She tried not to remember that hideous interview with Papa, though she knew it would be engraven on her memory until the day she died. She had never seen him so fearfully angry, or so distant. He seemed to be immune to all thought of what his decisions were doing to his only daughter. It was almost as if he had ceased to love her. Not only was she to marry Kit Stratton, but Papa was adamant that the marriage would take place within the week. Emma had not been permitted to protest. In that totally one-sided interview, she had not even been permitted to speak. Papa had become a man she no longer knew, a man who could wrap her up like an unwanted parcel and despatch her without further thought.
Emma felt bereft and hollow inside. For all her life, the bond with her Papa had been so close, so loving, but one instant of madness had ripped it all away. An inner voice whispered that Papa had never stopped loving her, never would stop loving her, that, in his shock and disappointment at his daughter's wanton behaviour, he had allowed his justifiable fury to chase away every softer emotion. Perhaps, if she went to him today, he might relent a little, postpone the wedding? But then, what would be the point? If she was to be forcibly married off to Kit Stratton, 'twere well it were done quickly. It would be better for her to have less time to brood over the prospect of being a wife—wife to an irredeemable rake.
Emma turned her thoughts to the ordeal she was about to face. For all that Mrs Mayhew had announced her intention of leaving first thing in the morning, Emma knew that she would be in the house until ten o'clock at least, for Mrs Mayhew, besides being a poisonous gossip, was also a very late riser. She would take breakfast in her room, Emma supposed, but she would then muster her little coterie of debutantes and ensure she departed in style.
Emma knew that she must not hide away. That would only give the dreadful woman even more food for gossip. No, Emma must appear and act the part of the gracious hostess saying farewell to her honoured guests. Her papa would be bound to announce her engagement at the first opportunity and he would ensure that Mrs Mayhew was left in no doubt about the match. The woman might gossip as much as she liked. Afterwards. The festering boil would have been lanced. Emma had a sudden picture of herself standing in the hallway to bid farewell to the guests and receiving their hypocritical congratulations without betraying, by so much as the flicker of an eyelid, the turbulent emotions underneath. She could do it. She must.
She pulled the bell. She must not remain in bed any longer. Now would be an excellent opportunity to warn the dowager, and Jamie too, of what had happened. She threw a wrapper over her lawn nightgown and made for the door, but hesitated when her hand touched the cool brass handle. What was she going to say to the dowager? She would find out the bones of the affair soon enough. The servants' quarters must be fairly buzzing with it by now.
Emma shook her head despairingly. No, she must not see either the dowager or Jamie before the Mayhew party left. She was braced for her father's anger and the disdain of the other guests. She was determined that she would maintain her dignity in front of them. But the dowager, who had known her from a child, was like to enfold her like a mother with a tumbled child, to soothe, and pet, and surround with sympathetic love. If that happened, all Emma's hard-won armour would crack and crumble. And with Jamie, it might be even worse. Emma must not see either of them.
Emma had barely given a thought to the two gentlemen at the heart of her troubles. Kit, by all accounts, had behaved most honourably in his interview with Papa. He had not sought to excuse his behaviour or to avoid its consequences, or so Papa had said. And Hugo? Hugo must know that he was about to become her brother-in-law. It was almost amusing, given that he had spent so much effort of late in trying to avoid her. That would become much more difficult when she was his sister. But he must detest her even more now, after the insults she had heaped upon him in the garden. She had impugned his honour. Was it only a few hours ago? It felt like years. It felt like part of her distant past, a past that was enshrouded in misty dreams and fading fast.
Hugo must certainly hate her. He would meet her with cold politeness and bitter feelings in his heart. There was nothing she could say to him. Apology was quite impossible, since she must avoid all future mention of that encounter in the garden. Her wicked words would lie between them like a great black chasm. It was better so, she decided hopelessly. It would give him reason to avoid his brother's company in the future. The less they were thrown together, the easier it would be for her to suppress her feelings. She would become the perfect picture of a perfect wife, no matter how Kit behaved towards her and no matter how much she might weep inside. She had learned, once, to become the perfect debutante and now, when that façade had slipped so tragically, she must learn another role. This time, for life.
