The Land of Summer

by Charlotte Bingham

  About the Book

  As the eldest of four daughters, American heiress Emmaline Nesbitt has always understood that she is obliged to wed. But no proposals have so far come her way, until at a ball in her family home she meets Julius, a handsome and charming Englishman who wastes no time in proposing to her. Shortly after, Emmaline sails to England for her wedding.

  What awaits her on arrival is a long way from her expectations. She is brought to a strange house full of odd guests and eccentric servants – a far cry from the fine home Julius had promised – as well as a very different Julius. As the days go by, her fiancé changes beyond recognition, so much so that Emmaline believes there is no future to their relationship. But that is before Julius’s past, and the history of his family and background make themselves plain to her.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Postscript

  About the Author

  Also by Charlotte Bingham

  Copyright

  THE LAND

  OF SUMMER

  Charlotte Bingham

  For the Duke

  Love is not love

  Which alters when it alteration finds

  … it is an ever-fixed mark

  That looks on tempests and is never shaken …

  Shakespeare, Sonnet 116

  ENGLAND IN THE 1880s

  Chapter One

  Massachusetts, the 1880s

  AS ALWAYS, EMMALINE Nesbitt found herself sitting all too demurely on the sidelines pretending not to notice that everyone else was dancing, while next door in the smoking room the man who was to be responsible for the sudden change in her fortunes picked up a fresh hand of cards and wondered whether now might be the time to allow his host to start to win back a proportion of the money he had lost. Normally such a thought would never enter the head of a card player as experienced as he, but tonight he was playing a different game and there was good reason for feeling as he did. He was not seated at the card table just for pleasure, as he would be the first to admit, although there was a great deal of pleasure to be gained for a gentleman finding himself in such opulent surroundings. No, this well-bred, handsome Englishman was here on business, on purpose to try to secure the future of a firm based thousands of miles away back across the Atlantic.

  So far it had been good; all the carefully prearranged introductions had very soon led to invitations to meetings in New York and Chicago and finally to this house, the principal residence of the Nesbitt family, in Massachusetts. The decision as to whether the Nesbitt & Nesbitt catalogue should carry the furniture, designs and materials of Aubrey & Aubrey Ltd had not yet been taken, but he had the distinct feeling that the scales were tipping heavily in his favour. It might need one more discreet and subtle coup, but Julius Aubrey carried more than one trick up his perfectly tailored sleeve, and if he needed to come up with one more match-winning play then he most certainly would, so necessary did it seem to him to land a deal that would ensure the continuing prosperity of everyone connected with Aubrey & Aubrey Ltd, but most of all of himself.

  And so the Englishman decided that now was the time to allow his host to stage a dramatic recovery and claw back some of the considerable amount of money he had wagered and lost across the table in the past hour, even though, as Julius well knew, Mr Onslow Nesbitt was a man who possibly carried more spending money in his wallet than most men earn in a year. Yet so much did Julius Aubrey enjoy winning – as much as he hated losing – that for a moment he hesitated, allowing himself to wonder, albeit briefly, how he would feel if he let his host win back most of his money only for the business proposition to founder, leaving him to go back to England empty-handed.

  As a matter of fact, he knew exactly how he would feel – very foolish indeed. However, remembering exactly what was at stake and what the alternatives were, he regretfully buried any idea of walking away from the card table a winner and thought instead of the long game, beginning to apply his considerable card-playing skills to making it look as if his host was playing brilliantly, and he himself was not losing quite deliberately.

  ‘Congratulations, sir,’ he said to Nesbitt as the final cards were collected up with the losing chips. ‘I think that was possibly the most dextrous series of hands played this evening.’

  ‘Most kind of you, sir,’ Nesbitt replied. ‘Coming from someone who was providing an object lesson in how to play poker, I consider that the highest of compliments. But now, if you gentlemen are in agreement,’ he added, stubbing out his cigar and pushing his chair back from the green baize table, ‘I think that if any of our marriages are to survive, we should perhaps show our faces once more in the ballroom.’

