by Sharon Sobel
But it was too late for regrets or the green beans. He stood along with the other gentlemen and helped the ladies to their feet. His knee was an agony, but he would not let the others see that. And still Emma watched him.
“Do not tarry too long with your cigars and sherry,” Lady Westbrook said. “For I cannot promise anything will remain of my excellent orange cake.”
The blessings of married domesticity extended even to the cavernous ovens of Pencliff, it seemed. Now Nathaniel could only wonder why it taken so long for this charming lady to bring Uncle Michael to his knees. Not only was she kind and lovely and capable of doing interesting things with leaves and twigs, but she was a baker. Could such an irresistible combination of talents run in the family?
EMMA WATCHED AS the ladies admired the decorous cake Aunt Daisy unveiled for them in the library, and as they each admitted they would like only the tiniest portion, then perhaps another—but very small—piece. And then it was all gone, save for a piece of orange rind shaped like a wreath curling on the platter.
But when the gentlemen entered the room, smelling like smoke and warm wool, Aunt Daisy was quick to reassure them.
“I promise to make a much larger cake for Twelfth Night, so there shall be enough for all,” she said.
“I have seen your Twelfth Cakes, Lady Westbrook,” said Lord Biggs, “And you know they are far too beautiful for anyone to eat. It seems a pity to tear through your gilded flowers and little sugar birds.”
“Oh, you are very kind to say so, Lord Biggs. But the ornaments are only trifles. One must toss them away to get at the real treasures,” said Aunt Daisy.
“I suppose you mean the cake itself,” said the vicar, patting his stomach.
“I mean the bean and the pea hidden inside. Whoever finds the bean is king for the evening, and the finder of the pea is his queen.”
“And luck will be with he or she who does not break a tooth on the discovery,” said Lord Michael.
“It is a pagan custom,” murmured the vicar.
“But this is a very large home, built in dark times,” Lord Michael reminded him, “and there is room enough for all traditions to reside within.”
The company, save the vicar and his niece, took the pronouncement in very good spirit. They continued in good spirits until, one by one, they left the library for either their own nearby homes or the guest rooms upstairs. Before long, the only people remaining were the host, his lady, Nathaniel and Emma. In a corner of the room, Lord Michael and Aunt Daisy stood by the window, as he attempted to clasp something large and sparkling onto her wrist.
“I have a gift for you, Emma,” said Nathaniel. “It is not as impressive as the weighty thing that is now on your aunt’s wrist, but I think you will like it.”
“I did not expect anything from you, Nathaniel. Indeed, I was not even certain that we would see you. But I have a gift for you as well.” Emma walked to the library shelves, where she’d earlier tucked her wrapped gift next to the atlas.
She handed it to him and he opened it carefully, folding the hand painted paper into a neat packet as he commented on its beauty.
Emma had not expected him to notice her artistry and now wondered what he would make of the actual gift. “I am not sure you will find this useful,” she said, already certain he would not.
He contemplated the large crocheted lap blanket. “Why, it is a scarf, is it not? And a good size for our cold winter nights. Thank you very much, Emma.”
“Yes, that is what it is, of course,” she murmured. “I worked on it through the autumn.”
“I wish I could claim to have worked as hard,” he said as he reached for a package on the desk. “But I did spend several hours in the hot sun until this was mine. And now it is yours. Hold it carefully, as it is quite heavy.”
It was. Emma guessed what it might be, for it had the shape and weight of a brick. Though it was wrapped in nothing finer than an old broadside, she unwrapped it slowly, savoring the moment. Finally, with as much delight as if she herself discovered it in the ancient ruins, she gazed upon a small relief sculpture of a woman.
“She is a goddess, perhaps Aphrodite,” Nathaniel said. “It is just as well the vicar is not here to witness this Christmas Eve offering.”
Emma glanced around and saw that Aunt Daisy and Lord Michael were not likely to witness anything either, as they were engaged only with each other.
“It is the most wonderful gift I have ever received, Nathaniel.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, as she might have done when they were children. But he caught her arm and held her close. “Is it from Paestum?” she asked softly.
“I uncovered it hours before my accident. The excitement of the discovery likely distracted me and made me careless,” he admitted.
It took but a moment for Emma to understand the import of those words, by which he told her that he understood the warning she had given him and the reasons why they must stay apart. And yet he teased her with this lovely gift and by holding her so close she could feel his warm breath on her ear. “And so, every time I look upon it, I shall be reminded of your laming? You need not fear me, Nathaniel. I have already said I will keep my distance.” She pulled away, and his cane dropped between them.
Nathaniel looked like he had been slapped. He released her arm and stumbled backwards.
“I thought only of Aphrodite,” he said, “and you.”
But Emma already knew the goddess of love was a fickle enchantress. “And I am thinking only of you, dear friend,” she said.
Chapter Three
“WELL, WE SHALL soon see some changes around here,” said Aunt Daisy, looking around the Pencliff kitchen several days later.
