by Nichole Van
Emma turned and shot a loaded glance back at James. She was trying to deflect the tension. Bless her.
Sir Henry beamed. “Such an excellent question, Miss Emma. Exotic plants are the prize of my greenhouses. In fact, there was one plant I discovered while traveling in the back country of Virginia. . . .” Sir Henry continued at length.
Of course, asking Sir Henry about his collections was also another excellent way to annoy Linwood, who turned to glare icy daggers at his food.
James shifted his gaze back to Emma, noting the small wry smile that hovered on her lips. She flicked her eyes to Linwood and then rolled them slightly into her head, indicating her opinion of the viscount. James’ own answering grin tightened.
Ah yes, she was a delight.
She turned back to their host, giving him her attention. But James found himself looking at her as Sir Henry rattled on.
The dusky green of her gown lent her skin a gentle glow in the candlelight and caught the mossy highlights in her eyes. The clever mind and good humor behind her wide smile drawing him in. James took a deep breath and ignored that kicked-through-the-gut feeling that was becoming all too familiar when around her. It was a serious nuisance. Making his thinking crowded.
He still smiled over their walk yesterday. Zombies? Ninjas? How did she come up with such delightfully absurd things? He loved watching emotions skitter across her face. How she seemed to be constantly exploring the world around her, finding everything different and new. Her eyes radiant and so alive.
James groaned inwardly. He was doing it again. After he had sworn not to. He had given himself a stern talking to while dressing for dinner. No matter how charming and delightful their guest appeared, the simple fact remained she knew nothing of herself. She could be betrothed or even married, making him a cad for looking at her as anything other than his guest.
A guest who would regain her memory, return to Mr. F and leave James’ life as abruptly as she had entered it. As she should. As was right.
He needed to resist.
Resist her droll wit. Resist her melting hazel eyes. Resist the pull that whispered she was meant for him.
To call her intriguing was an understatement. Captivating. Bewitching, perhaps. Enough to make a man forget himself.
As long as he was the only man to do so. Linwood could take his perusing looks and go—
“Sir Henry! Sir Henry!!” Emma suddenly exclaimed, interrupting James’ thoughts.
James jerked his head back to see Sir Henry staggering to his feet, his hands around his throat, his face slowly turning purple.
James swore and instantly jumped up, toppling his chair with a crash. One of the ladies behind him screamed. Dashing around Emma, he pounded upon Sir Henry’s back, trying to dislodge whatever was choking him.
“Sir Henry!” he cried frantically. “Help! Can someone help?!”
Chapter 15
Emme stood in confusion. Time moved in slow motion. Later she would wonder why she hadn’t panicked too. Why she had felt such calm.
But at the moment, she experienced no fear. Just puzzlement. Choking seemed a simple thing to solve. But James wasn’t doing what needed to be done. In fact, he seemed desperate.
Darting her eyes around the room, Emme realized Sir Henry would die unless someone helped him. But no one moved. No one seemed to know what to do.
With a shake of her head, Emme rushed forward and pushed James aside. Standing behind Sir Henry, she wrapped her hands around his girth, placing one fist into his solar plexus, her other hand on top on it and then jerked upward hard and swift.
Once. Twice. Three times. The movement was difficult in her tight corset. Emme’s ribs strained against the whalebone stays. But on the third jerk, a large piece of quail launched from Sir Henry’s mouth and shot down the table, landing with a splash in the vicar’s glass of claret.
Sir Henry collapsed, drawing in a ragged deep breath of air and sank to the floor, coughing violently. Emme sighed in relief and lifted her head.
Everyone in the room stared at her. James. Linwood. Arthur. Marianne. Georgiana. The vicar and his wife. The portly son frozen with fork halfway to his mouth. The horrified matron shielding her daughters from the excitement. Even the white-haired spinsters peered cautiously from behind.
All with the crazy eyes.
