How Miss Rutherford Got Her Groove Back

by Barnes, Sophie

  “Let us not waste any more time then,” he said, his voice filled with steel as he strode toward the door. “Remind me to have a serious talk with Adrian once I return.”

  With that, he was gone.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A misty drizzle filled the air as Francis swung himself up into the saddle and kicked his five-year-old gelding into a furious gallop.

  He cursed his cousin beneath his breath for his idiocy. He never should have allowed Emily to leave in such a state. Why had he not run after her and insisted that she take a carriage, if indeed she had wished to go home? Walking about on country roads in this weather—and clad in a light summer dress—was pure madness.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d been forced to clean up one of Adrian’s messes, he recalled as his jaw tightened. This would be the last, he vowed. Nothing was more disagreeable than having to come to the rescue of a woman who so clearly resented his very existence.

  How had it come to this? They had been friends once. Now, she could barely stand the sight of him.

  The drizzle became a sudden downpour, and Francis’s eyes narrowed as heavy drops of water ran down his face. He was soon soaked through, his cloak doing little to keep him dry. Emily . . . he thought for a moment of her cheerful smile and infectious laughter. Some people just weren’t meant to suffer, he thought, as he pushed her image from his mind and rode on.

  He saw the cottage emerge through the darkness, the rain beating loudly as the wind threw torrents against the walls. Tying his horse loosely to the fence, he ran up the muddy path and proceeded to hammer on the door as water cascaded down his back. Not a single sound answered him. . . . There wasn’t even the faintest glow of light coming from within, as there should have been, had she been home.

  His alarm rose. Where could she be? He knew he hadn’t passed her on the way. Cursing her recklessness, he paused to think, ignoring the cold, wet fabric of his clothes.

  A faint memory came to mind. “This is my favorite place in all the world,” she had once told him. It had been many years ago . . . before her parents had died. He had gone to the estate that had been her home and that now belonged to her cousin. He’d wanted to see if she wanted to go rowing. Beatrice had told him where to find her.

  With eyes as dark as the night sky and his mouth drawn tight in anger, Francis reared his horse around and set out once more. If anything bad had happened to Emily as a result of this . . . so help him God, he’d have a fine time beating some sense into Adrian himself.

  Leaving the road behind, he made a sharp turn out into the fields. The soft swell of the hills rose in the distance, silhouetted against the gray clouds that thundered overhead. Wiping the rain from his face with the palm of his hand, he paused for a moment to look around. He soon spotted the outline of a partially torn-down farmhouse, resting below a towering oak. Francis nudged his horse onward.

  When he reached the top of the hill, he sighed inwardly as he rode around the dilapidated stone building. She didn’t appear to be there either. Dismounting, he walked toward the house; the walls were still partially in place, though the roof was mostly gone, and the windows and doors gaped blindly at him through the darkness. Stepping carefully over some fallen bricks as he steadied himself against the doorframe, he entered.

  The minute he spotted the slight figure, huddled against the far corner of what had once been the sitting room, Francis rushed forward. His chest contracted as he knelt beside her, wrapping his cloak around her delicate frame. Her hair hung in wet streaks around her face, her mud-stained dress clung against her body. She trembled slightly as he scooped her up in his arms, turning pain-stricken eyes toward him.

  “How could you have been so stupid, Emily?” His voice harsh with fear for her.

  He expected her to lash out at him, to berate his anger as had become a habit of hers over the years, but she didn’t respond. She merely twined her arms around his neck and rested her head against his chest. There wasn’t a fight left in her, he realized with sudden panic, as he briskly carried her back outside and set her on his horse.

  Arriving back at the manor, he lifted her gently down, and wishing to draw as little attention as possible, entered through the kitchen entrance. Emily registered nothing. She appeared to have fallen into a deep sleep, her head lolling slightly from side to side as he walked.

  “Please have two hot baths drawn immediately,” he told a maid in passing. Then, addressing a second maid, he said, “Follow me.”

