Free The Luck of the Devil by Bárbara Metzger Page A

leading and had a small glimmer of hope. Could salvation lie with a gouty old peer? "Emonda?" he asked in hushed tones.
    Lord Clyme nodded. "I could see she is taken care of, and make a handsome enough settlement on her that she would never have to worry again. It wouldn't be stinting the heir, for there's enough blunt to keep him and his sister forever, without even counting Monty's legacy to them. Gabriel is a sober type of fellow by all accounts, not like to run through his patrimony in a year, so he won't notice the expense. When I stick my spoon in the wall, Emonda would be an independent woman, or Wimberly's responsibility at least. Meantime I could help look after Suzannah too, until your return."
    "You'd do all this, for company?" Carey was incredulous.
    "And for Emonda. She needs a husband and she deserves better than what you can offer. Your stepaunt is a sweet child who could brighten my days."
    "And your nights?" The captain could not quite stomach the idea of timid little Emmy in an old man's bed, not even if it meant he could taste a hundred fellows' wedding cakes before he had to choke on his own.
    Lord Clyme was affronted. "What, at my age? You would want heirs and so would Harry, who would likely frighten a fragile creature like Emonda half to death. No finesse, your cousin. I can promise a marriage of convenience only, so your conscience doesn't have to prick you."
    "Very honorable of you, my lord. But are you sure?"
    "It must be Emonda's choice, mind, but you go put it to her. I'd ride back with you, but the blasted leg won't let me. So you tell her how it has to be: you, me, or Harry."
     
    You, me, or Harry, and Heaven alone knew where Harry was. So Emonda's choice was to be nursemaid to a rich old man in a sterile marriage, or wife in fact to a virile young hero, an out-and-outer, a practiced wooer of women with a silver tongue and a gleam in his blue eyes, a handsome rogue on every woman's wish list. She chose Lord Clyme.
     
    Captain Delverson had never considered his appeal for the ladies. It was just there, like his cleft chin and dimples. On the other hand, he never had to beg a woman for her favors, so he was astounded at Emonda's decision. Carey had added Lord Clyme's offer to his own almost as an afterthought, hoping to dam the flood of tears after his announcement that Emonda would have to be wed to save her reputation. She perked right out of an incipient swoon when Carey added the courtly earl's name to the lists, and Carey had to laugh at his own conceit.
    His pique at being rejected was mixed with a huge dollop of relief, of course, and Captain Lord Delverson was sure he was the happiest person at the wedding.
    It was a small ceremony with a special license, proper for a family in mourning, a comfort for the community. At Carey's insistence, Emonda put off her black and wore a lavender gown that added a bit of life to her insipid coloring, and the white lace mantilla Carey brought back from Spain. At least she wouldn't frighten the old gent into a heart spasm by appearing as Death walking at his side. Carey gave the bride away—and what a pleasure that was!—and Suzannah, deep in the sullens, was her aunt's attendant. Squire Jeffers was groomsman, and the earl himself looked pleased as punch with flowers in his buttonhole and a chaste kiss to his bride's cheek.
    After the finest wedding breakfast Mrs. Tulliver could contrive on short notice, the happy couple repaired to High Clyme and Carey packed Suzannah off to school in Lyme Regis.
    He did not have to resort to gags and handcuffs, for a short conversation with Squire Jeffers saw young Heywood off to university, to prepare for his future and to ensure that he lived long enough to have one.
    Carey threatened to extend his stepsister's sentence if he heard a single hint of misbehavior. "When you are older, I'll ask Lord and Lady Clyme to sponsor you, locally at least. By then maybe the cursed war will be over and we can set up housekeeping