The Loving Seasons

by Laura Matthews

  “My dear, whatever is the matter?” Emma begged, putting an arm about her shoulders. “You could not possibly have acquired a more wonderful sister, and your brother is the happiest man on earth.”

  “I know, I know.” Helena struggled for control. “Please forgive me. How senseless to shed my tears on such a happy occasion. Don’t tell them I cried."

  “Well, of course not. “Emma laughed. She accepted the handkerchief Dunn passed across to her and wiped away the other woman’s tears, but the look in Helena’s eyes arrested her. “Something is the matter, isn’t it?”

  “She’s not coming,” Helena tried to explain, though her words were totally incomprehensible to the others.

  “Who’s not coming, my dear?” Emma asked, mystified.

  “My aunt. She was to come and stay with me in Argyll Street until they returned from their wedding trip. I couldn’t tell Harold. It would have spoiled everything at such a late date. I told him her carriage had broken down and that she had sent a note saying she would be here this evening. Oh, Emma, they mustn’t know, but there wasn’t time for me to make other arrangements. Harold would be so upset to think of me staying alone in Argyll Street.”

  “Well, of course you shan’t. You shall stay with me, goose.”

  “But you are to be married in only four days.”

  “I. . .“ Emma saw Dunn’s intense gaze on her and looked away. Jack was staring out the carriage window. “Yes, but you shall stay with me until then. It will give us time to make other plans for you. And if that should prove impossible, I am sure Aunt Amelia would not mind in the least your simply staying on with her.”

  Before Helena could respond, Dunn interrupted to ask, “Why is your aunt not coming, Miss Rogers?”

  “She’s ill. Her daughter is there to nurse her, and I really could not impose on them at such a time.”

  Emma handed the damp handkerchief back to Dunn. “There is no reason whatsoever why Helena shouldn’t stay with me for a few days. Aunt Amelia has tons of room. That is all we need decide for the present. Please say you will, Helena. You would be of great . . . assistance to me.”

  The carriage drew to a halt in front of the Barnfield’s town house as Helena nodded mutely. Emma smiled and said, “We won’t mention a word of this until Anne and your brother are safely departed for their trip.”

  Maplegate and Dunn agreed, though Dunn eyed Emma speculatively. She returned his gaze with unwavering eyes and he shrugged, climbing down to hand her out. His touch was the second shock she received that day, but in the bustle she was sure be failed to notice the tremor of her hand.

  She found that she was to be seated next to him at the table and made a casual excuse for changing places with Helena. No one seemed to notice the difference, especially as Sir Nicholas was still on one side of her. His drawn look was somewhat alleviated by a glass of champagne, though Emma could still detect the haunted look in his eyes. This was not the time to discuss what they had to settle, with toasts on every side to the smiling bride and groom.

  If Amelia was surprised to learn that they were going to shelter Helena for a few days, she showed nothing but pleasure. “Another sane head at such a time is precisely what we need,” she assured the girl. “And you are not to think of hiring a companion for such a brief period as a month. With Emma gone off on her wedding trip, I shall enjoy nothing so much as your company.”

  While Amelia proceeded to enumerate the benefits Helena’s stay would bring her, all manufactured from her generous heart, Emma and Nick sat side by side saying nothing. This did not appear to surprise her aunt, but Emma’s request to speak privately with him on their arrival in Bruton Street did.

  Amelia was about to protest that Emma now had company, but the distraught light in her niece’s eyes restrained her.

  “Of course, my dear," she said, taking Helena’s arm. “I’ll just show Helena to a room. She’ll wish to send a note round to her maid to bring her clothes.”

  Emma did not take Nick to the drawing room where they might be interrupted, but to the back writing room, which seemed appropriate.

  All of her really important conferences seemed to have happened there—or almost all of them. He eyed her warily as they took seats on the sofa.

  “You can’t go through with it, can you?” she asked gently.

  “Go through with what? The wedding? Don’t be absurd, Emma.”

  “Nick, this is the time to be honest with me. It’s driving you crazy, the thought of being married, isn’t it?”

