by Mary Nichols
She wasn’t a brown mouse either; she had proved that over and over again. He had known it as soon as he had seen her in the sari and since then she had blossomed, with the face and figure of a goddess and a delightful personality, which grew in confidence with every day that passed. She was also intelligent and well read, able to hold her own in any discourse.
She knew how to give a put-down too, as he had discovered when Lord Billings, having been turned down by Lucy, switched his attention to her and, thinking her no more than a poor relation, had intimated that she should be glad of the honour he was doing her by making an offer.
Dominic, who had not been approached by his lordship for his permission, had been watching through the crack of the open drawing-room door and seen her pick up the hand his lordship had been bold enough to lay upon her arm and drop it, then carefully brush her sleeve as if he had contaminated it.
‘My lord,’ she had said, ‘if I ever stand in need of a family of three half-grown children, I will remember your kind condescension.’ Without waiting for a reply she had swept from the room. He just had time to move away from the door and appear to be sauntering down the hall to the library.
It was certainly not the behaviour of a lady’s maid. Nothing she did reminded him of a servant. It was true she still helped Lucy to dress and kept her clothes tidy, but she did it with such quiet dignity, that no one watching her would think she was doing other than performing an act of kindness for a somewhat untidy young cousin.
Oh, she was an enigma, there was no doubt of it. He ought to have called her bluff from the very beginning, confronted her with his suspicions, asked her outright what deep game she was playing, but it was too late now. He had been hoist on his own petard, allowed himself to become ensnared. His love for her, so reluctantly acknowledged, grew with every passing day until he did not know how he was going to face the rest of his life without her.
He had tried to put her from his mind, had done his best to avoid her, knowing he would almost certainly weaken if he spent any time in her company. But it had been useless. Far from diminishing his love for her, absence had strengthened it. A dozen times a day, he decided he would have to be open about it and tell her, tell the world; a dozen times a day he realised he could not honourably break his engagement to Sophie.
Should he find Emma another post? Surely, among all his friends, there was one who would treat her kindly? But would they love her, treat her as one of the family, as the lady she undoubtedly was? What reason could he give for sending a cousin from his door and putting her to servitude elsewhere? Oh, why had he told that silly untruth?
‘Cousin Dominic,’ he said, giving her a wry smile. ‘Don’t forget, we are kin.’
Oh, it was going to be so very, very difficult and calling him by his given name would only make it worse. ‘My lord, I am surprised you are still purveying that deception.’
‘It is only a little whisker, my dear, nothing to be in a quake over. I have heard far worse than that, and in this house too.’
She did not rise to the bait; indeed, he doubted if she had even noticed the hint. ‘But what can you possibly gain by it? I am certainly not an asset to your household.’
‘I shall be the judge of that, not the tattlemongers,’ he said. ‘So, if you are come here to hand in your notice on their account, you may rest assured it will not be accepted.’
‘Tattlemongers,’ she repeated, diverted from her task. ‘I had no idea the gossip was so unpleasant.’
‘It is nothing that I cannot handle. I am as good at giving a put-down as my illustrious father was and my Aunt Agatha. Now there is someone who would give them all a rightabout. But there, she hardly ever leaves her home in Yorkshire, so her talent will not be put to the test.’
‘My lord…’ Was he deliberately being obtuse? ‘I am not come on my own behalf.’
‘Ah, I thought not. What bumblebath has she fallen into now?’
‘If you mean Lucy, then she has not fallen into anything that I know of. It is not Lucy who needs your help.’
‘Then you? My dear Emma, you have only to say and I will do whatever I can. I told you that before, didn’t I?’
‘Oh, please do not go on so!’ she cried in exasperation. ‘Why won’t you let me get on with what I want to say?’
He looked annoyed for a moment, then his brow cleared and he laughed. She was right; he had been rattling on to no purpose. It was almost as if he did not want to hear her confession, afraid that it could only mean she was in some dreadful illegal plot and his only recourse would be to hand her over to the law. ‘Do go on, I shall not interrupt again.’
‘I want to ask you if you could find work for a naval officer on half-pay. His name is Fergus O’Connor, Captain Fergus O’Connor. You see, he has fallen in love and until he has something to offer the lady, he cannot ask her to marry him.’
For one split second he thought his heart had stopped, but then it resumed its even beat. So that was what those tears had been about the night of Lucy’s ball. A man! He almost laughed aloud. Her deception, over which he had agonised for many a sleepless night, had been no more than a quandary over a love affair. Perhaps it had happened after that incident with the horses in the park; it had not taken him long to discover who the gentleman was and that he was to be Emma’s escort at Lucy’s ball. Perhaps it had begun before that, before she ever came to England and she had left Miss Emma Mountforest’s employ to follow the Captain to England.
His sudden inclination to laugh at himself was just as suddenly turned to grief. It hurt. But then, he told himself, he had no business to mind; he had no claim on her. Why should she not fall in love? But if this Captain O’Connor should turn out to be a scoundrel, then he would personally wring his neck.
