by Martha Keyes
Hugh settled back into his chair, his mind hard at work, while Lord Siddington leaned back and shut his eyes.
Lord Siddington only intended to remain at Norfield for the night, a fact which had made Hugh raise his brows, having seen the abundance of valises and portmanteaux which the servants had taken up the stairs. But he agreed that he would write to Lord Dunhaven without delay and inform Hugh of the result as soon as he had a response.
Knowing that there was hope for Alfred’s situation relieved a great burden from Hugh’s shoulders. It would still be an adjustment, of course. It was only natural. For a time, Alfred had thought that he would be heir to a much larger fortune than the living he might be given at Keldale and Newmarsh.
But if it enabled him to marry Miss Bolton, Hugh felt that his brother would be content with the situation.
Hugh resolved not to speak to Alfred of the possibility until Lord Dunhaven’s response arrived, but he took hope from his uncle’s certitude in speaking of calling in the favor.
His own situation was less easily settled. The thought of remaining at Norfield, so near to Emma, knowing that marriage to her was an impossibility—it was an oppressive and intolerable prospect. But he had come home with a silent promise to himself that he would face his past and his future with courage, and to run from Norfield would be in direct contradiction to that oath.
No, he would not flee to war this time. He would sell his commission and give the money to the Seymours, then put his head down in learning the business of the estate.
Perhaps his father would allow him to manage things at Grindleham. He had only ever been there twice, and his few memories were of a small, overgrown property, but it would give him vital distance as well as practice in the upkeep of an estate in great need.
He made his way down the stairs at Norfield, pausing as he heard the voice of his mother and another woman, coming toward him from down the corridor.
He stepped onto the landing and leaned over for a view of the visitor.
It was Lucy.
She glanced at him as they approached, smiling, though not in the shy, hesitant way she had smiled at him in days past. It was more of a knowing smile, and it made his cravat feel tight.
What did she know that he didn’t? And why had she come—alone?
He greeted her quickly and then moved down the corridor, taking a moment to look through the window at the grounds of Norfield until his mother had bid her goodbye.
The rhythmic footsteps of his mother’s approach sounded, and he turned to her.
“Mama,” he said, coming to her side to join her in her walk back toward the morning room. “What was that about?”
Her mouth broke into a smile, and she patted him on the arm. “A private chat with Lucy.”
His head came back slightly. “How very mysterious,” he said, feeling a prick of annoyance.
“Not mysterious, my dear, but not something I am free to communicate. It isn’t for me to tell.” She stopped in the doorway of the morning room and faced him, looking at him with all the love and warmth of a mother in her eyes. She reached her hand up and put it on his cheek. “Don’t lose heart, Hugh.” She held his eyes for a moment and then turned into the morning room.
12
Emma straightened the kissing bough hanging from the doorway for what seemed liked the hundredth time. It was useless, really. It hadn’t been hung properly, and whoever had made it had bunched the holly too densely on one side, adding to its imbalance.
But anything that could keep her thoughts and hands occupied was welcome to Emma. It had taken every ounce of her energy not to let despair consume her; to put on a pleasant smile in company; to entertain her younger siblings when all she wished to do was lie in bed, left to her unpleasant thoughts.
Of course, Lucy could know nothing of what was driving down Emma’s spirits, so Emma had to find a way to be content with the assurance that her own pain was worth preventing the pain Lucy might have felt, had she known everything. And yet, it was but little balm on Emma’s wounds.
She found herself falling into distracted fits, wondering how the lieutenant was faring, shuddering as she remembered the injured way he had looked at her when she had last seen him. He hadn’t returned to the drawing room after their conversation, and Emma had remarked Lady Dayton’s anxious glances at the door he had left through.
Of course, no one would have batted an eye to know that Emma and the lieutenant were on the outs.
Emma hadn’t the energy or desire to set aright anyone’s understanding. There was little point to such an endeavor, after all.
