by Jane Lark
“No, he has not written, but if he is no longer there then I imagine he is with Mark in London.”
“Then promise me you will not tell him Emily is coming here. I do not wish her pursued—”
“Pursued…”
“You know what I mean. You and your friends can be overly forceful when you wish.”
He smiled. “Me…”
He made her laugh. “And your friends.”
He rose and walked about the table, then leant as she tilted back her head, and he kissed her lips before saying over them. “I will protect your friend Emily with my life.” He straightened then, smiling at her. Then looked at Caro. “I am riding out to the farms; will you manage here together?”
“Of course.” Caro nodded at him.
“We will be fine,” Mary assured him, “and I shall write to Emily immediately and tell her to come as soon as she wishes.”
He kissed her once more, then left them.
~
When the carriage pulled to a halt before Mary’s and Drew’s house, Emily sat forward in the seat, gripping the leather either side of her knees.
This was the first time she had travelled with only a maid and the first time she had visited anyone without her mother, and it had taken a considerable amount of persuading to obtain the agreement of her parents. So she considered it an adventure and she refused to think of another recent adventure in a barley field, with the blue sky above her.
The carriage rocked as the footman jumped down from the footplate at the back.
He opened the door. “Miss.”
She felt like her old self, a bit silly and awkward, as she stepped down from the carriage. It was the way she had always felt in London.
The door to the house opened and Mary stepped out. She had George balanced on her hip. “Emily!”
“Should you be holding George in your condition?” Emily rushed over and took George from Mary, her hands gripping underneath his arms. “Hello, George darling.” He looked at her face, making an amused sound, and then touched her cheek. “Yes, I am a terrible stranger.”
“You are a wonderful stranger.” Mary embraced Emily even as Emily embraced George. “I am so thrilled you have come.” Mary clasped Emily’s arm. “You must tell me everything over a cup of tea.”
George stretched out his legs in a gesture that said I want to stand.
When they walked into the hall, Emily let George down and then held his hands so he could walk, with a bobbing, unsteady stride.
Emily glanced up at Mary from her bent over position. “Where is Drew?”
“Andrew is out working on the farm. You know how he loves to be involved, and Caro is resting in her room, so we have the drawing room to ourselves.”
Emily smiled as the bottled-up words inside her pushed against her lips. She had longed to speak with Mary.
George led them into the drawing room, with his slow, newly discovered ability to balance on his legs and copy his elders, with the support of someone holding him up.
When the tea arrived it was poured into cups, and a cup was set before Emily on a low table. Emily was sitting on the sofa beside Mary, with George in between them, waving a silver rattle.
“Now, tell me what you referred to in your letter,” Mary said when the maid who’d brought the tea had left them alone.
“Oh.” The sound released itself from Emily’s throat, an expression of the hours of sleep she had lost thinking and thinking about Harry—and what had happened.
Mary reached out and took Emily’s hand so they held hands in front of George.
Emily’s gaze met Mary’s. “It is so unlike me…” The words dried as her mouth dried.
It was not that she was afraid of speaking, she had helped Mary elope, Mary would not judge her. But it was so strange to think that she had done it; it was dreamlike thinking of it now.
“Tell me,” Mary pressed. “You are making me worry.”
“I have lain with Harry.” There it was said, admitted out loud.
“Oh my goodness.” Mary’s other hand wrapped about their joined hands. “Emily—”
“You are shocked.”
“Surprised not shocked. Goodness. If you are worried about the consequences—”
“No, I already know I am not with child.”
“Oh, these men can be cruel. If Harry—”
“It was not his fault. I asked him.”
Mary blushed slightly. “I would not have thought you likely to do such a thing.”
Emily pulled her hand from Mary’s. “I would not have thought it of myself. It simply happened. I told you it was unlike me.”
“But Harry…”
“He wanted to marry me.”
“And you refused him?”
“Yes. He is like Peter. He may like me now but in the end he would find another woman.”
George continued playing percussion to their conversation, with the high notes of his rattle.
“He is also like Andrew…”
Emily did not answer.
“Emily, Andrew has not even thought of other women since we met.”
“I thought Peter was like Drew.” The emotion in Emily’s voice whispered the truth. She had wanted a happy ever after like Mary, and Peter had had a title and wealth. It had promised a fairy tale. Emily had looked at Mary’s happiness and envied it, then believed she had claimed it. Then it had been cruelly snatched away.
Mary reached out and held Emily’s hand again. “What do you think of Harry?”
“I like him. But because I like him I cannot care; if I cared I will allow him to use me.”
“Andrew said Harry has feelings for you.”
“He said he loved me.”
“And you do not believe him?”
She had believed he’d had feelings for her in that moment, but since then she had not even considered whether she believed him, she had tried, since the moment he had left, not to think about his declarations.
