by Mary Nichols
At first the ground was dry, passing as it did along the edge of a park that belonged to a large mansion standing high above it, but then it became very marshy and she had to pick her way carefully. She was obliged to stop when she came to the river that fed the lake, but when she turned to retrace her steps found herself almost ankle deep in muddy water. She stood, trying to make up her mind which way to go when a voice called out, ‘Stand still, I’ll come and fetch you.’
She looked up from studying the ground to see Viscount Malvers stepping from one dry patch to another towards her, though how he could tell which was dry she did not know; she had not been able to. He reached her in no time and, in spite of her protests, scooped her up in his arms. ‘Put your arms about my neck and we shall soon be on dry land again.’
She complied and he carried her back, carefully picking his way from one tuft of grass to the next. He was exceptionally strong and she did not feel at all in danger, even though he stumbled once, before regaining firm ground. Here he stopped, but did not immediately set her down, but stood looking down at her, studying her features, her slightly flushed cheeks, warm violet eyes and slightly parted lips. She was lovely and his heart was hopelessly lost. And yet…and yet…He could not shake off his doubts.
‘My lord, I think you should put me down,’ she said, trying to make light of the situation, though she was acutely aware of the rapid beating of her heart and the picture they must be creating for the casual observer. It made her feel hot even to think of it. He set her on her feet and she shook out her skirt, the hem of which was caked in mud.
‘That bit of ground is always like that after heavy rain,’ he told her, smiling at her attempt to do something about the mud on her skirt. ‘And this area has had more than its fair share of it this summer, so I am reliably informed. Whatever made you walk over there?’
‘I thought I might be able to walk round the top side of the lake,’ she said, pointing across to the wooded area on the far side. ‘I did not realise the ground was boggy until I was on it and then I picked my way carefully, hoping to come out of it, but when I came to the river I had to turn back. The trouble was I couldn’t see the way I had come.’
‘It was a good thing I was on hand, then.’
‘Yes. Thank you.’ He always seemed to be on hand when she needed him, but she had no intention of admitting that.
‘Are your feet wet?’
‘A little.’
‘You need sturdy boots for walking, you know.’
‘Mrs Summers bought me some, but I did not intend to go far, so I didn’t trouble to put them on. It is such a lovely morning.’
‘It certainly is and all the lovelier for seeing you, bedraggled as you are.’ He was grinning at her feeble attempts to make herself respectable.
‘My lord, you must not flirt with me.’
‘Why not?’
‘It is not proper—’
‘Proper!’ He laughed. ‘After I have just carried you, kicking and screaming, out of the morass. And kept you dry.’
‘I was not kicking and screaming and it is unkind of you to say I was. And you might have fallen carrying me.’
‘Oh, there was no fear I would do that with such a precious burden.’
‘Precious, my lord? I own nothing but the clothes I am wearing.’
‘It was not your clothes I was thinking of, they are easily replaced. You, on the other hand, are irreplaceable.’
‘You are flirting again.’
‘How do you know? Are you experienced in the art? Perhaps the innocent Miss Draper is not what she seems.’
‘You are talking nonsense and I will not listen.’
‘Oh dear, now our journey is done, we must assume our proper stations, never mind what happened on the way. Is that what you are saying?’
‘Yes.’
‘Be blowed to that. I am who I am and you are you. I know you so well and yet I do not know you at all.’ He stopped his bantering tone and added, ‘It is strange, don’t you think?’
‘No. You can hardly say you know someone after three or four days, can you?’
‘It depends,’ he said guardedly. ‘When you meet some people it seems as though you have known them all your life, yet you can spend a lifetime with others and never truly understand them.’
‘I know what you mean. I feel as though I have known Mrs Summers for years and years. She has been so good to me. I don’t know how I shall ever repay her.’
She was very good at steering the conversation away from subjects she did not wish to discuss, but that only made him more curious. ‘I am sure your company is payment enough,’ he said, deciding not to press her. It would only lead to a falling out and that was the last thing he wanted.
