Damaging the book would not do.
Almost before the page had been settled, her eyes were roving over the words as fast as they would go.
How dreadful, that Sir Walter Elliot and his family must let their estate! Emma had been far too close to similar circumstances in her own life. It felt entirely too real. The authoress, Miss Austen, had Emma hooked into the story, as usual.
Coming to the end of the page, she bent back the spine more than she’d intended in her haste to turn to new words. “Lud,” she muttered, earning a snicker from the footman standing beside the door. She frowned up at him. He raised an eyebrow, almost daring her to comment on his reaction.
Instead, she returned her attention to the novel. Yesterday afternoon, she’d selected two from the library: Mansfield Park and Persuasion. Mansfield Park hadn’t lasted her the night. Emma had finished with it before turning in to bed. She could quite possibly finish Persuasion before any of David and Vanessa’s other guests arrived.
After reading about twenty more pages without pausing to take a bite, the footman snapped to attention and his austere expression returned, drawing Emma’s notice. She set her book aside and took a now-frigid bite of shirred egg. Someone must be joining her, finally.
Sure enough, Lady Morgan came through the entryway to the breakfast room with her maid on her arm.
“Good morning, Miss Hathaway,” the maid said with a sweet smile. “We imagined most of the house would still be abed at this hour.”
“Indeed, most of them are,” Emma replied. She cast a surreptitious glance behind them as the maid helped Lady Morgan into a seat across from her. No one else followed. No Mr. Cardiff—at least not yet—and no Lord Trenowyth. Thank goodness. Emma didn’t mind the earl overmuch, but she wasn’t ready to face the cantankerous grump who was his brother today. It was far too early for such unpleasantness, and no amount of chocolate could ease the way. “Good morning to you both. Did you rest well, Lady Morgan?”
“Yes, quite,” the blonde lady murmured with a slight smile, which she then turned in the general direction of her maid. “Thank you, Janetta.”
Janetta took a seat beside her, and then she filled two mugs, gently nudging Lady Morgan’s hand with one of them.
“Thank you.” Taking the cup, Lady Morgan lifted it to her lips, giving a near-imperceptible sniff before drinking. “Oh, chocolate! How lovely.” After swallowing a delicate sip, she sent a conspiratorial smile that brightened her features across in Emma’s direction. “What book are you reading today, Miss Hathaway?”
Emma’s jaw dropped. How could Lady Morgan possibly know she was reading?
Janetta chuckled. “I daresay you’ve surprised your friend, my lady.”
Emma wanted to sink below the table and never be seen again, her mortification was so great. She wished she had somehow learned the art of schooling her features into perfect placidity. At this very moment, her cheeks were heating uncontrollably.
“You’ve not changed so much in these last few years that you aren’t constantly absorbed in a book, have you?” Lady Morgan took another sip and held the dainty china cup between her hands as though warming herself on it. “I’ll be highly disappointed if you aren’t exactly as I left you.”
Was that a hint of humor? If so, Emma may not have changed, but Lady Morgan certainly had. Emma forced her jaw to close. “Persuasion, today.”
“I loved Persuasion. Janetta read it to me several months ago.”
The footman placed two plates heaped with eggs, sausages, bread, and fresh fruit with clotted cream before the ladies. Ever-so-inconspicuously, Janetta guided Lady Morgan’s right hand to the silver.
She grasped a fork and lifted a bite to her mouth. After she chewed and swallowed, she grinned at Emma again. “And yesterday? What did you read then?”
Emma couldn’t contain her chuckle. “Mansfield Park last night.”
“Only one book? You went an entire day and read only a single book? I’m shocked, Miss Hathaway.”
“I started Waverley on the journey over and finished it not long after your arrival.”
“That sounds more like the Miss Hathaway I remember,” Lady Morgan said. She felt for a strawberry and picked it up, then searched her plate for the clotted cream to dip it into. Her movements were slow and meticulous, but also very studied. Not to mention impressive. Any time Emma had to move about in the dark, she invariably stubbed a toe on her bed or spilled water down the front of her nightrail. Lady Morgan didn’t have even the tiniest hint of sight to aid her, though.
