“And I’ll be right behind you,” Jonathan called out as he marched after them, sending a lopsided grin and wink toward Francis as he left.
“Oh look,” Genevieve suddenly said, craning her neck. “There’s Lady Barkley—haven’t seen her in ages . . . but who on earth is that exquisite creature she’s with?”
“Oh . . .” Veronica remarked, noticing the couple that were just now crossing the lawn with one another. “That, my lady, is Mr. Fairchild’s bride-to-be: Lady Kate.”
Genevieve appeared to study her more closely. “Hmmm . . . upon further inspection I can only say that she’s not as pleasing to the eye as I initially thought.” Then, appearing to have completely forgotten about Kate, she turned her gaze on Emily. “You, my dear, are far prettier.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Francis muttered.
Emily wanted nothing more than to fling herself into their arms in appreciation of their loyalty, but the smile upon her lips and the blush in her cheeks was enough to convey her gratitude.
“Do you know—it looks as though they’ve spotted us. I do believe they’re heading this way,” Veronica suddenly said.
Francis’s eyes grew instantly dark, his lips set in a tight line. He reached out and took Emily by the arm, drawing her closer as if to protect her. As for Emily, the smile she’d just given Genevieve and Francis still graced her lips, allowing her to look absolutely thrilled at the sight of Kate coming toward her. But on the inside, her stomach had begun contorting itself into all sorts of unimaginable shapes. After all, the last time she’d spoken to Kate, she’d said her piece and walked off with her head held high after slamming the proverbial door in her face. Whatever was she to say to her now?
Before she could gather her thoughts, the two women were upon them.
“Good afternoon, Lady Barkley,” Francis greeted the baroness, planting a kiss on her outstretched hand. “You’re looking as young and lovely as always.” He flashed her his most dazzling smile.
“Oh, Lord Dunhurst, really . . .” she snickered in such a girlish fashion that she did indeed appear many years younger.
“Lady Kate.” Francis greeted Kate with a formal nod, his smile fading. “I don’t believe you’ve ever met my aunt, Lady Genevieve.”
Kate made a polite curtsey.
“Though I do believe you’re familiar with Lady Giddington,” he added.
“It is indeed a pleasure to see you again, my lady,” Kate declared.
“Tell me,” Veronica said once they’d all greeted Lady Barkley as well. “How are your wedding preparations coming along? Have you decided on a gown yet?”
Kate cast a nervous look in Emily’s direction. “As a matter of fact, I have,” she admitted with a great degree of reluctance. “Aunt Harriet found a wonderful dressmaker for me. In fact, she’s been incredibly helpful in all aspects of the preparations, though I do consider the gown to be her crowning achievement.”
“Well done,” Veronica cheered. “I’ve always subscribed to the notion that a woman should begin preparing for her wedding by picking the right gown. Once that is done, everything else falls naturally into place.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Lady Barkley said with a nod of approval.
“Yes,” Kate added, her voice dropping to a mousy whisper. “It has served as great inspiration for all the wedding invitations, as well as for the cake.”
“Cake, you say?” A spark of interest appeared in Genevieve’s eyes. “And what sort of cake will that be, if you don’t mind my asking.”
“Not at all—as long as you promise not to tell anyone—I don’t want to spoil the surprise,” Kate replied.
The older woman’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “You can count on us,” Genevieve assured her. “Isn’t that right?”
Everyone nodded, including Emily and Francis, their curiosity getting the better of them.
Pausing for emphasis, Kate finally told them. “It will be a rich chocolate and cream layer cake with a slight hint of brandy, covered in butter cream frosting and chocolate shavings.”
“That sounds utterly delicious—I believe I shall begin saving my appetite already,” Lady Barkley told her. She then turned an inquisitive eye on Francis. “And what about you, Lord Dunhurst?” she asked. “When do you think your wedding will be taking place?”
All eyes turned to Francis, who looked as if he’d just seen a pig fly. “My what?” he exclaimed, not even attempting to hide the shock in his voice.
