Running from Scandal

by Amanda McCabe

  ‘He left you nothing at all?’

  A strange intensity in the question made her glance at him sharply over the teapot. ‘You know he did not. But I am finding ways to look after myself.’

  ‘Your family, I’m sure. Or perhaps you are planning to marry your ever-so-serious neighbour?’

  Emma gave a choked laugh. Marry Sir David? Surely it would as easy for her to fly to the moon. ‘I am not the sort of wife Sir David Marton would require.’

  ‘The more fool him, then.’ Philip gave her another smile as she handed him the cup, a different smile. One quieter, more intimate. ‘You really are looking lovely, Emma. The countryside seems to agree with you.’

  ‘I am quite content here,’ she said. ‘I wish that you could find the same. You really have been a good friend to me, Philip. You deserved better from Henry.’

  ‘Oh, I think I am closer to finding contentment than ever before,’ Philip said mysteriously. ‘Now, tell me more about your new life here, Emma. I find myself quite intrigued...’

  * * *

  David urged his horse faster down the lane until they were galloping, the wind rushing past and the hedgerows turning to a green blur as they soared by. Zeus was glad to have his head and tossed his glossy black mane back in joy. But the wild run didn’t set David free.

  Usually a fast ride released the tension built inside of him, took him out of himself, but not today. Today the recklessness and burning anger he kept tied up inside threatened to consume him.

  He sent Zeus soaring over a ditch, bent low against the horse’s neck as they flew. He had no right to feel jealous of anything Emma Carrington did, yet he feared that was exactly what fuelled his fury now. When he saw that man holding her in his arms, David just wanted to grab the blighter by his dandyish coat and plant a facer on him.

  And then he wanted to grab Emma in his own arms and kiss her until she never wanted to look at another man but him. Until she cried out his name only.

  The fierceness of his primitive instincts appalled him. He didn’t recognise himself—or at least not the man he had long strictly schooled himself to be. Responsible, reliable, never thoughtlessly angry. And he had now long lived by the dictates of control and decorum.

  Until Emma. She brought out a recklessness he had thought conquered. Not even Maude, who he had once desired, ever made him feel that way. Her scandalous desertion had only made him more determined to exert control over every aspect of his life, to protect his daughter and his family name.

  But Emma—she brought out the old wildness in him. Every time he looked at her, every time she smiled or laughed and he saw her green eyes brighten like a warm, lazy summer’s day, he only wanted to be closer to her. To be a part of her light, fun spirit and see the world as she surely did.

  Her husband had disappointed her, just as Maude had with him. But Emma didn’t seem defeated by it. How did she do that? He wanted that for himself—he wanted her. Wanted her as he had never wanted anything else—wildly, passionately.

  And he had to beat that down, just as he did every desire, every attempt of his darker side to defeat him. Passion had no place in his life. It only led to destruction and ruin. He needed order in his life and Emma Carrington was the very definition of chaos.

  Why, then, did he keep remembering the way she felt in his arms? The way she tasted, the smell of her perfume all around him, the sound of her sighs? When he danced with her, kissed her, he never wanted to stop. Never wanted her to go away.

  And then that man—Philip Carrington—appeared. When David saw Emma in his arms, the two of them laughing as he spun her around, anger as strong as his desire threatened to overwhelm him. But he should have been grateful for Mr Carrington’s timely arrival. It was a vital reminder to David that he always had to remember who he was and what his life was about. And who Emma was.

  It was obvious Emma and Philip Carrington had once been close. The familiar way he touched her, the looks they exchanged, spoke of a friendship. Who knew what had gone on in Emma’s life with a disappointing husband on the Continent? Perhaps Philip Carrington had been a comfort to her.

  Even as a new wave of anger rushed through David at the thought of such ‘comfort’, his rational side knew he could hardly blame her. Henry Carrington had let her down in some way and she was alone in strange cities, far from her family. She had made mistakes, misjudged people, as everyone did. He himself had misjudged Maude and it almost ruined him and Beatrice.