He looked across at Emma, sitting demurely with her hands in her lap and wanted to seize them in his own and pull her to him, to tell her not to throw herself away on a sailor, to wait…for what? The nebulous thought which entered his head was pushed quickly away before it could gain more substance. There was no future in it.
‘What have you—has he—in mind?’
‘Something, my lord, which will make him very rich and take him away from here for at least six months.’
He sat forward, startled. ‘Away? For six months?’
‘Yes. Or a year. I thought, perhaps, India.’
‘You do not wish him to stay in London?’
‘No. He must prove himself.’
He would never have believed she could be so calculating. He sat still for a moment, almost speechless with disappointment. That was followed with a kind of relief that she could not be in love with the man or she, being a woman, could never have suggested parting from him. Perhaps all she was doing was trying to rid herself of a tiresome and persistent swain, one who had followed her half across the globe. It was a much more comfortable conjecture and allowed him to think well of her again.
‘I suppose I could arrange for him to sail with the Silken Maid on her next voyage. She is a due back very shortly.’
‘Oh, that would be the very thing!’
‘What would you do in the meantime? Six months can be a very long time when you are young.’
She suddenly realised he had jumped to the wrong conclusion and was about to correct it, but then changed her mind. What did it matter if he thought she was the one Captain O’Connor had fixed his attention on? After all, that was exactly what Lucy had suggested. It had been achieved without having to lie to him. The lies about her name and her previous employment in India were more than enough. She would tell no more.
She smiled. ‘Lucy tells me your wedding is not to be for another six months. You are young too; does it seem like a long time to you?’
He was about to chide her for her impertinence, then changed his mind. She had always had a great deal of spunk; it was one of her endearing qualities. ‘No, for I have much to do before then, arrangements to make, alterations to the house, business affairs…’ He stopped and l
aughed suddenly. ‘Oh, touché, my dear. You do have a way of turning the tables, don’t you?’
She smiled, though her heart was breaking. He was so easy to be with, so ready to see humour in a situation, so in tune with her, she felt they belonged together, like two halves of a whole. Why, oh, why had fate sent her here if it was only to make her miserable?
‘I will do this thing for you,’ he went on when it became obvious she was not going to comment. ‘But I require something from you in return.’
Emma held her breath, wondering what she could do for him; he had everything a man could need and want. ‘My lord?’
‘You will stay here, with Lucy and me, until the Captain returns. I have a feeling Lucy is going to need you.’
His last sentence startled her. Did he know? Had she inadvertently given the game away?
‘Well?’ he queried.
‘If you think your sister needs me, then I will stay.’ Her voice was carefully controlled.
‘Of course she does. I have told you how busy I am going to be and no doubt Miss Mountforest will be equally occupied; your services will be more important than ever.’
‘On the grounds that a poor chaperon is better than no chaperon at all,’ she replied with a light laugh which did not reach her eyes.
‘You are learning all the time. Why, I’ll wager in six months’ time, no one will ever remember criticising me for employing you. Instead they will say how fortunate I am to have found you.’ There was a strange huskiness in his voice which made her look up at him sharply. He was looking at her as if seeing her for the first time and yet, paradoxically, it was a look of affinity, as if they might be worlds apart and yet would always be close.
‘Thank you, my lord.’ She stood up and quietly left the room to go in search of Lucy, leaving him gazing after her, a look on his face it was just as well she could not see.
Lucy was not at all pleased to know that Dominic proposed sending her beloved to India; it was not what she had intended at all. ‘I shall never see him again,’ she wailed.
‘Nonsense, he’ll be back in no time and, if I know your brother, he will have been given every opportunity to make a small fortune. If the Captain loves you, he will come back, and before your brother’s wedding too.’ She smiled reassuringly. ‘The time will pass before you know it and there will be plenty to keep you occupied. His lordship has asked me to stay until then. We shall amuse ourselves.’
It was said more to convince herself than Lucy. Six months was only a fleeting moment in time, it could also be an age. She did not know how she was going to endure it, but for Lucy’s sake, if no other, she would. Besides, where else could she go? The reasons she had for not giving in her notice the day after she arrived were just as valid now as they had been then.
Her head, unlike her heart, told her that fate had sent her to Bedford Row so that she could find out more about Viscount Mountforest and perhaps discover the weak link in his story about the death of that young man so many years ago. Her father had never disclosed the victim’s name.
So she went about her daily tasks, none of them very arduous, and allowed the days to pass one by one without thinking of the future, doing her best to look after her charge and amuse her when she had a fit of the dismals because she had not seen Fergus for weeks, even though he had not yet left for India. Most of all she learned how to avoid being alone with Dominic.
This was not as difficult as she had feared. In fact, she sometimes wondered if he wasn’t also trying to avoid her. If they passed in a corridor or on the stairs, he always seemed to be in a great hurry to go somewhere or meet someone and had no time to stop and talk. If he was dining at home, which was infrequently, they sat at the same table and though he was always polite and included her in the conversation, it was always impersonal: tales of Parliament, Royalty and the latest on dit. His leisure hours were spent with his bride-to-be.