Yet his face… She had not forgotten Harry’s expression when she’d refused to marry him, or the way he'd looked in the moment he’d looked up at her when he’d been in the hall, before he had walked out. “I do believe him.” She did. The acceptance of it breathed through her chest and echoed in her soul. Peter had not loved her; she knew that too.
“You have flummoxed me,” Mary answered. “I do not know what to say.”
“I do not know what to think… I cannot believe I did it.”
Mary suddenly laughed. “I cannot believe it either. I should think Harry could not too.”
“I think he was angry with me.”
“He can have no justification. He did not refuse your request.”
“Has Drew heard anything from him?”
“If he has, he has not told me.”
“Would he tell you?”
“That he had heard from Harry, yes. But if Harry said anything private, not what Harry said.”
Emily nodded, unsure what to say. It did not really matter what Harry said in a letter to Drew, though, or whether or not he even wrote to Drew. It would change nothing, not what they had done, nor anything in the future.
“Oh, Mary, I feel such a fool, and so confused…”
Mary leant forward and pulled Emily into a tight embrace, leaving poor George trapped, and the baby in Mary’s stomach so squashed it kicked at Emily.
“Oh!” Emily laughed. “The baby kicked.”
Mary let Emily go and settled her hand on her stomach. “It is always kicking. It kicks far more than George did.”
George waved his rattle as if to say that he could be just as boisterous. Emily turned, picked George up and set him on her lap, so that she could help him play his noisy game. She felt like being noisy too.
Mary patted Emily’s knee. “I was confused over Andrew. Do you remember? I was mesmerized, and so afraid to trust him, and my family were adamant that I should have nothing to do with him. It was such a mess, and it became even worse when I fell in love with him. Bu
t they have a way of charming you, men like Andrew and Harry, with their clever tricks, that spin whirlpools up inside you—”
“Yes…” All the senses she had felt come alive amidst the barley swept over Emily. Yes. She had enjoyed it, and if she did not marry she would never know such a thing again. That was one thing that had been playing through her mind, but beyond that, there had been a void—a void of emotion, as though she was waiting to be told what she should feel. How foolish. And so very like her old self; the Emily who had been afraid of everything and tried so hard to do the right things.
Now she had done something wrong and she did not know what to think about herself.
“May we stop talking about Harry?” It was what she had been doing ever since their afternoon in the barley field, not talking about him, and fighting with herself so that she did not even think about him. She had been trying to shut a door on her thoughts.
“We may, but if you decide that you need to talk to him, we can invite him here. For dinner, perhaps.”
“No.” Emily shook her head.
“I did not mean to pressure you, I am sorry. You are here to escape any confusion.” Mary looked at George as he sat on Emily’s lap. “He is very good at helping you forget anything but him.”
Emily looked up and smiled.
“Shall we take him outside? He does love to walk on the lawn. He tries to balance alone, and it does not matter then when he falls.”
Emily nodded.
~
The first time Drew saw his houseguest was the moment Emily walked into the drawing room dressed for dinner. She looked the prettiest he had seen her look. He smiled and walked forward, holding out his hand. “Welcome to our home, Emily.” She had ceased being Miss Smithfield to him at some point in the months that Brooke had been courting her. “How are you?” he said as she held his hand.
“Thrilled to be here. Thank you for letting me stay.”
“Letting you… That is not it at all, Mary was ecstatic over the idea and it is a pleasure to have you to stay with us, and George will adore another woman to fuss over him.”
She let go of his hand. “Thank you. You are very kind, Drew.”
“Again, please do not use such language, it as unkind as it is not letting, it’s as much for our pleasure as yours.”
Her expression twisted, her lips tilting, and it struck Drew. He had never seen her express her emotions so openly before. The twist in her lips definitely told him that inside her head she was laughing. He shook the thought away.
“Dinner is ready, my lord, my lady, Miss.” Drew’s man bowed to them all.
Drew looked at Mary. “Is Caro coming down to dinner?”
“I am not sure. She has been in her rooms all afternoon.”
Drew sighed. His sister was a puzzle he longed to solve, but her marriage and then her divorce had been horrors for her, and she had shut herself away in the refuge of his home. At least he had been able to give her that. He smiled to himself as Mary took Emily’s arm and turned to walk through to the drawing room. Now it seemed there was another migrant seeking their sanctuary.
The women mostly talked to each other as they ate, but he managed one very cheeky question. “You have seen Harry recently I believe. Is he well?”
Mary threw him a look that said be quiet while Emily’s colour lifted to a lovely deep pink.
“He was Harry,” Emily answered after a moment, cryptically, as she reached for her wine.
Very telling. Drew reached for his wine too. A letter to Harry was called for.
Drew wrote the letter after dinner, as the women were still talking.
Harry, you reprobate,
You have something to tell me, I believe. I have a visitor. Someone you know rather well I think. Miss Smithfield has come to stay with us for a few days and at the mention of your name, she blushes. Now tell me why that is?
