Читать книгу His Convenient Marchioness - Elizabeth Rolls - Страница 12

Chapter Four

In the ensuing week Emma was careful not to allow the children to think of Hunt as anything more than a friend of their father’s. He called three times, including two indoor picnics, and by the end of the third outing—a walk, since the weather relented—Emma had no doubts at all. If he offered she would accept. How could she do otherwise with a man who read fairy tales to Georgie on a rainy afternoon? And the way he slipped on his reading glasses was ridiculously attractive in a bookish and scholarly way. Under his tutelage Harry’s chess had improved greatly. He had lent Harry a small book on tactics which Harry had his nose in whenever permitted.

They had not discussed marriage, but she assumed if he was still visiting, then he was still considering it. Only...he hadn’t really kissed her again. Oh, he kissed her goodbye each time, a careful, chaste brush of his lips on her cheek. Exactly as he might kiss a sister.

That bothered her more than she liked. Not that she wanted him making advances to her, but when he had kissed her that first time...

Perhaps he had thought she was too eager and wished to indicate that their marriage should be conducted along more decorous lines. She hoped she could take a hint, but while she thought she could manage a marriage of convenience, she wasn’t sure she would be entirely happy in a marriage where she would be expected to curb her enjoyment of the marriage bed. On the other hand, in a perverse way, she might feel less disloyal to Peter if she wasn’t looking forward to the marriage quite so much in quite that way.

But she liked Hunt and looked forward to his visits, perhaps a little more than was wise. But now, sewing in the parlour while the children played upstairs, she wondered if he would raise the subject of marriage again this afternoon. When he had left the day before yesterday he had said that they should talk next time...they had talked, just not about marriage, so presumably that was what he wanted to talk about. As long as they could be friends, if Huntercombe preferred a marriage where the marriage bed was only for the procreation of heirs, then she would accept that.

So the thrill that shot through Emma at the knock on the door was less than welcome as well as unexpected. It was barely two o’clock. Hunt was early and that embarrassing little leap of delight rubbed in the fact that she had been watching the clock for the past hour.

‘Be the door, mum.’ Bessie appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘You want me to get it?’

Emma rose. ‘No, it’s all right, Bessie. It will be his lordship, so—’

Harry and Georgie clattered downstairs. ‘Is it Lord Huntercombe, Mama? And Fergus?’ Georgie demanded.

Emma smiled. ‘Why don’t I open the door and find out?’

‘It’s not raining,’ Harry said. ‘We’ll be able to walk Fergus again.’

Emma thought ruefully that it would be his dog as much as himself that would render Hunt acceptable to her children as a stepfather.

She opened the door and blinked at the liveried footman.

He looked down his nose at her. ‘The residence of Lady Emma Lacy, if you please.’

Emma took a proper look at the livery. It was only too familiar. ‘This is it.’

The young man’s expression registered shock, then condescension. ‘Inform her ladyship that she has a visitor, my good woman.’

Emma narrowed her eyes. The impudent puppy couldn’t be more than twenty. ‘Do you always take that tone with your elders?’ She used an imperious voice she never bothered with for Bessie.

His jaw dropped.

‘Straighten your shoulders!’ She knew an unholy glee as he snapped to attention. ‘You may tell me yourself who is calling.’ She knew perfectly well, but saw no reason to let him off the hook.

He looked winded. ‘Ah—’

‘Roger! Do they know the correct address, or not?’

The querulous voice had not changed in the least. ‘Good day, Mother.’ Emma stepped around the goggling Roger and walked to the carriage. ‘Whatever brings you here?’

Lady Dersingham stared in disbelief, first at Emma then the house. ‘I thought I must have the direction wrong. What a hovel!’

Emma took a firm grip on her temper. ‘It’s lovely to see you, too, Mother. Won’t you come in?’

Louisa Dersingham actually hesitated, then said in wilting tones, ‘The steps, Roger.’

