He preferred to use vellum with his pastels any time he was creating his vengeance. It left the images crisper. Clearer. More exact. There was nothing left to the imagination when he used pastels on vellum.
And right this moment, he wished he had an easel and some vellum, not to mention his pastels. He wanted to capture her as she looked just at this moment. She was like an avenging angel, come to teach the mere mortals such as himself a lesson they clearly hadn’t learned in the rest of their lives. Never in his life had he seen such fire coming from what he’d once thought to be dull, brown eyes.
Here, amidst a room filled with lords and ladies, men and women with enough power and social standing and narcissism they could crush her in an instant—more permanently and readily than Aidan could ever do in real life or on canvas—here, Miss Hathaway laid aside all thought of self-preservation and thought only of protecting Morgan.
And he couldn’t catch his breath.
He hadn’t heard what Lord Roxburghe or Lady Portia had said about his sister. They were far at the other end of the table, well away from him and his siblings. Frankly, he couldn’t imagine what they could have said to elicit such a response from Miss Hathaway. She’d always seemed so meek before. Docile, even. He’d never imagined her to care for anyone or anything but herself and her damned books.
But clearly she cared for Morgan, and that left Aidan with quite the conundrum.
Damnation.
He wanted to stand beside her. Right this moment, he wanted to kiss her so deeply and so thoroughly she would tremble in his arms, and not stop kissing her until she agreed to never pick up a bloody book again. He wanted things he had no business wanting, because he’d as good as burned her at the stake in his artwork for three years without feeling even the tiniest inkling of remorse.
So he stayed where he sat, unable to do more than close his jaw and stare, memorizing every detail of her form.
The room remained silent. Everyone stared at the daring miss, then turned to either Roxburghe and Lady Portia, or to Aidan, Niall, and Morgan, as if trying to gauge their reactions in order to facilitate their own.
Roxburghe’s eyes flashed with fury, his leer turning fully upon Miss Hathaway, a dangerous sign if ever Aidan had seen one. “I am the Earl of Roxburghe,” he spat in her direction, standing to tower over them all. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Aidan turned to Niall, trying to determine what his brother would do. Now that Miss Hathaway had brought their treatment of Morgan to light, the two of them would have to ensure Morgan’s honor was protected. Niall gave him a slight nod—not nearly enough for Aidan to know what he intended.
“And Lady Morgan is the sister of the Earl of Trenowyth,” Miss Hathaway countered. She lifted an eyebrow as though in challenge.
This was not going well. Not at all. Aidan started to push back from his seat so he could call the bastard out, but he was apparently too slow.
“You’ll apologize to both Lady Morgan and Miss Hathaway, or you’ll answer to me at dawn.” The voice rumbled, deep and dark. A vicious threat hung in the air after the pronouncement, one which made all of Aidan’s imaginings over the last three years seem like child’s play. Aidan could do nothing but gawk at the ladies’ unlikely defender.
Lord Jacob Deering did not rise, did not look up, did not make any outward sign that he’d been the one to issue the challenge. But there could be no doubt it was him from the manner in which Miss Hathaway flinched at his side and looked down at him. She gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop him from doing a damned thing.
David stirred from the head of the table. “I’m sure there will be no call for that,” he murmured softly, but everyone in the room was bound to have heard him. They could have heard a single grain of rice falling to a china plate, it was so silent.
“If there is,” Niall put in, “I’ll be the one Roxburghe will answer to.”
“You may be my second,” Lord Jacob said in an offhanded manner which only served to leave Aidan seething, inexplicably, in his seat.
It made no sense. Why was he so angry with this man? Jacob Deering was not the one at fault here. He did not deserve to feel the brunt of Aidan’s rage. He was trying, as was Miss Hathaway, to protect Morgan’s honor.
And then it struck him—would have bowled him over, were he not still seated at the table. They were taking from him the one thing he’d allowed himself to assume as his responsibility these last several years. They were taking upon their shoulders the protection of Morgan.
It left him feeling unmanned. Useless. What was he, after all, if he did not have his sister to guard and protect and coddle as if his very life depended upon it?
An artist whose work no one would ever wish to purchase.
A younger son of a peer with no direction in life.
A wastrel.
Nothing.
His head felt suddenly heavy, and he dipped it down so his chin rested upon his chest. A sheen of sweat covered him. How had he let his life become what it was?
Lost within the dark thoughts of his own mind, Aidan felt as though he was watching the scene unfold around him—not as a participant, but as though he were somehow floating among them.
Eventually, Lady Portia gave a tearful apology and rushed from the room, her face red and splotchy. Lord Roxburghe grudgingly offered a few words to Morgan and then to Miss Hathaway. As one, the ladies rose and then filed out of the dining room, with Morgan firmly ensconced between Miss Hathaway and Miss Weston.
When they left, it was the first time since the incident started that Aidan had dared chance a look at his sister. She didn’t appear flustered in the slightest. On the contrary, she seemed almost…whimsically happy. That couldn’t be, could it? What in God’s name could possibly have made her so damned happy in what had just taken place?
After the last of the ladies had gone, the footmen came through with glasses of port, settling them before the gentlemen.
