The idyll could not last forever for it, too, was a make-believe world. Emma had begun to hear raised voices behind closed doors as the spring season approached. Lord Bradwell, who had been the soul of hospitality and amiability, now withdrew to his study or to the field, and Amelia wandered endlessly about the rambling house. But when Emma tried to assure her aunt that she really didn’t care if they went to London, Amelia had regarded her with astonishment.
"Well, of course we’re going to London!” And they had.
But it was a different London for Emma. The invitations no longer held the same magic, her aunt was not particularly happy, her friends weren’t there. Both Maggie and Anne had recently borne children, another boy for Maggie and a girl for Anne, and they both stayed on at their country homes. Helena, finding herself useful at such a time, had also stayed at Farthing Hill, but Emma had reason to believe that she might wish to be in town. Helena’s letters in the autumn had mentioned, ever so casually, that even in her new home off Grosvenor Place, Mr. Hatton occasionally called. Twice he had taken her walking and once he had taken her for a drive in the park. Not an especially impressive record for three months in town, but Emma sensed that it was important to Helena.
Looking up from the invitation cards, she asked, “Aunt Amelia, would you mind if I invited Helena to stay for a spell? Anne’s baby is over a month old now and I’m sure Anne can manage without her.”
“Why, certainly, dear. We have more than enough room, and she’s such a lovely girl. I’ve asked Felix to send some of her drawings up to town for me. I miss having them on the walls. How I could have managed to forget them in Somerset is quite a mystery to me."
It was not so great a mystery to Emma. The tension at Thorpe Arch preceding their departure was quite thick enough to slice with a knife. Emma considered it a wonder that her aunt had remembered to bring her clothes, what with Lord Bradwell stomping about the place and slamming doors with unnerving frequency. Amelia come to town for every season the last twenty years without this sort of bother, if one took her word on the matter. She had, in fact, spent most of her time in London, only secluding herself in Somerset for a few months a year. Well, she had made it to London again, Emma thought uncomfortably, and she didn’t seem the least pleased with her victory
“Then I think I shall write to Helena immediately,” Emma finally said. But as she rose to leave a footman appeared to announce a visitor, Sir Nicholas Dyrham. When he entered, Emma held out her hands to him. “Nick. It’s so good to see you again.”
He ran a critical eye over her costume. “What’s this, Emma? Planning to surprise all the old harpies with your modesty?”
“Especially when I drive out in my phaeton,” she said laughingly.
“We’d have made a great pair” he pronounced with mock gravity. “Too bad she turned me off, eh, Amelia?”
“The wisest move she ever made,” Amelia informed him as she watched him raise her hand to his lips. “You would have forgotten you were married half the time.”
“Ah, but the other half!” He seated himself and accorded Emma a speaking glance.
Emma folded her hands demurely in her lap. “Now don’t start that, I beg you. The quizzes will have quite a wonderful time without your assistance. If you intend to make sport of me every time I go out in public, I shall sit in my room and read.”
Amelia looked upset at this exchange and turned an adorably stern gaze on Sir Nicholas. “You are not to roast her that way in public, Nick. Do remember that she hasn’t the freedom you have as a gentleman. When around Emma you should be particularly gallant and perhaps act just the least bit wounded. And it wouldn’t hurt for you to treat her as an unattainable lady rather than a favorite mistress.”
Emma giggled; Nick stared at Amelia. “You’re serious!” he declared, shocked. “I’ve never treated anyone as an unattainable lady in my life!”
“You may start now, with Emma.”
He bent his head toward the “unattainable lady.” “Shall you mind dreadfully?” he asked.
“Not at all. No one has ever viewed me as unattainable.”
The ludicrousness of the situation set them both to laughing as a footman appeared to announce, “Lord Dunn.”
Dunn’s first view of the occupants of the room was rather unsettling. Emma was laughing so hard she had pressed a square of lace to her eyes while Sir Nicholas hooted with merriment. Amelia regarded them both as recalcitrant children, and since they did not seem to have noticed Dunn’s arrival, she crossed the room to offer her hand.
“Never mind them. Some people will see a joke where none was intended.”
Nick was on his feet, holding out a hand to Emma and saying in a stage whisper, “Come, my girl. It’s time for our first performance.”
The sight of Dunn after such a long absence might at any other time have shaken Emma out of her customary poise, but she allowed herself to play-act with Nick, and to be seen to be play-acting. Nick gave her a long-suffering look and she responded by pointing her nose toward the ceiling.
Nick said, “Lord Dunn has called, fair one,” and she replied, “How nice.” When Dunn shook her hand, Nick winced and said, “Carefully. She’s as delicate as china.”
“Gossamer,” she retorted.
"No, china,” he insisted. “You know, breakable.”
"Gossamer sounds more sylphlike.”
“Then it’s not appropriate!”
And the two of them eyed each other with feigned hostility, Emma graciously motioning Dunn to a seat, explaining, “Sir Nicholas does not have a metaphorical mind, as you can see. Plus which, of course, he is still suffering under the blow of our broken engagement.”
Amelia spluttered, “Emma!”