She gave the bough a little spin, surrendering to its insistence on chaos, and watched it dazedly.
“Emma?”
Emma blinked twice and looked down from the kissing bough to where Lucy stood in front of her, her hands clasped and hanging down in front of her, like the cream shawl she wore.
“May I speak with you a moment?”
Emma’s eyebrows went up, and she nodded, stepping down from the stool. They walked over to the settee, Emma curling her legs underneath her and Lucy sitting up straight, her hands still clasped in her lap.
Emma looked at Lucy expectantly, trying to suppress the anxious feelings she felt churning in her stomach as she wondered what Lucy wished to say.
Lucy was silent, looking at her hands for a moment. “You are miserable, Emma,” she finally said.
Emma opened her mouth wordlessly and then bit her lip. “I am not miserable.” Her words sounded unpersuasive even to herself.
“Emma”— Lucy grimaced, something very near pity in her eyes —“surely you didn’t think I wouldn’t notice such a change in you? I had hoped you would confide in me, but I see you don’t intend to, and I think I know why.”
Emma’s heart picked up speed. She was treading dangerous ground, but she hadn’t any idea how to redirect the conversation without causing further suspicion.
“It is very like you to be so concerned for me”— Emma reached for one of Lucy’s hands and squeezed it affectionately —“but you need not worry.”
Lucy rubbed Emma’s palm with her thumb, her eyes down. “You are in love with Hugh Warrilow, aren’t you?”
Emma froze, swallowing the lump in her throat.
What could she say? Her conscience balked at the thought of lying to Lucy. But to affirm it would be to hurt her irrevocably.
Lucy shook her head, still not meeting Emma’s eyes. “You needn’t respond. I knew it when I saw you together the other night.”
Emma was suddenly very aware of her breathing, as if the way her body wished to breathe would only betray her. She extracted her hand from Lucy’s and rubbed a finger absently along the blue floral fabric of the settee. “It is true,” she said carefully, “that I no longer hold him in aversion.”
Lucy smiled wanly and looked at Emma. “A significant understatement, Emma.”
Emma’s finger stilled. She shut her eyes tightly and gripped her lips together. “It is of no account, Lucy. I plan to accept Mr. Douglas when he offers for me.”
“Why on earth would you do such a thing?” Lucy said, straightening.
Emma stared at her. She could hardly say, “Because you are still in love with him.”
“Lucy,” she said, taking in a deep breath and shaking her head, “your reaction upon discovering he had returned....” Her brows came together, and she shrugged. “I would never wish to hurt you.”
Lucy shook her head. “It was a shock, Emma. For months, I had assumed he was dead, had despaired for poor Lady Dayton.” She inclined her head. “I admit that, when I saw him again at Norfield, I wondered if perhaps I did still love him. And naturally I do admire him and shall always wish him well—”
Emma stifled her hopeful feelings, reminding herself that Lucy was as self-sacrificing as anyone she knew. She couldn’t allow Lucy to make herself a martyr.
“—but I no sooner saw the two of you together than I realized how utterly meant for one anothe
r you are.”
Emma looked up and then shook her head rapidly, taking Lucy’s hand back into hers. “I could never hurt you in such a way, Lucy. After all you’ve been through.”
“I am well, Emma.” She gave a smile tinged with sadness. “Mr. Pritchard is a good, amiable gentleman, and I know that I shall have a good life with him.” She inclined her head in a gesture of acknowledgment. “What I feel for him is nothing like the youthful passion I felt for Lieutenant Warrilow, to be sure. But I do love him. Only in a more staid and peaceful way. And that suits me better, I think.”
Emma said nothing, but she found herself in private agreement.
Lucy had always been calm and gentle, constant and loyal. She betrayed none of the explosive emotion that plagued Emma. Lucy’s reaction to Hugh’s decision not to marry her had been uncharacteristically intense and turbulent. Emma had taken it as evidence of the depth of her love for him. But perhaps it was rather a testament to the unsuitability of their characters.