Amused, Emma wondered if her aunt wanted Lord Michael or his ancient home, but preferred to give the man the benefit of the doubt. Still, she had rarely seen her aunt so excited about a project, although the diamond and ruby bracelet she wore undoubtedly did much to spur on her enthusiasm.
“Of course, it shall have to wait until after the New Year’s ball. I daresay we cannot have the carpenters competing for table space with Mrs. Corcoran and our new staff of cooks. The lamb was quite excellent, as we managed to keep Mrs. Corcoran diverted with the potatoes.” Aunt Daisy twirled around as if she were a girl at her first Assembly. “And you and I should manage just fine on our twelfth cake. I saved all the ribbons from the gifts opened on Christmas morning, to use as additional finery. And there are plenty of beans and peas stored in the dry pantry.”
“Have a care, Aunt Daisy, or your lovely new bracelet might fall into the batter. Then the Queen of Twelfth Night will have something infinitely grander than a pea.”
“Dear girl, you sound as fussy as Lady Tregaris. What did Nathaniel say to you to put you in such a mood?” Aunt Daisy paused in her dance and held a hand to her heart. “Is it because he gave you a rock?”
“It is a fragment of an ancient Greek sculpture. And, really, what Nathaniel says or does has nothing to do with me.”
“It did not look that way on Christmas Eve.”
“I suspect we had too much to drink. It makes one do things quite out of character or natural inclination.”
Aunt Daisy considered this for a moment. “Or possibly it makes one do things that are entirely one’s natural inclination. Is that not the point?”
“I would not know about that,” Emma said stiffly.
“If so, it is because your inclinations have been stopped at every turn. You found three young men to love and care for and were not given the chance to do so.”
“I count their loss of life more grievous than my own thwarted desire for a husband and children and a home of my own. To think otherwise is to be very selfish,” said Emma, before she realized she had brought them to a moment of reckoning. “You have always been my example of generosity, Aunt Daisy. U
ncle Westbrook died so many years ago and you must have had many suitors. Why did you wait until this new year to marry again?”
Aunt Daisy pulled a wooden stool to the scarred work table and sat. Her agile and capable fingers explored the cuts and indentations in the worn wood, pausing here and there.
“I had you, the most blessed gift I ever received. And I always had Lord Michael, my dearest friend. We suit each other to perfection, know what the other needs, and share more good memories than most marriages create. We have always been true to each other.” Aunt Daisy lifted her hand, frowned, and started to pluck at a splinter in her finger. “My marriage to your uncle was not a happy one, for he did not treat me very well. And when he died, in the bed of another woman, I was suddenly set free. The estate in Kent went to his brother, but the house in Manchester Square was mine, as were sufficient finances to keep me comfortable for the rest of my life. Then, a year or so later, your parents left you on my doorstep before they went off to farm in America, or some such place. It was a temporary arrangement that somehow became a permanent one. But in any case, I am certain I would not have been willing to give you back to them.”
Aunt Daily removed a tiny sliver of wood, and pressed her finger so any fragment could bleed out. Emma handed her a stiff linen dishcloth as she thought about her parents, whom she scarcely remembered, and who had dutifully sent a small gift to her on her birthday. This year, it either was misdirected or they forgot about it. In any case, she knew that if they ever had sent for her, she would not have been willing to go.
“And was Lord Michael satisfied with the arrangement? Did he not wish to marry?”
“He did not wish to dispossess his nephew of an inheritance he felt was rightfully his, which might have been the case had we married and had a son.” Aunt Daisy wiped away the blood. “But, yes, I believe he was satisfied with the arrangement.”
It was not what Aunt Daisy said, but the way in which she said it, that made Emma realize there were some things that would remain unspoken. And then the many pieces of a puzzle began to fit together: the mornings Lord Michael appeared at the breakfast table, Aunt Daisy’s occasional visits to friends Emma never met, the hours during which she and Nathaniel were left to their own devices. And yet she had never heard a word against Aunt Daisy’s pristine reputation, in a town where the slightest provocation could cause permanent injury to one’s name.
“Then I am glad to know that you are not merely happy at last, but have been happy all these years,” Emma said, wiping away sudden tears.
Aunt Daisy nodded and handed back the dishcloth. “Now what do we do about you?”
Emma put down the linen, startled. “I suppose I could live in a cottage here on the estate or find a small house in town.”
“Yes, my dear,” said Aunt Daisy, as if she spoke to a child, “but with whom?”
“Why, I might manage very well on my own. You have taught me so many things, I am sure I shall be quite comfortable.”
“Then I daresay it is time for another lesson. Solitary pursuits are highly overrated.” Aunt Daisy put her hands on her hips. “Perhaps a new companion can convince you that living alone in a small cottage is a very poor idea indeed.”
“YOU SHALL HAVE to tell me more about my bit of sculpture,” Emma said as she entered the library, “so many years hence I shall be able to speak creditably on the subject.”
Nathaniel looked up from his book and removed his spectacles. There were furrows along his brow, as if he had to concentrate very carefully on the words he read.