Emma's abigail came in to deliver her mistress's morning chocolate. She took one look at Emma's face and clamped her thin lips together. Normally, Sawyer was full of merry gossip about the doings of the household but, today, she clearly knew better.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Emma sipped her chocolate pensively. The maid was laying out a dark blue cambric gown. "No, Sawyer," said Emma, "not the dark blue. It is much too sombre for such a joyous occasion. Let it be something bright and sunny. The jonquil." Sawyer gave her a very strange sideways look but obediently fetched the jonquil muslin gown and held it up to her mistress. "Yes, that will do very well," Emma said. "Now I must hurry. I know that Mrs Mayhew and her party are to leave early and it would be most remiss in a hostess to fail to bid them farewell. Make haste with my hair, Sawyer."
Sawyer did as she was bid, but in unaccustomed silence until she was putting the last few pins into Emma's golden curls. "Miss Emma—" Sawyer stopped. She looked uncomfortable. "Miss Emma, Major Stratton asked me to give you a message. He begs for the favour of an urgent interview with you. He said he would be waiting in the library."
"Major Stratton?" said Emma, horrified. "Surely you mean Mr Stratton?"
"No, Miss Emma, no. 'Twas the major himself. Mr Stratton is still abed—at least, his valet has not been summoned. The Major, now, was up and about uncommon early. He called for his shaving water almost before the range was lit. Had the kitchen staff in quite a panic. And then, he went out walking in the grounds. Must have been out there for hours. He has only just come in."
"I see." For a second, Emma did not know what to say. She would have accepted a summons from Kit who, in a few days, would be her lawful husband and entitled to command her obedience.
But Hugo? What could Hugo want at this hour? "An urgent word", he had said. Perhaps he planned to berate her for entrapping his brother and insulting himself? Well, let him try. Let him try. Emma was no shrinking miss to be taken to task by Major Stratton like some erring ensign under his command. Not she. She would give as good as she got. And if Major Stratton uttered one word out of line, she would tell him precisely what she thought of him and of his rake of a brother.
It was only then that Emma admitted to herself that she had already decided to face Hugo. And Hugo's wrath. There were many charges to be brought against Emma Fitzwilliam, but lack of courage would not figure among them.
Emma gave a tiny curtsey as she entered the library, leaving the door ajar in her wake. Major Stratton was standing with his back against the desk, idly gazing out of the window, but as soon as she appeared, he straightened. He strode to the door with surprising agility and closed it very deliberately.
"How dare you, sir?" she cried angrily, looking pointedly towards the door. "You know it is improper for us to be alone together in this way. Or do you perhaps think that, since one Stratton brother has already compromised me, the other can continue the process, with my good will?"
Hugo said nothing, although she thought a shadow of guilt passed across his face. He simply moved back to the door and opened it a trifle. Without looking directly at Emma, he said, "Will that content you, ma'am?" His voice was low and cold, almost sinister in its total lack of feeling.
Emma wondered what was to come. By l
osing her temper, she had given him the advantage of her. And she had promised herself she would not yield to him in any way. She moved towards the window, to be as far as possible from Hugo Stratton's looming figure.
Hugo made no attempt to approach her. He went back to stand by the desk at the far side of the room. "Now that the door is open, ma'am, it would be best if we moderated our voices."
This time, Emma refused to rise to the bait. Nor did she turn towards him. She simply nodded towards the windows and the garden beyond. Let him interpret her signal as he would.
The silence lengthened. Emma began to think she would scream if he did not speak. At last, driven to the point of exasperation, she said, "There is something you wished to say to me, I believe, Major? I beg you will do so without delay, for I have many duties to attend to this morning. Most of my guests are leaving, you know."
Her words seemed to provide the spur he needed. "Yes, I do know that Mrs Mayhew and her party are leaving," he said quietly. "And I know, too, the reason for it. I am heartily sorry for the trouble my brother has brought upon you."