“And what’s more, Emma”— Lucy held Emma’s eyes and added her other hand to their clasped ones —“I could never live with myself knowing that, for my sake, you turned down an offer of marriage from a gentleman not only eminently eligible”— she smiled enigmatically at Emma —“but one who adores you and whom you adore equally.”
Emma’s lower lip trembled, and she took it between her teeth to control it.
“I mean it,” Lucy said firmly.
“I couldn’t bear it if it something or someone came between us.” She dashed away a tear from her cheek.
Lucy tilted her head to the side and looked at Emma with sincerity burning in her eyes. “I would never allow such a thing to happen. We are sisters, now and always.”
She smiled and took Emma’s free hand, bringing it together with the others so that all four hands cradled each other. “I went to Norfield yesterday,” Lucy said, “and I spoke with Lady Dayton.”
Emma’s head came back, and she frowned. “Why?”
Lucy’s smile widened. “When I saw you and the lieutenant at the dinner party, saw the way you looked at each other…” her shoulders came up. “I had to know if my suspicions were correct.”
Emma swallowed, feeling her muscles tighten and her heart skip. “What suspicions?” She tried to infuse her voice with less burning curiosity than she felt, pulling one hand from Lucy’s so that she could play distractedly with the knitting of her shawl—to avoid Lucy’s eyes.
“Emma,” said Lucy softly, a wondering light in her eyes, “did you know that Lieutenant Warrilow has been in love with you for years? That his feelings for you were the primary reason that he didn’t feel that he could offer for me?”
Emma’s fingers froze, and she looked up at Lucy, her voice catching in her throat.
It couldn’t be.
Lucy nodded, as if she knew Emma doubted her words. “It is true, Emma.”
Emma’s eyelids fluttered, and Lucy’s face swam strangely in front of her. She blinked, putting a hand on the settee to stabilize herself.
Hope sprang up inside her chest, only to be checked immediately. What was it doing to Lucy to say this? To know that Emma was the reason behind all the hurt she had gone through?
Lucy shook her head with a soft laugh. “I should have recognized it, Emma. And looking back, I can see it clearly. But I was too blinded by my own infatuation back then. It was selfish of me.”
“Lucy,” Emma said, her eyes stinging yet again, “I had no idea.”
“No, I am sure you didn’t. You are far too blind to your own qualities to have perceived the state of things.” Lucy smiled wryly at her.
Emma fingered the edges of the shawl. “Everything you went through, Lucy”— she squeezed her eyes shut —“I would never have wished that upon you, never have wished to be the cause of it.”
Lucy dropped her hand, wrapping her arms around Emma in a tight embrace and whispering in her ear, “It has all worked out for the best, in the end. I would go through it all again to know that it meant you would find someone to love.” She pulled away from Emma, her eyes shimmering with tears amidst her smile.
“And now that that is settled,” she said prosaically, wiping her eye with the back of her thumb, “I think we must go, without haste, to see the lieutenant and inform him in no uncertain terms that you return his regard.”
Emma clenched her teeth. She still refused to believe that it was real—that the lieutenant loved her. That he had loved her for all these years. It seemed impossible. Too good to be true.
“What if you are wrong, Lucy?”
Lucy shook her head decidedly. “I am not. Lady Dayton stood in no doubt of her son’s feelings—indeed, she expressed surprise more than once that you had not been aware of the state of his heart.”
Emma’s mind darted back to a conversation with Lady Dayton.
“You don’t know, then,” she had said.
Is this what she had meant?
“In any case,” Lucy said, “it seems that you have been ignorant of your regard for one another—something that is quite easily rectified, I think.” She stood from the couch, pulling Emma up with her. “Come. I will see you off.”
Enthusiasm and excitement buzzed from Lucy, but Emma stood still, resisting the tugging on her hand.