  He couldn’t afford to misjudge again, no matter how beautiful or spirited Emma was. No matter how much her kiss awakened fires in him he thought long extinguished. He had to be very careful.

  David turned Zeus down the lane towards home, drawing the horse in a bit. Zeus snorted and tossed his head, obviously not happy with being reined in and reminded he had to be civilised.

  ‘Believe me, old boy, I understand,’ David said with a rueful laugh. Once wilder impulses were released, it was almost impossible to lock them away again. But it had to be done. He just felt that way because he had been too long without a lady’s intimate company.

  Yes, that was all it was. He had his natural urges and had suppressed them.

  The gates of Rose Hill were just ahead and David glimpsed something most unwelcome there. His sister sat in her open carriage, waiting for the footman to open the gates. And beside her, the two of them giggling together, was Miss Harding.

  ‘Blast it all,’ David cursed. This was the very last moment he wanted to see his sister and her friend, and play the genteel host.

  But all his years of self-control were not for nothing. He slowed Zeus to a walk and felt a sense of icy calm and remoteness come over him as he moved closer to home.

  ‘Louisa,’ he said as he drew Zeus in beside his sister’s carriage. ‘I didn’t know you were planning to call today. And Miss Harding, a pleasure to see you again.’

  ‘Miss Harding and I were just visiting Mr Crawford at the vicarage and I thought she might like to see Rose Hill since we were so close,’ Louisa said with a giggle. ‘Really, David, what have you been doing? You look quite wild! Not at all like you.’

  David was sure he couldn’t look half as wild as he felt. But he loathed the idea that it showed to other people. ‘I have just been for a ride. Poor Zeus has been quite restless lately. If I had known you were coming—’

  ‘Oh, Sir David, you mustn’t be cross with your sister,’ Miss Harding cried. ‘It was entirely my fault. I have heard so much about the beauties of Rose Hill and I begged her to let me catch a glimpse for myself. Do forgive us for intruding.’

  David bowed his head to Miss Harding, who smiled prettily back. She was all pink cheeks and bouncing pale ringlets in her fashionable beribboned straw bonnet and blue redingote, the very image of demure young ladyhood. The niece of an admiral, friend of his sister—exactly the sort of proper young woman he ought to be seriously thinking about at such a time in his life.

  The sort who would grace Rose Hill and the area, look after Beatrice and give him more children—and never arouse his darker side with passionate desire. Yes, exactly what he needed.

  But as she gave him a shyly sweet smile, all he could see was Emma staring up at him with brilliant green eyes and kiss-red lips.

  ‘Not at all,’ he said carefully. ‘My sister and her friends are welcome at Rose Hill at any time. Please, do come inside.’

  ‘I knew you would be glad to see us, David,’ Louisa said. ‘Dear Rose Hill is in such need of a feminine presence, isn’t it?’

  David led his sister’s carriage up the gravelled drive to the front doors, which were opened by Hughes, the old butler who had been at Rose Hill since David’s parents’ time. He left Zeus with the grooms and helped Louisa down from her carriage.

  As he handed down Miss Harding, she leaned gracefully on his arm and peeked up at him shyly from beneat
h the brim of her bonnet.

  ‘Thank you so very much, Sir David,’ she said. ‘You are always so gallant.’

  ‘You are very welcome, Miss Harding,’ he answered politely. ‘I hope Rose Hill doesn’t disappoint you after the good reports you have heard.’

  Still holding on to his arm, she tilted back her head to study the house’s façade of pale-grey stone, with its twin stone staircases leading to the front doors and soaring rose-pink marble columns. The windows sparkled in the sunlight.

  ‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘It is most pretty indeed.’

  ‘You do not see any improvements you would make?’

  Miss Harding’s smile turned mischievous. ‘Not at present. But I should have to see the inside. That is where ladies really excel, you know, in curtains and cushions and such.’

  ‘Indeed,’ David murmured, remembering how Maude had filled the London house with bolts and piles of fabrics and wallpapers and pillows the instant they arrived. Everything in the very latest style.

  And then he thought of Emma’s cosy sitting room, all books and family portraits and dog beds.