  He ran a hand distractedly through his hair and gave a hollow laugh. ‘It makes me nervous. I never thought I’d marry.”

  “And you never wanted to.”

  "That was before I met you," he protested. “I’m dashed fond of you."

  Her lips trembled. “And I am fond of you, Nick, but that is not quite what we’re discussing. I don’t doubt your affection. I doubt your ability to remain the sort of man you are under the bonds of matrimony. You have had too long and too strong an aversion to marriage to adjust your mind to it. I tried to tell myself otherwise, but . . . you would feel like a caged beast.”

  “Emma,” he said stubbornly, “I’m just a little tense about how it will be. I couldn’t possibly marry anyone who would be more understanding than you. I know you’re not going to tie me down with a lot of unnecessary demands.”

  “Oh, my dear heart, if we were bound with threads of gossamer you would feel them. Don’t you understand, Nick? I didn’t—until I saw you in church today.”

  “Churches make me nervous, too."

  Emma gave a sad chuckle. “Anything that reminds you of marriage makes you nervous, my dear. I can’t say that I completely understand your doubts, but I respect them. And so should you. It is not reason that will make a marriage work. I didn’t realize until now that over these last weeks you’ve been struggling to come to terms with your fears. Do you know, it doesn’t matter how unreasonable the fear is, if you have it, you must acknowledge it.”

  His glare was real. “I’m not afraid of marriage, Emma. I’m not afraid of anything!”

  “Perhaps the word fear is wrong. Shall we say—distrust?”

  He seemed to mull over the new term, considering it from various angles. “Very well, I distrust marriage. But I don’t distrust you, my love.”

  With a sigh she rose to walk to the windows. “No, and I could not have placed my trust in a better man than you, Nick. How I wondered why you didn’t finalize our lovemaking! How I stewed and rationalized! He wants me to be a virgin, I told myself. He is trying to behave conventionally, I told myself. He is building my desire to a crescendo for our wedding night, I told myself.” She smiled at him, a crooked, helpless smile. “He was saving my virginity, just in case—on that statistically minute chance—that we did not marry. Thank you, Nick.”

  He was on his feet, striding to crush her in his arms. “We are going to marry, Emma!”

  No.” Her head was buried against his shoulder. “I won’t do that to you. I’m far too fond of you to ruin your life. All the benefits to be derived from our marriage would have been mine. Oh, you could have slept with me but there are any number of women you could sleep with, and when all is said and done, women aren’t all that different, are they?”

  “You are, to me. Emma, it’s too late to change our plans.”

  “Thanks to you, Nick, it’s not.” She raised her head to meet his gaze. “What a sense of self-preservation you have! Imagine your showing such restraint on the off chance that I would call it all off. I never meant to, you know. You offered me too much, my dear, and at just the right moment. If you will remember, it was my tears that pushed you over the brink. You felt sorry for me.”

  “That was far from the whole of it.” But already some of that vitality that had seemed dissipated since their engagement was coursing through him again. “Are you sure this is what you want, Emma? It’s no pleasure to be the butt of the gossipmongers and any broken engagement, especially one so close
to its fruition, is subject for the most rank speculation. I’m perfectly willing to go through with the ceremony. I’d quite convinced myself that it wouldn’t be half as bad as I’ve always thought.”

  “It wouldn’t be, you know,” she teased him, before standing on tiptoe to kiss his check. “I won’t change my mind, and I won’t regret my decision. What I will do is get out of town. The season is almost over anyway. Aunt Amelia had suggested that we go on to Brighton for a month or two, but that would be almost as bad as London. If she’s willing, I’d rather go to Lord Bradwell.”

  "What do you want me to do?”

  "Three things. Put an announcement in the paper. Tell anyone who asks that it was my decision. And, Nick . . .“ Emma flung her arms about his waist and hugged him tightly. “Most of all, my dear, please, please stay my friend. I couldn’t bear it if this silly interlude were to estrange us forever.”

  His eyes shone with wonder. “Dear Lord, I really do think we could have made it, Emma. But let’s not chance it!”

  She laughed. “No, we won’t chance it. Can we still be friends?”

