“Of course not.” Pressing her lips together, Emilia allowed a few more cards to be played before saying, “I only want her to have a bit of fun, that is all.”
“And you believe imbibing will be the answer?” Belgrave asked. “You assume Lady Rachel shares your opinion on what it means to enjoy life – that she feels unfulfilled in some way.” He played the next card, the three of clubs. “But she is not you, my lady. She is her own person, and from where I’m sitting, that is a rather wonderful thing.”
It took some effort for Emilia not to beam in response to Belgrave’s declaration. “What a marvelous observation,” she managed to say with a bland expression.
“He meant no offense,” Rachel hastily added, this time leaping to his defense.
It was getting increasingly difficult for Emilia not to smile. Instead, she focused her attention on the last remaining cards in her hand and quietly muttered, “I think you’re mistaken, my dear, but since I’ve always admired a man with a backbone, I can hardly say I mind. Belgrave was right to put me in my place.”
“My lady,” Belgrave began.
She shot him a chastising look. “Don’t you dare ruin it with an apology.”
He sat back in his seat.
Marie chuckled. “It looks as though you still have it in you, Emilia.”
“What is that?”
“The ability to make a man squirm.”
“Nonsense.” Emilia played her last card, claiming the final trick. “Belgrave isn’t squirming. He’s counting his victory. Isn’t that right, my lord?”
Dipping his head, he allowed a broad smile. “To win against the formidable Lady Duncaster is indeed an accomplishment to be savored.”
She couldn’t help but laugh in response. Neither could Rachel or Marie. The tea arrived, and they played a few more hands before Emilia felt she was ready to retire for the evening. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but age demands I get some rest.”
“I’ll escort you up,” Marie said, excusing herself to the rest of the room. “Will you be up soon, Phillip?” she asked her husband, who was still in the middle of a game with Lamont, Emily, and Laura. Montsmouth, who’d pulled up a chair, was looking over Emily’s shoulder and offering occasional suggestions. Fiona and Chadwick, on the other hand, were nowhere in sight. They must have quit the room while she’d been distracted by the game.
“What do you think?” Marie asked as soon as the two of them were alone in the hallway.
Linking her arm with her friend’s, Emilia gave her honest opinion. “I believe there’s a good chance of success – more so than I would initially have imagined.”
“I had my greatest doubts about Emily and Montsmouth. It still astounds me how right you were on that score.”
“Let us hope so, Marie. Still, I would caution you not to get too excited. Nothing has been settled yet and…” She blew out her breath. “What on earth was your husband thinking when he chastised Chadwick?”
“You heard that, did you?”
“Considering the length of my ears, it was difficult for me not to since I was sitting the closest.”
They reached the end of the hallway and started in the direction of the grand staircase. “I think he was hoping to make Chadwick aware of his feelings, though I fear he might have managed to scare him off instead.”
“Frankly, I’m a bit disappointed in him and Fiona. Of all the matches we’re hoping to make, I was certain the two of them would be the first.” If only they’d be more aware of the other’s regard.
“They have to risk their friendship, Emilia. That’s no small thing.”
“Yes. I am aware.” She glanced at her friend. “It makes me want to interfere – shake some sense into them.”
“I know,” Marie said, “but when we decided on this course, we agreed all we would do was bring them together and give them the necessary opportunity for their affections to flourish. It has to come naturally or not at all.”
Emilia knew she was right. Any further manipulation on their part would be a mistake. “At least they’re looking for the treasure again. It’s good for them to have something to work on together, but with only one week left, I worry it won’t be enough.”
“There’s still the ball. I must say, that was a smart move on your part – an excuse for them to dance together and for him to see her at her best.”
Emilia nodded. “That was my intention, although I have to admit, the ball is mostly for Rachel’s benefit.” They reached the stairs and started their ascent at a moderate pace. “She needs a reason to dress up, not for Belgrave’s sake alone, but for hers as well. I want her to feel the thrill of being admired.”
