How to Woo a Spinster. Kasey Michaels

best Wellington and they’d all be speaking French. How on earth was she supposed to take any of these men seriously when none of them had been any better than her brother and nephews, some of them actually worse?

      But now the war was at last over and Bonaparte was on his way to a deserved exile, and the world could welcome home all its fine, brave soldiers…who to a man would surely be on the lookout for ladies much younger than Lady Emmaline.

      No, she was destined to remain forever on this estate, sitting in this same garden, season after season, year after year, birthday after birthday, waiting for her perfect lover who would never arrive. How she had tired of watching Charlton eat with his fingers at the dinner table, hearing George and Harold brag about their latest bouts of drinking and gambling, wretches that they were, not to mention listening in some fear to her brother threaten to send her off to their great-aunt in Scotland because he was weary of looking at her.

      Yes, having Rafael and Lydia and Nicole so often in residence these past years had been Emmaline’s main comfort, and she missed them sorely.

      She did not miss Charlton or his sons, who had left her alone without a kind word about her birthday, most probably because they’d forgotten the date. No, they’d gone off five days ago to play with George’s newest toy, a yacht he had won at the gaming tables. As if any of them knew the first thing about steering a boat, or whatever it was one did with a boat.

      Would it be terrible of her to hope that all three of them spent most of their voyage hanging over the side, sick as dogs and casting up their suppers into the Channel?

      Emmaline sighed, folding up the letter from her nieces as she tried to shake off her depressing thoughts. She wished her good friend Charlotte Seavers, who lived in Rose Cottage with her parents, right next door to Ashurst Hall, could share her birthday with her, but her mother was still not quite well. But, no, Emmaline wouldn’t think about that particular sadness tonight, either.

      Cook had promised her a special treat for supper, and she really should go change out of her simple sprigged muslin gown and into something more festive. She didn’t wish to disappoint the servants, who she knew had been busily polishing silver especially for what would be a solitary meal in the cavernous dining room, followed by a quiet evening of reading and an early bedtime.

      Perhaps she should reconsider those caps Charlton had given her along with the warning that she was only living under his roof because of his kind and generous nature. She considered this idea for a full three seconds before declaring to the flowers and the trees: “The devil I will. With or without my family, I’m going to celebrate my birthday. By Jupiter.”

      And then, after surprising herself with her outburst, Emmaline quickly bit her lips between her teeth as she heard the sound of firm, purposeful footsteps approaching along the brick path. How wonderful. Now she was talking to herself, a very spinsterlike thing to do, and someone may have heard her.

      She turned her head at the sound of her name. “Yes. Here I am,” she said, knowing she did not recognize the male voice that had called to her.

      The gentleman who appeared momentarily was a complete stranger to her, for she surely would have remembered such a tall, darkly handsome man as this if she had ever seen him.

      “Lady Emmaline?”

      “Yes…um, yes, I am she,” Emmaline said, feeling rather shaken by the sight of the man’s coal-black hair and blazingly blue eyes. As her own eyes were a very ordinary brown and her hair so typically English blond, she had always had an attraction to dark hair and blue eyes. Indeed, she had secretly envied young Nicole her ebony curls and nearly violet eyes, knowing that when she and the differently beautiful Lydia came of age and headed to Mayfair, their suitors would probably have to be beaten away with stout sticks.

      “Please pardon the intrusion, ma’am. Your butler told me I would find you here.”

      Belatedly, Emmaline held out her hand to the man, her hopefully subtle inspection unnoticed by him. She recognized his uniform as belonging to the Royal Navy. And on my birthday, too—what a lovely present.

      She mentally slapped herself for her frivolous thoughts, probably old-maid thoughts, or those more often entertained by someone like Helen. Then again, Emmaline reminded herself, she was not exactly a debutante, was she? “Captain?”

      “Alastair. Captain John Alastair, ma’am,” he said after only a slight hesitation, taking her hand in his and bowing over it before releasing her and rising to his full height once more. “I’ve brought news. If we might step inside, ma’am? And do you have other family in residence at the moment?”

      Goodness, what a glorious uniform, right down to the bicorne hat he had tucked up under his arm. Now this was a man worth meeting. Stop that! she warned her inner self, who was certainly not behaving as a spinster should. But, my, he was so handsome…

      “No, I’m quite alone,” Emmaline answered after a moment, feeling slightly dazed. When he’d taken her hand she’d felt a tingle of awareness skip up her arm, and knew she was disappointed that he had not kissed her hand. Which was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if someone had sent her the man as a birthday present, for goodness’ sake. Still, the image of him being presented to her, all tied up with a lovely satin bow, persisted in her traitorous brain. If this was what reaching the lofty age of eight and twenty got her, what would she be doing at thirty? Chasing men down the streets of the village? Shame on her!

      His frown told her she had given him an answer he could not like. “Then perhaps your maid? A companion?”

      Reluctantly, Emmaline brought her mind back to attention. “Captain Alastair, I don’t understand. I’m certainly past the age of needing a chaperone. Or have you come to the front door of Ashurst Hall and introduced yourself to my brother’s butler all with the intention of either robbing us or killing us, or both? If so, you may want to reconsider housebreaking as a way to make your way in the world now that the hostilities are a thing of the past.”

      Had she really said all of that? Why, she was babbling, that’s what she was doing. But he looked so serious. So handsome and so serious. It seemed necessary to keep speaking, even babbling, so that he didn’t say what he had obviously come here to say. Something he would say that, it would seem, required that she have some other female conveniently on hand for the moment when she would either erupt in hysterics or faint dead away.

      A sudden fear invaded her. “Has this to do with Rafe? My nephew, Captain Rafael Daughtry? He is with Wellington. But no, that can’t be it. For one, the hostilities are over. And you are a navy captain, and Rafe is with the—I’m sorry. I should stop asking questions and ask you to accompany me inside, shouldn’t I, as that is what it would seem you wish me to do?”

      “That was another question,” Captain Alastair pointed out, not unkindly. “If I may?” He held out his arm to her, and she took it, suddenly believing she might need some sort of support.

      Neither spoke as they made their way along the brick path to one of the many sets of French doors leading into the large formal saloon. The captain held open the door for her, and Emmaline stepped inside to see that not only was the silver tea service already set up on the table between the two couches near the center of the room, but that both Grayson and the housekeeper, Mrs. Piggle, were standing just outside the room, pretending not to be watching for her.

      She shot them a look they both seemed to understand, and the double doors were closed. Not that Emmaline didn’t feel certain that both servants had stepped no more than an inch away from the doors. Knowing Mrs. Piggle, the woman was probably already down on her knees, one eye to the keyhole.

      “This is about my brother, isn’t it?” Emmaline asked as she sat down and waited for the captain to take up his seat on the facing couch. “What have he and his sons done? Did they somehow ram and sink one of His Majesty’s boats? Has the Navy put them under arrest?”

      “No, ma’am,” the captain said, reaching for the teapot. “May I?”

      “Oh! I should have offered. I’m so sorry…yes, please do. Would you rather some wine?”