Emma moved aside as the footman opened the carriage door and lowered the steps. She gritted her teeth as her mother descended as though tottering to her doom. She fixed the footman with a steely glare. ‘Take her ladyship’s bricks to the kitchen and ask my servant to reheat them.’

She knew her mother. Hell would freeze over before Louisa ventured out to Chelsea in November without hot bricks to her feet.

‘Really, Emma.’ Louisa’s voice quavered piteously. ‘If you must live out here, surely a nice villa by the river would be a more eligible situation. I believe they can be had quite reasonably.’

‘No doubt. Come in, Mother, and have a cup of tea to warm you.’

Louisa shuddered. ‘Tea?’

‘Yes.’ Emma offered her arm to support Louisa across the pavement to the house.

‘And what, pray, is that dreadful noise?’ Louisa demanded as they reached the doorstep.

For a moment Emma could not think what she meant. ‘Oh. That’s the stone yard behind us.’ She was so used to the banging that she scarcely heard it any more.

‘A stone yard?’ Louisa made it sound slightly less respectable than a brothel. ‘Well, Roger must step around to ask them to make less noise. Indeed, I am sure they can stop work completely for a little while.’

Emma didn’t quite roll her eyes. ‘Mother, they have their livelihoods to earn.’

Louisa stared. ‘What on earth has that to say to anything?’

Emma reached for patience. ‘All that will happen is that Mr Adams, who is my landlord, will tell Roger to get out of the way.’ In fact, she thought the stonemason would probably tell Roger to go to hell. She ushered Louisa over the threshold. ‘Welcome, Mother.’

The children had disappeared, but a stifled gasp from upstairs told her that at least one pair of small ears was flapping.

Bessie appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘Tea, mum?’ She cleared her throat. ‘I can see as how ye’ve got a special guest.’

‘Yes, Bessie.’ Emma knew exactly what the maidservant was asking; should she re-use the breakfast tea leaves, or use fresh? ‘A very special guest—my mother, Lady Dersingham.’

‘Oh, well, I’m sure I’m pleased ter meet yer ladyship.’ Bessie dropped a very respectful curtsy.

Louisa looked pained. ‘Yes, yes, my good woman.’

Quelling an insane desire to laugh, or just scream, Emma said, ‘A nice cup of tea will be most welcome, Bessie. And her ladyship’s footman needs to reheat the carriage bricks.’ Difficult to judge who was the most outraged—her mother or the footman. ‘Come into the parlour, Mother.’

* * *

Louisa gave a shuddering glance around the parlour. ‘Oh, dear. Emma, please see that Roger brings the tea in. Really! That woman! Of course creatures of that sort never know their place.’ She eyed the battered sofa to which Emma had conducted her with grave suspicion and sat as though she expected it to bite.

Thinking that Hunt had not shown by as much as a blink that he had noticed her shabby parlour, nor been rude about Bessie, Emma spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Bessie gives complete satisfaction, Mother, and I certainly will not offend her in any way.’

Louisa closed her eyes and spoke in failing accents. ‘My dear Emma, if I am obliged to set eyes upon that creature again—’

‘Then keep them closed.’

Louisa’s eyes snapped open, all pretence of languor gone. ‘Really, Emma! Is that any way to speak to your mother?’

‘This is my house, Mother.’ Emma sat down. ‘What brings you here? You haven’t visited me since Peter died.’ Emma’s fingers curled to fists at the memory. ‘Nor have you acknowledged any of my letters, including the one that informed you we had moved.’

Louisa dismissed that with an airy wave. ‘I am afraid I am but an indifferent correspondent. I am sure I did write. Perhaps my maid neglected to put a letter out for Dersingham to frank. And really, after the dreadful way you have behaved—!’

The door opened to admit Bessie bearing a tray. ‘Here we are, mum. Lovely, fresh cuppa. Had the kettle nice an’ hot. Don’t take a minnit, then.’ Adorned in a clean apron, Bessie set the tray on the table. ‘An’ I put a little plate of biscuits besides.’

‘Thank you, Bessie.’