“She certainly deserves to be.” Marie shook her head. “I cannot believe I was so unaware of her scientific accomplishments.”
“And Belgrave appreciates her worth. You can see it in his eyes whenever he looks at her, so I doubt it will be long now before he makes his intentions known to her.”
“Perhaps at the ball?”
“That is what I am hoping for.” They arrived at the top of the landing and began making their way down the hallway. “What about Montsmouth and Emily?”
Marie smiled. “He spoke to Philip earlier this evening. As did Lamont.”
“Indeed?” This was excellent news. “So two of the gentlemen have made their intentions known. I trust they were given permission to court Emily and Laura?”
“Of course.” Marie paused before saying, “As you know, we were a bit hesitant about Montsmouth. He’s always seemed a bit odd to us, but Emily says she has her heart set on him. To be honest, we couldn’t be happier for her or for Laura.”
They reached Marie’s bedchamber and stopped in front of the door. “If all goes according to plan,” Emilia said, “you’ll have all of your seven children settled in the space of a year. That’s quite an achievement, my dear. Some might say sensational.”
Marie smiled. “All I want is for them to be happy.”
They said good night and parted ways, with Emilia continuing toward her own apartment at the far end of the wing. She’d found love a lifetime ago, and she had cherished every moment of it for as long as it had lasted. Now, she would take pleasure in ensuring others were able to enjoy what she’d once had – to feel the excitement born from a lover’s kiss and the hope that bloomed with the knowledge of shared desires.
Chapter 16
It had been exactly twenty-six hours since Lady Duncaster had made her remark about the brandy. Standing in the empty parlor, Rachel observed the time. Midnight. She expelled a breath and approached the side table. The lantern she’d brought illuminated the room to satisfaction – enough for her to see what was in each bottle and crystal decanter. The various shades of amber liquid winked at her through the shadows. This had to be the silliest idea to have ever swamped her mind. But ever since she’d been challenged on a scientific basis, it had been impossible for her to ignore the possibility for an experiment.
The test was simple, really. She would have a sip from each bottle and write down her opinions in the notebook she’d brought along. Included therein would be flavors, sweetness, acidity, and so forth. Perhaps she’d even find something that stood out and be able to tell Lady Duncaster how well a particular spirit agreed with her. A smile filled her lips at that idea. She picked up the first bottle and poured a small measure into a glass. She took a sip, wincing in response to the strong flavor but forcing herself to swirl it around her mouth.
Hmm…
Not one of the best she’d ever had, but perhaps it wasn’t too awful either. It was certainly spicy. She detected a subtle hint of fruit and caramel. Setting the glass aside, she jotted that down beside the name of the brandy she’d selected, a Courvoisier & Curlier from 1789. Next, was a Hennessy Cognac. She picked a clean glass and tasted this as well.
Oh!
It was bolder, perhaps even a bit warmer and with…what was that? The flavor eluded her even as it surprised her with its uniqueness. To her const
ernation, she had to admit it might be the best she’d ever tried. So she took another sip before moving on to the next. Five more bottles followed and then three carafes, two of which contained different brands of sherry. She liked the sweet one the best because it rolled down her throat like honey. Mmmm. Perhaps one more sip of that one as well…
“Lady Rachel?”
She clasped the carafe and spun toward the voice that had spoken. “Belgrave?” He stood a short distance away, which meant she had not heard him enter the room. “What on earth are you doing here?” Blinking, she tried to clear her head. It was starting to feel slightly fuzzy.
“I couldn’t sleep and thought I’d get a drink, but I see you’ve beaten me to it.”
“Hmm? Oh! You mean this?” She lifted the carafe she was holding. He raised his eyebrows and gave her a curious look that made her feel oddly warm all over. “This is just an experiment.”
“In how to get foxed?”
