by Cheryl Holt
Benedict kept his expression blank, but his mind raced with speculation. As for the widow, she looked eager to spill all, and Benedict wasn’t about to discourage her.
“Why would the earl buy her clothes?” he asked. “Did his brother divulge the reason?”
“No, and it’s not my place to comment, but . . .”
“Comment away. Your opinion is safe with me.”
She frowned. “I wouldn’t want my remarks getting back to the earl. I’d hate to upset him or to have him presuming I’m not grateful for his favor.”
“You have my word. I won’t tell a soul.”
She studied him, her distrust obvious, but she was too keen to tattle. “I can’t fathom why Miss Wilson would receive such a boon.”
“Neither can I.”
“It’s not any of my business how the earl chooses to spend his fortune. I recognize that. Still, I’m asking myself why he’d spend some of it in this fashion.”
“It’s a valid question.”
“It couldn’t have been free, with no strings attached. What did she do for him? Or what did she agree to do in the future? I can’t come to a good answer. Can you?”
“No, I can’t.” Benedict reached out a hand. “Give me the package. I’ll have it delivered for you.”
She lifted it up. “Thank you. Saves me the trouble.”
“You’re welcome.” She started off, and he called, “Widow Brookhurst?”
“Yes?”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this conversation to anyone.”
“Believe me, I won’t. I’d rather not know about any of this. I always liked her parents. Her mother must be rolling in her grave.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he murmured as she continued on.
He proceeded to the manor, the illicit parcel balanced on his saddle, as he methodically reviewed the situation.
Had Emeline played the whore for Captain Price? Was she that low of character? Would she abandon her morals for a handsome face and a fat purse?
Benedict had proposed an honorable courtship to Emeline, with marriage as the goal at the end, but she’d spurned him.
Had she now surrendered her virginity for a few paltry trifles?
If so, she wouldn’t be the first female in history to trade chastity for security. At the notion that she might have—that she had indecently granted to Nicholas Price what Benedict had decently sought—he rippled with outrage.
He would watch and listen. He would spy and investigate. If he ultimately learned that Mrs. Brookhurst’s suspicions were true, he didn’t know what he might do.
But Emeline would be very, very sorry.
“I don’t know what will happen now.”
“What would you like to have happen?”
Josephine glanced over at Emeline. They had finally crossed paths in the village, and Jo was walking her to the manor. She should have been returning home, but after Oscar’s recent outburst, she was extremely distraught and in no hurry.
Emeline looked healthier than she had in ages. Her cheeks were rosy with color, her hair clean and shiny. She was wearing a new dress, sewn from a flowery print that brought out the emerald in her eyes.
It was a beautiful afternoon. The sky was so blue, the woods so green, the birds singing in the trees. She was happy to be chatting with a friend, but wished she had more opportunity to become better acquainted. Oscar kept her so confined, and she was never allowed to socialize.
She’d like to unburden herself to a confidante, would like to seek advice about her affair with Lt. Price, about her problems with her brother. But she never would. Some things were meant to be private, and certainly an illicit liaison and an abusive brother had to be at the top of the list.
“I want to stay at Stafford,” Emeline said, answering Jo’s question. “I want to start the school again.”
“It was such a marvelous benefit to the neighborhood.”
“I always thought so. If only I could convince the earl.”
“You’ve discussed it with him?”
“On numerous occasions.”
“Really?”
“He’s not the ogre he’s reputed to be.”
“Which indicates you’ve spent enough time with him to have formed an opinion.”
“He’s actually quite an interesting person.”
“I’m surprised you’d say so. Considering how he treated you the day he arrived at the estate, I’m amazed you have a civil word to offer.”
“He enjoys being difficult, and he goes out of his way to be obnoxious. He thrives on it.”
“Are you sure it’s deliberate behavior? In light of the trouble he’s caused, I’m more inclined to believe that cruelty is his genuine nature and not an act.”
“He has a compassionate streak a mile long, but he hides it.”
“I’ve met his brother.” Jo was careful not to reveal the merest hint of the conflicted feelings roiling through her.
“Have you? What do you think of him?”
“He’s very cordial, compared to his older sibling. He, too, claims the earl is wonderful—once you get to know him.”
“That’s the tricky part, I suppose,” Emeline said, “getting to truly know him. He doesn’t let anyone close except Lt. Price. Have you heard what he did for me?”
“No, what?”
“He bought me this dress.”
“He what?” Jo stopped and pulled Emeline around to face her.
“He bought me this dress and several others. He purchased clothes for Nan and Nell too.”
“Why?”
“When he found out that he’d had our cottage burned, he felt awful.”
“You’re joking.”
“He insisted on replacing what was destroyed in the fire. We’re so desperate; I couldn’t refuse.”
“It’s peculiar that he would bother himself over it.”