“I’m not, either,” Nick announced. “I always knew Emma was too good for me . . . ah, unattainable.”
Dunn sat back and draped one long leg over the other, watching the two with interest.
“He was always jealous of my portrait painting,” she said.
“She was always jealous of my mis—my independence.”
Amelia put her head in her hands and Emma took pity on her. Addressing Dunn, she asked, “Did you have good hunting this winter, sir?”
“Better than some years. My brother Stephen was out every day, but I’m getting a little old for that. I enjoy the crackling fire afterward almost as much as the run itself.” His eyes were not the least serious and he turned to smile at Amelia. “I trust your Somerset winter was not too harsh.”
“Actually it was beautiful. I haven’t spent so much time in the country since I was a child. I had practically forgotten how peaceful it could be.”
Nick could not resist the opening. “There, you see, Emma? Not everyone objects to spending time in the country. You could have found a thousand things to do while I was out with the hounds.”
"Oh, certainly, I could have sat with my tatting! I expected you at least to offer to have a studio set up for me at your estate, if not the London house. But no, all you could think about was those poor, innocent little foxes. Well, it’s a good thing we got it all out in the open before it was too late!”
“I take it,” Dunn remarked to Amelia, "that your niece found a dozen reasons for changing her mind about marrying Nick.”
"They're incorrigible,” she groaned. “All I wanted them to do was behave with some sort of reserve in public. Not everyone can understand how two people can part on such totally amicable terms. And the carriage! She really should not have accepted the phaeton and pair.”
“I’d already bought them for her,” Nick said, casting a baleful eye on Emma. “She told me she wouldn’t marry me unless I did, and then she told me she wouldn’t break our engagement unless I gave them to her!”
“Despicable man! I said a curricle, but your hearing must be going —with your advanced age. You’re lucky I agreed to accept them!”
“Lucky! The whole cost me four hundred guineas. And don’t forget the ring! You never gave it back either! Th
at was another hundred.”
“Only a hundred! Is that all you paid for it? I shall give it to my maid,” Emma cried.
“I told you I was going to make it a whole set with earrings and a necklace and a tiara. Besides, I had to pay for two newspaper announcements, and you would be surprised at how dear they have become.”
Dunn’s lips had begun to twitch, and Amelia, reconciling herself, rang for tea.
“Tightwad!”
“Designing hussy!”
“And it wasn’t fair of you to agree to a wedding trip only if you could bring your . . . your friend.”
“Well, she’d never been to Paris. After all, Emma, you have to be reasonable.”
“No, I don’t. It is a woman’s prerogative to be unreasonable. I’ve always been unreasonable.”
“Don’t I know it. That’s what makes you so ... so unattainable.”
Having come full circle, they smiled at one another peacefully, as Amelia asked the goggle-eyed footman to bring them tea.
“Perfectly suited,” Dunn murmured.
“Yes, well, they do get on extraordinarily well,” Amelia agreed, and added cryptically, “but I have always said that is not all there is to marriage.”
A gleam in Nick’s eye warned Emma that he was more than willing to get started again with such a perfect opportunity. She lifted a protesting hand, laughing. “Enough. You have exhausted my store of vituperation and inventiveness for a week!”
What perhaps surprised Dunn most about the whole scene was that Nick acquiesced to Emma’s wishes without so much as a further jab, settling into the ordinary social intercourse with perfect ease. He spoke of the entertainments that were offered for the next week, proposed himself to escort the ladies to one or two of them and, after finishing a cup of tea and three tarts, took his unhurried leave. Dunn sat on with Emma and her aunt.
“I understand Nick visited you in Somerset last summer," he remarked as he refused another biscuit.
“He spent almost a month at Thorpe Arch with us,” Emma said, “mostly out shooting with Lord Bradwell.”
“The ton held their breath when he returned to see if another announcement would appear to proclaim a renewed engagement.” His eyes rested on her with thoughtful intensity.
Emma seemed surprised. “Oh, there was never any possibility of that. He came because we are friends and was a delightful addition to our little house party, wasn’t he, Aunt Amelia?”
“Oh, yes. We had Helena Rogers with us as well. I do wish I had brought some of her drawings so that you could have seen them, Dunn. Felix is to send them to me.”
“She does excellent work. Did you paint as well, Miss Berryman?”
“A portrait of Lord Bradwell, one of Helena, and two others of neighbors. I gave them away."
“No exhibition this year?”
Unable to tell whether he was teasing her, Emma hesitated. She thought of saying that she was to be the exhibit herself this year but refrained. “I have nothing to show.”
“You’ll never make a fortune giving all your work away.” This time it was obvious that he was teasing, because he smiled.
“The whole line of work is wrong for making a fortune. I only like to paint subjects who interest me, and unfortunately they are not the ones who approach me to paint them.”
His gaze sharpened. "You’ve had people ask you to paint them? People who wanted to commission you?”
“Of course I have. A dozen or more after the exhibition last spring. I thought you had more faith in my abilities.”
"I do have faith in your abilities. It’s just that I never heard anyone speak of your potential clients. Would you be interested in painting Stephen?”