  “I could ask for nothing more. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll come to visit you at Bradwell’s, in August.”

  “Just in time for the shooting season. I might have known.”

  “Well, a fellow has to have something to occupy himself besides doing the pretty, my love.” He gave her a lingering kiss. “That I shall most certainly regret.”

  “Not for long, I daresay,” she remarked dryly. “But I fear you’ve made life a lot more difficult for me."

  “I shall be happy to accommodate you at any time. You have only to say the word.”

  His eyes were gleaming, his grin wide. Emma sighed. “How easy it was to restore your spirits, Nick. I wish I had been clever enough to realize what the problem was some weeks ago. I dislike thinking what a difficult time I’ve put you through.”

  "It had its compensations.” He made a move to touch her breast, but withdrew his hand. “Truly, Emma, I’m sorry it has to end this way, but it may be for the best. Do you want me to speak to Amelia?”

  She shook her head, leading the way to the door. “I’d prefer to do it myself. I was more honest with her than with the others. In some ways she’ll be relieved.” When he eyed her questioningly, she continued, “I tried to explain that we didn’t need each other. That we were good for one another, but not necessary. She thought there should be more.”

  “She’s probably right.” He cupped her chin, his countenance serious. “You deserve more, Emma. I hope one day you’ll find it.”

  “Thank you. Good night, Nick. Don’t forget the announcement in the paper.”

  “I won’t!”

  * * * *

  Both Amelia and Helena were in the drawing room, when she entered some minutes later. They looked up expectantly and seemed surprised that Sir Nicholas was not with her. Emma closed the door and leaned against it.

  “Did Sir Nicholas leave already?” Amelia asked.

  “Yes. I said I would make his apologies.” Emma found that doing the right thing was even more exhausting than she had expected. She moved wearily to a chair beside her aunt. “We’re not going to be married.”

  Two stunned faces turned toward her, speechless. Emma felt a lump rise in her throat. “I called it off, Aunt Amelia. I regret all the bother that it will cause, but it was necessary. Do you remember the day I told you I wouldn’t marry him if I thought he wouldn’t be able to maintain his freedom?”

  Amelia nodded mutely.

  “Well, I suddenly realized today, at Anne’s wedding, that he couldn’t. Or at least that he had come to believe that he couldn’t. You can’t have missed how moody he’s been the last few weeks. I allowed myself to be deceived by his happier moments. And, really, I don’t think it would have been at all as bad as he feared, but there it is. I’ll write notes to everyone and he’ll put an announcement in the paper.”

  “My poor dear child.” Amelia came to put an arm around her. “How very upsetting for you. In a way, of course, I can’t help but feel you have both done the right thing, but it doesn’t make the present any easier, does it?”

  “No, not much.” Emma stared at the ceiling a moment to keep any stray, foolish tears at bay. “He was too old for me, you know, and too set in his ways. I have always thought it impudent for a woman to think she can change a man, or vice versa. But just look what Maggie has accomplished.”

  “Greenwood was younger and, whether he knew it or not, wanted a little peace in his life.”

  “Mmm, I suppose,” Emma replied, dispirited. "Oh, Aunt Amelia, I’ve worked my way through another season without removing myself from your care. And what is worse, I don’t at all want to stay in London another day. Could we . . . could I go to Lord Bradwell’s?”

  Amelia cast a hasty glance at Helena, who felt quite forgotten and desperately wished to remain so. “Why, of course you can go. I’m sure he’d be delighted to see you. I . . . I have some engagements in town myself, but will follow in due course.”

  The urgency of her excuse made Emma smile. “I haven’t forgotten Helena for a moment.” She turned a pleading gaze on her new friend. “I knew I was going to call off the wedding when I spoke to you in the carriage, and it is my fondest wish that you will come with me. Somerset will provide you with a whole new vista to sketch and Thorpe Arch has the loveliest gardens. Please say you will. We can arrange for your return to London or Farthing Hill whenever you wish.”

  Helena looked back and forth between the two welcoming faces, and smiled. “I’d love to come.”

