by Mary Brendan
Emily had lain on her bed with her hands covering her face. She’d felt too enervated and emotional to again wrangle with any one else that morning, so she simply ignored Tarquin. Eventually he had mumbled about funeral arrangements for Jenny and gone away. From her window Emily had just watched her brother striding off purposefully up the street. About to try and again seek sweet oblivion in a catnap, she instead decided she too would go out. Perhaps the air might revive her numb mind and bring fresh ideas to lighten her depression.
She had not seen Sarah for some days and craved to have an uncomplicated chat to a friend. And why should she not try and enjoy the little interlude left to her? In a short while, when Mrs Pearson returned from Guildford, all would be deadly serious. Momentarily Emily hesitated by the front door and smoothed her gloves with agitated fingers. If she visited Sarah, Stephen Bond was sure to be a topic of conversation between them. Emily was unsure what to say about him any more. With a sigh she lightly descended the steps and headed off in the direction of Sarah’s house. She would negotiate a path across rickety bridges when she encountered them! Drawing in an invigorating gulp of crisp air, she quickened her pace.
‘It’s good to see you, Emily.’ Sarah rose from where she had been working on her embroidery and rushed to meet her friend. She took both Emily’s hands in her own.
Emily returned her friend’s enthusiastic welcome by squeezing her fingers. She was glad that there was no hint of the awkwardness that had been present when last they had parted company.
‘Come … sit down. I’ll arrange for tea,’ Sarah said, already halfway to the bell pull. ‘Papa said that he’d heard your brother is back in town,’ she said conversationally. ‘That must be a relief for you all.’ She sat close to Emily and bestowed a sympathetic look. ‘Is it a relief, or has he simply brought his woes back with him?’
About to prevaricate on that tricky subject, Emily was saved the need to do so. Mrs Harper was framed in the parlour doorway.
‘Oh, hello, Emily, my dear. How nice to see you. I didn’t realise you had a visitor, Sarah. Are you going to accompany me? Or would you now rather not as Emily is arrived? I have not said definitely that you will attend …’
‘Definitely, I will not, thank you all the same, Mama,’ Sarah returned with a little conspiratorial smile for Emily.
‘Oh … please … do not let me stop you going out,’ Emily said at once. ‘I can call another day.’ She began to rise.
‘No! I insist you stay!’ Sarah cried and clutched at Emily’s arm to make her again sit down.
Mrs Harper gave the young ladies a blithe smile and, with a little wave, withdrew.
Sarah turned to Emily, a hand dramatically placed upon her breast. ‘Don’t abandon me, please! I was ready to summon up a migraine to avoid the ordeal of weak tea and stale Madeira cake. Of course, that sour-faced old biddy makes me feel quite bilious too.’
Emily stripped off her gloves and settled back into the cushions of the sofa. For the first time in many hours she felt good humour ease the painful constriction in her chest. ‘And which poor hostess, pray, has earned your wicked description?’ Emily feigned thoughtfulness. ‘I can think of many who the cap might fit, but you must enlighten me, lest I insult one of your mother’s best friends.’
Sarah wove her needle into cloth to secure it then pushed away the tambour. She made herself comfortable, crossing her arms, before beginning, ‘Violet Pearson has forgone her trip to Guildford and returned to town. No sooner is she back than she has arranged to have everyone to tea.’ Sarah gave a chuckle, oblivious to her friend’s stricken expression on hearing her yarn. ‘Mama said the Pearsons are famous misers and there will be only one reason Violet has squandered the cost of the journey and paid out to entertain the moment she is home: the woman has discovered something riveting and is determined to be first with a juicy bit of gossip!’
For the second time in a week Geoffrey Lomax gawped at his master’s broad back and wondered what had put the fellow again in such a foul temper. Moments before Mark had entered the house and proceeded past him towards his study with just a terse greeting emerging from between his teeth.
The butler watched him and shrugged in despair. He had been about to announce to Mr Hunter that he had a visitor, but possessed neither nimble legs to run to catch up with him, nor the vulgarity to shout the information in his wake. Let him discover for himself that his brother was in the house waiting to see him.