“Captain Midford?” Emma tried to call his face to mind and sat for a moment staring at the fire screen. Then she rose, excusing herself as she went over to the Pembroke table to extract a pencil and paper from the drawer. Amelia and Dunn exchanged bewildered glances, but Emma stood thinking and then started to sketch rapidly. When she returned, she asked, “Would he sit for me?”
The idea had just occurred to Dunn but he answered without the slightest pause. “Yes. May I see what you’ve drawn?”
Emma handed him the quick sketch she had made of Stephen from memory. He glanced at it and then studied it more carefully. There was something akin to amazement in his eyes when he looked across at her. “You have an incredible memory for faces. This is a remarkable likeness.”
“Thank you. It’s much better, of course, if a subject will sit for me, but as you recall, I did both your portrait and Nick’s from sketches.”
Dunn set his teacup carefully on the table as he said, “I bought your portrait of me.”
“I’m glad. Mr. Wigginton never said who had purchased it.”
Amelia, who had not said anything for some time, added, “I think that was wise of you, Dunn. Emma really did capture a certain —something about you.”
His gray eyes never left Emma’s face. "She did, didn’t she?”
Emma felt a tremor run through her under his searching gaze. She moistened her lips and said, “I will paint Captain Midford’s portrait if you wish. He would make a good subject, provided he would sit. I don’t think I could paint him unless he did.”
“He’ll sit for you.”
"Very well. If you will have him call, we can arrange a time to begin.”
“I’ll bring him around myself tomorrow. Would two o’clock be suitable?”
“Certainly ... but there is no need for you to come. That is, you may have something more pressing to do.”
"I doubt it.”
Really, what more could she have said, Emma wondered, without being rude? She drummed a quill against her desk in the writing room, trying to bring her concentration to bear on the letter she was writing jointly to Anne and Helena. If Helena would come, there would be a better chance of maintaining the status quo with Dunn.
Was it possible that her aunt’s long absence from town had cooled his interest? She chided herself for clutching at straws. Even if Dunn were to terminate his affair with Amelia, or vice versa, Emma could not possibly bring herself to consider a closer understanding with him—could she?
Dipping her quill in the inkpot, she forced herself to continue the letter. Her urgency to have Helena with her must surely strike a chord at Farthing Hill. She hoped they would send Helena up to town within the week. And in the meantime, she decided as she dripped sealing wax on the sheet, she would, no matter how despicable of her, listen in the nights to hear if her aunt had a visitor.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Emma lost several hours of sleep that night, and the next, and the next. When nothing happened, she began to feel tired . . . and hopeful. But on the fourth night she heard a stirring in the hall, and though she wanted desperately to believe it was nothing, she raced across her dark room and peered out the door. Definitely a figure disappearing into her aunt’s room, unrecognizable but very tangible indeed. Emma could have wept with frustration. By the following day she had convinced herself that it was possible Dunn had only called the previous evening to take permanent leave of Amelia. After all, one needed a certain amount of privacy for such an ordeal. So she sat up for several more nights, not allowing herself to become hopeful again, but patient.
Helena arrived during this ritual and was welcomed by aunt and niece with equal enthusiasm. Also during this period Emma began the portrait of Stephen Midford, who was not a particularly good sitter, as he found it difficult to remain in one spot for more than a few minutes at a time. Her nerves were so on edge, and he seemed so young to her, that she almost snapped at him that she was going to tell his brother if he didn’t just sit still. Despite her edginess, the portrait was coming along well.
Daytimes were enjoyable, since she could keep busy with her painting or with Helena, shopping, visiting, going to art galleries and libraries, and evenings were bearable because they went off to the theater or to a rout, but nights had become exquisitely painful
, sitting in her room listening for footsteps in the hall. Eventually, as she had tried to prepare herself that she would, she heard them again. She did not even bother to open the door this time but crawled under her covers and beat a helpless tattoo against her unfortunate pillow. After that she forced herself to go straight to bed when they returned home in the evenings, and to pay a little attention to the gentlemen who showed some interest in her at social gatherings.
If Helena had some ulterior motive in the frequency with which they visited art galleries, Emma could feel nothing but sympathy for her. About a week after she arrived they had the good fortune to meet Mr. Hatton outside an art gallery. His pleasure at seeing Helena was obvious.
"I had no idea you were in town, Miss Rogers! When I called round at the new house I was told that the family was still in the country. I hope your sister and brother are well.”
“Oh, yes,” Helena admitted, “they are all doing well, the baby included. You . . . you called in Montrose Place?”
“To be sure, a good two weeks ago. They said the family wasn’t expected. The knocker wasn’t up, of course, but I beat on the door until someone came”
How very promising, Emma thought, delighted. She was not quite sure what caused the exchange to go wrong, for Mr.
Hatton then said, “But you are obviously here now and with your permission I shall call on you.”
"I'm not staying in Montrose Place. Harold and Anne are still in the country so I’m staying with Emma and her aunt, Lady Bradwell.”
The Loving Seasons Page 39