  After setting Emily down on a bed in one of the spare bedrooms, Francis left the maid to undress and care for her as he himself made his way back downstairs to the ballroom.

  Beatrice drew a sharp breath, then reached for Lady Carroway’s wrist when she saw him striding toward them. He was soaked to the skin, his hair plastered against his forehead and water dripping from his clothes as he walked. And yet, in spite of it all, he still looked outrageously handsome, though his eyes were fierce with a mixture of anger and concern.

  “I found her inside that small farmhouse at the top of the hill,” he said, addressing Beatrice. “She’s soaked and will in all likelihood get quite sick as a result of this.”

  “Where is she now, my lord?” Beatrice asked, her voice far quieter and more calm than she felt.

  His eyes moved to Lady Carroway. “I took the liberty of taking her upstairs to one of your spare bedrooms. A hot bath is being prepared for her, and one of your maids is caring for her.”

  Lady Carroway looked at Francis with grateful eyes. “Thank you. You did the right thing, Francis. She will stay here until we’re sure that she’s well. I hope that’s all right with you, Beatrice?”

  “I’m extremely grateful for your concern and for all of your help,” Beatrice replied with a heavy sigh. “Thank you, Lord Dunhurst, for finding her and bringing her back to us.”

  “It was the least I could do,” he said, his face betraying no emotion, though every fiber of his being was in turmoil. “Why don’t you go and see to her, Miss Rutherford? Take Miss Claire with you. If she’s awake, she will need comforting. Just turn right at the top of the landing—it’s the third door on your left.”

  Beatrice gave him a grave but thankful smile as she took Claire’s hand and led her away toward the stairs.

  “I wish to have a word with Adrian,” Francis remarked when they were out of earshot.

  Lady Carroway nodded pensively. She had meant to speak with him herself, but had been busy attending to the rest of her guests. Besides, perhaps it would be best if Francis did it. “Very well . . . why don’t you take him to the library? You won’t be disturbed there.”

  Wishing his aunt a good evening, Francis went in search of Adrian. He finally found him, accompanied by Kate, who appeared to be having the time of her life. “A quick word, if you don’t mind,” he said, looking Adrian squarely in the eyes.

  “But of course . . . where should we . . .”

  “Through here,” Francis replied in a tight voice. “We’ll go to the library.” He raised an eyebrow at Kate, then paused as though he expected her to disengage herself from Adrian and vanish.

  “It’s all right if she comes along,” Adrian declared. “You may say what you wish in her presence.”

  “Very well,” Francis muttered. “Two birds with one stone, I suppose . . .”

  Once inside the library, Francis made straight for the side table, picked up a glass, and poured himself some scotch. “Would you like some?” he asked Adrian with a cold glare.

  Adrian hesitated a moment, then shook his head as he sat down in a deep, brown leather armchair.

  “How about you, Lady Kate?” Francis went on, taking a swig of his drink as he turned toward her. “Would you like something to wash away the guilt?”

  A look of confusion came over Kate’s face. “I cannot imagine what you might be referring to, Lord Dunhurst.”

  “I’m sure you can’t,” Francis sneered.

  “What the devil . . . Francis, I have to say that I
do not like your tone.” Adrian sprang to his feet, ready to take Francis head-on. “Just what exactly is the meaning of this?”

  “As if you don’t know.” Francis glared at Kate and Adrian in turn. “You certainly make a fine pair.”

  Kate stared back at him as if he’d gone mad. He was clearly riled about something, though she couldn’t begin to fathom what it might be.

  “Would you please tell us what the blazes you’re talking about?” Adrian asked.

  Francis looked over at his cousin, incredulous. “Do you seriously wish me to believe that you are so blind that you really have no idea about how much pain you’ve caused this evening?”

  Adrian replied with a blank stare that spoke volumes and Francis realized that his cousin was a bigger idiot than he ever would have thought him to be. He sighed deeply, taking yet another sip of his scotch. He then took a seat in the armchair facing Adrian’s. “Emily is in love with you, you fool.” His words were calm and simple. Once they were out, Francis leaned back in his seat and waited for their full effect to take place.

