Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(74)

Emmaline shifted on her feet, having the sense not to speak.

“What say you, sister?”

She nodded. “His hearing is rather impressive. I shall be off.” Turning on her heel, she tossed a wave over her shoulder.

“Remember just a picnic, Em. That is all I’m consenting to.”

***

In spite of Sebastian’s earlier protests, Emmaline had been victorious—she had gotten her picnic. Her maid, Grace trailed behind her and Drake as they made their way through Hyde Park. There was something thrilling about turning out the victor in a losing argument against the Duke of Mallen.

“I don’t know what to make of that mischievous smile, sweet.”

“Perhaps I’m just happy,” Emmaline said.

Drake snapped out a blanket and Sir Faithful playfully grabbed a corner and shook it with his teeth. “I know your just-happy smile. That was not it.”

Her maid, Grace, rushed forward to assist with the blanket, but Emmaline waved her off. “Grace, I assure you, Lord Drake can handle both Sir Faithful and seeing to the blanket. Why don’t you take a short walk?” It was more an order than request.

Her words were met with a loud rip.

“Cease,” Drake commanded and the dog immediately sat, and bowed his head.

Grace shot a skeptical look from Drake to Sir Faithful. “As you wish, my lady.”

Sir Faithful made one last attempt at tugging the corner of the blanket, but Drake snapped the palm of his hand to the side of his thigh and the dog, dutifully sat at his master’s heels, watching expectantly as Drake set the basket down upon the blanket and helped Emmaline to the ground.

“He is a troublesome little thing, isn’t he?” She scratched the sensitive spot along the bridge of Sir Faithful’s nose.

“Not very little anymore, either.” Drake looked at the rapidly growing mutt. “He is, however, true to his name. I would have thought you would find me a pug or Shetland sheepdog,” he teased.

Emmaline laughed. “A Shetland sheepdog would have been just the thing. Though after reflecting on the fact you had no sheep, I decided Sir Faithful would do nicely.”

He waggled his brows. “Not yet. Perhaps the sheep will come later. How do you feel about becoming the wife of a sheep farmer?”

The image of Drake galloping about the countryside with a Shetland sheepdog, herding a flock of sheep about, was just so ludicrous that she laughed until she developed a stitch in her side.

Then she processed what he’d said.

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “I’m dreaming.”

The blanket rustled as he sat down beside her. “You are so beautiful,” he said. There could be no question of the quiet sincerity of his words.

Never, ever in her life had she before felt beautiful—until that moment. He made her believe she was more than just tolerably pleasing, as the papers had labeled her

“Do you know where I found Sir Faithful?”

Drake scratched the dog under his belly and waited for her answer.

“I visit the soldiers at London Hospital each week. There is a black dog who lives there and wanders the halls. No one is certain what line of dog she is. The soldiers named her Alice. A few months ago, Alice disappeared for three days. For three whole days, the soldiers and nurses were devastated, no one knowing what had happened to the dog. But she returned, and it wasn’t long until we realized she was with pups. Sir Faithful is one of those pups.” Sir Faithful licked her hand once, twice, and a third time.

“It really should come as no surprise to me that you give your time at the hospital.”

Emmaline shifted under the uncomfortable weight of his praise and gave a tiny shrug in response. “It is not a chore to visit the men. Seeing them fills me with great joy.” She’d always looked forward to sitting with the soldiers who’d courageously dedicated their lives, who’d risked their physical safety for such a noble cause.

“I imagine you bring them great joy as well.” Drake opened the wicker basket and pulled out a thick loaf of bread neatly wrapped in a cloth, along with sliced cheese, and plump red strawberries. He began arranging a dish for her.

Emmaline rested her chin atop her knees and studied his movements. There was something beautifully domestic about his simple actions. She accepted the plate he held out to her with a murmur of thanks. Picking up a piece of bread from her plate, she nibbled at the corner and continued to watch him.

After the way he’d barged in on her brother’s dinner party, she’d been at a loss to understand what exactly was her relationship with Drake. The corner of her heart, where she’d buried the dream of being his wife, stirred to life. A man could not humble himself as Drake had in front of her brother, mother, and Lord Waxham, baring his most intimate thoughts, if marriage was not his intention?

Drake plucked a strawberry. He made to pop it into his mouth.

“When you imagine the future, do you see me as your wife?”

For an infinitesimal moment, he paused, before he finally ate the red berry.

A long stretch of silence met her question.

***

The fine linen of his shirt did little to conceal the heat of his mother’s emerald and diamond ring, warm against his chest. Since the moment he’d decided to ask Emmaline to wed him, he’d rehearsed any number of poetic, appropriate speeches, grimacing at the lackluster attempts. However, even the paltry efforts he’d managed, fled.