Not knowing what to say, Emme shifted her gaze to James, who stared at her with a look somewhere between awe and dismay. That startled I-have-no-clue-what-to-say look.
“I . . . I believe Sir Henry will be okay,” she said. Even to her ears it seemed lame. “So . . . nothing more to see here. Keep calm and . . . uh . . . carry on.”
That sounded even worse.
Not knowing what else to do, Emme bent over and slid a hand under Sir Henry’s elbow to help him back into his chair. He continued to cough, and Emme pressed a glass of water into his hand. He took it with shaking hand and drank deeply.
“Thank you, m’dear. This indeed does take all,” Sir Henry murmured to Emme when he could talk, his voice hoarse. “You saved my life. I thought you to be remarkable, but now I know you to be so.”
James met her eyes over Sir Henry’s head, his expression clearly stating he felt the same.
Haldon Manor
The stables
May 10, 1812
“Are you ready to try this?” James asked, gesturing toward the placid mare being led by a groom.
“Of course,” Emma replied with a confident nod of her head.
James noted that she seemed well-rested despite all the excitement of the night before. Sir Henry had a sore throat but was otherwise fine from his near-death experience. He had thanked Emma over and over until his voice ran out entirely. All of the other guests had treated her with a mixture of awed respect and wary suspicion. Linwood had merely looked bored, acting as if the entire incident had not occurred.
This morning, Emma wore Georgiana’s red velvet riding habit and a jaunty little hat. James suppressed a pang at seeing her in it. How long had it been since Georgiana had felt well enough to ride? Any strain made breathing difficult. Another reminder of how his sister’s illness had limited her choices. Though Georgiana’s health had improved with Emma’s presence, she was far from cured.
Emma, however, glowed with vitality and warmth, the deep red of the gown catching highlights in her dark hair. He mentally sighed against the feeling of familiarity whenever she was near. Like she was the other half that completed him—a piece of his life that he hadn’t realized had been lost. Like a telescope where initially all is blurry and confused, but then with a few adjustments, everything becomes sharply distinct.
What had started as a simple, good-natured attempt to put their guest at ease was rapidly turning into something more. A something more that could never be. James realized he needed a good bout with Ethan. That usually settled his thinking.
However, he ruefully acknowledged seeing Emma again would immediately unsettle his thinking. The way things were going, he would need a good fight about every four hours or so to work out his tangled emotions. James shook his head. When had he become so maudlin?
Emma approached the mare, making calming noises and gently scratching the horse between the eyes. The sedate mare would give her no trouble.
“Are you ready?” he asked again.
“Yes. Though it seems you chose a decidedly calm mount for my first excursion. Perhaps a little too docile for my taste.” She gave him a wry grin.
Moving comfortably around to the mare’s side, she inspected the side-saddle.
“But this saddle. . . .” He watched as she paused and studied it with a puzzled look. “So I place my right knee over this pommel and wedge my left knee under this one, correct?” She gestured toward the forked pommel of the saddle.
James nodded. “Would you like help up?”
“Please.”
James stepped close to her and cupped his gloved hands together, making a pocket for her left foot. He watched her breathe in and
tried to ignore the subtle scent of lavender that clung to her. Tried to ignore the searing touch of her gloved hand as she placed it on his right shoulder for balance. He lifted his head and found himself staring into her hazel eyes, green and gold in the morning light. Pools of liquid summer.
Her eyes widened slightly, as if his nearness affected her too.
The moment lingered just a little too long.
James felt his chest constrict sharply. And in that moment he realized.
He was falling. Fast and hard.
With a swallow, Emma broke their gaze and placed her booted foot into his hands, springing up. She twisted herself into the side saddle, hooking her right knee over the top pommel and settling her balance, back straight and facing forward.
“Here is your riding cane,” James said, handing up a long quirt to her, trying to bring his heart rate down.
She took it with a somewhat puzzled look.
James smiled. “It’s your opposite leg, for cuing the horse as you ride.”
