“I see you at peace, my dear. Happy. Golden stars floating in a green sea . . . berries on a bed of words.”
The gazebo . . . Lord Mather’s pile of blackberries on his newspaper . . .
Emmeline’s rational mind could not come to terms with her mother’s strange predictions. She didn’t believe in the supernatural or in psychic phenomenon. But she also hadn’t believed she would ever fall in love with a man like Lord Mather, and it appeared that was exactly what was happening.
Chapter 9
Arthur sat alone in the breakfast room. He chewed on a piece of bacon as he read an article in the Times. He had half a mind to underline a few passages about the Chilean War of Independence. Not because he thought Miss Newton would wish to argue about it but because she might find it interesting. But this article didn’t particularly stand out to him any more than the others since the young lady was interested in practically everything. Over the past few days since they’d taken shelter from the rain in the duke’s gazebo, they’d yet to run out of topics for discussion. Arthur left each interaction with the young lady more impressed each time, both with her extensive knowledge about various topics and her curiosity and desire to learn more.
As a typically solitary man, Arthur couldn’t remember enjoying any one person’s company as much as he did Miss Newton’s.
He realized he was smiling and took a drink of tea. Instead of marking an article to discuss later, he wrote a small note in the margin beside a report on the British control over the Maratha Empire.
Hoping your day is enjoyable.
He looked at what he’d written, debating for a long moment over whether to sign his name. In the end, he didn’t. Miss Newton would know who had written it. He read it again, questioning whether he should have written it in the first place. The message sounded stilted and supremely dull. He considered, trying to come up with something more clever to say. But what? He should have at least made a joke. Something to make her smile. He tapped his pencil on the table, thinking of how to improve the little scribble in the newspaper margin. What if he added a drawing? He dismissed the idea immediately. No, that was silly. He was acting like a lovesick schoolboy.
The thought brought him up short. Lovesick? Is that what he was? Was his friendship with Miss Newton more than friendship after all? Just thinking about her made his stomach roll over in a delicious feeling. He felt hot and cold and nervous and giddy—was that love? Or infatuation? Or had he put too much sugar in his tea?
Without thinking about it, he sought her out during the day, and the two ended up sitting by each other in the drawing room after dinner, as if by arrangement. His first thought in the morning was when he might have the opportunity to see her, and his last thought upon falling asleep was of a conversation they’d had, the freckles on her nose, or her particular way of tipping her head when she was thinking.
But could he be in love? His feelings were so very different than those he’d felt for Margaret. He’d thought his first wife very agreeable, and he’d believed she would be a good hostess when the two received guests, but while he’d admired her beauty, his affection for Margaret had most certainly not been love, and he felt guilty for it. It seemed unfair to both of them to have had a loveless marriage.
Giles entered the room and cleared his throat. “Your steward has arrived, my lord.”
“Thank you.” Arthur glanced at the clock on the mantel. Mr. Lambert was precisely on time, as usual. The steward brought the tenant leases. Even though he could have just as easily put the documents in the post, Arthur felt they were important enough to have the man deliver them personally. The two of them typically went through each one, discussing changes or adjustments that either he or the tenants had requested before signing. Mr. Lambert was extremely meticulous in his work, and Arthur hoped the process wouldn’t take longer than a few hours.
“I installed him in the library and sent a footman with breakfast for him, as you requested,” Giles said.
“Very good.” Arthur folded the newspaper, disappointed that he’d not come up with a witty message for Miss Newton, and set it beside his plate. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and rose, coming around the table. As he did, he glanced at the mirror over the fireplace and stopped, sighing as he tried to fix the knot in his cravat.
“Let me help you, my lord.”
Miss Stewart came up behind him, her gaze holding his in the mirror. She slipped in between him and the mantel and loosened his cravat knot.
Arthur instinctively took a step back, but she matched him, staying much closer than he was comfortable with. He cleared his throat. “You’re awake early, Miss Stewart. Have you plans for the day?”
“I hoped to catch you,” she said, still working on the knot. She blinked slowly, looking up at him with large eyes. “I’ve not seen you as much these past days. I thought perhaps we could take out a boat onto the pond? We hadn’t the opportunity to enjoy ourselves last time. And the weather promises to be lovely today.”
“That sounds very nice,” he said, pulling away slowly so not to appear rude. “I have business with my steward this morning. But perhaps later.”
Miss Stewart stuck out her lip in a pout. “You absolutely must promise, my lord.” She tightened his cravat knot and adjusted his collar, scooting closer as she reached around the back of his neck to smooth it.
Arthur caught her arms and pulled them away gently. “Thank you, miss. And my cravat knot thanks you.”
“Did you know,” Miss Stewart said, taking his arm and walking with him toward the breakfast room doorway, “that the Griffins have invited a psychic to host a séance tomorrow?”
“I’d heard something of the sort,” Arthur said.
“It’s all nonsense, if you ask me.” She wrinkled her nose. “An utter waste of time, and—dare I say—sacrilegious.”
Arthur thought that was going rather far. The diversion, while strange, seemed harmless enough.
“And,” Miss Stewart said, her eyes narrowing, “I have learned the psychic is none other than Miss Newton’s own mother. What do you say to that?”
