Emma had not played—or even thought about—the game casino since Vanessa and David’s last house party three years ago.
So often during that party, many of the guests had sat around the dainty gaming tables in the drawing room in groups of four, one pair playing against the other while Emma and Morgan had sat off to the side. Despite the fact that she’d often been fully absorbed in whatever book she’d been reading at the time, Emma had always been very aware of the card players, much as she’d been aware of everything Morgan had done. She’d just found far more enjoyment within the pages of her books than she did in the deck of cards. And if she sat with Morgan, then at least Morgan wasn’t alone.
But, with the drawing room once again filled with all two dozen houseguests, save Mr. Cardiff again, and with Sir Henry and Serena waiting expectantly for her answer as to whether she would join them for a game, her avoidance of it must now come to a close. Much as her penchant for reading at every opportunity had done already during the course of this fortnight.
After all, she was here to catch a husband, even if she was also helping Morgan when she could. How could she possibly do that if she avoided all opportunities for socializing? As it was, she had been busy with training Kingley rather a lot of the time, and Sir Henry had been with them much of that time as well—but after her lack of fluttering sensations while in the baronet’s presence, Emma’s doubts about whether they would suit had only intensified.
Had she been wrong in refusing to fall in love with the man she would marry until such time as they were married, believing it the only way to avoid a broken heart? It had seemed the right course of action, considering Morgan’s lot, but now every time Emma turned around, she felt less certain of herself than before.
Whether she felt flutters around the baronet or not, she could not afford to spurn any gentleman’s attentions.
So she smiled for Sir Henry’s benefit. “I’d be happy to be your partner for casino tonight.” True, that would yet again put her alongside him…but at least she would be involved in the goings-on. The others would see and take note of her participation, which would prevent her being seen as sullen or standoffish.
He looked relieved, as though he’d doubted whether she would agree.
Serena let out a happy sound at Emma’s side and clapped her hands together. “Wonderful. Miss Hathaway, you and Sir Henry can play against me and Lord Trenowyth.”
For a brief moment, Emma hesitated. What would Morgan do all evening if both Emma and Serena were otherwise occupied with a game she couldn’t play?
Morgan must have sensed her reticence. “Oh, lovely.” She leaned forward and smiled. “You’ll both be occupied. Miss Goderich wanted to try to teach me to play the pianoforte like you suggested, Miss Hathaway, but I didn’t want to agree unless you both had other plans.”
Lord Trenowyth came over to stand beside Sir Henry, tugging lightly at the front of his coat. The image took Emma’s thoughts straight to that night outside, when Mr. Cardiff had kissed her and both of them had needed to repair their appearances. She fought the urge to flush.
He cleared his throat. “The pianoforte? You haven’t touched one in a very long time. I daresay Mama gave up the thought of you taking after it again quite some time ago.”
“But Miss Hathaway was right in suggesting it. Miss Goderich swears she can teach me to play by touch. She says my fingers can learn where the keys are, and there won’t be any reason I should avoid it.” Morgan tittered lightly. “Well, aside from the fact that I can’t read the music. But the playing part I can do.”
Emma had no doubts at all on that score. She reached a hand across and took Morgan’s, then squeezed lightly. “You certainly can. You’ll just have to learn your own music.” Every day, it seemed there was something new Morgan learned she could do.
Lord Trenowyth studied his sister for a moment, then nodded. “Very well.”
Emma caught a look of amazement upon his countenance, but there was also a hint of pride—much like she’d seen in Mr. Cardiff’s eyes when Morgan discovered his sculpting. She seemed to astonish her brothers at every turn. It wouldn’t surprise Emma in the least if their moments of awe continued to mount for years to come. Morgan was far more capable than her family gave her credit for being. More capable than Emma had given her credit for, as well. They’d all continued to discount Morgan’s abilities.
Miss Goderich came to collect Morgan and took her off to the corner of the drawing room where the pianoforte awaited them. Emma and Serena rose and walked with Sir Henry and Lord Trenowyth to a gaming table near the hearth to begin their game of casino as the somewhat discordant sounds of the instrument echoed throughout the room.