Mark came upon Sir Jason warming himself, inside and out, with his cognac and his fire.
‘You look comfortable,’ Mark drawled sardonically.
Jason glanced up from his hearthside chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him. ‘Do you begrudge me my contentment?’ he asked bluntly.
Mark gave his brother a quirk of a smile. Did he resent Jason’s contentment? No … but most certainly he coveted it. Just a short while ago he would have pitied his brother the loss of his bachelorhood. But that was before Emily Beaumont had gazed at him with those captivating silver eyes and asked for his help in finding her brother. Now he was enslaved, heart and soul, and he wished he were not. Mark abruptly clashed together the decanter and a glass. Remembering his manners, he held out the bottle.
Jason declined another drink. He watched as his brother dropped into the chair opposite, and proceeded to sink the cognac in a single gulp.
Mark had been acting oddly for some time, and Jason had come here to discover if his wife’s suspicions were correct. Lady Hunter had ordered her husband to bring Mark back to dine with them that evening, but first Jason deemed a little private chat might benefit.
Helen was sure Mark and Emily Beaumont were, despite evidence to the contrary, falling in love. Jason knew better than to gainsay his wife on such matters of excellent female intuition. But, on the occasions they had all been in company together, Jason had noticed Emily had seemed cool with Mark rather than enthralled. At Fiona Gerrard’s recent soirée, the couple had spent time alone, but Jason had put that down to a necessarily discreet conversation concerning that numbskull brother of hers.
Mark was staring unblinking into the fire, and Jason gave his moody countenance a more penetrating appraisal. He knew from personal experience that the road to love and happiness could be strewn with pitfalls, and his brother certainly appeared to be licking his wounds.
‘Helen has sent me to fetch you back for dinner. And she won’t take no for an answer,’ Jason added when he noticed Mark considering his response. An excuse was imminent.
‘Who else?’
Jason grinned—he knew exactly why his brother was suspicious. In the past Helen had been known to seat her eligible brother-in-law close to nubile young ladies of her acquaintance. ‘No matchmaking, I swear,’ Jason promised. ‘It’s just the three of us. Helen is concerned that we have seen little of you lately. What have you been up to?’
Mark watched his empty glass as it oscillated between thumb and forefinger. Abruptly he rose and refilled it. ‘I’ve been courting.’ The announcement was followed by a grunt of mirthless laughter. Mark thumped his glass down on the desk. ‘That’s what I’ve been doing. And I really don’t think that tonight I feel sociable.’
‘Damned tricky business,’ Jason commiserated, settling a booted foot on a knee. ‘Wouldn’t want to do it again myself.’ He gave Mark a rueful look. He knew his brother recalled the obstacles that had complicated his relentless pursuit of Helen Marlowe. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
‘No.’ Mark strolled about his desk and picked up a few papers to idly scan them.
‘I take it the lady has declined your kind offer, in which case it isn’t Barbara you’ve settled on. She’d meet you at the church tomorrow.’
‘You’re being damned inquisitive,’ Mark snarled. ‘Thank Helen very much for her invitation, but—’
‘I’m being your brother,’ Jason interjected quietly. ‘I know something is not right and I don’t like to see you unhappy, but if you don’t want to talk a
bout it …’ He shrugged. ‘It’s your business.’ Jason gained his feet and looked squarely into Mark’s eyes. ‘I’ve done my best; the least you can do is return the compliment. If I turn up without you, it’s likely I’ll have to endure some nagging, and a very lonely night.’
‘The joys of married life?’ Mark suggested drily.
‘Indeed,’ Jason replied. ‘But it won’t put you off any more than it did me. If you love her, you’ll take that and more …’
‘I really think I ought to be going.’ Emily had sat chatting with Sarah for forty endless minutes before she felt able to issue that statement. Since she had learned of Violet Pearson’s aborted trip to Guildford she had subdued her agitation and attempted to maintain a façade of cheeriness. But for her good manners preventing it, she would have quit Sarah’s company five minutes after having been invited to sit down and take tea.