  There was a short silence, then a sudden roar of laughter that filled every corner of the room. Francis merely looked on with the utmost ease as he waited for it to fade.

  The laughter came to a sudden halt when Adrian realized that nobody else had joined him. Eyeing Kate, he saw that his bride-to-be had suddenly turned rather pale. “You . . . you cannot possibly be serious?” he asked as he brought himself under control. “Emily’s like a sister to me. . . . I mean, come on, Francis! For God’s sake, even she knows that.”

  Francis lifted an eyebrow. “Does she?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t she? She’s my best friend. . . . I mean . . . it would be ridiculous to think . . .” The words trailed off as Adrian pondered the idea.

  The last words had sparked fresh anger in Francis’s veins. He clenched his hand around his glass as he glared across at Adrian. “Ridiculous? Just what exactly is so ridiculous about it? Isn’t she good enough for you, Adrian? She was good enough to be your friend, but when it comes to making her your wife, the thought of it is ridiculous to you? You should be ashamed of yourself, Adrian.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that . . . I . . . Kate, did you know about this?”

  Kate shook her head with incredulity. “We haven’t talked about you in years. . . . I didn’t think . . . I mean, I just assumed that her feelings for you had been a passing fancy. It never occurred to me that she still hoped to marry you.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “Please, Dunhurst, you must believe me when I say that I never intended to hurt Emily in any way.”

  “According to her sisters, she was under the impression that she and Adrian had an understanding,” Francis ground out.

  “An understanding? But I . . .” Adrian racked his brain for an answer, but it was as if a thick fog had settled. His eyes narrowed in concentration, and then out of nowhere there was a glimmer of a faint memory that caused his eyes to widen as he took a deep breath. “Oh, dear Lord,” he exclaimed.

  “What? What is it?” Kate asked as she turned toward him.

  “It was a long time ago . . . six years, perhaps. We’d spent most of the day together when she began talking loosely about what she hoped for her future. She mentioned that she would love nothing better than to spend the rest of her life just as we had spent that day.

  “I told her that if that was the case, then perhaps I should offer for her one day . . . as long as she promised that she would say yes when I did. I mentioned something about not wanting to bruise my ego by holding out for her, only to have her say no. She promised, we laughed about it, and then I kissed her . . .”

  Kate’s hands flew to her face. “You kissed her?”

  “Just a friendly kiss—nothing more. As for everything else . . . it was just some childish fun, really.”

  “I don’t think she saw it that way,” Kate murmured as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “She’s been waiting for you all these years, and when she heard that you planned to propose, she must have thought . . . damn it, Adrian. . . . Emily is my friend . . . or was, at least, until tonight.”

  They had known each other most of their lives . . . had shared innermost secrets with one another. Emily had always been there whenever she had needed a friend to talk to, a shoulder to cry on, or somebody to laugh with. And this evening, she had unwillingly betrayed her in the most horrific way possible. She had crushed Emily’s dreams of marrying the man that she had loved.

  “I’m such a scoundrel.” She paused for a moment before turning a sharp eye on Adrian. “Do you think we ought to call it off?”

  “What? Our engagement? Absolutely not, Kate. You and I love each other . . . I cannot imagine my life without you by my side.”

  Kate gave him a weak smile. “I love you, too—with all my heart.”

  “Then what sense would there be in denying our own happiness?”

  Francis studied the pair behind serious eyes. Should they not be allowed to be together if they both loved one another? Should they have to suffer to spare a friend’s feelings? It didn’t seem fair, and yet he didn’t want them to get away unscathed.

  “You acted without thinking,” he berated them. “And as a result, you’ve hurt someone who didn’t deserve to be hurt. Emily feels everything with enormous force, whether it be joy or sadness. She wears her nerves on the outside, her heart unguarded, and you . . .” He pointed at both of them. “You spared no consideration for her feelings.”