Lord Trenowyth picked up the cards and dealt out their hands.
When the cards had been placed, Sir Henry lifted his hand and studied it. “Lady Morgan and Kingley are making excellent progress, my lord. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Hathaway?” He captured the queen of hearts.
“I would.”
Serena played an eight, and then built to eight with a five and three. “They seem as though they’ve been working together for years, not days.”
While Emma set down a two, for lack of anything better to play, Lord Trenowyth met Serena’s gaze. The look which passed between them was heated enough to warm Emma through to the bones. She flushed with embarrassment and glanced up at Sir Henry, who merely passed her a congenial smile, much as he always did. Should the same sort of heat be coming from the two of them? Blast, but why did it all have to be so very complicated? The heat seemed to go along with the flutters, and she felt neither in his presence. The baronet smiled more deeply upon her examination in what could only be considered a warm manner, but his warmth could not possibly compare to that which was already surrounding them. This heat, between Serena and Lord Trenowyth…it could only compare to one thing in Emma’s memory, and that was the heat she’d felt when Mr. Cardiff kissed her. How blasted infuriating.
“I’m pleased to hear that,” Lord Trenowyth said. He played a seven and built to nine with Emma’s two. “How much more training will the dog require?”
“It’s not a matter of Kingley requiring more training, at this point,” Sir Henry said. “It’s more about having him and Lady Morgan practice together, until everything they must do becomes innate.” He scowled at his cards for a moment, then played a four.
“And you’re certain that Kingley will not harm my sister?”
The baronet shook his head. “Dogs are very loyal creatures, quite protective. He’s already coming to understand she is his responsibility.” He stopped as Serena played a nine. “Not only will he not harm Lady Morgan, I would wager he would do anything to be certain no harm comes to her.”
Lord Trenowyth nodded while Emma studied her cards. It would help if she had actually paid attention when the others played cards at gatherings, even if she didn’t join them. But, instead of watching, she usually just knew that they were playing something. Often, she wasn’t even cognizant of what specific game they were indulging in.
At the moment, she honestly didn’t know what move to make. Pursing her lips, she took out a jack and laid it upon the table, looking up to see if Sir Henry reacted to her choice at all.
He didn’t. Not that she could tell. He still bore the same benign smile he so often did in her presence.
They continued playing, and it soon became apparent that Emma and Sir Henry would lose the hand in rather dramatic fashion to Serena and Lord Trenowyth.
“I must apologize, Sir Henry,” Emma said after playing another seven, which Lord Trenowyth then captured. “You couldn’t have possibly expected to be partnered with someone so lacking in skill.”
A clatter sounded behind her, and the foursome turned as one to see what had caused the commotion. Mr. Cardiff had finally made his appearance, though at least he’d taken the time to don clean clothing after a day spent with his chisel. He stood just inside the doorway, yet again setting a chair to rights after he’
d knocked it over. Emma lifted a brow. While it was true that she could be rather clumsy, he could hardly be considered graceful. Good heavens, had a chair wronged him at some point in his life? He seemed to have a great distaste for them.
Lord Trenowyth sighed. “It seems I must once again apologize for my brother.”
“Not at all,” Serena murmured.
Mr. Cardiff passed a sullen glare over the room, his eyes resting on Emma far longer than was comfortable before moving on to encompass the rest of the houseguests. The drawing room once again resumed a polite din, of a similar strength to before Mr. Cardiff’s entry, and Emma’s companions returned their attention to their game of casino. She did not find it so easy to redirect her thoughts.
Taking a wide berth around their party, Mr. Cardiff ambled through the drawing room until he found an empty chair next to the Bornholm clock against the far wall. He sat down, picked up a book from the occasional table beside him, and started to read. Rather contradictory of him, if anyone should ask Emma, since he so readily took her to task for doing that very thing. Or perhaps he was merely pretending to read. Every few moments, his head would lift and his gaze would meet hers, and he glared.