“Isn’t it though? This is what I mean about his being kind. Who would have expected such generosity from him?”
“Not me,” Jo said.
“Not me either,” Emeline agreed. She hesitantly ventured, “Should I keep the clothes? Especially the ones for Nan and Nell. I realize it looks bad, and I can’t have people gossiping.”
“Absolutely, you should keep the clothes.” Jo clucked her tongue with disgust. “The man is a menace, and after all the aggravation he’s inflicted on you, a new wardrobe is the least of what you deserve.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m very sure, and if I hear anybody grousing, I’ll punch them in the nose.”
They laughed, and Jo took her arm and continued on again. They strolled silently, with Jo lost in contemplation.
She wished she believed in magic. She wished she could cast a spell and become a different sort of woman with a different sort of life. She’d always been a decent person. Why was there no reward for her efforts?
Down the road, horses’ hooves sounded. As they rounded the bend, they saw Lord Stafford and Lt. Price riding toward them.
Jo stifled a smile, but Emeline stiffened with affront.
“I don’t want to talk to him,” she said.
“To who? The earl?”
“Yes.”
“Why not?”
“He exhausts me.”
“They’re heading directly for us, so we can’t avoid a conversation. Have you thanked him for the dress? It seems a safe enough subject.”
“He’ll have to brag about giving it to me. He’s insufferable.”
“Every man I’ve ever met has been insufferable. I imagine I’ll survive one more display of it.”
She patted Emeline’s hand, as she braced herself, waiting for them to near. They were so magnificent, mounted on the earl’s finest horses and attired in their uniforms, red coats
, white trousers, black boots polished to a dazzling shine.
“They’re so handsome,” Jo said.
“But they know they are, and I can’t abide such arrogance.”
“All men are arrogant too. It’s embedded in their character at birth.”
Emeline chuckled. “With that attitude, you’ll never find another husband.”
“Why would I want another one?”
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Lt. Price called as they approached.
“Hello,” Jo and Emeline replied together.
The earl was silent, appearing irked that they’d delayed his passing.
“Lord Stafford”—Jo forced herself to be affable—“thank you for bringing Emeline and her sisters to the manor. Thank you for helping them. I’m very grateful.”
He frowned. “Why would you be grateful?”
“She’s my friend. I hated to see her in dire straits.”
He regarded Emeline with extreme disdain.
“She has friends?” he asked. “I’m surprised. How do you put up with her?”
“Very funny,” Emeline fumed, and she peered over at Jo. “I told you he’d be obnoxious. He assumes you’ll be impressed by discourtesy.”
“I’m an earl now, remember?” Lord Stafford sneered at Emeline. “I don’t have to be courteous. I can act however I please.”
The air was charged with an undercurrent Jo didn’t understand. The earl was scowling at Emeline, and she was scowling right back. Obviously, they were quarreling, but Jo couldn’t figure out why. They weren’t sufficiently acquainted for fighting, and Emeline possessed no status that would allow her to chastise him.
He seemed as if he might offer another rude remark, then thought better of it. He urged his horse forward and circled by them.
Lt. Price hadn’t budged, and when the earl noticed his brother hadn’t followed, he glanced over his shoulder.
“Are you coming or not?” the earl inquired.
Lt. Price gazed at Jo. “Are you on your way home?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll walk you.”
“You don’t need to trouble yourself.”
“It’s no trouble.” He waved his brother on. “I’m going to accompany Mrs. Merrick to the village.”
“Suit yourself,” the earl said. Then he quipped to Emeline, “What about you, Miss Wilson?”
“What about me?”
“Are you capable of proceeding to the manor on your own? Or do you require an escort?”
“I can get there on my own. I’m used to taking care of myself.”
“Yes, you are, and we’ve already established what a bang-up job you’ve been doing.”
“Nicholas!” Lt. Price scolded, but the earl ignored him and kicked his horse into a trot. He kept on without looking back.
“Ooh, that man!” Emeline grumbled, but she watched him go, unable to wrench herself away.
For an instant, her mask slipped, and Jo witnessed a disturbing amount of unveiled longing.
Was Emeline infatuated? Was the earl? Perhaps there was more to his rescuing her from the market and buying her clothes than she’d admitted.
Jo knew a few things about amour that Emeline hadn’t had the chance to learn. If she’d involved herself with Nicholas Price, only heartache would result.
What was Emeline thinking? She wasn’t thinking; that was the problem. Jo’s reasoning had become muddled too. They were two ordinary females whose lives had been turned upside down by two extraordinary males. She and Emeline resided in a small town in the country, and their backgrounds and experiences were no match for those of the Price brothers.
The pair would be at Stafford for such a short time. What havoc would they wreak before they moved on?
“How can you tolerate him?” Jo asked Lt. Price as he dismounted.
“He grows on you.”
“You got the charm in the family. What did he get?”
“The title and the money.”