“Your wedding—to Miss Emily, of course,” the baroness insisted as she cast a sidelong glance in Emily’s direction, as if Francis needed reminding.
There was a thunderous silence while everyone tried their best to come to terms with what the baroness had just said. None of them could quite figure out what to say, never mind find an appropriate expression to match the situation at hand.
It was Emily who, having stilled her fluttering heart, finally spoke up. “Pray tell us, my lady, what has given you the impression that I am betrothed to Lord Dunhurst?”
“Oh, I never said that you were betrothed. However, it has been the talk of the town that Lord Dunhurst is courting you. One naturally assumes that it is with the intention to marry, and I therefore deduced that the two of you must have discussed a date.”
“Perhaps they are not yet ready to share the news,” Kate said. She sent an apologetic look toward Emily. “Lady Barkley, it does appear as though we’ve caught them quite by surprise.”
“Dear me,” the baroness gasped. “I do apologize if I have ruined it for you. I merely thought . . . why, it’s clear as day the way in which you look at one another . . . I’m so sorry.” She unfolded a fan and began fanning herself profusely.
Emily wondered what on earth was going on. She turned to Francis, hoping that he might give her an answer, but his face had taken on a rather bland expression. Veronica and Genevieve, on the other hand, seemed to think that Emily would be the one to offer them an explanation, for they had both turned toward her, their eyes filled with curiosity.
“I’m terribly sorry, my lady,” Emily began with an awkward chuckle that sounded more embarrassed than she’d hoped. “But Lord Dunhurst and I are merely friends . . .” Her words faded the instant she looked at Francis. Noticing the flicker of disappointment in his eyes, she immediately wished she could take them back.
“Well,” Lady Barkley was now saying, “you’ve certainly had us all fooled then. Do you have any idea how much gossip you’ve managed to stir up?”
“I don’t believe we do,” Francis replied in a clipped tone. “Though I’m fairly sure that you’re about to enlighten us.”
“Well . . . as it happens, Lady Kate and I were just discussing this very topic when we happened upon you.”
“Is that so?” Emily remarked.
“Well . . . er . . . the thing is . . .” Kate stammered.
“Hush, my dear,” Genevieve told her. “I for one would very much like to hear what her ladyship has to say on the matter, and your sputtering is holding her up.”
Everyone turned expectantly toward Lady Barkley and waited for her to proceed.
“You see, the ton is divided as far as Lady Kate and Mr. Fairchild are concerned,” she said, cutting straight to the chase. “There are those who believe they’ve been secretly engaged since childhood, and that Miss Emily merely acted as a decoy. And then there are those who are of the opinion that Lady Kate stole Mr. Fairchild away from Miss Emily—that she and Mr. Fairchild had a prior attachment to one another which Lady Kate somehow managed to dissolve.”
Emily felt as though she might faint. Had her relationship with Kate and Adrian really been dissected and examined by the entire ton? It was horrifying.
Kate must have felt much the same way, Emily realized, for she looked quite pale all of a sudden, while her hands appeared to have begun trembling. “Naturally, I couldn’t imagine Kate or Mr. Fairchild treating anyone so unkindly, and I have therefore made my own hypothesis.”
�
�Is that so,” Francis remarked with a scowl in Kate’s direction.
“Oh yes,” Lady Barkley chirped, completely ignorant of the strained atmosphere that had descended upon the small group. “And that’s where you come in, Lord Dunhurst. You see, my theory is that Miss Emily refused Mr. Fairchild’s offer of marriage, or perhaps gave him reason to believe that he ought not propose to her at all. And it is my estimation that Miss Emily did so in order to pursue someone else instead—someone of far greater interest to her . . .”
Emily cringed. She dared not even look at Francis for fear of what she might see. She’d just told everyone that they were merely friends. She’d publicly refuted any romantic attachment with him whatsoever. She’d seen the pained look in his eyes . . . but what else could she have said? That they were lovers? Her hand flew instantly to her mouth to silence the burst of laughter she felt coming.