But, well, glare wasn’t quite the correct term. Always before, when he would look upon her with such depth of emotion, it was rage or anger she felt pouring from him in waves. This was different. No less forceful, certainly, but…different.
His eyes left her for a moment to settle upon Sir Henry. Then his stare was most decidedly a glare, which caused Emma’s chest to constrict. After a moment, he returned his gaze to her, and she shuddered. Mr. Cardiff’s expression was so heated she felt certain it would consume her, incinerate her, leave her nothing more than a melted puddle on the floor.
The sudden need to swallow became overwhelming. She tried frantically to catch her breath—which was almost impossible, with the vise that had somehow crushed her ribs moments ago—only to discover that she’d been holding it in. And then she did experience the same sort of heat she’d felt coursing between Lord Trenowyth and Serena earlier, but it was because of Mr. Cardiff and not Sir Henry.
She tried to force the sensations at bay, turning back to the card table. Her hands were shaking and moist, and her cards felt as though they would slip free from her grip at any moment. Impatiently, she set them down and pushed back from the table so suddenly that her chair wobbled.
“Emma, are you feeling quite all right?” Serena asked. At once, she also rose and took Emma’s hand.
“I don’t—I need—” She didn’t have the first inkling what she needed, only she was fairly certain it wasn’t Sir Henry, or card playing, or even well-meaning friends. Good heavens. “I think I should go lie down. I’m so very sorry.”
She rushed from the drawing room and out of the house to get some air, racing as though the hounds of hell were upon her. For all she knew, Mr. Cardiff was one of them. She didn’t slow until the footman closed the door behind her and cool, evening air filled her lungs, and then she bent over at the waist with both arms clutched over her stomach, trying to force her reaction to the man to subside.
As silly and mad as it seemed, Emma feared she needed him.
For longer than was healthy, Aidan stared at the empty chair Miss Hathaway had just vacated, fully at war with himself. He wanted to continue to hate her, but that wasn’t possible. Not anymore. Not now that she was doing so many things to help Morgan, things which he and Niall and Mother had been unable to do for her. Not now that every time he saw her or thought of her, the direction of his thoughts turned to taking her in his arms and kissing her as he had before on the lawn. Not now that jealousy had become an unnatural, constant companion in his mind. Why should Irvine be granted time with her when it was so plainly obvious to any observers that Miss Hathaway felt nothing at all for him?
Deuce take it! How could he ever be free of her, if all he saw when he closed his eyes to sleep at night were her downturned eyes and broad lips and silky skin? How could he focus on finding ways to encourage her assistance for Morgan if every time he saw her, she was beside Sir Henry Irvine? Interfering lout.
He had been staring for so long that Niall lifted a single eyebrow in question. Damnation, the last thing Aidan needed was to deal with his brother at the moment. He shoved the book back onto the occasional table, not that he’d read a single word in his current state of distraction, and stood without a thought as to what excuse he would make for departing so early again.
His excuse came to him much easier than he’d ever anticipated. Along the opposite wall, Morgan rose from behind the pianoforte with…well, with one of the young ladies whose name he’d neglected to remember. It hadn’t seemed important, but perhaps that had been an oversight on his part.
Aidan stalked to his sister’s side and placed his hand on her elbow. “Is there something I can help you with, Morgan?” In all honesty, his tone sounded a bit frantic, but there was nothing he could do about that. He was a bit frantic. Damn.
She turned her face up to him with confusion, or maybe frustration, bunching her brow together. “Miss Goderich was just going to walk with me to the kitchens.”
Goderich. Yes, he remembered, now that it had been mentioned. He’d have to make a better effort, in case his memory was ever put to the test. At the moment, the only thing he cared to remember was Miss Hathaway, which was quite the troublesome thought.
“I was going to fetch Kingley’s supper…”
Morgan’s voice trailed off since Aidan started to tug her along with him. “Thank you so much for your kindness, Miss Goderich, but I’ll be happy to help my sister with this task.”