She had instinctively decided not to confide in her friend her grave suspicions over what had brought Violet haring back to town. When Mrs Harper returned from taking afternoon tea, Sarah would know it all, and so would many others in polite society. This evening, salons and drawing rooms throughout London would be abuzz with gossip … concerning her!
Sarah gave her friend a searching look. She was aware that Emily’s mood had changed after her tale about the Pearson woman. ‘Have I said something to upset you? I wouldn’t have spoken unkindly about Violet if I thought you liked her …’
Emily forced a gasp of laughter. ‘Heavens above, I do not! You know I do not.’
Sarah frowned in puzzlement, but leaned forward to pick up the teapot. ‘Have some more tea,’ she cajoled.
Emily deposited on the table her cup and saucer with a hand that shook and made the china rattle. ‘I will not, thank you.’
Noticing that Sarah looked rather hurt, she added quickly. ‘It is nothing you have said or done, Sarah, I swear. I … it is just … you are right …’ she breathed with some relief as she recalled something her friend had mentioned earlier ‘… the return of the prodigal has not been without its worries. Tarquin would not be Tarquin if he turned up completely free of woes.’
Sarah took Emily’s hands in her own and lightly pecked her cheek. ‘I understand, but come again soon.’
Emily walked swiftly in the direction of home, but, at the corner of Callison Crescent, and with her door in sight, she stopped. What was she going to do? Would she go to her chamber and hide her head under the covers until tomorrow her name … her family’s name … was dragged through the mud? She had thought Tarquin an unfit sibling to their young brother, Robert. How she was humbled for having deemed herself superior!
She had rashly assumed she had time to decide on a course of action. That buffer had now been whipped away and she was teetering on the brink of disaster. With a sob welling in her throat, she leaned back against a brick wall for support. She ignored curious looks from people busily traversing back and forth on the pavement and forced her mind to reflect on the only man who might be her saviour.
She had received a marriage proposal of sorts from Mark Hunter and simple pride had stopped her grabbing the opportunity. The half-hearted offer had been prompted by duty, and from his desire to make love to her. But how could she bear that? As his wife she would be safe from scourging tongues, but she could never bear the hurt of knowing her absent husband had spent the night with his mistress. She might have his name, but Barbara Emerson would have his love.
Emily smeared the wet from her eyes and blinked into the breeze. There was only one person she could talk to when she was so low.
Helen would not judge her. They were similar souls. Before she had married Sir Jason, the young widow, Helen Marlowe, had been forced to put at jeopardy her good name. Helen was no stranger to the risk of being ostracised.
Plunging her cold hands into her pockets, Emily turned and walked back the way she had come, heading towards Grosvenor Square.
Chapter Seventeen
‘I’m very well, thank you, Cedric,’ Emily glibly lied.
Old Cedric cocked his good ear at the visitor to discover how she fared. He had no need to ask her business, or her name. He knew very well that Miss Beaumont had come for a chat with her good friend Lady Hunter. He ushered her into the vast marble hallway of Sir Jason’s magnificent townhouse.
‘And how are you?’ Emily asked the old retainer.
The butler wagged his head up and down. ‘Mustn’t grumble … mustn’t grumble.’ Suddenly a look of enlightenment lifted his aged features. ‘I’ve just remembered that Lady Hunter’s maid went up to dress her hair. Dinner is quite soon.’
‘Oh … I will not stop, then. I had not realised it was so late.’ Emily sent a glance to a stately grandfather clock set against the wall and saw it was indeed almost a quarter to seven. She had lost all track of time since she’d left the house at late afternoon. It was well past the hour to pay an impromptu social call, even on a close friend. With an apologetic little smile for Cedric she turned to the door.
‘Emily!’
A great deal of warmth and welcome was in that single word. Lady Hunter was gliding down a curving staircase, looking a vision of elegance in lemon silk with her ebony ringlets swept to one side of her lovely face.
Once on the marble tiles Helen hurried towards Emily and linked arms with her, drawing her further into the house.