“I am not…” She pushed out a breath and returned the carafe to its spot on the sideboard. “I know I had a brandy with you in the library, but that was mostly to see how you might react. I don’t really make a habit of drinking on a regularly basis.”
“Unless Lady Duncaster decides to goad you.”
“She means well, you know, and she was right to push me a little. Besides, I find the flavors interesting. I never considered how different they could be. It’s all tasted the same to me until now, when I’m actually focusing on the flavors.”
He shrugged, then stepped forward and picked up a glass. He poured a measure of the Hennessy and raised it to his lips, drinking while his gaze lingered on her. “Did you try this one?” he asked, holding the glass toward her.
“I…I…Yes.” She stared at the glass and at the large hand holding it. “It was probably my favorite, besides the sherry in that carafe over there. It was very good as well.”
“Feel free to have a bit more if you like.” He nudged the glass forward a tiny bit more.
Her mouth went dry. “But you’ve just drunk from there,” she blurted without even thinking.
The edge of his mouth lifted. “I’m not diseased, if that’s your concern.”
“No. Of course you’re not.” Heavens, her heart was beating so fast she feared it might suddenly fly from her chest. “I merely think it might be rather inappropriate.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” He remained where he was, completely still, his eyes searching hers until she fairly trembled beneath his gaze. Then, without warning, he turned away and strode across to the wall where Fiona and Chadwick had entered earlier. He set his palm against it and quietly asked, “Can you imagine finding the treasure while we’re here?”
“Doing so does become more likely as we eliminate places during our search. I think Fiona’s assessment of where to look is logical.”
“You mean the ground floor area surrounding the foyer?”
She gave a concrete nod. “The other parts of the house have already been explored without success, and according to everyone else’s accounts, not even the secret passageways have offered any clues.”
“They also haven’t been fully investigated.” He raised his glass to his lips and sipped his brandy.
Their eyes met, and she felt her chest tighten. Lord, he was handsome. And when he looked at her like that, as though he held some decadent secret in the confines of his mind, she could practically feel herself melt in response. Jamming her knees together, she set her mind on remaining upright. She was not some silly female prone to swooning or any other ailments a weaker-minded individual might suffer when in the presence of such powerful masculinity.
“True.”
The word did not carry the sort of conciseness she would have liked. Instead, it came out a whisper. Belgrave smiled as though hearing her every thought. Annoying man. Breaking eye contact, she snatched up one of the glasses she’d used earlier and poured herself some more Hennessy. It instantly calmed her nerves the moment she drank, and she finally understood the pleasure in such indulgence.
“Perhaps we could continue to search for it together?”
The question interrupted the momentary escape from reality the drink had offered. It reminded Rachel she wasn’t alone. She turned toward Belgrave. Casually reclining against the backrest of the chair he now occupied, he kept his gaze firmly on her while he cradled his glass between his hands. His entire demeanor prompted a question that demanded an answer. “What is it you want from me, my lord?” He’d mentioned marriage one evening at dinner, but surely that had been a joke.
His eyes narrowed a fraction, and Rachel could not dismiss the change in his expression. It was almost as though he was caught between pain and pleasure. “Everything,” he murmured.
She stilled. Surely she must have misheard him. “I beg your pardon?”
He flinched, appeared to collect himself as he straightened his posture, and cleared his throat. “Companionship, for starters.” Looking unsatisfied with his comment, he set his glass aside and stood. “Might I ask you a personal question, my lady?”
“That depends,” she hedged. He was coming toward her now, and she suddenly felt inclined to both flee and fling herself in his direction. How utterly absurd!
“What I wish to know,” he said, stopping before her, “is what you truly desire from life.” He leaned into her ever so slightly, crowding her with his much larger size and making her feel more vulnerable than ever before.
She drew a breath. “I…” What did she desire, besides the obvious? She chose to lead with that. “To make a scientific discovery and to be acknowledged for it, in spite of my sex.”