Bessie beamed, addressing herself to Louisa. ‘An’ the bricks is heatin’ up nice on the fire, me lady.’

Louisa winced. ‘Er...very good.’

‘Nippy, it’s turned,’ Bessie said, cheerfully unaware of shibboleths shattered and taboos toppled. ‘Not but what ye’d be as cosy as a bug in that big carriage.’

‘Bugs?’ Louisa’s mouth fell open. ‘I assure you, my good woman, there are no bugs in my carriage!’

A second knock on the front door deflected whatever Bessie might have replied. ‘I dessay that’ll be his lordship, mum.’ She smoothed her apron and hurried out.

Louisa sank back on the sofa, encountered the very hard back and straightened. ‘For goodness sake, Emma! If you cannot conduct yourself with greater discretion, you cannot wonder—’

‘Now, that’s real kind, yer lordship. Reckon me lady’ll be right pleased!’

Huntercombe’s deep voice responded cheerfully as Louisa shuddered. ‘Whatever possessed you to hire that creature?’

‘This way, yer lordship. Me lady’s mam is here, an’ a fine lady she is.’

Emma bit the inside of her cheek to stop the laughter escaping. ‘High praise, indeed, Mother.’

The door opened. ‘His lordship, mum,’ Bessie announced. ‘An’ I’ll bring another tea cup as quick as quick.’

Hunt strolled into the room, hat and gloves tucked under his arm, Fergus at his heels. His brows lifted at the sight of Louisa, but he smiled at Emma. ‘Lady Emma. How do you do?’ He bowed over her hand.

‘Ah, Huntercombe. It is you.’ Louisa’s voice was delicately pained. ‘Rather an odd hour for you to call.’

Hunt gave Louisa a puzzled glance and said to Emma, ‘I thought this was a perfectly acceptable time to call on Georgie.’ He glanced at the battered old clock on the chimneypiece. ‘I am a little early, I confess.’ He smiled and Emma’s pulse skipped. Oh, foolish! A marriage of convenience was what he wanted. Convenience and some liking and affection. Not this girlish fluttering at the mere sight of him.

He bowed to Louisa. ‘How do you do, ma’am? Is Dersingham well?’

‘Perfectly, thank you.’ Louisa’s brow creased. ‘Who, may I ask, is Georgie? Is that the dog’s name?’

Hunt simply stared and Emma couldn’t blame him. ‘Georgie is my daughter, Mother. Your granddaughter,’ she added, in case there was any confusion. And couldn’t resist saying, ‘You were invited to her christening over six years ago.’

Louisa’s mouth pinched. ‘Oh, I dare say. But one has so many things to take up one’s time, I am sure keeping track of—’ She broke off as Bessie came in with another tea cup.

‘There y’are, your lordship. Pretty, ain’t it, with all them flowers round the edge.’

He took it with a smile. ‘Thank you, Bessie. I’m sure the tea will taste even nicer in such a lovely cup. Would you take Fergus to the kitchen with you?’

Bessie beamed. ‘Oh, yes, yer lordship. Be a pleasure. And proper, fresh tea it is. Made special for her ladyship.’ She bobbed in Louisa’s direction.

‘Thank you, Bessie,’ Emma said. ‘Could you please tell Master Harry and Miss Georgie that I am unable to take them for their walk just now?’

‘Yes, mum. Come along now, Fergus.’ Bessie curtsied and closed the door behind herself and the dog.

Emma turned to Hunt. ‘I am so sorry, sir, but we will be unable to go for our walk.’

There was a faint, a very faint, twinkle in his eye as he handed her the tea cup. ‘Of course you can’t. Not with such a delightful, and I think unexpected, visitor.’

‘Quite unexpected,’ Emma agreed. The less said about delightful the better.

A twitch of Hunt’s lips suggested he had noted the omission. ‘But,’ he went on, as Emma poured his tea with just the tiny splash of milk he liked and handed it to him, ‘perhaps once I have done justice to the tea and this cup, and the children have made their bows to their grandmother, I could take them out while you enjoy a quiet visit with Lady Dersingham?’ He smiled at Louisa. ‘Your grandchildren must be such a pleasure to you, ma’am. No doubt they will be delighted to see you.’