Sophie was often at Bedford Row, discussing plans for its refurbishment with an architect friend of hers, talking colours, materials and furniture to anyone who would listen. Emma hated what she was planning to do to the house and so did Lucy. It was her childhood home where she had been happy with her mama and papa and she objected to anything which might change it. She was always at loggerheads with Sophie over it and Dominic was obliged to smooth ruffled feathers and keep the peace.
‘I shall be glad when the Season is over, and we can go back to Cavenham,’ Lucy told Emma. They were riding in the open carriage in Hyde Park, using their parasols to shield them from the warm July sun, bowing this way and that to acquaintances they passed. ‘If she says once more that French furniture is superior to English I think I shall throw something, preferably that monstrosity of a mirror she had put over the drawing-room mantel. Cherubs, indeed!’
Emma laughed, as the barouche slowed to negotiate two stationary vehicles which blocked the carriage way, their occupants deep in gossip. ‘And you do not hesitate to let her know your feelings on the subject. You would do better, Lucy dear, to employ more tact. After all, she will soon be your sister-in-law.’
‘I cannot understand Dominic allowing her such a free rein,’ Lucy went on. ‘He is not usually so indifferent. I have seen him in a towering rage over much less. Why, when Mama wanted to modernise the library which is old and fusty, just as it was in our grandfather’s time and could really do with improvement, he refused even to consider it. But now it is almost as if he no longer cares.’
‘Then perhaps you should drop a hint to Sophie that she should concentrate on the library next,’ Emma said, with a hint of mischief.
Lucy’s laughter pealed out, making one or two ladies in the vicinity turn in their carriages to see whence it came. ‘Oh, Emma! I do believe you would like to see Sophie out of favour.’
Emma did not answer.
‘I shall be glad when I am married and out of it,’ Lucy went on. ‘The atmosphere in the house is so disturbing. And no one cares what I think any more.’
‘Is that why you are so anxious to marry Captain O’Connor, simply to escape from an atmosphere you find uncongenial? You would be marrying for all the wrong reasons.’
‘In my opinion, that is exactly what Dominic is doing.’
Emma sighed. She might have managed to avoid meeting and talking to Dominic, but she could not avoid hearing about him. Next to Fergus, he dominated Lucy’s existence. He was the big brother who had spoiled her all her life and who now seemed to have little time for her. Poor little Lucy was jealous. But then, so was she! ‘How can that be? I would have said they were well suited.’
‘That’s just it, they are well suited. They look well together; he is handsome and she is beautiful; he has a title and she has a fortune. What could be more suitable?’
‘How cynical you are, Lucy. That does not mean that they do not love each other.’
Emma was ambivalent over these conversations about Dominic. Hearing and speaking his name was enough to set her limbs shaking and rekindle the flame he had lit in her heart; she could not help wanting to talk about him, to learn more and more, to get inside the character of the man. It was a kind of self-torture.
‘Love is not something the matchmakers consider a requirement,’ Lucy said.
‘Are you saying your brother’s is an arranged marriage? They have those in India, of course, but I did not think it happened in England.’
‘No, not arranged, simply encouraged.’
‘By whom?’
‘By both sets of parents, of course.’
‘How did they meet? Your brother and Miss Mountforest, I mean.’
‘Bertie Cosgrove introduced them. The Cosgroves and the Mountforests have been friends for ages. I believe Bertie’s father was the Viscount’s boyhood friend. From what I have heard, they were as close as brothers.’
Emma found herself holding her breath. Was she in possession of a piece of the puzzle? ‘I thought Mr Cosgrove was your brother’s friend?’
‘So he is, from their days as student
s, though they had been acquaintances before that because Bertie’s farm is only seven miles from Cavenham House and the two boys, living so close, were bound to meet on occasion. Bertie brought Sophie over to Cavenham when she visited the Cosgroves some years ago. They were out riding, he said, and she had expressed an interest in the house. I think Bertie has rued the day ever since.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he wanted her himself. I am surprised you have not noticed the odd way he looks at her. Poor fellow—unlike Dominic, he does not have a title. In fact, if it were not for the farm and the horses he breeds, he would not have a feather to fly with.’
‘Does Sophie know how Mr Cosgrove feels about her.’
‘I am sure she does. But, of course, he is not at all suitable.’ Her heavy emphasis on the last word, easily conveyed what she thought about that. ‘It doesn’t stop her flirting with him to make Dominic jealous.’
‘Now, that is enough,’ Emma said, belatedly remembering her role as mentor. ‘We must hold ourselves above unkind gossip. You never know where it may lead.’
‘You did ask,’ Lucy said with a grin.
Which was only too true and she wished she had not. For one tiny second there had flared deep inside her a little glimmer of something that was almost like hope. It died almost at once when she realised that whatever the rights and wrongs of it, the announcement had been made and nothing short of the death of one of the partners could prevent the marriage taking place. An honourable man, and Dominic was one, simply did not renege on a promise to marry.
‘I think it is time to turn for home,’ she said, tapping the driver on the shoulder with her parasol to tell him to turn the carriage about.
Ten minutes later, they entered the front door to find the hallway blocked by a mountain of luggage and two footmen engaged in taking it upstairs, supervised by a maid Emma had never seen before. Lucy knew her, though.