  ‘I am sorry Mrs Nesbitt did not feel well enough to attend this quite splendid function,’ Aubrey remarked to his host as they re-entered the ballroom.

  ‘Mrs Nesbitt is rarely well enough to attend anything, Mr Aubrey,’ Onslow Nesbitt growled. ‘Other than to herself.’

  ‘A shame, sir. You have my sympathies.’

  ‘Most kind of you, Mr Aubrey, but I don’t need’em. I know plenty of other fine ladies who take to their beds for quite different reasons.’

  ‘I see your charming daughters are greatly in demand,’ Aubrey observed quickly, noting the three beautiful Nesbitt girls being danced around the floor by three highly presentable young men.

  ‘My girls are always in demand,’ Nesbitt replied, selecting a fresh cigar from a box of Havanas brought to him by a servant. ‘All except, alas, my poor Emmaline’ – Onslow Nesbitt nodded across the floor in the direction of his eldest daughter – ‘or rather the eternal sitter, as her mother calls her.’

  ‘Still can’t get her off your hands, eh, Onslow?’ a large red-faced gentleman asked his host, adding a nudge for good measure. ‘Still can’t find a husband for her, eh?’

  ‘Maybe not, Horace,’ Onslow replied, lighting his cigar, ‘but then perhaps that’s preferable to seeing her hitched to that son of yours.’

  ‘I would say you lucky gentlemen are spoiled for choice over here,’ Aubrey remarked. ‘In England today any young man worth his salt would be charmed to consider taking a young lady with the looks, grace and background of Miss Emmaline Nesbitt as a wife, I can assure you.’

  ‘Is that a fact, Mr Aubrey?’ Onslow wondered, eyeing his guest. ‘Is that a fact? In that case perhaps you would be kind enough to take her back to England with you?’

  Aubrey looked startled for a moment, and then amused. ‘I am sure any man would be charmed to introduce Miss Nesbitt to English society,’ he said.

  ‘Please, do not hesitate on my account.’ Onslow Nesbitt was laughing. ‘If you took Emmaline from us you would also take with you the undying gratitude of the whole Nesbitt family, Mr Aubrey.’

  Seeing his host distracted by friends who had come up to greet him, the Englishman narrowed his eyes to peer through the throng of dancers at the young woman sitting alone on a chair pulled up close to a pillar decorated with strands of ivy and hand-made flowers. He quickly noted that she had a good figure and a fine head of hair, was dressed well, and sat with great poise and stillness, and as he watched her it occurred to his mischievous mind that here were the makings of a coup that might well seal the deal.

  From her position on the sidelines, Emmaline had seen the party emerge from the smoking room to stan
d surveying the dance. The orchestra was playing a tune that she particularly loved, but while her three beautiful and much sought-after younger sisters were getting their chance to show off their dancing skills on the floor, Emmaline had yet again found herself stationed on a gilt chair, her dance card unfilled, her composure belying the humiliation of being once more the only Nesbitt girl not dancing.

  She held her dance card high in front of her face, pretending to consult it, as she took another glance at the party of gentlemen still standing at the end of the corridor that led to the smoking room. Among their number was the handsome Englishman who she knew had come over to do business with her father. His re-emergence must, she knew, give hope to those young ladies who had not had the luck to attract any dance partners. Not that Emmaline herself entertained any foolish notions, not by any means. She knew her place all too well. It was on a gilt chair, watching, always watching, as the rest of the world danced by her.

  She had, as always, resigned herself to her seat, maintaining her upright stance, trying not to notice that when her sisters danced past her they averted their eyes, as if she was nothing to do with them, so that when she glanced over the top of her dance card and found him looking directly at her, surprise made her forget her manners for a moment and she stared straight back at him. She recollected herself almost immediately and dropped her gaze, but out of the corner of her eye she watched with mounting astonishment as he adjusted the set of his tail coat, checked the position of his white bow tie between thumb and finger of one gloved hand, and crossed the dance floor to her side.