If Emma had harboured doubts about his acuity, the edge on those final remarks would have put them to bed with a shovel.

Louisa frowned. ‘I do hope their governess has taught them better than to enact a great deal of vulgar nonsense over—’

The door burst open and Georgie and Harry rushed in. Georgie flung herself at Emma. ‘Mama! Bessie says we mayn’t go for our walk! Please, Mama!’

‘Georgie.’ Hunt’s firm voice drew the child’s attention. ‘We will have our walk, but first you must make your curtsy to your grandmother.’

‘Grandmother?’ Harry stared at Louisa, who bridled, in obvious shock.

‘Well, really! I must say—’

‘Yes, Harry.’ Emma cut Louisa off without hesitation and gave her son a warning glance. ‘You will remember my mother, Lady Dersingham.’

‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Harry took the hint and executed a bow. ‘Good afternoon, ma’am. How do you do?’

Louisa sniffed. ‘Harry? There is no Harry in the family.’

‘He is named for his godfather,’ Emma said, through gritted teeth. ‘Harry Fitzwalter, a friend of Peter’s.’ Much notice any member of either family had paid to Harry’s birth. Or Georgie’s for that matter.

Georgie slipped her hand into Emma’s, staring at Louisa. ‘So if she’s your mama, then that makes her our grandmama?’

Louisa tittered. ‘Good heavens! Is the child backward?’

Harry beat Emma’s choking rage into speech. ‘She is not!’ He glared at Louisa. ‘She’s only six and she didn’t even know we had a grandmother!’

Louisa opened her mouth and Emma braced for battle.

‘Harry?’ Hunt’s voice was quite calm. ‘Would you take your sister upstairs and get ready?’

His face crimson, Harry nodded. ‘Yes, sir. May Fergus come with us?’

Hunt glanced at Emma. ‘If your mother says so.’

Saying a silent prayer of thanks for a storm delayed, if not averted, Emma nodded. ‘Yes. That’s all right. Off you go.’

Harry took Georgie’s hand. ‘Come on. Let’s get Fergus.’ He tugged her along, then seemed to remember something. Executing a very stiff bow in Louisa’s direction, he said, ‘Good day to you, ma’am. It was very nice to meet you again.’

* * *

Having drunk a cup of tea she barely tasted, in an atmosphere brimming with arctic ice and unvoiced feminine outrage, Emma saw Hunt off with the children.

‘Mama, I didn’t mean to be rude,’ Harry whispered, none too softly. ‘But—’

‘Papa would expect you always to stand up for your sister, Harry,’ Emma said, checking his gloves.

‘And I didn’t know we had a grandmama!’ Georgie was sucking her thumb, her gloves clutched in the other hand.

Emma hugged her. ‘Never mind, sweetheart.’ She removed the thumb from Georgie’s mouth and tugged on the worn little gloves. ‘Enjoy your walk.’ She rubbed Fergus’s silky ears and he licked her hand enthusiastically. ‘You have fun, too,’ she told him.

Straightening, she looked at Hunt. ‘Thank you.’ There was so much more she wanted to say, but with the children listening it was impossible.

His eyes were grave, but he took her hand—the one Fergus had not anointed—and kissed it. Her pulse did a great deal more than skip at the touch of his lips, and her breath caught.

His fingers tightened for an instant, but he said only, ‘You’d better not rub my ears.’

She managed a weak chuckle as Harry shouted with laughter. Georgie smiled around her thumb. Her glove was off again, the thumb back in her mouth.

‘Right.’ Hunt looked at the pair of them. ‘Fergus is in charge, so stay close until we reach the Common. Come along.’

Emma closed the door behind them and leaned on it for a moment, resisting the temptation to abandon her mother and bolt out the door after them. After not bothering to write or visit since just after Peter’s death, Louisa had to pick this afternoon.

