaven, be sensible enough to depart quickly, she thought, not wishing to drag out what was certain to be an uncomfortable interview.
After choosing the wing chair opposite, he began, ‘I know you have not…actively encouraged my suit.’
‘Without wishing to be unkind, Mr Nullford, it would be more accurate to say I have actively discouraged it.’
‘True,’ he admitted. ‘Lady Henley explained to me that you have this…unusual aversion to marriage. But she and I both believe that, sooner or later, you will realise that, as a gently bred lady, marriage is the only option that will secure for you a comfortable future. Surely you don’t intend to…to take up a trade? Hire yourself out as a governess or companion, or some such?’
‘No,’ she said shortly, irritated anew that her mother had discussed her future with a man to whom she’d given not a particle of encouragement. ‘As my mother evidently did not inform you, I have funds from an aunt that will allow me to maintain a household of my own, without having to seek the sort of employment available to a genteel lady.’
‘You are mistaken; she did tell me of your intentions. But you cannot have seriously thought through the consequences of such a choice. A single woman living alone, even with a companion? You would be thought such an oddity! I expect your family would continue to receive you, but over time, most of society would stop including you. She and I both fear that, as you grow older, you would find yourself increasingly isolated and, as your family passed, virtually friendless.’
Though Emma was reasonably confident she could build a full, satisfying life on her own, the niggle of doubt in the back of her mind made her hesitate.
And thereby missed the chance to interrupt before Nullford continued, ‘I know you don’t have any great enthusiasm for my company, but I don’t think you…dislike me, do you?’
‘No, Mr Nullford. In fact, if you cease to be a suitor, I think I could like you quite well,’ she replied with a smile.
‘That’s a start. I think we could live…comfortably together. I know I’m not handsome, or witty, or clever, but unlike most of the unmarried girls I’ve met, especially the pretty ones, you’ve always been…too kind to show that you hold that opinion. Though you are far more clever than I am, you’ve disparaged marriage, but not the man,’ he added with a slight smile.
Emma squirmed, feeling somewhat guilty. Though she might never, by word or implication, have expressed derogatory sentiments to him, she’d certainly thought them. Even as far as to mentally refer to him as ‘Mr Null’, devoid of looks, personality and wit.
However, having been disparaged herself by a society that prized beauty more than kindness or character, she felt an unwanted swell of sympathy for the earnest man before her.
And so she remained silent as Nullford continued, ‘Society wouldn’t consider me rich, but I have sufficient funds to maintain you in style, with Seasons in London and summers at my country estate. I can offer you respect, fidelity and the certainty that you can live out your life surrounded by the friends, family and society in which you’ve grown up.’
Despite her entreaty, at this point he came over, dropped down on one knee and seized her hand. ‘Miss Henley, we are both sensible enough to recognise that neither of us are the sort to inspire…an all-consuming passion. But we could build a quiet, satisfying life together.’
Her sympathy evaporating, Emma wasn’t sure whether she was more dispirited—or furious. A ‘comfortable’ life married to man who inspired in her nothing but a tepid respect wasn’t any more attractive a prospect than becoming the neglected wife of a handsome man she desired. And though she’d always known in her heart that she wasn’t pretty enough to inspire passion, it still stung to have him point that out.
‘So you propose a marriage devoid of passion?’ she flung back.
‘Well, not exactly,’ he tempered. ‘Of course, I’d be prepared to offer you…’ His words trailed off and his face went scarlet. ‘The, ah, prospect of conceiving children.’
She might be an unmarried lady around whom no one discussed the details of the marital embrace, but having grown up in the country, she had a good notion of what it involved. The idea of submitting to such intimacy with a man for whom she felt…nothing seemed unendurable.
Especially since, if her thoughts strayed towards passion, a very clear image came to mind.
Struggling to banish the memory of Lord Theo Collington’s handsome face and control the volatile emotions that made her want to scratch Nullford’s eyes out, she pulled her hand free.
‘While I appreciate the kindness of your offer—’ to this plain, unfortunate female who will never inspire passion ‘—I cannot accept it. My helpful mother should also have informed you that I aspire to something different than the normal female role of running a household and raising children. I wish to be involved in political causes—indeed, I have already begun to involve myself. I doubt you would appreciate having a wife who abandons the domestic realm to go about speaking in public, or who writes letters to Members of Parliament urging passage of legislation restricting child labour and extending the vote. Activities for which, unlike marriage, I feel a great deal of enthusiasm. As I am already two-and-twenty, and well on the shelf, that enthusiasm is unlikely to dissipate at the prospect of remaining a spinster.’