‘I will not stop, Helen. I had not realised quite how late it is, and you are dressed to dine.’
A hand flick dismissed that as of no importance. ‘Of course you must stay! Jason is not even yet home.’ Helen raised her eyes heavenward. ‘He is probably taking a tipple with his brother. I know he was going to see Mark.’ Helen watched carefully for a reaction to that idle information. With an amount of satisfaction she noted that a reference to Mark Hunter had indeed made Emily start. Helen also noticed that Emily’s heart-shaped countenance was unusually wan, and shadows bruised the delicate skin beneath her eyes.
‘Come along to the blue salon. It is just finished and you must tell me if you like the furnishings I have chosen.’
Emily looked about, praised her friend’s excellent taste, then the ladies took seats close together on a sofa covered in fabric of blue and white stripes. Settled barely a moment, Helen made to spring up to ring for some refreshment.
‘No, I will not, thank you, Helen.’ Emily managed a small smile, and to restrain Helen from rushing to the bell. ‘I am awash with tea. I have just been to see Sarah Harper,’ she obliquely explained. The tenuous hold she had on her composure evaporated. A hand flew to her face to shield the gleam of tears.
‘What is it?’ Helen asked immediately, drawing her friend into a solicitous embrace. ‘Surely Sarah has not upset you? I could tell straight away that all was not well.’
‘It is not Sarah … leastways, nothing she has intentionally done. But she told me Mrs Pearson is already back in town and I can’t bear it.’
Helen patted at her friend’s quivering shoulders. ‘I know she is a witch, but we can hide her broomstick.’ Helen’s gentle levity could not disguise that she had been made anxious by Emily’s distress. Emily was an intrepid character and not prone to waterworks.
A gurgling laugh burst from Emily, but she remained quite still and uncommunicative, rallying the courage to relate her tale.
‘Has Tarquin given the tabbies something new to relish?’ Helen probed. ‘I had heard he is back in town too.’
‘A scandal is about to break. But it concerns me and I don’t know what to do! My parents will be heartbroken.’ Emily pressed a scrap of lace to her damp eyes.
‘Hush …’ Helen soothed. ‘It cannot be so bad. Is my brother-in-law aware of it?’ After a pause, Helen rephrased her question. ‘Is Mark involved in any way?’
Emily gave an almost imperceptible nod.
‘Start at the very beginning,’ Helen urged softly.
Disengaging herself from Helen’s arms, Emily sat straight and drew a gulp of a breath to begin her woeful acc
ount. She was interrupted before she had uttered one word.
‘Just the three of us to dine this evening, I see …’
The sardonic male voice made both Emily and Helen turn simultaneously towards the door.
On the threshold stood two tall, immaculately attired gentlemen. One of them seemed as though he might pivot on his heel and leave rather than enter the room.
Mark Hunter was directing a look of extreme irony at his brother, Jason. His eyes then moved to Emily and lingered.
In response to his brother’s tacit accusation, Jason gave a shrug, gesturing his bewilderment. But his eyes, when they shot to his wife, were brimming with quizzical amusement, and not a little admiration.
Helen sent her husband a welcoming smile, but it faded as she realised that Emily had jumped to her feet.
‘I must go, Helen. I’m sorry to have troubled you,’ Emily breathed, her face flaming. She had heard, and comprehended, the irony in Mark’s tone. He imagined that Helen and she had plotted this meeting, and he had been lured back by his brother to be a target for their matchmaking. He suspected she had changed her mind, and was now so desperate to get him to issue a proper proposal that she had humbled herself to trap him.
She had been on the point of asking Helen’s advice, but had already guessed what it would be. There was only one sensible course of action if she was to protect her family from shame: marry Mark Hunter if he would have her.
But all that was rational had been set to flight by his scorn and arrogance. Her spirits had rallied and she was sorely tempted to loose at him an immediate defence. Angry words teetered on her tongue tip. For two pins she would have told him that, had she known he was in the vicinity, she would have given Grosvenor Square a very wide berth indeed. But she would not demean herself with any such petty barbs. With her head high, she steadily paced towards the door.