Heathcote Park’s housekeeper poked her head around the doorway. “Oh, good. There you are, Miss Drummond,” she said to Janetta. “One of the footmen suggested I might find you here.”
“What is the problem, Mrs. Oldham?” The maid dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin of fine silk.
“I was hoping we could discuss any needs your mistress might have this morning, before the house is overrun by the rest of His Lordship’s guests.”
“Of course.” Janetta left her napkin beside her plate and pushed back from the table. “That sounds like an excellent plan. Lady Morgan, will you manage all right without me for a bit?”
“I’m fine. Go.” Lady Morgan shooed Janetta with her a hand when the maid failed to leave immediately. “Miss Hathaway will assist me if I need anything. Won’t you?”
“Of course,” Emma said. She looked over at the hesitant lady’s maid, who might actually be more of a nurse in this situation, and tried to offer a reassuring smile. “We’ll do just fine on our own.”
The maid vacillated for a moment longer, then she gave a brisk nod. “I’ll be back shortly, my lady. Wait here for me, if you please.”
“Go,” Lady Morgan repeated on a laugh. The sound was soft and tinkling, even a bit melodic, like chimes in the wind. Emma couldn’t remember ever hearing it before. Had she truly not laughed once during that entire fortnight so long ago?
When the door closed with a snick, Lady Morgan let out a long breath. “I was beginning to think she wouldn’t leave me. They have all developed a tendency to hover, lately…especially my brothers. But the servants are no better.”
“They are just worried about you, my lady,” Emma said, hoping to reassure her.
“They’ve been worried for far too long. And please, just call me Morgan.” She took another bite and spilled a bit from her fork onto her lap. She frowned and her brow furrowed. “Oh, fiddle.”
Emma started to run around the table to assist her, but Morgan stayed her with a hand.
“I can manage. I’ve been managing for over two years. Something my brothers seem to conveniently forget more often than not.”
Emma didn’t know what to say to that. Surely Morgan recognized that they were only worried about her, that they only wanted what was best for her. Still, they might very well smother her with their assistance if they didn’t learn to let go. Morgan seemed entirely capable of doing a great deal on her own, yet from what Emma could tell, someone was with her at every moment, coddling her along like a babe just learning to walk. Granted, she’d nearly done the same herself—but Morgan’s family had been living with her all along. They ought to know what she could and couldn’t do on her own.
“I’m sure it is quite vexing to never have a moment to yourself,” Emma murmured for lack of anything more appropriate coming to mind. “If I’m to call you Morgan, you must call me Emma.”
“Emma,” Morgan said with a wide grin stretching her scarred features. “Well, this is delightful. I’ve not had a friend such as you for too long. Do you think tomorrow afternoon we might walk through the arbor? I know today will be filled with greeting the other guests and the like so there won’t be time, but I should very much enjoy taking a walk with you tomorrow.”
“Of course. If it is all right with your brothers, that is.” The last thing Emma needed was for Mr. Cardiff to glare at her again for yet another unknown indiscretion. She couldn’t very well attract an unsuspecting, eligi
ble gentleman’s notice with Mr. Cardiff looking daggers at her. It would give off a most definitively wrong impression.
Morgan frowned. “It will be. They’ll be distracted with all of the house party goings-on. We can easily make our escape.”
“Escape?” Emma said, laughing. “It sounds as though they might not be so accepting of our plans if we must escape.”
Leaning across the table, Morgan lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Won’t it be more exciting, though? I dreadfully need a little excitement in my life.”
If the girl couldn’t take two steps without someone racing to her assistance, Emma could well imagine that to be the case. “Indeed you do,” she said slowly. In all the time of their acquaintance, Emma had never known Morgan to have anything worth becoming excited about in her life. Three years ago, she’d been so despondent.