Summoning up all her restraint, Emma went back to the parlour.

Louisa was poking into the drawer of Emma’s little kneehole desk. She looked around unblushing and shut the drawer.

‘Well, I’m relieved you know better than to keep incriminating letters, but you should not permit Huntercombe to visit in broad daylight!’

Emma took a very careful breath. ‘He came to take the children for a walk.’

Louisa snorted. ‘Oh, the pair of you did a creditable job of passing it off, but when one already knows—’ She waved an airy hand.

‘Knows what, Mother?’ Did Louisa think she was having an affair with Hunt?

Louisa’s laugh tinkled. ‘Why, that Huntercombe is your latest paramour. Everyone is talking about it.’

‘What?’ She tried to think. Latest? Of course it was possible people had seen them together and she supposed Hunt’s servants were as likely to gossip as anyone else’s, but latest? ‘Just to be clear, Mother,’ she said flatly, ‘Huntercombe is not my lover. Nor,’ she added, her temper rising, ‘has anyone else been my lover!’

Louisa’s amused smile sliced to the bone. ‘Emma, we’re both grown women—we all have lovers after we marry, but it’s best if we are discreet.’ She sat down again. ‘I was quite in demand in my day.’

Emma could not find a single coherent thought, let alone word. She didn’t want to think about Louisa—her mother—having sex at all, let alone with a parade of faceless and nameless—please, God, let them remain nameless—gentlemen.

‘Your mistake, dear,’ Louisa continued, ‘was to insist on marrying Lacy. No one, including Bolt, would have minded in the least had you conducted a discreet affair once you were safely enceinte. And he would not have cared about any other petits pacquets once you had provided an heir and a spare.’

Sickened, Emma found something that resembled her voice. ‘Is that what you did?’

Louisa shrugged. ‘Of course. I couldn’t swear that you are Dersingham’s get yourself.’

Emma struggled with that for a moment. ‘And my brothers?’

‘Oh, they are. Naturally I made sure the first two were his. So convenient that they were both boys, so I had the heir and the spare out of the way.’

‘And who do you think might have sired me?’ Emma demanded.

Louisa appeared to give that serious thought. ‘Oh, well. Eltringham comes to mind as the most likely. But it could have been Havelock. Or even Dersingham for that matter. Although that is not very likely.’ She pursed her lips. ‘He was quite taken up with that dreadful Amaranth Hayes-Boyle at the time.’

Belatedly Emma recalled that she didn’t want to think about her mother having sex, or know the names of her lovers, let alone Dersingham’s lovers. She pulled herself together. ‘Mother, surely you didn’t call merely to inform me that the world believes me to be engaged in an affair with Huntercombe.’ She’d be damned if she’d tell Louisa why Hunt was calling on her. It was none of her business.

Louisa’s mouth thinned. ‘Your father—Dersingham, that is—is renewing his offer to take you back. We both feel that you have had sufficient time to come to your senses. He is willing to reinstate your dowry.’

Emma stilled. ‘In return for what?’

‘That you sign over guardianship of both children to him.’ Louisa’s lip curled. ‘Hardly a sacrifice one would think. Then you may make a marriage of sorts. Dersingham has some merchant in mind. You will have to be a great deal more discreet than you have been with Huntercombe and Pickford, of course.’

‘Pickford?’ She had stamped on Pickford’s insulting offer with less thought than she would have accorded a cockroach.

Louisa sighed. ‘My dear Emma. Everyone knows that Pickford was your lover earlier in the year. He certainly makes no secret of it. Now, this merchant has agreed to the marriage, but he refuses to be bothered with the children. You couldn’t expect that.’

‘No?’ She heard the snap in her voice and took a steadying breath.

Louisa shrugged. ‘A widow in your circumstances cannot be choosy. Dersingham will arrange schools for them.’

Emma was startled to find herself on her feet, fists clenched. Fury burned in every fibre of her body. A clear, cold voice spoke at a slight distance, telling her mother that she might go to hell and take Dersingham, along with his offer, with her.