Jo laughed as Emeline made her goodbyes and left. Then Jo and Lt. Price started for the village. They were side by side, strolling companionably, her skirt occasionally brushing his trousers.
She was cataloguing every moment of the encounter so she would never forget a single detail. She wanted to always remember the way he looked, the way he smelled, the way his boots crunched on the gravel.
All the while, she was calculating the distance remaining, trying to decide when they had arrived at the final safe point. Oscar had been very clear in his warning about Lt. Price, and she wouldn’t tempt fate.
If he discovered that she’d defied him, there was no predicting what he might do, and while Jo had flirted with the idea of carrying on their torrid liaison, she simply couldn’t. The risk was too great.
“Would you call me Stephen?” he asked.
“When we’re alone, and if you promise to call me Jo.”
“I will—when we’re alone.”
It was a sweet gesture, and over the next several minutes before they parted forever, she would say his name as many times as she could.
“Stephen, why is your brother being so kind to Emeline?”
“Guilty conscience. He has a conscience. He just doesn’t heed it very often.”
“Does he fancy her?”
“In a manly fashion?”
“Yes.”
He scoffed. “His taste in women runs in quite a different direction.”
“What direction is that?”
“Not one I can describe for your virtuous ears.”
“Would he take advantage of her?”
“No. Why are you worried about him?”
“She’s not very sophisticated, and she doesn’t have her father to protect her. He bought her clothes, and she’s living at the manor. I’m a tad anxious about his intentions.”
“Don’t be. He doesn’t chase after innocents. He doesn’t need to. Women throw themselves at his feet. They always have.”
“What about you? Do women throw themselves at your feet?”
“Not usually, but lately, I’ve been luckier.”
He leaned in and stole a kiss before she could ask him not to. For the briefest second, she dawdled, relishing the warmth of his lips, then she sighed with regret and eased away.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to tell you something.”
She gazed into his handsome face, memorizing the color of his eyes, the slant of his nose and cleft of his chin.
“About . . . ?”
“I can’t continue our affair, Stephen.”
“Why not?”
“The better question is: Why did I participate in the first place?”
“Because we enjoy a potent attraction, that’s why.”
“We’re not animals. We have to control our worst impulses.”
“Speak for yourself.” He grinned, but she didn’t grin back, and his smile faded.
“What’s happened?” he inquired.
“My brother saw us the other afternoon, out in front of the vicarage.”
“So?”
“He’s very strict, and he doesn’t feel it’s appropriate for us to fraternize.”
“You agree with him?”
“It’s not up to me.”
“For pity’s sake, I’m not some beggar in a ditch. I’m the earl’s brother. We were merely walking down the lane.”
“Appearances matter to him. I reside under his roof, and I have to abide by his rules.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have anywhere else to go. You know that.”
“You’re twenty-five years old, Jo. You’re a widow. It’s not as if you’re some green girl I seduced off a street corner. Show some backbone. Tell him we’re friends and he has to deal with it.”
She sighed again. It was so easy to be a man, to be independent and in charge of your own life, to have your own money so you could do whatever you wanted.
Stephen Price could never understand what it was like to be her, to be without options, without hope, and at the mercy of someone like Oscar.
She constantly straddled a tightrope, eager to evade his wrath, while managing some semblance of a normal existence. She would give anything to escape, but to where? How?
“It’s not possible for me to defy him,” she solemnly said.
“I’ll talk to him for you.”
“No, you won’t. I can’t have you interfering.”
“He serves at Nicholas’s pleasure. I’ll remind him of that fact. You’ll be amazed at the change in behavior that will follow.”
“You don’t know my brother.”
“And you don’t know mine.”
“It wouldn’t help to speak with Oscar. It would just stir more trouble for me.”
“More trouble? What’s he done?”
He tensed, as if he might march to the vicarage and pound Oscar into the ground. The notion was tremendously satisfying, and she was thrilled that he could be so incensed on her behalf, but she would never encourage him to reckless conduct.
What if Stephen learned how Oscar truly treated her? What if he had Oscar dismissed from his post? Then what? She and Oscar would both be tossed out with no income and no shelter.
“Oscar has done nothing to me,” she calmly lied, “except to request that I remember my position in the community.”
His temper flared. “Bugger your position. Bugger this community.”
“Stephen, please. There’s no need to be crude.”
He reined himself in. “No, there’s not. I apologize.”
Suddenly, his demeanor altered. His fondness was carefully concealed, and he could have been a stranger. She couldn’t bear to see him upset—not when she’d been the cause of his distress.
“Don’t be angry,” she pleaded. She wrapped her arms around his waist, but it was like hugging a log.
“I’m not angry.” His own arms were locked at his sides as he restrained himself from hugging her back.
“What else can I do, Stephen? This is a small town, and I live with my brother. I’m not some doxy from the city who has no ties.”