Roxburghe downed his in a single swill and then quit the room. That seemed an excellent idea, all things considered. It seemed even more so when David turned to Sir Henry Irvine, the deuced bore, and asked him about the hounds he’d been breeding, as if nothing out of the realm of the ordinary had just occurred.
“Just had a new litter a few weeks ago,” the baronet responded jovially. “Four females and two males.”
That was all the inducement Aidan required. He swallowed the last of his port and pushed back from the table. “If you’ll excuse me,” he muttered. Before anyone could stop him, Aidan barreled through the doors of the dining room and made his way out to the park.
If he was going to sort out what had just happened, he needed air. He needed space.
Had he thoroughly misjudged Miss Hathaway? And Morgan? And if he had…now what?
Tensions ran high the rest of the evening in the drawing room, despite David and Vanessa’s best efforts to distract everyone with parlor games. They had an area set up near the hearth where people could play cards, and a group went off near the Bornholm clock and played charades, while a third grouping of guests situated themselves by the bay window to simply talk.
Emma had no desire to play charades with such horrid people. Nor did she want to play cards with them, or sit around and gossip. Instead she sat with Morgan and Serena, and they made plans for Tuesday, and generally tried to forget about the scene she had caused at supper.
At various moments, Sir Henry or Lord Muldaire or Mr. Deering would come over to them and try to coax them into participation. Emma and Serena always declined, since Morgan couldn’t see to play cards or charades, and Morgan was all too content to spend her time in their company and not with the others. Lord Trenowyth kept an eye on them from afar but never interrupted them. Emma did not see Mr. Cardiff the rest of the night.
Not that she was upset over such a realization. Far from it, in fact. Even with the tension in the room between her and Lord Roxburghe and Lady Porti
a, she felt lighter than she had at any time in Mr. Cardiff’s presence.
The exact reason for this newfound lightness wasn’t readily available to her.
There was the fact that he’d stared at her, but for the first time, she hadn’t felt as though his stare was quite a scowl or a burning hatred. It was more… Certainly shock, which shouldn’t be all that surprising. Emma had shocked even herself, so she had no doubt that everyone in the dining hall right down to the footmen serving their meal had been shocked. But there was more. Admiration, perhaps?
Whatever it was she’d seen in his expression, it left her near giddy. Which was the absolute wrong reaction for her to have. She was here to find a husband. Mr. Cardiff might be many things, but he would never be a husband for her.
The three girls made their escape from the drawing room early that night, well before the rest of the party had begun to dissipate. Emma knew she ought to take Vanessa aside and beg her forgiveness for what she’d done. But she wasn’t sorry she’d done it—only that she’d caused such dissent and tension amongst their guests. Even now, even knowing what a mess she’d caused, she would do the same all over again if someone were to make such comments about Morgan within her hearing.
The awkward heaviness in the air had not yet evaporated by the next morning when the party broke their fast. Lady Portia and her friends kept glancing over at Emma, casting her snide looks and then whispering to each other. At least their attention was now on her, and not on Morgan. If it diminished Emma’s chances at making a match while she was here, she could always revert to her alternative plan of becoming a governess to some aristocratic family. It wouldn’t be ideal, as Mother and Father would prefer her to marry a gentleman who could provide for her, but it would suffice. At the very least, she still had her integrity.
That wasn’t a very good excuse for the scene she’d caused at supper last night. An apology was most certainly in order.
As she left the morning room with Serena and Morgan, still without Mr. Cardiff in sight, Emma stopped beside Vanessa and David, allowing the other two ladies to go on ahead of her.
“I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined your house party,” she whispered. And she had. How could it possibly ever recover from the horrid scene she’d caused last night? No one seemed to be having a good time. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if several of their guests had urgent matters suddenly arise, calling for their immediate departure, and it would be all Emma’s fault.
But David smiled at her, which left her confused all the way down to her toes. “You didn’t do anything I wouldn’t have done, had I been in your position. In fact, I think you handled yourself rather well, all things considered. I’d have called the bastard out right then and there, and then your sister would have been upset with me.”
“Scared,” Vanessa corrected him. “But proud.”
“You aren’t upset with me?” She could do nothing but shake her head dumbly, grasping for any reason this could be.
“We wouldn’t stand for anyone treating any of our guests that way,” Vanessa said.
“Of course not,” Emma murmured, blinking far more than was necessary. “But I can’t help but think you would have gone about handling the situation in a very different manner.”
David grinned, then shooed her with his hand. “Off with you, then. Your friends are waiting, and there’s no telling how long Lady Morgan has before one of her brothers discovers she’s gone missing and decides to rectify the matter.”
“Just be back before luncheon.” Vanessa smiled at her, and even gave a wink. “And then be prepared for an afternoon of painting watercolors and the like. Or reading,” she added, almost as an afterthought.
David was right. There was no point in standing around waiting for the sleeping bear that was Mr. Cardiff to wake. She darted out the door behind Morgan and Serena without further delay, catching up to them just as they slipped out into the park.