“And who might that be?” Francis asked, feigning disinterest.
“Why, you, of course, Lord Dunhurst.”
There was a slight tug at the corner of his lips. His eyes found Emily’s. “And yet, Miss Emily has just told you that we are merely friends.”
What does he want from me? Emily wondered, looking away in embarrassment.
“So she has,” Lady Barkley admitted with a great deal of disappointment.
“Oh, look, Lady Barkley,” Kate then exclaimed as she reached for the older lady’s arm. “I see Adrian over there. You were asking about him earlier, remember? Would you not like to say hello to him? I’m sure he’d be very pleased indeed to see you again.”
“Oh, absolutely, my dear,” Lady Barkley agreed. “Well then, Lord Dunhurst, Miss Emily, Lady Giddington, and Lady Genevieve—it was a pleasure speaking with you. Do let us know if there are any developments—of a personal nature—if you know what I mean.” And before another word could be exchanged, Kate had as good as dragged the baroness off with her in a desperate attempt to save the situation from getting further out of hand.
Emily could do nothing but stare after them.
“I daresay one doesn’t get a better performance at the theatre,” Genevieve remarked, her eyes drifting from Emily to Francis and back again as if she half expected them to fall into each other’s arms.
Francis was the next to speak. “Friends, ay?” His dark eyes hadn’t left Emily for a moment.
“Francis . . . I . . . I have no expectations . . .”
Francis’s eyes darkened even further. He lowered his head and whispered in her ear for only her to hear. “I thought a kiss was all you needed in order to think yourself attached, and you and I have shared so much more than that.”
Heat swept its way over Emily until she felt certain she’d melt away from mortification.
“Dear me, Francis,” Veronica gasped. “Whatever did you say to her? She’s pinker than my gown!”
Francis sent her a coy smile. “Please excuse us, ladies. Emily and I have a pressing matter to attend to.” And then he dragged Emily away, her feet increasing their pace to a near run in an attempt to keep up with his long strides.
“Where are we going?” she asked, dodging a footman.
“To find Beatrice.”
“Why?”
“Because I am thoroughly annoyed with you, Emily.”
Oh dear. . .
“For years you’ve thought yourself attached to Adrian—based solely on that measly kiss he once gave you—yet when it comes to me, I am nothing but a friend?” He stopped so abruptly that she almost crashed right into him. Instead, she skidded to a halt, her hand grabbing his arm for support. He turned to look at her. “If Adrian were to come running after you now, begging your forgiveness and asking you to be his wife . . . would you accept?”
She stared back at him, completely caught off guard by the question. “I . . . I . . .”
“Be honest with me, Emily,” he told her fiercely.
Was that jealousy in his voice? Her stomach fluttered in response to it. She shook her head. “No,” she replied.
Relief flooded his entire face. He leaned toward her. “Good, because in case you were wondering, friends don’t generally take the sort of liberties with one another that we took last night.”
A gasp was all she could manage as she stood there, her skin tingling all over. The worst of it was that she longed for him to take such liberties again. She wondered if he could tell. A wolfish grin and a pair of smoldering eyes soon answered her question.
“Come,” he said, giving her hand a tug as he set off again. “It’s about time that I made my intentions known.”
Emily almost choked. “And what are your intentions, exactly?”
“To make an honest woman out of you,” he said, throwing her a cheeky grin.
An uncontrollable joy erupted inside her the minute Emily permitted Francis to court her. She had reignited a friendship that she’d once given up on, only to discover that he might possibly hold the key to the true love that she’d always been seeking. Francis had always been right there in front of her very eyes, yet circumstances had led them apart. Thank God circumstances had also led them back together again.
She knew he had secrets; nobody could change as drastically as he had without there being a reason for it. She only hoped that he would one day share them with her. If they were to make it as a couple, trusting one another would be vital, and then perhaps she’d be able to help him through whatever it was that had pained him.