Emma nodded her head in understanding, though seemed to be thoughtfully considering something too. “This all makes perfect sense. But may I be shockingly honest for a moment?”
James chuckled. “Please. Complete candor is always a delight.”
“I do believe I am used to riding a horse astride, not side saddle.”
James felt a small jolt of surprise. That was a mental image he had not needed this morning. Riding astride was not common for a woman, though not unheard of either.
“Side saddle may take some getting used to,” Emma conceded.
Taking a deep breath and forcing his unruly emotions aside, James swung up onto Luther’s back. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
They rode at a sedate pace, James keeping an eye on Emma to ensure she stayed in her saddle. Though slightly wobbly at first, she seemed to have settled in, controlling her horse easily. Of course, the gentle mare was not one to cause trouble.
“This is lovely. Thank you for suggesting a ride,” Emma murmured after a while, patting the mare’s neck. “Though next time, I might request a more spirited mount, Mr. Knight.”
“James,” he corrected her without thinking.
Now why had he done that? He was supposed to be putting distance between them. Not encouraging more intimacy.
But for some reason, his mouth was acting separately from his brain.
So, of course, he continued, “You call Georgiana by her first name. You should extend the courtesy to me as well.”
Her eyebrows rose fractionally. “Wouldn’t it be considered a little fast for me to call you James?”
“Probably.”
He watched her consider it for a moment and then shrug her shoulders. “I suppose it shan’t hurt. I admitted earlier to riding astride, and I seem to know a great many unusual things, like how to prevent gentleman from choking.”
“Which proved miraculously useful, as Sir Henry would assure you,” James chuckled.
“And we mustn’t forget I was quite thoroughly snubbed by a viscount, so calling you James shouldn’t detract too much from my already doubtful reputation.” She finished with a teasing smile.
James snorted. “Linwood can be a complete ass at times.”
“Only at times?” she quipped. “From the little I have seen and heard about him, it seems to be more a permanent state for the erstwhile viscount.”
He laughed in surprise. “That is true too. We played together growing up. Arthur and I were the only children in the area that the old viscount considered worthy of associating with his heir. But Timothy was always so serious, too serious for me as a playmate. And Arthur practically hero-worshipped him, always following Timothy about like a lost puppy.”
“Arthur didn’t worship you? Isn’t that what younger brothers are supposed to do?”
James snorted. “I am hardly worship-worthy material. My mother made it clear from an early age that my behavior was something of a disgrace. Arthur was quick to absorb her lessons.”
“Truly? What do you do that is so disgraceful?”
“For starters, I try but usually fail to care about propriety as much as I should.”
“Indeed?”
“For example, I just realized I should have included a groom on our little excursion here.” James glanced around them with a slight grimace. “So now you find yourself alone with me without a chaperone. A classic example of my thoughtlessness, as Arthur would say.”
James shook his head. He would never learn. Thoughts struggled to stay in his head at times. And unless something was important to him, he usually completely forgot about it.
“Are we not to be alone together?” Emma’s brow creased, as if trying to recall something but failing.
“Propriety would say so.”
“Oh dear, how could you!” Her hazel eyes held his, teasing. “And if I call you James, doesn’t it also follow that you should call me Emma?”
“Probably.” James slanted a sideways glance at her. She had a small smile on her lips.
“Perfect,” she said, locking and holding his gaze. “James, do you think that this sweet mare might be able to stretch her legs a bit? I would love to go for more of a real ride.”
James merely winked at her and kicked Luther into a gallop, grinning as she gasped and encouraged her mare to follow.
“Cheater!” Her voice called after him.
They rode their horses into a lather and then turned back toward Haldon Manor, the path taking them through the north end of Marfield. James tipped his hat to each tenant he encountered. People who had either raised him or he had grown up with or he now provided for. Sometimes all three at once. It never ceased to surprise him how intertwined rural country lives were. They stopped to chat with Mr. Peters and asked about his goats (who had escaped yet again). And when the youngest Griffith boy darted by, James inquired after the health of his prize sheepdog (who had just been delivered of a record twleve puppies). They had set their mounts toward home again when commotion erupted from the row of houses down a side street.