Morgan held out her arm, and Emma put hers out so Morgan could grasp it. It was a light touch, which left Emma slightly unnerved. Shouldn’t Morgan hold on a bit more tightly? Didn’t she need more assistance? But she was coming to learn that her friend was far more capable than anyone seemed to believe.
Emma vowed to keep all of her doubts to herself, to never voice them…and to do her very best to eliminate them completely. She’d be doing Morgan no favors by trying to help her when no help was needed. In fact, she’d be just as bad as Lord Trenowyth, and even Mr. Cardiff, if she were to succumb to such a line of thought.
They were well away from the main house when Serena broke the silence. “Sir Henry is quite handsome.” Her tone said far more than her words did.
Emma felt a flush creeping over her face. Thank goodness it was just the three of them. “He is,” she murmured. “But I can’t imagine he’ll seek me out after the way I behaved last night.”
“If he doesn’t, you are better off without him,” Morgan put in.
Serena nodded. “I don’t think you need to worry about that. You clearly didn’t see the admiration in his eyes during supper.”
She’d been so caught up in determining just what sort of expression Mr. Cardiff was passing in her direction, she couldn’t have possibly noticed a thing about Sir Henry’s. “No, but I did notice his lack of attention after supper.”
“It was only the first day,” Serena said. She turned them in order to take a footbridge over a creek—one that hadn’t been there on Emma’s last visit. “There is still plenty more time. He’s got to make himself amenable to the whole party…he can’t focus all of his attention solely on you so soon. It would give the wrong impression.”
An impression Emma had no doubt he would never in a million years wish to give. She bit down on her tongue to avoid saying that aloud as they followed a trail leading to a fragrant, vibrant rose garden.
It was like seeing the entire estate with new eyes, despite the fact that, up until a few years ago, she’d seen it many times. Vanessa hadn’t left anything as it had been before, it seemed, not even the out of doors.
“Oh! Roses,” Morgan said suddenly, lifting her face high into the air. She pressed her eyes closed and sighed with contentment. “Can we stop? I’d like to sit by them for a bit if we could.”
How had Morgan noticed the roses? Emma had hardly seen them herself, and she certainly hadn’t been able to smell them. It seemed even she was discounting her friend’s abilities.
Scanning the area, she found a stone bench in the midst of the garden. “There’s a bench we can sit on off to the right,” she said. That simple statement, and a slight nudge in the proper direction, was all it took for Morgan to start moving straight toward it.
Once they were settled, a mischievous grin overtook Morgan’s features. “So, tell me, Serena. Which gentlemen have caught your eye?”
Serena blushed fiercely and looked at Emma, then shook her head. What on earth could that be about?
“I don’t know that any of them have caught my eye—”
“Liar,” Morgan cut in, her eyes twinkling in the morning light.
“But it seems my father is rather interested in Lord Muldaire.”
Morgan pursed her lips. “Your father has high aspirations for you. But Lord Muldaire seems to be a very kind man. And his cousin is, as well.”
Emma couldn’t stop herself from chuckling. “I notice you didn’t mention his brother, Lord Jacob.”
“And I noticed that Lord Jacob seemed to pay you more attention last night than he paid just about anything,” Serena chortled, causing Emma to join her in blushing profusely. “Not that that is saying much.”
“I think I might prefer to escape the notice of Lord Jacob,” Emma mumbled. After spending supper seated next to him, she still hadn’t quite determined what it was about him that left her feeling…well, cold.
That statement caused Morgan’s eyebrows to knit together. “Why is that? I know he’s…well, he’s a bit…”
“Caustic?” Serena suggested.
Morgan huffed, and her breath sent a stray tendril of her blonde hair flying. “I thought it was more that he’s troubled than either of those things.”
Emma and Serena burst into giggles.
“Well, he is,” Morgan protested, which only caused them to laugh harder than they already were.
“You’re just determined to see the best in everyone, aren’t you?” Serena said once they’d calmed a bit. She threaded her fingers through Morgan’s and held tight. “I think that’s why I like you so much.”
That was what Emma liked so much about her, also, not to mention Serena’s ability to see things exactly as they were.
She linked her fingers with Morgan’s other hand, bonding the three of them physically as she felt they already were internally. Emma continued talking with her friends, sharing her impressions of the other guests and listening to the other girls’ opinions. She laughed until her belly ached, right up until the very moment they had to go back to the main house for luncheon.
Emma settled on a blanket spread over the lawn with the copy of Rob Roy she’d found in David’s library. She did her best to ignore the titters and rude looks coming from the ladies around her. Painting with watercolors would hardly serve to garner her any favor with any of them, so why should she bother with it? Her painting skills were rather putrid, and such a description of them was possibly being more than kind.
The ladies could paint all they liked, and she’d never say a word against a single one of them for it, however much they deserved it. Not even Lady Portia. So why should they care that she shunned the activity and chose to read instead?
She and Serena had begrudgingly left Morgan with her brothers, who claimed they would find an appropriate entertainment for her.
While Morgan would have likely gone along with the rest of the ladies without complaint, sitting in the warm, clear weather outside as they painted, she couldn’t very well participate in the activity herself.
Cardiff Siblings 01 - Seven Minutes in Devon Page 7