  There has to be some mistake, Emmaline thought, as she looked to the right of her and the left. Both chairs were empty. Or perhaps he has brought a message from Papa.

  ‘Miss Nesbitt,’ the stranger said, standing directly in front of her, which made even Emmaline realise that there could be no mistake. ‘Miss Nesbitt, forgive me. We met briefly before dinner, but since then …’ Seeing her bewilderment, he started again. ‘Miss Nesbitt, I am not sure whether you are aware of it or not, but I am from England, come here to do business in this great country of yours.’

  ‘Mr Aubrey,’ Emmaline replied quietly, accepting his hand while finding herself looking anywhere except at his face. ‘Of course I recall who you are and why you are here. It is not often that we have visitors from across the Atlantic.’

  ‘Excellent. That makes me a prize exhibit,’ Aubrey replied gaily. ‘And while I am sure there is little hope for me, I was nevertheless wondering whether perhaps, when you glance at your dance card, you might find that you have just one dance left free, one that you and I might enjoy?’

  Despite having spent most of her time on a gilt chair to the side of the ballroom floor, Emmaline knew the ensuing ritual by heart. A young woman must always pretend that her dance card was almost full. No one wanted to dance with someone whom no one else had asked to stand up. It was just a fact.

  ‘I see I have the dance after this one free, Mr Aubrey, the last one,’ she said in a low voice. ‘No, forgive me,’ she added hastily. ‘No, that was my mistake. As it happens, by chance – by an extraordinary chance – I have the very next dance free, as it happens.’ She peered at her card. ‘Yes. Mr Generes was taken home sick, poor fellow.’

  ‘A two-step, I do declare,’ Aubrey announced as the orchestra played the introduction. ‘I rather enjoy a two-step, truly I do, although considering it takes two people and four legs, surely it should be called a four-step!’ He bowed.

  Offering her hand to him in the accepted manner, Emmaline rose and allowed herself to be led out on to the dance floor, where her confidence immediately returned, for if there was one thing of which she was quite, quite sure, it was that she could dance.

  As it happened, gentleman that he most certainly appeared to be, her dancing partner guided Emmaline round the floor with dexterity, while she herself demonstrated a lightness of foot which seemed to please him. Certainly he had about him an aura of such gaiety and kindness that when the music stopped, and he bowed and thanked Emmaline, she felt overwhelmed with disappointment.

  ‘As you said, there is only one more dance, alas, Miss Nesbitt,’ he said, looking rueful. ‘And while I imagine there is little chance of your being free, I would give a great deal to have you spurn whoever it is who has the good fortune to have—’

  Before he could finish, Emmaline put in quickly, ‘As it so happens, Mr Aubrey, this dance is free as well.’

  ‘How very fortunate!’ Aubrey exclaimed in delight. ‘Then perhaps we may repeat this last delightful experience? I do so hope so.’

  It had taken only a few minutes for Emmaline to quite lose her heart to this man, who seemed to be at such pains to be gallant and charming. From the moment he stood in front of her chair and began to talk to her, she knew that nothing would ever be quite the same again. It was not that she felt she had been swept off her feet, rather it was as if his energy was infusing her with a courage she had never experienced before. As if he could see that she was not by nature a wallflower, but a spirited young woman suppressed by her circumstances, unable to escape from the confines of the gilt chair upon which she had been sitting with such an upright stance, her fan gently waving in front of her face, her eyes carefully avoided by those of her luckier sisters.

  She spent the night remembering those two dances as if they were her last on earth, and was amazed when on the following day, preparatory to his departure for England, Julius Aubrey called once more on the Nesbitt household.

  Emmaline watched him alight from his hired carriage, as elegant in his morning suit as he had been in his white tie and tails, and assumed that he was calling on her father in connection with the business that had brought him to America.