‘I shall try to be helpful, but I ought to do more.’
‘You can help me with my regatta project if you want more to do.’
‘You mean to go ahead with it then?’
‘Yes, unless there is stiff opposition from people who matter. I have been walking along the shore of the lake to decide the best spot for a naval battle and checking on my uncle’s yacht, the Lady Jane. Mine now, I suppose. It’s been laid up, but I have been told it is perfectly sound. It will do for the battle.’ He stopped and turned back towards the water, pointing. ‘I think we shall stage it just there. It’s the widest part of the lake and there are two or three small islands, one of which could be defended against attack. I must find out who owns them.’
Standing where they were on higher ground, she could see some way down the length of the lake and, in the distance, the small islands just before it came to its narrowest point. ‘It would be ideal and that bay on this side and the slopes above it would form a natural arena for spectators.’ Her arm swept round to encompass a bay that had a wide stretch of beach and a grassy area which, apart from being divided by the road which ran along the edge of the lake, rose steeply to sheep pastures. ‘It has an inn right beside it too. I have no doubt the landlord there will think it a good idea.’
He smiled. ‘I have you to thank for suggesting it.’
‘Ideas are one thing, execution another. You will have all the organising to do. I will do all I can to help. That is, if Mrs Summers can spare me.’
‘Speaking of my aunt, I think I had better take you home to dry your feet or you will be ill and she will not thank me for that.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘I thought once we arrived in Kendal that would be the end of our adventures, but I was wrong. You seem able to fall into a bumblebath anywhere.’
‘I do not!’
He smiled at her vehemence. ‘If you would like to go walking, then allow me to escort you. I know the best places from which to view the scenery.’
The idea pleased her, but she remembered she was not her own mistress. ‘It depends on Mrs Summers. She may need me.’
‘You leave Mrs Summers to me.’
‘And surely you will be busy?’
‘I do not intend to work the whole time I am here. Are you going to raise any more objections? I shall soon think my company is not welcome.’
‘Oh, no, it isn’t that.’
‘What is it, then?’
‘You said it yourself: you are who you are and I am who I am, a paid companion. It is not fitting—’
‘Fustian! And I am sure my aunt will agree.’
He was right. After exclaiming at the state of Fanny’s dress and shoes and the fact that her hat had fallen off and brought her hair down with it, Amelia was told the tale and agreed with Alex. ‘You can find yourself in all sorts of coils if you do not know the terrain,’ she told Emma, who was sitting in the day room with her feet in a mustard bath, which in itself was hardly proper, but Mrs Summers had had the bowl brought to her parlour and didn’t see the necessity of turning her nephew away, considering Emma’s feet and the bowl were hidden by her skirt. ‘It is easy to get lost in the mist, fall down a hole, be swallowed up in a marsh, especially after heavy rain. If you are with Alex, I shan’t worry.’
> ‘But I am your companion, little more than a servant, it is not fitting that I should be escorted by a peer of the realm. Such a thing would never do in London. It would ruin his lordship’s reputation entirely.’
‘We are not in London and I would rather have you safe than stick rigidly to protocol. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you and neither would your mama.’
Alex, sitting at ease in a chair by the hearth with his long legs out in front of him, looked from one to the other and waited to be enlightened, but Amelia began suggesting short easy walks that they might attempt and he was once again disappointed. And then she sent him away so that Emma might take her feet from the bowl to dry them and replace her stockings.
The next morning they took an easy walk to Ambleside and then up a steep hill which left them no breath for talking, but it was worth it when they reached the top to find Lake Windermere laid out at their feet. They stood side by side in companionable silence, drinking in the view until Alex gave a great sigh. ‘I haven’t been up here since I was a boy, and though I remember it as beautiful, I’d forgotten just how much it tugs at the heart.’
‘Would you like to live up here permanently?’
‘I don’t know. I think not. My home is in the flatlands of East Anglia and they have a pull all their own. It is where I was born and raised, where my mother is.’