Lucy turned back, frowning and scanning Emma’s face. “What is it? Do you not wish to see him?”
Emma gripped her lips together. She wanted nothing more than to undo the hurt she had caused when she had seen him last. The thought of seeing the lieutenant made her skin tingle and her heart thump wildly.
“Tell me, Emma. Have I misjudged your feelings?”
Emma pictured the lieutenant’s eyes: all the times they had looked on her during her stay at Norfield. She had been too afraid to put a word to what she had seen in his eyes, too unwilling to believe it, too uncertain of what she herself was feeling.
She shook her head, unable to quench the smile that demanded expression. “No. Let us go.”
13
Hugh instructed his valet to pack another pair of his sturdiest pantaloons. He anticipated that he would be spending a fair amount of time conversing with the bailiff at Grindleham and very little time at balls and parties.
His father’s acquiescence to his request had been somewhat tortuously obtained. Lord Dayton’s first response was to ask what Hugh was running from again.
Hugh had carefully explained that he wished to learn the ropes of estate management in a place requiring a more hands on approach than Norfield.
“Here at Norfield,” he had argued, “I would learn maintenance of an estate already well-cared for. At Grindleham, I shall be required to get my hands a little dirty in arranging things, to become familiar with all the minor matters which can make or break an estate. I think it will stand me in better stead when the time comes for me to take over at Norfield.”
His father had frowned upon hearing this. “I have been meaning to visit Grindleham for some time now, but for one reason or another, I haven’t ever found the time. I suppose you could make yourself useful there.”
With a little more convincing on Hugh’s part, the matter had been settled, and Hugh had taken to preparations without delay.
He heard the muffled rumbling of carriage wheels and pulled back one of the curtains. There was no mistaking the chaise coming down the drive: bright yellow and pulled by matched bays.
Hugh let the curtain fall back in place and strode quickly from his room, down the corridor and the staircase.
He had been waiting to hear from his uncle, but he had expected a letter rather than a visit. Was Lord Siddington’s arrival in person to be viewed as a positive or negative omen for Alfred?
Small snowflakes flurried through the air with a slight wind. Would they be subjected to yet another great snowstorm?
He grimaced. He had no desire to forestall his departure for Grindleham indefinitely. It would be miserable and nostalgic in the worst ways to be confined to Norfield again
due to the snow.
Alfred appeared at one of the windows lining the corridor at the base of the large staircase, a perplexed expression on his face. Upon hearing Hugh, he turned.
“What in heaven’s name is Uncle Sid doing here again?” he said impatiently. “His bed is hardly cold, and we have had no time to replenish the stores of brandy and sherry he depleted a few days ago.”
Alfred possibly liked Uncle Sid less than Uncle Sid liked him.
“I couldn’t say for certain what brings him here again,” Hugh said evasively, “but if this snow becomes heavier, we may well be looking at a protracted stay.”
“Heaven help us!” Alfred said, appalled at the prospect.
Hugh only smiled, hoping that, by the end of his uncle’s visit, Alfred would be singing a different tune.
In a matter of moments, Lord Siddington’s boisterous voice carried from the entry hall to where they stood.
“Yes, and I’ll take a glass of Dayton’s best sherry in the drawing room,” he said as he was being shown in.
Alfred sent a long-suffering glance at Hugh. They greeted their uncle, and Hugh led the way to the drawing room, knowing it would be useless to attempt any meaningful conversation with him until he had a drink in hand.
“Pleased to see you again, Uncle Sid,” Alfred said without any evidence that he truly felt pleased, “and so soon after your last visit.” He turned into the parlor doorway but stopped at the voice of his uncle.
“I think,” Lord Siddington said, “that I have some news that might be of interest to you, Alfred. Join us in the drawing room, why don’t you?”
Alfred looked as though he had grave doubts about his uncle being able to say anything of interest to him, but he was civil enough not to refuse such an invitation and nodded, following them down the corridor.