  She turned to Mary, the girls’ devoted maid, who was dressing her for the walk she was intending to take, and said, as casually as she could, ‘I see that Mr Aubrey is once more visiting Papa.’

  ‘He sure is, Miss Emmaline,’ Mary replied, buttoning up Emmaline’s warmest coat, and handing her a fur hat and muff as a precaution against the increasingly cold November weather. ‘And a handsomer man I don’t suppose either of us has seen.’

  Mary sighed, and shook her head. Everyone knew that until Miss Emmaline married, none of her poor sisters could. That was the convention in the Nesbitt family. Old-fashioned it might be, but it was a rule which Mr Nesbitt, and Mrs Nesbitt (much more reluctantly, of course), insisted upon. The other three would remain at home until their eldest sister left her father’s house. Sometimes it seemed to Mary, and indeed to the rest of the household, that Miss Emmaline was just being downright stubborn in not making herself more apparent to the young gentlemen of the neighbourhood. Although, as even Mary had to admit, Mrs Nesbitt had not exactly helped by always saying of Miss Emmaline, ‘Plain, plain, plain, and nothing to be done.’

  Old Mary knew very well that if a young woman felt herself to be plain she would always be plain in her mind, and as a consequence, no matter what her features or attributes, she would never behave as though she thought she was worth looking at, and that was a fact. ‘And if you don’t think you’re worth looking at, no one else will,’ she would say, though only to Miss Emmaline, since the others were so vain she never had to bother with them.

  Mary watched Emmaline disappear down the stairs to the hall, knowing that she would collect the two family spaniels from the dog room, and take herself out into grounds sparkling in the pale winter sunshine. The maid sighed. Walking the dogs, stitching evening purses and playing the piano for hours on end was no life for a healthy young woman. Please God someone would take Miss Emmaline off her parents’ hands soon, and then the other three could follow.

  No sooner had Emmaline turned her face from the house and headed for the lake than she heard footsteps crunching the frozen snow behind her. Expecting her follower to be no one more surprising than one of her sisters, or a housemaid bringing her a message from her mother, Emmaline turned and found herself once more face to face with t
he handsome, dashing Mr Aubrey, himself well wrapped up against the elements in a fur-collared winter coat with a brightly coloured woollen scarf tied loosely round his neck. Given how cold the morning, it was surprising to see that he was nevertheless hatless, his thick dark hair standing out against the winter landscape. To Emmaline this only added to his charm, since his fine head seemed to be glistening as fresh snowflakes fell on it, and his face too shone, making him look younger than he perhaps was.

  ‘Miss Nesbitt? Forgive the intrusion.’ As the dogs circled round them, barking, he went on, ‘I would have sent a note, but there was no one available, given this sudden flurry of snow, to bring one out to you in time. So instead I came in person, which is probably what you did not want at all. Nothing worse than an uninvited visitor, particularly if you are on a walk, enjoying your own company, which I perfectly understand.’

  Emmaline smiled. ‘I am always happy to walk with someone else, I do assure you, Mr Aubrey.’

  ‘I spoke to one of the maids, and she told me that you were out walking, so on I came, although I suspect she thought it a little forward of me to want to search you out, since we only met last night. She looked somewhat surprised.’

  ‘That is probably because when a gentleman calls here we always assume he is calling on Papa, not us.’

  ‘How very modest of you all. For myself, if someone calls on me I always think it is because they can’t do without my company,’ he told her gaily.

  ‘One thing, Mr Aubrey, that my younger sisters are not, I do assure you, is modest. We cannot be the least bit shy, if only on account of our names. Our mother, perhaps feeling that she needed to make us stand out against the rest of Boston society, named us Emmaline, Charity, Ambrosia and Ethel. Now, do please say which one of my sisters you wish to call upon, and you will find in me a friend.’

  ‘No, no, Miss Nesbitt, you are mistaken,’ her companion told her earnestly, his expression becoming suddenly serious. ‘Prior to my departure, I wished to see you once more, not your sisters, however exotically named, I promise you.’