“As long as your determination does not waver, I see no reason why you cannot accomplish such a feat. But that was not what I was referring to.”
“No?” She could barely breathe, he was so close.
“I’m aware of your academic dreams. You mentioned them the first night at supper, and we have spoken of them at great length since.”
“So then?” What else could there possibly be?
He tilted his head, enough to allow the light to shift across the side of his face. “What about a husband, children, a family of your own? Do you plan to make room for that, or will you insist on living alone?”
“I never insist on anything, my lord.” Why did she sound so breathless?
“Perhaps you should.” His hand rose, and he was suddenly touching her shoulder. Small sparks of heat began to dance across her skin. “Perhaps,” he continued, settling his hand more firmly against her, “you ought to let yourself want a whole lot more than the Royal Society’s acceptance.”
“I’ve done the calculations,” she muttered. “To find a suitable match close at hand would be—”
“Impossible?”
Feeling weak, she only managed a nod.
“Then perhaps you should dare to dream of the impossible.” His other hand swept aside a curl that had come undone from her coiffure and fallen across her face. “Unless, of course, you are immune to my affection, in which case I ask you to tell me so swiftly, so I may be released from my torment.”
Understanding shot straight through her, piercing her with its sharp acuteness. “You…” She could write an endless amount of complicated equations, but right here, right now, she simply could not find the right words.
“I admire you, Lady Rachel.” His thumb found her cheek, and the lightness of the pressure there was so incredibly soothing. “If you must know, you’ve managed to turn my whole world upside down.”
“According to Newton,” she stammered, finding her tongue, “the—”
“Let me say my piece.” His dark eyes met hers with entreaty, and then he quietly added one simple word, “Please.”
All she could do was stare back at him. It was as if he’d woven a spell. One from which there would be no escape. Her mind had certainly ceased to function at its full capacity. And her body…it was feeling things…little sensations that had started to form the moment he�
�d looked at her from across the table the very first evening at dinner. They’d been escalating ever since. Most notably when he was near.
A frown formed upon his forehead as if he was trying to think of what to say next. Eventually, he simply asked, “Would it surprise you if I were to say you are…” He paused then, just for a second, before hesitantly saying, “the most impressive woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing?”
She shook her head, dumbfounded.
“I cannot imagine how you might feel about me. All I can do is hope that perhaps, in some small way, you might be willing to re-examine your position on marriage, that perhaps you’ll consider the possibility that your statistical calculations have been wrong and that the perfect man for you is standing before you at this exact moment.”
Feeling as though he was balancing on the tip of a pin, Arthur held his breath and watched while a series of complex emotions played across Lady Rachel’s face. He’d never made such a declaration before, though he’d come close once where Lady Mary – now Mrs. Heartly – was concerned. But even then, while he’d held her in the highest regard and still did, their acquaintance had lacked the spark he now felt. Had they wed, it would have been an amicable marriage of convenience, but it would not have had the sort of substance Lady Rachel promised to provide.
It both surprised and pleased him to find he was equally attracted to her physical attributes and her mind. In fact, the mixture – her staid discipline coupled with an intellectual demand for knowledge – was more compelling than he ever would have imagined possible. The idea of possibly challenging her control and of broadening her horizons in a more physical capacity was so unbelievably enticing, he could scarcely stop himself from demanding a kiss.
Christ!
This woman had found some inexplicable means by which to challenge his gentlemanly ways. She tempted him to act without thought for propriety when he’d built his entire reputation on being respectable and decent. Now, his contemplations were bringing to life an inner rogue he’d never believed existed, while his actions… He curled his fingers into fists and allowed his nails to dig against his palms in an effort to force some restraint on himself. Lady Rachel bit her bottom lip as if in contemplation. She’d dropped her gaze to somewhere in the middle of his chest, prompting the curls she’d fashioned in recent days to fall slightly forward.
Christmas At Thorncliff Manor Page 13