She finished off the last few cold bites of her shirred eggs and followed it with a sip of her chocolate, all the while staring at her new friend across the table. Here, with the morning light coming through the eastern windows, her scars were more pronounced than ever—red and angry, so visible she could almost see the blisters which must have marred her skin. “Morgan?” she asked tentatively. Never, in a thousand lifetimes, should she dare to ask what she was about to. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “What…what happened?”
“The scars and the blindness, you mean?” Morgan ate her last bite of sausage and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “The same as what happened here three years ago. Instead of trying to drown myself, I thought to try poison, but I picked the wrong weed.”
Emma brushed back a tear. “Oh, heavens.” All of this, because the man Morgan had loved had betrayed her? Emma racked her mind, trying to be certain that her memory would not fail her on this score. But that had been the cause—an intended who’d come home from the wars already married to another.
All the more reason Emma would never trust her own heart with a man until he was well and truly her husband. Too many ladies in her acquaintance had been left heartbroken because of fickle men.
“It seems I wasn’t meant to die yet—three attempts, three failures. There were things I had yet to learn, I suppose. Life I had yet to live.”
Three attempts? Emma bit the inside of her lower lip to keep from blurting out anything else untoward. Thank goodness Morgan couldn’t see her expression, although it was entirely possible she might sense Emma’s tension. Still, even though they were becoming friends again, the degree of their friendship was, as yet, rather tenuous.
She didn’t want to push Morgan too far, too soon. Better to focus on those things they’d already begun discussing. “Does it hurt?”
“The scars? Not anymore.” Morgan sipped from her cup of chocolate. “Not since a few weeks after that day. I’m sure it pains you more to look at me than it pains me to live with it.”
“Oh, no. I—”
“It’s all right.” Morgan smiled tenuously. “You don’t need to apologize for what you see. I did this to myself.” Her voice was shy and gentle, and she dipped her head.
The door opened, and the devil himself walked through. His blistering gaze locked on Emma briefly, and her skin crawled with goose flesh. Mr. Cardiff turned his focus to Morgan, leaving Emma shivering in this wake of his stare.
“Mr. Cardiff,” Emma whispered, dipping her head to avoid his gaze once more. The intensity of his blue eyes was mesmerizing, even when it was filled with his animosity.
“Good morning, Morgan. Miss Hathaway,” he added tersely a moment later. Resentment heavily laced his tone when he said her name, but the hostility seemed to have left his eyes, at least for the time being. “Why has Janetta left you alone, Morgan?” he asked when he faced his sister again. His eyes narrowed to slits.
“I’m far from alone.” A thin line creased Morgan’s brow—the only outward sign of her frustration.
Emma doubted she knew she’d revealed that much. Likewise, she doubted Mr. Cardiff had noticed his sister’s vexation. He certainly showed no indication that he’d noticed any change. Could he truly be so oblivious to his sister, while at the same time being so thoroughly unable to leave her to do things without his interference?
“Miss Hathaway has kept me company since Janetta was called away and has done an admirable job of it. The housekeeper needed to discuss things about my condition with Janetta before everyone else arrived. Surely you can understand the necessity for that.”
Mr. Cardiff grunted but said nothing. He sat beside his sister. The footman cleared away Janetta’s plate and replaced it with a newly-filled dish.
Before moving away from the table, the footman bowed to Emma. “May I bring you anything else, ma’am?”
She turned her empty plate aside and shook her head. Any thought of eating had fled along with her body heat the moment Mr. Cardiff entered the breakfast room. He’d also stolen her ability to think of anything to say. Why did being near him cause her heart to hammer and her tongue to twist? She felt like such a ninnyhammer. Emma stared at her hands folded together on her lap as the weight of the sudden silence pressed down on her shoulders.
Morgan did not speak, either, but continued to drink from her cup of chocolate.
Mr. Cardiff rapidly broke his fast, not pausing to speak or drink. He continued to stare across at Emma as he ate, the expression in his cold, blue eyes revealing a combination of exasperation and inquisitiveness. Emma felt his gaze more than saw it. He left her fighting off a series of shudders that threatened to overwhelm her because of how unnatural they felt. It wasn’t fear or anger causing them. She didn’t quite know what it was, other than decidedly unnerving.