  He wasn’t sure how or why, but somehow, he suddenly felt as though he knew Emily Rutherford inside out. It no longer seemed to matter that they hadn’t been on good terms for years. For some unspeakable reason, Francis just couldn’t bear the thought that she’d been hurt. “It was badly done . . . badly done, indeed. I only hope that your actions haven’t torn her completely to pieces.” Then, in a more quiet tone, as if he was talking to himself, he continued. “She’s not like the rest of us. I fear you may have broken her.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Emily sighed deeply as she opened her eyes. How many times had she opened and closed them now, drifting in and out of sleep, she wondered. Each time she woke, she cursed the fact that her body was stronger than she had thought it might be. Why did she keep on waking up?

  A quiet knock sounded before a maid entered. She walked briskly across the room to the window and with rapid tugs, opened the burgundy drapes, allowing bright light to flood across the floor. Emily groaned, rolled over, and hid her head beneath the sheets. When she heard the door close, she let out a sigh. Thankfully the maid had decided to leave her alone again, even if she had disturbed her in a most irritating way. Closing her eyes once more, Emily attempted to clear her mind in the hope of returning to a happy sleep, when from out of nowhere, a male voice spoke to her.

  The tone was firm and direct, one that commanded authority and expected to be obeyed. “Enough is enough, Emily,” he told her severely. “You’ve been cooped up in here for four days now. It’s time you got out of bed and joined the world of the living.”

  Her eyes sharpened as she threw back the covers to glare across the room at Francis, her nostrils flaring with sudden anger. “How dare you belittle my pain?” She yelled as she hurled a pillow at him.

  Francis stepped easily out of the way as the missile sailed past him. Clearly, the fact that he had entered her bedroom uninvited was not the main cause for her concern. A wistful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Sitting there with her hair a mess, her eyes shooting daggers at him, she really was a sight to behold. “It’s up to you, Emily. You can come willingly, or I can come over there and personally drag you out of bed.”

  A look of horror swept over her face. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said, her voice faltering.

  “Oh, but I would,” he assured her as he took a step toward her. “You must remember that you’re a guest here, and though my aunt has ensured me that you may stay for as long as you wish, I think it would be quite fitting if—seeing as you are c
apable of getting out of bed—you would return to your own home.”

  “You’re kicking me out?” Her voice was a sad little whisper that couldn’t help but tear at his heart.

  “Emily, manners, etiquette, and adhering to what is and isn’t done has always been your forte,” he told her kindly. “Just because you yourself have been wronged does not mean that you now have the right to take advantage of other people’s kindness. So please, hop on out of bed, get dressed, and meet me downstairs in say . . . half an hour? We’ll have some breakfast before we go.”

  Without giving her the chance to say anything else, Francis quickly escaped back out into the hallway, shutting the door firmly behind him. He stood there for a moment, wondering if he was about to make a monumental mistake. There was still time to change his mind. With a heavy sigh, he left the bedroom door behind him and wandered downstairs to wait for her.

  When she appeared in the dining room doorway, she was wearing a light pink summer dress cut fashionably low to show off the swell of her breasts. Stopping for a moment, she glanced about with an uneasy gaze, wringing her hands together in front of her. Then, drawing a nervous breath, she walked toward Francis, pulled out a chair, and took a seat at the end of the table, right next to him.

  “Tea?” he asked as he reached for the pot. She nodded her head slightly as she followed the movement of his hand with her eyes. She looked pale, he noticed, but her eyes were no longer puffy as they had been four days ago. He almost wished that they were, for the emptiness within them wrenched at his heart. And yet, she’d never looked lovelier to him. What a damn shame, he thought, as he poured the steaming tea into a fragile cup.

  “Eat something,” he told her. When she failed to respond, he picked up a basket with warm buns and held it toward her.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  When she didn’t acknowledge the food, he slowly set the basket back down, understanding that she was thanking him for something else entirely. “Don’t mention it,” he said quietly.