A large woman was unceremoniously tossing things out her front door and into the road. Her bright red hair escaped from her matron’s cap, and a stream of obscenities flowed from her mouth. A bumbling man staggered in the street, trying to alternately catch and dodge items as they flew at him.
It appeared Mrs. Baker had had enough. Again
Mr. Baker was something of a philanderer and a lot of a drunk. Neither of which set well with Mrs. Baker, even on a good day. Every couple of months, he would do something truly outrageous, and Mrs. Baker would toss him—along with random possessions—out of the house. Mr. Baker would gather them up and go sleep at the blacksmith’s until his wife invited him back. It always created quite the ruckus, giving Mrs. Baker some much needed attention and sympathy from her neighbors. It also afforded Mr. Baker a much needed reprieve from his wife.
James paused. He should probably shepherd Emma away from Mrs. Baker’s somewhat expansive use of the English language. But turning, he caught Emma’s eye, saw the delighted mischief in them. Watched her lips twitch with repressed laughter. Their gazes locked and held.
Current hummed between them.
Emme found herself staring as the woman tossed things out of her house, streaming vulgarities.
It was quite the performance.
The woman would stand in the doorway and scream, gesturing wildly, and then she would stride back into the house, muffling her language, and then appear at an upper window, still mid-sentence, flinging shirts and breeches and shoes one item at a time dramatically out the window. All the while turning the air blue, her face red as her hair from the exertion. Her half-drunk husband staggered below to catch the items as they fell. Trying to look bashful or ashamed but failing at both. And throughout it all, little dogs squealed and ran.
No. Emme took that back.
Not dogs. Piglets. Those were piglets.
Three of them, squeeing and oinking and generally adding to
the mayhem. They would first hide behind Mrs. Baker. When she moved back into the house to drag something else out, the piglets ran into the street and danced around Mr. Baker, only to dodge whatever Mrs. Baker decided to throw. The piglets would then squeal and surround Mr. Baker, trying to jump up with their too short little legs.
It was totally awesome.
Or so thought Alter Emme.
Even better, that dry voice in her head kept inserting a beeping noise every time Mrs. Baker swore.
“How dare you show your beeping beep face here after what Mrs. Jenkins told me you were up to last night with that beep beeeeeping trollop! Beep, beep BEEEPPP!! How could you make me a laughing stock yet again?!” She punctuated each profanity by jabbing a hand into the air.
Alter Emme was of the opinion that Mrs. Baker was doing a fine job of humiliating herself sans her husband’s assistance. The squealing piglets seemed to agree.
Emme chanced a sideways glance at James, catching his eye. She held his gaze for a moment, noting his suppressed mirth. She loved that they both saw humor in the absurd. Something deep within her whispered that this kind of connection was rare. But Emme wasn’t prepared to analyze such feelings.
So instead, she said, “If I had to choose a winner, I do believe I would place my money on the piglets.”
James smiled, wide and crinkly as usual. “Indeed. They do look small but fierce.”
“You are going to interrupt my fun, aren’t you?” She flitted a glance back to the emotional carnage. It truly was a spectacular site.
“Probably.”
“And say that my tender ears shouldn’t be listening to such profane language. Am I right?”
James chuckled, “Why, yes, indeed. Mrs. Baker has expanded our linguistic horizons quite enough for one day. Come. I want to check on something on the way home.”
He turned his mount and continued on down the road. Reluctantly, with a longing backward glance at the ongoing circus, Emme nudged her mare to follow.
Outside Marfield, they turned down the road to Haldon Manor but soon left the lane. Wending their way through the rustling forest, Emme blinked as they emerged from the shade of the trees and rode into a wide clearing. The large meadow felt familiar though somehow not.