She knew that she loved him, and she’d always insisted that she would only marry for love. Of course marrying Francis would be a wonderful match. Even if he didn’t love her in return, she knew that they had a solid foundation upon which to build a happy future together. Not only did they share the same childhood memories, but they had also discovered that they enjoyed each other’s company immensely. Emily had had some of the most enjoyable conversations she could recall with Francis, and she had the distinct feeling that he shared her opinion. And then of course there was the passion. . . . Nobody else in the world had ever been able to make her feel what she felt when she was with him, and she knew that it was unlikely that anyone else ever would. Her skin prickled and her heart fluttered at the very thought of it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
At the sound of skirts rustling, Francis lowered his newspaper and looked up to find Emily entering the dining room. “Sleep well?” he asked.
“Oh, exceedingly so,” she replied. “In fact, it seems as if it’s quite impossible for me not to sleep well while I am here—I don’t believe I’ve experienced such deep slumber before in my life.”
Francis grinned slightly at her childlike gratification. “I’m sure you must have, at some point.”
“If I did, then it was so long ago that I don’t recall.” She poured herself a cup of tea, then seated herself on the chair opposite Francis’s. “Any sign of Beatrice and Claire?”
“Yes, they went out no more than fifteen minutes ago—something about an urgent matter regarding a bonnet.”
“I see,” Emily chuckled. “It would have to be something like that in order to get Claire out of bed this early.”
“Well, my dear, it is after twelve o’clock . . .”
Biting her bottom lip, Emily looked over at Francis as she took a sip of her tea, an apologetic look upon her face. “I know. I’m sorry, but we did stay up rather late last night.”
“It’s quite all right,” Francis told her with a grin. “In fact, it’s to be expected. Very few people I know get up before noon.”
“Really?” Emily asked with relief. “I was beginning to feel as though I was wasting the day away in bed. Back home, in Hardington, I would always be up by seven at the latest.”
“Well, you have your own house to run there—that’s a full-time job in itself, even with your sisters’ help. But here nobody expects you to do anything other than enjoy life, and if I have anything to say about it, you’ll never have to do laundry again.” He took her hand in his, turning it over to study her fingers. “All t
hose years of hard work are still visible on your hands and fingers. I’m sorry it’s been so difficult for you, Emily—for all of you.” Bending her fingers into a fist, he brought her hand up against his lips for a kiss.
“In many ways I can’t help but think of it as a welcome escape, following the loss of our parents. It was so sudden . . . so terribly difficult to get through. We were forced to busy ourselves with so many chores, many with which we had to acquaint ourselves for the very first time. It gave us something to do—a purpose—and something to take our mind off things. Then gradually it just became routine, so much so that I find myself missing certain aspects of it—though I doubt I’ll ever miss scrubbing the floors.” She sighed, then raised her eyes to meet his. “Were you sincere when you said that you wanted to court me?”
“I was,” he told her earnestly as he held her gaze.
“Why?”
“Because I believe that we would both be extremely happy with such a union. We have so much in common, Emily, and though I realize I’m not the man you’d hoped for, I’m quite confident that I’ll be able to make you happy.” He paused for a moment, then added, “At the very least, I’ll do my damndest.”
He hadn’t mentioned love, Emily thought, but why would he? She knew that he did not love her, but did that really matter? In time, she was sure that they would come to love one another in some way—even if it wouldn’t be the kind of love that Homer had written of in the Iliad, the kind of love that people would happily give their lives for.
They had something else, though—something which was in all likelihood just as important, if not more so: they were content with one another, enjoying each other’s company immensely. She’d never felt more capable of just being herself around anyone else before, other than her sisters, of course. What was more, she felt as if she could tell Francis anything. He respected her as an equal, something that was of great value to her. And then of course there was the passionate desire that they felt for one another. The air seemed to sizzle when they were in the same room.
How Miss Rutherford Got Her Groove Back Page 15