Finally, he said, “After your accusation, I felt certain you would not hold onto the piece for ten minutes, let alone many years. I half expected to find it at my door, or set out with the refuse at the kitchen door. To what do I owe this change of heart?” Belatedly, he began to stand, but Emma prevented this by sitting down at once, though a little farther off than she would have preferred.
“It was not an accusation, but merely an acknowledgement that you and I have a perfect understanding about our relationship. I am a woman who must be avoided, who has already caused much grief to three families. If we stay as we always were, we will manage just fine,” she said. And yet, she suddenly felt as if she was choking and took several deep breaths.
“There, now. It is all in the past,” Nathaniel said, somewhat awkwardly.
“It is not,” Emma protested. “It is the present and the future. You may have meant the gift with no such intent, but I feel it is a reminder of the misfortune that has already befallen you.”
“What happened to me in Italy has nothing to do with you or the other men you have known. I was careless and shall pay for it for the rest of my life.” He studied his leg, which seemed poised at an awkward angle. Using his hand, he shifted it to align with the other.
“And that is why we must never become closer than we are at the moment, for you shall also pay for it for the rest of your life,” Emma insisted.
Amazingly, he smiled. So unaccustomed was she to this expression upon his countenance, she imagined she gazed upon a stranger. He looked younger, so much more like the boy she remembered, and the lines of wear on his face vanished.
“Are you the woman who insists your mind rules over your passions? Have you sought me out in my library to tell me of some superstitious nonsense that you must surely discount?”
“It is not nonsense if it follows me around like a dark shadow on a sunny day.” Emma said, and resisted looking over her shoulder.
He studied her but didn’t speak.
She shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze and said, “You have lived out of the country for too long. You do not know what others say.” Even to herself, her argument sounded increasingly absurd.
“I have not been so removed as to be completely unaware. It is one of the reasons I chose to spend this Christmas at Pencliff.”
This was quite unexpected.
“To chance Fate?” she asked.
“To . . .” He stopped, his search for a plausible explanation as transparent as the melting snowdrops on the window. “To see you again.”
“How very flattering, Nathaniel. And yet, have you not been in town these many months, recovering from your injuries? We might have saved ourselves a journey.”
“But we would have missed the delights of the season,” he pointed out, sounding more like his usual confident self. “The betrothal of my uncle and your aunt among them.”
“Yes,” she said, and smiled. He looked at her in surprise, as if it were a rare sight for him as well. “I am very happy for them. My only regret is that the event seems so long deferred.”
“They did it for us, for you and me,” Nathaniel said.
“Become betrothed?”
“No, Poppet. They deferred their happiness on our accord.” He laughed, and she guessed if they stood next to each other, he might tousle her hair, as he used to.
Emma stood, feeling a great need to be close to him. This was a dangerous impulse indeed, but she could not help it. She waved aside his impulse to stand as well, and settled herself on the hassock next to his chair. Before he had time to protest, she raised herself just a little and removed his spectacles from beneath her bottom.
“Here you are,” she said as she held them out to him. “They are as good as new.”
“They have not been as good as new since the week after I purchased them and stepped on them, but thank you, just the same.” He held them up to the light from the window and squinted. “Perhaps your words should guide us through this season, so we might anticipate a new year filled with good things.”
“A marriage,” she murmured. “And a new kitchen at Pencliff.”
He raised his brow, but did not ask her about that.
“And a ball,” he said.
“A ball?” she asked in disbelief. “Did I not hear you tell eag
er Miss Cartwell that you are an indifferent dancing partner?”
Nathaniel shrugged. “I am not so eager to dance with Miss Cartwell. Indeed, I am not eager to dance at all, but if I can find a lady to tolerate my awkwardness, I shall be happy to please Uncle Michael. Do you suppose there is such a lady?”
Emma said nothing.
Nathaniel cleared his throat and rephrased his request. “She would have to be a sensible lady, able to shrug off silly superstitions and gossip. And she must have some adventurous inclinations, for every step one takes comes with some risk.”
He knew her better than anyone, perhaps even better than she knew herself. She felt herself relenting ever so slightly, even as she recognized his very unique attempt at seduction. She knew he wanted her, which was bad enough. But she also wanted him, which was worse. And quite wonderful.
She leaned forward, fully realizing she presented him with a rather advantageous view. “There is such a tolerant lady, and her aunt might be pleased as well. And the awkward gentleman already understands how much he risks by his headstrong decision, no matter how logically it has been presented.”
He leaned closer to her, so that she saw her reflection in his fine, light eyes.
“For some things, the gentleman is prepared to risk a good deal.”
THE SOUND OF music reached Nathaniel in the library hours before the start of the ball. The musicians, accustomed to small assembly rooms in town, surely needed to acquaint themselves with Pencliff’s vast spaces and decide where to play for the best advantage. As he walked past the ballroom in the late afternoon, he noticed a frustrated fellow with a violin in one hand, fighting off the partridge with a large spray of ivy held in his other hand. Perhaps the tree sprites were already hard at work, doing their mischief.