“The Griffins are our hosts,” he said, taking her hand from his arm. “If they choose to invite a psychic—whether we think it’s nonsense or a waste of time or sacrilegious—we, as their guests, should do them the courtesy of attending with an open mind.”
“But surely you don’t believe Miss Newton’s mother can contact spirits?”
He didn’t. But he wouldn’t speak ill of the baroness. “I do not know.”
“I think she is a charlatan,” Miss Stewart said.
“Well, we shall have to wait and see, won’t we?” He bowed and started away, feeling as though he’d just escaped a sort of trap. Miss Stewart’s actions were not typical, and he wondered what had gotten into the young lady.
He stepped through the breakfast room doorway and nearly ran into Miss Newton. His stomached flipped over pleasantly when he saw her, and he inclined his head.
“Good morning to you, my lord.” She curtsied, and a bit of pink rose to her cheeks. She looked utterly fetching. “Finished with breakfast already? I hope you did not eat all the berries.”
He grinned. “Good morning to you as well, Miss Newton.” A thought came to him. What if Miss Newton had walked into the breakfast room a few moments earlier and seen Miss Stewart with her arms around his neck? Had that been the young lady’s plan all along? He got a sick feeling. Miss Newton wasn’t the type to be angered over a misunderstanding, but he didn’t want to give her any reason to question him either. Her opinion of him had become extremely important, and Arthur did not wish to jeopardize it.
“You got to the Times first today,” she said. “Did you mark specific passages for me to read?”
“Perhaps.” He smiled, wanting to hit himself for not writing a more diverting message in the newspaper margin. He would put some thought into it and come
up with something better for tomorrow. “You will have to see.” He inclined his head. “I’m sorry to hurry away, but if you’ll excuse me, I am to meet with my steward today.”
Miss Newton’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, I hope all is well with your estate.”
He nodded, pleased at her concern. “It is. Rather a routine duty today but one I feel should be taken care of personally.”
“And I intend to finish the book Mr. Griffin loaned me about the history of Wolvesey Castle before our outing tomorrow. It is fascinating.”
“Then you must tell me all about it while we are there.”
“I shall.” She nodded. “Have a pleasant day, my lord.”
“And you as well, Miss Newton.” On impulse, Arthur took her hand, feeling the warmth of her soft fingers.
Miss Newton jumped, surprised by the action. Then she smiled, squeezing his hand in return. The pink on her cheeks deepened into a rosy blush that somehow corresponded directly to the heat inside Arthur’s chest. He bowed and left for the library, whistling a merry tune as he walked. There were worse ways to start one’s day.
***
Mr. Lambert rose when Arthur entered, and the slender man wiped a napkin quickly across his mouth. “My lord.”
“Finish your breakfast,” Arthur said. “You’ve had a long day already.” The steward would have had to leave Mather Hall well before dawn to arrive at Griffin Park by such an early hour.
“Thank you, my lord.” He sat back into the leather chair and leaned over a side table to cut a bite of sausage, then put it into his mouth. He pointed with his fork toward a leather portfolio on the desk. “There are the lease contracts, as you requested.”
Arthur unlatched the buckle and slid out the documents. “Everything is in order?”
“Yes, my lord. No surprises this year.”
Arthur was glad to hear it.
Once Mr. Lambert was finished eating, they got to work. Arthur not only wanted to read through the contracts but also wanted to discuss each of the tenants and their circumstances. It was as important to recognize those whose land produced well as it was to figure out why others struggled. Was it a matter of individual work ethic? Or were there other factors at play?
As Mr. Lambert made his reports and they read through the lease agreements, Arthur found that contrary to his usual capacity for concentration, his mind kept wandering back to the breakfast room. What had happened once he’d left the two young ladies? Had Miss Stewart behaved rudely to Miss Newton? He couldn’t imagine her insulting another of Mrs. Griffin’s guests outright, but she’d surprised him this morning. Miss Stewart was not as angelic as she’d wanted everyone to believe, and her true colors were showing in her jealousy of Miss Newton; first in the play and then at the race.
Arthur glanced at the door more than once, thinking he would like to be there should she say something hurtful. He knew Miss Newton could hold her own against any of Miss Stewart’s affronts, but she was not always as unshakable as she tried to appear. As he’d seen in the gazebo after her argument with Rothschild.
Three hours later, Mr. Lambert slid the last lease contract back into the case, and the two men sat back in their seats. Arthur bent his neck to the side to work out the stiffness.
Mr. Lambert picked up the portfolio. “If there is nothing else, my lord—”
“Wait.” Arthur slid out a paper from Griff’s desk and uncapped his ink well. “I promised Mr. Wilburn I’d write a letter recommending his son for a clerk’s apprenticeship in Town. Harold, isn’t it?” Seeing Mr. Lambert’s nod, he dipped in a quill and wrote quietly for a moment. When he finished, he sat back, waiting for the ink to dry, then Mr. Lambert secured the envelope with wax and Arthur’s family seal.
“I believe that’s everything,” Arthur said. He rose, and the men walked toward the library entrance. Arthur opened the door while Mr. Lambert slid the letter into the portfolio with the other documents.