‘Political activities?’ he echoed, a look of horror dispelling his expression of entreaty. ‘Writing letters to Members of Parliament?’
‘Yes. So you see, despite your and my mother’s kind efforts to push me towards more traditional feminine pursuits, I am absolutely committed to a path of which you could never approve. Now,’ she said, rising briskly and holding up a palm to forestall a response, ‘I don’t think any more needs to be said. Except,’ she added as she gestured him to the door, ‘that I am certain, with a little perseverance, you will discover another plain female much more amenable than I to settling for respect and a conventional future. Goodbye, Mr Nullford.’
Looking shocked and a little bewildered, her rejected suitor gave her a shaky bow and walked out.
Once the door closed behind him, a still-furious Emma blew out an exasperated breath. Mama had encouraged, prodded and harangued her towards marriage before, but to have prompted Nullford into a proposal—and so insulting a proposal—was outside of enough!
Too angry to want to confront her mother at the moment and too unsettled to return to her book, once she heard the close of the door announcing that her unwelcome caller had departed, Emma hurried down the hall and up to her room.
With Nullford’s words having stirred up too many raw emotions, she needed to get away until she felt calmer. Since it was still early enough that Hyde Park should be devoid of society, she’d have Marie help her into her habit and go for a ride.
Marie, she recalled suddenly, halting in mid-stride, who had coaxed her to wear the new gown and let her hair be styled in a different manner.
Then there was Haines, who had known very well that it wasn’t her mother awaiting her in the Green Salon.
Apparently the whole household had been complicit in luring her to that fiasco of a proposal.
Her anger deepening, she stomped up the remaining stairs. Her groom had better bring his best horse, because she needed to indulge in a tearing gallop.
Chapter Two
Running a hand over the stubble on his chin, Lord Theo Collington turned his horse down one of the pathways bordering Rotten Row. Despite not returning home until morning, he’d been too restless and out of sorts to seek his bed, deciding instead to order his gelding and head to Hyde Park for a ride while the park was still thin of company. He needed to think and he didn’t want to encounter anyone who would require him to play the increasingly wearying role of the devil-may-care man-about-town.
Not that he had any viable alternative to evenings of gaming with his friends or nights spent visiting the opera, the theatre, or whatever select society entertainment he expected to be amusing. But of late, a vague discomfort had begun to shadow his pleasure in those activities. A long-suppressed sense that there should have been something more to his life.
Not the ‘something more’ his mama continually urged on him—which was marriage and the setting up of his nursery. Though he very much enjoyed the female form and figure, he hadn’t yet encountered a woman out of bed who didn’t, after a time, grow tedious.
Well, perhaps one, he thought, smiling as he recalled the sharp verbal fencing that occurred whenever he encountered Miss Emma Henley. Fortunately, however, that lady was as little interested in marriage as he was, so he might indulge in the delight of her company without raising expectations in either her or society that he had matrimonial leanings in her direction.
When it came to ladies, though, one thing he did know for certain. After the contretemps at the opera last night, his liaison with Lady Belinda Ballister was definitely over.
That resolution was the easiest of the conclusions he’d needed the crisp morning air to clear his head enough to make. Still, forcing himself to give up the admittedly exceptional pleasure the skilfully inventive Belinda had given him the last few months was a sacrifice heroic enough to deserve a reward. He’d allow himself a gallop before returning home.
Gathering the reins back in both hands, he signalled his mount to start.
Ah, now this pleasure truly never would pale, he thought as the gelding reached full stride. His heart exulted with the rapid tattoo of the hoofbeats, the thrill of speeding over the ground, while the rush of wind blew the last of the brandy fumes out of his head.
This pleasure of another sort was, in its own way, nearly as satisfying as a rendezvous with the tireless Belinda. Maybe he ought to take up racing horses.
That nonsensical idea had him smiling as he rounded a corner—and almost collided with a rider galloping straight at him.
Both horses shied, fortunately to opposite sides of the path. It took him a moment to control his startled mount and bring him to a halt before he could turn to check on the other horseman.
Or rather, horsewoman, he corrected, noting the trailing riding habit. Noting also the expertise of the rider, who had quickly brought her own plunging, panicked horse back under control.
Straightening the shako on her head—the only damage she seemed to have suffered—the lady turned towards him. ‘Lord Theo,’ she said, the tone of her musical voice sardonic. ‘I should have known. Who else could I have expected to almost run me down in the park?’