‘You are anxious to return?’
‘Yes and no. So much depends on the outcome of the next few weeks.’
‘You mean the regatta?’
‘There is that, but I was also thinking of where my aunt would like to settle and you…’
‘Me? How can it possibly have anything to do with me?’
‘Indeed it does.’ He paused, weighing his words. ‘I cannot think you view your stay with Mrs Summers as a permanent arrangement.’
‘Oh, you mean I am an obstacle. Do not concern yourself. I shall take myself off—’
‘I meant nothing of the sort.’ He spoke sharply. ‘If you and my aunt are fixed on staying together, that can be accommodated, but are you not a little homesick for your family? I collect Mrs Summers spoke of your mother.’
‘I miss my mother, it is true, and I hope one day to see her again, but just now it is impossible.’
‘Why?’
‘Because…Oh, because it just is.’
‘I am sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. Shall we start back? I collect my aunt wants to pay calls this afternoon and you are expected to go with her.’
She knew, as they started their descent, she had lost an opportunity to confide in him and perhaps there would never be another, but somehow the words to explain that she had been deceiving him from the outset stuck in her throat and she could not utter them. He would be angry, and then cool and polite, as one would be towards an heiress one didn’t like very much. Or perhaps he would pretend to like her for the sake of her fortune and that would be infinitely worse. If she still had a fortune; she could not even be sure of that.
Alex spent the next day talking to people about the regatta and to ex-soldiers about their work, or lack of it, and tried to discover what particular talents they had. He needed woodworkers, shipbuilders, painters, sailmakers, artists, people who knew about explosives and fireworks, someone to build realistic-looking cannon. And there were stalls and competitions to organise. He hardly saw Emma, who spent the time with Mrs Summers, until the evening when they assembled to go to dinner at the rectory.
Wanting to impress, he dressed with care in a black evening suit, white shirt and waistcoat and black cravat, and went downstairs to wait for the two ladies. They were not long behind him. His aunt was in black, as befitted her state of mourning for her brother, but Emma had chosen to wear the blue silk, to which she had added some pale blue lace and ribbons in three different shades of blue. Her hair had been scooped up into a bun on top of her head and fastened with combs. He guessed she thought she looked plain and unassuming, but in his view she could never be that, however hard she tried. The severe hairstyle only served to emphasise a long white neck and a proud bearing. Not the stuff of paid companions, he thought wryly, as he escorted them out to the carriage and handed them in before taking his seat opposite them.
The rectory was only a few minutes away by coach and they were soon being welcomed by the Rector and his wife. ‘We are honoured to have you in our humble home, my lord,’ the Rector said, bowing obsequiously to Alex. ‘I collect you have met my wife and daughter.’
‘Yes, indeed.’ He bowed to them. ‘Mrs Griggs, your obedient. Miss Griggs, how do you do?’
They both made a curtsy and then James wandered into the room and there were more greetings. Emma felt his eyes on her again and squirmed uncomfortably. Why was he looking at her like that?
‘My dear Mrs Summers, I am so glad to see you out and about,’ Mrs Griggs said, leading everyone into the drawing room as she spoke. ‘Losing your brother must have laid you very low, but we must take comfort from the fact that he was a good man and is surely enjoying his reward in heaven.’
‘Yes, his suffering is at an end, and I could not have wished for it to be prolonged.’
‘You must feel very lonely. Do sit down.’ She waved vaguely at a sofa.
‘Lonely, oh, no,’ Amelia said, seating herself. ‘I have Lord Malvers and my dear Miss Draper for company.’
Reminded of her existence, Mrs Griggs looked at Emma. ‘Yes, of course. Do find a seat, Miss Draper.’