Emma only just managed to conceal a start of surprise. She had not expected an apology, especially from the man she had so grievously insulted.
"And I know that the insult was made worse, for you, by the fact that I myself was witness to what happened," Hugo continued. "Believe me, Miss Fitzwilliam, I would liefer have been anywhere but there. As it was…" His words petered out. "As it is," he began again, "I am sorry, and I know that it is you who will bear the brunt of society's censure."
Emma was puzzled now. It seemed that Hugo Stratton had asked for this interview simply to apologise on behalf of himself and his brother. Surely that was for Kit to do? Kit, the man she would soon marry. She had not expected any understanding from Hugo Stratton. His sympathy was becoming more uncomfortable by the minute. She really ought to leave. "Major—" she began.
"Miss Fitzwilliam," he said quickly, "forgive me, but I beg you will allow me to lay a proposal before you." He waited for her brief nod and then said, "Pardon me if I cause you pain. I must be blunt. I know you do not love my brother, nor he you. But Kit, for all his shortcomings, is a man of honour. He has promised your father that he will marry you. And he has promised me that he will make you a good husband. Nonetheless, I know it is something that neither of you can really want.
"I believe there may be a solution. Let the betrothal be announced, by all means. That is surely the way to silence the gossip and to ensure that your reputation remains unsullied. But let the wedding be fixed for some months ahead. In the autumn, say, or even at Christmas. There would be nothing surprising in that. By then, this unhappy incident would be forgotten and you, Miss Fitzwilliam, could discover, as a result of your better acquaintance with my brother, that you do not suit. You—"
"Thank you, Major," Emma said bitterly, whirling round to face him and giving him no chance to continue with his extraordinary proposal. "And of course there is absolutely no likelihood that the gossip will resurface after I have jilted your brother. None at all. It will be just as before—Emma Fitzwilliam with her pristine reputation." Emma's hands were shaking. She gripped them together in an effort to moderate the signs of her fury. She did not dare to look him in the eye. He believed he was offering the solution to all her problems. If he uttered one more word on the subject, she would probably explode. But she must not give him the satisfaction of seeing her lose even more of her self-control. "Thank you, but I have no desire to be branded a jilt as well as a wanton. You have little understanding of the ways of society if you think that your plan would succeed in saving my reputation. It would save your brother, certainly. But it would ruin me."
He made to protest but Emma would not permit him to speak. "Oh, I acquit you of the charge of duplicity in this. You have been too long abroad, I believe, to appreciate how malicious London gossips can be. It will not do. After last night's episode, I must marry. And it seems to me that the sooner it is done, the safer I shall be. Your brother acted—shall we say—unwisely? The penalty, I fear, is a life sentence."
Hugo began to pace up and down before the desk. There was almost no trace of a limp. His recovery was clearly proceeding apace. Lucky Major Stratton, Emma concluded acidly.
"Will you not reconsider, ma'am?" Hugo said at last. He sounded weary. By now, he must be regretting that he had ever asked for this interview.
"How can I?" Emma burst out. "In the circumstances, I must marry and your brother is the only available candidate. There is no choice for either of us."
Hugo's face had twisted into something that was half smile, half grimace. That enigmatic look infuriated Emma beyond anything she could have imagined. It was so easy for men. They took the pleasure and the women endured the pain.
She glared at Hugo. "There is one option, Major," she said in a clipped, scornful voice. "If you wish to save your brother, you could always offer yourself in his place." There. That should put an end to this ludicrous interview, once and for all. He could have nothing more to say to her now.
Hugo's tortured smile became even more marked. An odd light flickered in his eyes for a brief moment. He raised his chin and, for the first time, looked directly into her eyes. Slowly, he closed the distance between them and extended his hand.
"If that is what it takes, Miss Fitzwilliam, I do most willingly ask you to accept of my hand in marriage."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"No!" Emma's despairing cry seemed to be torn from her. Hugo felt it like a sword slash. Did she really hate him so much? Or was it that the thought of him repelled her?