  ‘Hurry up, you two,’ Louisa called out merrily, pulling him out of his thoughts. Out of his impossible desire to be back in Emma’s cluttered cottage, beside her. ‘Stop whispering now. I am quite longing for a cup of tea.’

  ‘Of course, Louisa.’ David led Miss Harding up the steps into the cool shadows of the hall, with its black-and-white stone floor and rows of classical statues brought back by his grandfather from the Grand Tour. They hadn’t moved since.

  ‘Yes, I do see what you mean,’ Miss Harding whispered. ‘No colour at all.’

  Before David could answer, Mrs Jennings the housekeeper, like Hughes a remnant of his parents’ time, came hurrying over.

  ‘Louisa, Miss Harding—Mrs Jennings will take you into the drawing room and send for some tea,’ he said. ‘If you will excuse me for a moment.’

  ‘Oh, David dear, no need to be so formal,’ Louisa said with a laugh. ‘Rose Hill is still my family home, too. I can play hostess—until a new Lady Marton comes along, of course.’

  Miss Harding blushed prettily and gave him a flashing smile before she hurried after his sister into the drawing room.

  David went up the stairs toward the family chambers, shaking his head. He was no fool when it came to matchmaking family and friends. Almost everyone he knew had immediately begun producing their pretty young daughters, sisters and cousins as soon as Maude died. He saw their kind intentions and always knew one day he would have to marry. But being in no way prepared for the emotional demands of a marriage, and having his stunned and sad little daughter to think of, had sent him back to the quiet haven of Rose Hill. Alone.

  He had foolishly not counted on his sister’s tenacity on the subject of his marriage. Louisa hadn’t learned much from the mistake of her friendship with Maude, it seemed. And now Miss Harding was her object.

  David paused on the landing to glance back down at the drawing-room door. Laughter floated out to him, a softly feminine echo that Rose Hill hadn’t heard in a very long time. He couldn’t be unfair to Miss Harding. She did seem to be exactly the sort of lady he required as a wife—young, respectable, biddable. That she could be friends with Louisa was surely a mark in her favour; she would get along with his family.

  But doubts lingered, a toxic mix of bad memories and a strong desire never to make a mess of his life again. He couldn’t afford to make another wrong, scandalous marriage. Miss Harding bore some watching.

  And yet—yet he couldn’t get the memory of Emma out of his mind. Emma in his arms, Emma’s lips under his. Emma driving him to bedlam with his need for her.

  David pounded his fists on the carved railing and silently cursed, trying to drive the thought of her away. Emma was most decidedly not the sort of wife he needed. She was too impulsive. And he was not the man for her, not if she sought adventure as she had with her first husband. They were deeply wrong for each other.

  If only his mind could convince his body.

  He heard a rustling noise, a sigh, and he glanced up to see Beatrice on the landing above. She sat between two gilded posts, her legs dangling down and a doll clutched in her arms as she stared down at him with large, solemn eyes.

  ‘Is that Aunt Louisa, Papa?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, it is. And where is Nanny? You should be in the nursery,’ David said. He strode up the rest of the stairs to scoop his daughter up in his arms.

  ‘She fell asleep by the fire. I was reading, but then I heard voices and wanted to know who was here.’ She peered down at the hall far below. ‘I was rather hoping it was Mrs Carrington.’

  Beatrice was hoping to see Emma Carrington? David studied her closely and saw an interested light in her eyes that hadn’t been there for a long time. He had thought he should not let Emma tutor Beatrice, not when he needed to learn to control himself around her, but if she could make Beatrice show an interest in something at last...

  It was rather a conundrum.

  ‘It is your Aunt Louisa and her friend Miss Harding,’ he said as he turned toward the nursery wing.

  Beatrice wrinkled her little nose. ‘Miss Harding? Why is she here? She doesn’t talk about anything interesting. At least she did not that time I met her at Aunt Louisa’s.’

  ‘She is here because she’s friends with your aunt and you need to be polite to her.’

  Beatrice looked doubtful. ‘I’ll be polite, of course. If I must see her.’