Emma looked about her to discover Mrs Griggs had plumped down beside Mrs Summers on a sofa and Lord Malvers was sitting beside Miss Griggs on another. The Rector was in a wing chair and Mr James Griggs remained standing by the hearth, surveying the company with an amused smile on his face. She did not want to catch his eye and, noticing a seat on the far side of the room, took herself to it, where she was completely ignored until a manservant came to announce that supper was served and they rose and trooped into the dining room.
The conversation during the meal was general at first, but then Alex introduced the idea of a regatta, only to discover that the parson was not in favour on the grounds that it would encourage drunkenness, and, having made that pronouncement, his family felt constrained to come out on his side, whatever they might privately have thought. Alex wisely changed the subject and the meal progressed in a rather strained silence. Afterwards they entertained each other with music, but nothing like the rumbustious tune Alex and Emma had sung at Highhead Hall. This was altogether more decorous. Emma, whose opinion on any of the subjects discussed was neither sought nor offered, was glad when they were on their way home.
‘I do not think you can count on any support for your ideas there,’ she told Alex.
‘No, but it’s no more than I expected. The Rector is bound to be a little starchy, but he is only one of many.’
‘Yes, but he has a lot of influence,’ Amelia put in. ‘He has only to denounce it from the pulpit and you will lose the support of his parishioners too.’
‘Then I shall have to try to bring him round.’
‘How?’ Emma asked.
‘I will think of something. A bit of toadying to the lady of the house, perhaps. Get her on my side.’
‘She will not defy her husband, not unless she thought her daughter’s future depended on it.’ This came from Amelia, though the thought had crossed Emma’s mind and made her catch her breath. How could she bear to stand by and see his lordship snapped up by anyone else, let alone the strait-laced Miss Griggs? She was honest enough to recognise the feeling as jealousy, but it did not help. She had got herself into the biggest coil of her life and she could see no way out of it.
The soirée at Cragside House was worse. Not only was the Rector and his family there, but so was Dr Hurley and his daughters and Mr Dewhurst, the lawyer, with his wife and son, Cecil. Sir Mortimer was hearty and boastful of his influence in the neighbourhood; as he was in favour of the regatta, it looked as though there might be a serious falling out when he and the Rector
began arguing about it and the doctor and the lawyer joined in. Emma longed to add her own arguments, but knew that would be entirely unacceptable and so she remained silent and simply listened.
It was left to Alex to do his diplomatic best to calm them down. ‘It was only an idea I had to help the employment situation,’ he said quietly. ‘I have no wish to go against local feeling.’
‘I think it’s a grand idea,’ Charlotte said, laughing and making eyes at Alex. ‘You want a battle, my lord, then you have a ready-made one. Papa and Mr Dewhurst against the Reverend and Dr Hurley.’
‘Do not be foolish,’ her father snapped at her. ‘Go and find some music to entertain us.’
She pouted and went over to the pianoforte, where she was joined by the other young ladies, though Emma remained sitting beside Mrs Summers. The girls were whispering together and laughing and she felt left out. But such was her lot and it was a hundred times better than being married to Lord Bentwater, so she told herself, but that was followed by the thought that not being able to take her rightful place in society or being able to meet Lord Malvers on an equal footing was worse. She was between the devil and the deep blue sea.
‘Do you think we could dance?’ Rachel murmured to Charlotte. ‘I long to dance with the handsome Lord Malvers.’
‘You can’t. He’s mine,’ Charlotte snapped. ‘You can dance with Cecil Hewitt and Prudence can dance with your brother.’
‘What about me?’ Charity wailed.
‘Oh, you’re too young to dance with men,’ her sister said. ‘You know Papa will not allow it. You can play for us.’
Reluctantly Charity sat at the instrument and began to play. Emma watched and waited, wondering how Charlotte Pettifer was going to contrive to have the partner she wanted. She did not have long to wait; Charlotte stepped into the middle of the room. ‘Papa,’ she said gaily, ‘Charity has offered to play for dancing. You will allow it, won’t you?’ She did not wait for his reply, but seized Alex by the arm. ‘Come, my lord, show us how it’s done in London society.’