Within a few, short minutes, he had finished. He turned to his sister and placed the tips of his fingers on the back of her hand. “Well, shall we begin our day?” He stood and took Morgan’s hand, attempting to help her rise.
“Janetta asked me to wait for her here. I shouldn’t leave.”
Mr. Cardiff scowled fiercely, but his tone remained light. “I’ll take you to her. She won’t be cross with you for joining her. I’m sure the housekeeper might have some questions that you could answer better than Janetta could, anyway.”
Morgan sighed. “Very well.” She allowed her brother to assist her to her feet. When they reached the door, Morgan stopped and turned back to Emma. “I look forward to your company again later today—if I am to enjoy it, that is.” Her tone was hopeful.
Emma would deny Morgan nothing, but she wasn’t so certain about Mr. Cardiff’s intentions. She glanced at the gentleman before responding. A muscle jerked in his cheek, but he remained silent.
There could be no doubt—he hated this. He hated every blessed moment of this interaction. She felt it pouring out of his skin and working its way through the thick air toward her, like a serpent slithering toward its prey.
Why was he so angry at her? Never in her life would she understand what she could have possibly done to engender such distaste.
Yet, despite her disquiet from being near him, she couldn’t help but admire his tenacity in protecting his sister. True, he was taking things too far in his desire to see her safe. Emma couldn’t imagine what he thought keeping Emma and Morgan separated would accomplish. Not only that, but he tried to do every little thing for Morgan when she could seemingly do a great deal on her own.
For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to have someone so fully engrossed in protecting her. But only for a moment, because then Mr. Cardiff nearly snarled toward her.
She couldn’t be free of his presence soon enough. “I would like that very much, Morgan.”
Morgan stretched her scars into a smile. Mr. Cardiff’s jaw worked, and his eyes narrowed to steely slits. He nodded to Emma, tugged on his sister’s arm, and then they were gone.
The act of hating Miss Hathaway, regardless of the sheer, perverse pleasure it gave him, was irrational. Aidan knew this all too well.
Blaming her for Morgan’s attempts to take her own life was not
only unreasonable but delved into the realm of the ridiculous.
Morgan’s despair had begun well before she’d ever met Miss Hathaway. It had started when Stoneham—a man with whom Aidan had long been friends, and whom he had suggested court his sister—left her heartbroken by returning from the wars with a bride on his arm. Despite Stoneham’s promises. Despite Morgan’s loyalty and steadfast patience. Despite any attachment which the man had sworn to feel for Aidan’s sister.
Indeed, it would make more sense to lay blame upon Stoneham. Some part of Aidan continued to hate his friend, even though he had answered for his treachery in a duel. Yet, since the viscount had had the decency to answer for himself in such a way, how could Aidan continue to blame him? Despise him, certainly. But blame?
Likewise, it would seem exceedingly more rational for Aidan to cast some, if not all, of the blame upon himself. He’d encouraged the attachment, after all. If he hadn’t done so, would Stoneham have ever paid Morgan any notice? Would she have so readily set her cap for him? Would she have fallen so easily and so thoroughly into the darkest recesses of her mind?
But hating himself was not an option, lest he potentially cast himself along the same perilous path his sister had taken. Morgan had always been so steadfast, so levelheaded. Until Stoneham. So if she could fall victim to such desperate thought, wouldn’t it also seem reasonable that he would? He’d always been prone to acting rashly and then rehashing his choices interminably in his mind.
And, while she was the one who had attempted to take her own life, Aidan could not bear to place any of the blame upon Morgan’s shoulders. They were too frail. Too weighted down already. He would never do anything to add to her burden.
How could he, when he’d sworn back when they were children that he would never give up on her again? He would never forget that day, how when she was all of ten years old, Morgan had chased after them when Aidan, Niall, and David had once again left her behind while they went off to explore the grounds at Tavistock Manor.
Cardiff Siblings 01 - Seven Minutes in Devon Page 4