  “Good. And let’s leave soon. I don’t want to hear all the old crows whispering about me. Nick said he’d come to visit us in August, for the shooting, of course.” Emma caught her aunt’s surprised eyes and laughed. “We’re to remain the best of friends. So much for convention.”

  THIRD SEASON

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Everything had seemed so simple then. Emma perused the last invitation, wistfully remembering how orderly she and Anne and Maggie had thought life would be when they left school and burst on the London season. They had expected the stacks of pasteboard invitation cards, including them in masquerades and rout parties, balls and soirees. Wasn’t life to be a whirl of carriage drives, picnics, strolls in the park, visits to the theater?

  For three young ladies with the proper backgrounds, the best schooling, adequate dowries, life in London’s exhilarating social clime was to be the greatest adventure thus far embarked upon. They had spent hours discussing fashion plates and members of the ton, most of whom they would not have recognized had they come face to face. But their visions were peopled with handsome gentlemen of rank, ballrooms bedecked with spring flowers, sparkling sunlight pouring down on them as they walked in the parks. For who could escape their own shining freshness: Emma’s exotic coloring, Maggie’s fine eyes, Anne’s glorious hair? Girls fresh from the schoolroom, eager for what life had to offer them. What gentleman could be so insensitive as to pass them by?

  But they were girls, when all was said and done: girls with more eagerness than knowledge, more enthusiasm than prudence. Emma could look back and see that now. Their dreams of how their lives would progress when they walked out the doors of Windrush House had not a shred of practicality. Things had, in fact, started to go wrong even before they left school. Reality had intruded on their make-believe world and they had been powerless to handle even that first crisis. Emma had thought herself stronger than the others, but she had found herself no more effective then than she had been later in solving her own dilemmas.

  As she placed the last invitation with the others in the stack, Emma sighed. Another season, and she was not at all sure she could face it. She smoothed out the skirt of the gray Circassian cloth dress, amused at its lutestring roses and modest bodice. Not exactly the sort of dress she had expected to be wearing! Though, come to think of it, probably it was more in keeping with the school dresses they had all worn that da
y two years ago.

  Not that she hadn’t worn some rather sensational gowns in between, but in returning to London once again it seemed prudent to dress as modestly as possible. Even the better part of a year was not always enough time to still the wayward tongues that delighted over nothing so much as speculating on a broken engagement, especially one where on the very day the announcement appeared the erstwhile husband-to-be arrived at his former fiancé’s residence with a pair and phaeton that she was known to accept. Weren’t the horses kept in Lady Bradwell’s stables and seen to make up a part of the procession that left town that very day for Lord Bradwell ‘s estate in Somerset? Just what had Miss Berryman done to receive such largesse from her not-to-be husband?

  Emma smiled even now in remembering her protestations. She had been quite blunt in telling Nick what people would say, and he had given her a superbly haughty stare in return. “My dear girl, who cares what they say? I bought the grays for you and I want you to have them. It’s as simple as that. Tell people anything you wish, but my advice is to tell them nothing at all.” She had followed his advice since there was really no other course when they left town the same day.

  Thorpe Arch had seemed a welcome refuge after the turmoils of that second season. Emma and Helena had hiked on the moors, had gone driving in Emma’s new phaeton, had painted and sketched, had talked for hours at a stretch. Even when Harold and Anne returned to town, Helena had chosen to give them privacy in their new London house for the rest of the summer, staying on with Emma until September.

  As promised, Nick had come in August, entertaining them all with his restored good humor. He teased Emma, laughed with Amelia, chatted with Helena—and went shooting with Lord Bradwell. When September came he escorted Helena back to town, suitably accompanied (he remarked ruefully) by two maids to protect her virtue. But Emma and Amelia did not form a part of the party. They never actually discussed the matter, never outlined reasons for wishing to stay in the country, they simply never made any plans to leave. Perhaps it seemed too soon to return to town, perhaps the country setting was inspiring. For whatever reason, they stayed and Emma painted Lord Bradwell’s portrait. They went amongst the neighbors and had company; Lord Bradwell grumbled and appeared to enjoy himself.