  David tried not to laugh. He had to teach Beatrice to learn to be a proper lady, after all. ‘You must, as they are visitors in our home. You said you see her at Aunt Louisa’s house.’

  ‘I must be nice because one day you might marry her?’

  David stopped suddenly in his tracks, startled by her quiet question. ‘Where did you hear that I am to marry Miss Harding?’

  Beatrice stared back at him, wide-eyed. ‘From Aunt Louisa, of course, when I went to play with my cousins yesterday. She was talking to Mr Crawford’s fiancée, and she said she hoped that soon Mr Crawford would have another ceremony to perform—for you.’

  ‘Well, it was wrong of your aunt to speculate like that,’ David said, appalled to realise that surely now the whole village paired him with Miss Harding. He would have to have a word with his sister about little pitchers and big ears. ‘I can’t say what might happen in the future, but Miss Harding and I are not betrothed. If we were, you would be the first one I would tell.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. We are a family, you and I, and we must always be able to tell each other what we really feel.’ David hugged his daughter close, an unbearable feeling of tenderness threatening to overwhelm him. She was his child and he would protect her in any way he could. And the first way he would do that was in being very careful about what new stepmother he brought into her life.

  ‘Then Miss Harding is not to be my stepmama?’

  ‘No one is going to be your stepmama at present. We do well enough by ourselves, don’t we?’

  Beatrice nodded and even gave a smile. ‘For the present we do. But I must tell you honestly, Papa, that you don’t smell very good right now. You should not be entertaining guests to tea.’

  David laughed, relieved that her worries seemed to have passed. But if there was one thing he knew about Bea, it was that she was too good at hiding the depths of her feelings. Though she was quite right; the wine and the fast gallop outdoors probably did not make for an appealing perfume. ‘What have we said about manners, Bea?’

  ‘But you just said we should tell each other what we think.’

  ‘I have just been riding and was just coming upstairs to clean up and make myself presentable.’ David nudged open the door to the nursery sitting room. Nanny was indeed snoring by the fire and Beatrice’s dolls were set up a
round their tiny table for a tea party. Open books lay scattered around everywhere and he remembered her need for lessons.

  And her happiness at the mention of Emma’s name.

  Yes, it was definitely time for Beatrice’s education to advance. She was becoming far too clever for the nursery. The realisation that his darling daughter was growing up, becoming a most independent spirit, gave him a pang.

  He put her down on her small chair and picked up some of the scattered books to tidy them into a pile. Against his better judgement, he knew what he had to do.

  ‘I do have some news you might like, though, Lady Impudent,’ he said.

  Beatrice frowned doubtfully. ‘What is that, Papa?’

  ‘I am going to look out for a governess for you, a lady who can help teach you all the things you want to know. In the meantime, so that you will be ready when she comes, you will go to the bookstore to have a few lessons with Mrs Carrington.’

  ‘Mrs Carrington? Truly?’ A smile suddenly burst across Beatrice’s face, brighter and happier than any David had seen in a long while. And it was Emma who had put it there.

  Emma who somehow made the world brighter and lighter just by existing. Emma—with her doubtful past and unpredictable spirit.

  ‘Oh, thank you, Papa,’ Beatrice cried. She jumped off her chair and came running to hug him around his waist, holding on tight. ‘I will study so very hard with Mrs Carrington, you’ll see. You are the best papa in the world.’

  ‘Just promise me you will do your work and be very careful,’ David murmured, holding Beatrice close. He hoped he was not making another terrible mistake.

  * * *

  Yes. This place would do very well.

  Melanie studied the drawing room as she sipped at her tea and listened to Mrs Smythe chatter on. The colours were not at all stylish, of course, much too dark and heavy, but the elaborate white plasterwork of the ceiling was very pretty and the space quite large. It could accommodate some grand parties.

  She thought of the rooms in Bath where she and her mother had lived for so long, the tiny little bare space they could barely even afford to heat. How very different Rose Hill was from all that! A whole different world, really. It would be so very splendid if she could bring her mother here and show it to her as their new house. If she could finally take care of her mother and not be a disappointment to her...