“You’ve done the family a great service, sir,” the steward said.
“They are fine people, and I would do no less for any tenant who gave as much effort to their schooling as the Wilburns.”
The two walked through the great hall toward the front entrance.
“How are the other Wilburn children?” Arthur asked.
“Doing well, my lord. With your help, Charles has secured his own ministry in a small village in Kent. And George excels in his studies.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Giles met them at the entrance and gave Mr. Lambert a basket containing a luncheon to be eaten in his carriage.
Arthur smiled his thanks for the butler’s thoughtfulness. He bid Mr. Lambert farewell and turned to go back inside the house. But he stopped as an idea occurred to him. He put out his hand to prevent Giles from closing the door. “Wait, Mr. Lambert.”
The steward stepped back into the doorway, shifting the basket to his other arm. “Yes, my lord?”
“The Wilburns have a daughter as well, do they not?”
“They do sir,” Mr. Lambert said. “Their youngest, Cassie.”
“And does she attend school as well?”
“I shouldn’t think so, sir.”
“Encourage it, if you please, Mr. Lambert,” Arthur said. “And make it known to all my tenants that if their daughters wish to attend school, I will pay half of their tuition, as I’ve done for the boys.”
“My lord?” Mr. Lambert’s eyes were so wide Arthur thought they might be in danger of falling out.
“The Widow Summers runs a day school in town. A female seminary, I believe,” Arthur continued, ignoring the shocked look on his steward’s face. “Make certain that she teaches scholarly topics, such as mathematics and biology, as well as the usual young ladies’ subjects.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Arthur bid his steward good day once more, and once more, he walked back through the great hall, whistling a tune. A smile pulled at his lips.
It must be love, he reasoned. What else could cause such a change in this stubborn man’s heart?
Chapter 10
The journey into Winchester the next morning took nearly an hour and a half, but the day was sunny, and the Griffin’s carriage was well sprung. The gentlemen rode on ahead, grateful for a chance to exercise their horses, and Emmeline rode with the ladies in the open landau.
Joanna sat beside her, Mrs. Griffin and Miss Stewart facing.
Emmeline tipped back her head to let the sun shine on her face. The ladies chatted pleasantly, Mrs. Griffin occasionally indicating a point of interest on the way.
“Today is simply gorgeous,” Joanna said as the carriage rolled along a narrow road between hedgerows. “Perfect for a picnic among castle ruins.”
“I do wish the weather had cooperated like this for our race,” Mrs. Griffin said, grimacing.
“I think the rain added an extra challenge to the contest,” Joanna said. She smiled brightly, as usual finding the positive aspect to the situation.
“Nice weather might have saved my shoes,” Miss Stewart said. She huffed as if mud on her shoes was the worst fate imaginable and adjusted her parasol to prevent one ray of sunlight from touching her skin.
“I imagine you do not agree, Miss Newton,” Mrs. Griffin said. She raised and lowered her brows, smirking mischievously.
Emmeline glanced at Miss Stewart’s shoes. “I’m not sure I understand your meaning, Mrs. Griffin.”
“Harriet.” Mrs. Griffin shook her head, smiling. “How is it that you still do not call me Harriet?”
Emmeline gave a confused smile. “I’m not sure I understand your meaning, Harriet.”
“Well,” she leaned closer, glancing ahead to where the men had ridden. “If the weather had behaved, you would never have been caught in the rain with Lord Mather.” She raised and lowered her brows again.
“Are you
going to tell us what happened, Emmeline?” Joanna leaned forward as well.
Emmeline squirmed at the assumption. She looked between the women. Harriet and Joanna were wide-eyed with anticipation of a good story, and Miss Stewart looked quite the opposite, watching Emmeline with a scowl. Her parasol’s shadow on her face made her look even more angry. “Nothing happened,” she said. “I was simply caught in the rain, and not wanting to take cover in the pig house, I ran to the gazebo. Lord Mather found me there, and we waited until the rain stopped.”
“But something must have happened,” Harriet said. “The two of you have argued for weeks—at every opportunity. Then you return from a rainstorm and—”
“And now you share smiles and glances across the dining table,” Joanna finished, her eyes twinkling with implication.
“Things are very different between the two of you now,” Harriet said.
“There was nothing improper at all.” Emmeline could feel Miss Stewart’s glare without even glancing in her direction. She kept her own expression open and hoped she didn’t betray her feelings. “Lord Mather behaved very gentlemanly. He came to find me and ensure that I was all right. He lent me his coat, and we . . .” She felt a blush rise up her neck and hoped the others didn’t notice.
“Yes?” Joanna and Harriet spoke in unison, leaning forward.
They’d noticed.
“We talked.”
Joanna and Harriet shared an overly dramatic look, then returned to looking at Emmeline. “What did you talk about?” Harriet asked.
“This and that. Truly, it was nothing worthy of all this speculation. I think we may have talked about berries, and a cousin of mine entered into the conversation at one point.”
“I think it highly improper for a young lady and a gentleman to spend so much time alone—without a chaperone,” Miss Stewart said.
Emmeline Page 8