I am also discovering that she has become much more forward. She is sitting behind me now, laughing over something with Mary in a way she never would have done if Brooke had been in the room. Have you changed this previously timid young lady?
In fact, should I be jumping onto a horse and riding to London with a pistol?
Drew laughed. Then closed the letter.
I am coming to town on Wednesday. I shall call into White’s and hope to see you and discover the answers to these things.
Regards,
Drew
Part Nine
The paper crumpled in Harry’s hand as he sneered at the words in Drew’s letter. He was glad that Drew found it amusing. He did not. But Emily was laughing too. At him no doubt, for being stupid enough to believe that a respectable woman might have any interest him—beyond his bed sport.
That—he was good enough for.
Harry’s hand closed into a fist, crumpling up the paper within it, his other had closed over it and completed the work. Then he threw Drew’s scrunched up letter at the wall in the corner of his meagre room and stood.
He picked up his hat and then walked out of the room. It might not yet be midday, but he did not care, he was going to drink a lot of whiskey.
He found Mark in their favourite brothel, occupying a chair and drinking coffee. He had the look of a man who had spent the night in one of the beds upstairs.
Harry threw himself down in a seat beside his friend. A man did not have to partake of the women; it was a club for men as much as White’s, only women were on offer as well as liquor. He only had a thirst for the liquor.
“Drew will be in town on Wednesday. He said he will call into White’s if you wish to see him.”
“If I wish to see him…” Mark’s dark eyebrows lifted. “I take it you do not wish to see him. Why?”
“I do not intend to explain. It would involve a conversation I do not care to have.”
Mark laughed, then waved a finger at Harry. “Then this is going to be a very dull day.”
“I do not care if it is dull, I shall not be sober so I shall not know.” Harry looked up and smiled at the woman who brought over the bottle that was going to help him achieve oblivion.
Mark grasped the neck of the bottle, taking it out of Harry’s reach, then said to the woman, “We’ll have two glasses.” Then he looked at Harry. “I am not allowing my closest friend to drink alone. If you are getting drunk, I am getting drunk.”
Harry smiled at him. He felt better knowing that.
It was an hour and a quarter later, after they had drained over half of the bottle, that Mark said in a slurred voice, “I suppose this sudden thirst for whiskey is Emily related.”
Harry’s gaze clashed with his friend’s. “Do not speak of her.”
“I have not spoken of her since you returned to town, as neither have you, which is remarkably odd because the day before you left that was all you spoke of.”
Harry looked away. “I do not wish to talk about it.”
“Except it has clearly been eating you up from the inside out, so…”
The emotion in Harry had been distorted by the liquor; his heart was not hurting, it screamed instead. He had not lied. He loved her. And she… She… He sighed, and the breath released as a bitter sound.
Mark leant to slap a hand on Harry’s thigh, as though in reprimand. “Tell me. This is doing you no good, and now you have made me become that friend who has to support the other through his sorry love story and stitch his broken heart back together.”
Harry had picked up his glass and taken a mouthful of whiskey; now he choked on it. After he managed to swallow, the choke became a laugh. Mark was not the one to sew anyone’s torn heart back together.
“Remember, Drew, we had all this then. She will not have me. I cannot persuade her to take me. She wants love. She will not trust me. He won Mary in the end. And Peter—”
“Do not mention him.”
“You think him to blame then. If Emily was in love with him then she is a fool. He never loved her. His courtship was cold and calculated. He loved Lillian. Do you
not remember the look in his eyes the night he took us to the theatre to see her? He fought love as hard as Drew chased it, and you…”
“And me what?”
“You have given up chasing it, so are you now fighting it. Is this a competition to see who may be the most dramatic and so you are trying to outdo both Drew and Peter?”
Harry suddenly laughed at the mocking expression in Mark’s eyes. Lord, looking at himself from the outside, it was amusing. Was that how foolish he seemed? “I am running from it. The others may have it.” His pitch had lifted; it was no longer a low vile tone.
Mark’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, you are in the mire.”
“And this is where this conversation ends.”
“She refused you I take it.”
I wish she had. “Mark.” Harry snapped at him.
“Then she did. Well, the woman is a fool. But I have never seen you give in before.”
“Mark,” Harry growled as he refilled his glass and then Mark’s, to shut his friend up.
“Drew persisted; he won out. Peter could not keep fighting it; it got him in the end…”
“Mark.”
“Why might there not be success for you? And damn, I cannot believe I am saying that. I, who have no desire to ever be in love. The word is for poets. But tell me regardless, why them and not you?”
Harry gave in. Mark would not be silenced until he spoke. “She does not feel the same.”
“Neither did Mary about Drew, not in the beginning, not for weeks.”
Harry looked up and rolled his eyes. “It is not the same.”
“Because Mary was not in love with Peter first? Well, I will give you that our friend is more handsome than you—”
Harry reached over and thumped Mark’s shoulder.