“But you hate Kingley,” Morgan protested.
By then, they were past the footmen manning the doors and out in the corridor. Aidan kept going until they couldn’t be overheard before slowing. “I don’t hate Kingley. I just don’t like him.” What surprised him more than anything was that this admission was the truth. He didn’t hate Kingley. He didn’t like that someone or something other than him was helping Morgan. He especially didn’t like that it hadn’t been his idea. He plainly loathed the fact that he’d been proven wrong. But he didn’t hate the dog. The bloody mutt just made him think of Miss Hathaway, since she was the one who’d essentially made him a pet and a part of their lives.
Morgan scoffed at his statement and rolled her eyes, a trait she hadn’t lost when she went blind.
His breath hitched like it always did when something reminded him of how she had been before. Or maybe it was a reminder that she wasn’t gone—the same Morgan resided within the scarred body, no matter how many changes had taken place.
“I just—” Aidan shook his head, though she couldn’t see it. “I was worried about Miss Hathaway. I came out to…to see if she’s all right.”
“Miss Hathaway?” She sucked in a breath. “Oh, Miss Goderich said she looked quite ill when she left the drawing room. But—”
“Please don’t ask me questions now…particularly questions I don’t even know the answers to myself.”
Morgan nodded curtly with an impish scowl. “So what are we doing? Where are we going?”
Hauling Morgan along while he followed after Miss Hathaway hadn’t been in his plans. Granted, he hadn’t truly had a plan. For that matter, he still didn’t. “We are going to the kitchens, so you can get your meal for Kingley. I’ll have a kitchen maid stay with you to help you return afterward, and then I’ll go make certain nothing is amiss with Miss Hathaway.”
That brought out his sister’s fiercest frown. “Should you really be alone with her? I hardly think—”
“I don’t want anyone else to worry about her, Morgan. Most likely, she’s perfectly fine and I’m concerned for no reason. Please?” This was not a conversation he’d ever imagined having with his sister, and particularly not when it concerned one of her dearest friends.
They walked in silence, with Morgan biting down upon her lip. They’d nearly reached the door to the kitchens wh
en finally she nodded. “Fine. But if I hear—”
“You won’t hear a thing. Nothing will happen. I just want make certain she is quite well.”
He deposited his sister with a scullery maid who agreed to ensure Morgan returned to the drawing room upon completion of her task, and then Aidan excused himself.
The only problem was he didn’t know where to go. Where might Miss Hathaway have run to when she’d departed so hastily? He knew he was the reason for her sudden need to escape. There could be no mistaking the heated glances they’d shared.
Aidan sincerely doubted she would have gone above stairs. That didn’t seem to be her normal escape route when confronted with a situation she didn’t know how to handle. No, it was far more likely she’d gone outside even if Kingley was Morgan’s responsibility now.
He started in the west garden, since it would be well-lit by the revelry inside and the brightness of the moon tonight. After going through it thoroughly, however, he hadn’t discovered even the slightest hint of her. Fighting back the tension in his jaw, Aidan methodically made his way through the Heathcote Park grounds.
After half an hour, he’d scoured everything in close proximity—every part of the grounds he could imagine she would dare to go alone after dark—and was about to head into the woods, when a strange sound caught his attention: a tiny cry. He spun toward it, off near the stables but not quite in them, and headed in that direction.
It was her gown that he saw first in the moonlight, the soft rose calling to him like a beacon against the inky darkness around her. She was down on the ground, just beside a hedgerow. Of course she was. Surely she’d tripped and fallen over a root sticking up out of the ground, or her skirts had become trapped in the brambles, or the toes of her slippers had found a hole in the terrain. This was Miss Hathaway, of course, a woman who had never been known for her grace.
Aidan moved closer, preparing to deliver her a talking to that she would remember for quite some time when the odd noise reached him again. Louder this time. More insistent.
Cardiff Siblings 01 - Seven Minutes in Devon Page 17