He held her wide-eyed gaze until embarrassment overcame her and she looked away. In a voice that was so low as to be barely audible, she said, "You mock me, sir. That is not the act of a gentleman."
Hugo took a deep breath and sighed it out again. He had not withdrawn his outstretched hand. "I have never been more serious in my life, ma'am," he said softly. "I beg you to believe that, even if you are not now minded to accept my proposal. I do truly desire to make you my wife."
Emma raised her eyes to his once more. Astonishment was written in her gaze but not, Hugo was sure, any trace of hatred or revulsion. Perhaps she might yet be won over, if he could but find the means, for this was surely the right solution. It had come to him even as he spoke the words. Wounded and scarred though he was, he, Hugo, would make a better husband for Emma than Kit could ever be. Kit was too young and much too devoted to his own pleasures to care for Emma's bruised spirit. But Hugo understood what it was to be shunned by society. And if the solution to Emma's dilemma should also bring Hugo a prize that he had believed beyond his reach? Well, he would not refuse it.
He took a step towards Emma, clasping her hands strongly in both of his own. Her fingers shook, but she did not pull away. Her gaze seemed to be fixed on his cravat.
He chafed her hands gently, trying to warm her. "Trust me, Emma," he said in a low voice, willing her to look up at him. "I am older—and, I believe, wiser—than Kit. My offer is made of my own free will, not under any duress. I have not Kit's looks, but I promise you I am well able to support a wife, and I do not often frequent the gaming tables, either." He found himself smiling a little when he referred to Kit's obvious defects. She must not be allowed to think he was a straight-laced martinet who would blight her life. "Emma, look at me." He waited until she did so and then continued, trying to emphasise the importance of his words by the sustained pressure of his hands, "I am convinced we could learn to deal very comfortably together. Will you at least consider my proposal?"
She took a deep breath. "What time is it, sir?" she said crisply.
"I beg your pardon, ma'am?"
The tiniest hint of a smile twisted one side of her mouth. "I asked you what time it was, sir. My father will wish to announce my betrothal as soon as the guests appear this morning. It would be unfortunate if he were to name the wrong brother."
Hugo took a gasp of air and held it, staring down into her clear blu
e eyes. Then he let the air out slowly and gently, making no sound in the sudden silence that surrounded them. "You accept?" he asked bluntly, and then immediately wished the stark words unsaid. Emma needed gentler handling than this.
"I accept, Major," she said, with remarkable self-possession. "And I would urge you to inform my father of our agreement at the earliest opportunity. It would not do for me to have two fiancés in the same morning."
To cover his astonishment, Hugo raised Emma's hand to his lips. His kiss was as chaste as any duenna would have wished. Now was certainly not the time for passion.
"You have made me a very happy man, my dear," he said. "And, mindful of your wise words, I shall go at once to your father. I only hope that he is as open to the power of my arguments as you have been."
Emma smiled then, but it was not the smile of a happy woman. There was an edge of brittle pain there and her eyes were troubled once more. "You may tell Papa that, if he continues to insist that I marry your brother, he will have the pleasure of watching me jilt him at the altar."
"But I do not understand, Emma," said Jamie. The whole affair was thoroughly perplexing. "It was Kit that you met in the garden and it is Kit that you are to marry. Or so Richard told me."
Emma shook her head, smiling brightly. "Richard has misled you, Jamie. Husbands do, I believe."
Jamie felt bewildered.
"It is true that I was in the garden last night and that Kit was there, too," Emma said. "But I promise you there was no assignation. Kit is very handsome, I admit, but not the sort of man who— Oh dear," Emma bit her lip, but she was smiling still, "I must learn not to cast aspersions on my future brother-in-law. What would the major say?"
Jamie was forced to laugh. "Emma, you wretch! You do it deliberately, I declare, to keep me in suspense. Shame on you!"
Marrying the Major: Passion and peril in Regency London (Unsuitable Matches) Page 11
