She realised then she should have settled things with him that very moment. If only her head had not been whirling from David’s kiss!
‘Mr Carrington is my late husband’s cousin, yes,’ she said quietly. ‘He is passing through on his way to a business appointment, I believe, and stopped to pay his respects.’
‘Mrs Smythe and her friend Miss Harding were in to buy some of the new Minerva Press titles yesterday,’ Mr Lorne said. ‘They were all a-flutter about how handsome this Mr Carrington is, and how he promised to attend the next assembly. I’m sure they would be most sorry to see him leave again too quickly.’
‘Yes,’ Emma murmured. Philip was indeed handsome. But nothing at all compared to David.
She thought of Miss Harding dancing with David, the two of them looking so right together. And Mrs Smythe’s hopes for her brother’s new match. Miss Harding would be a fool indeed to let Philip turn her head.
But no more a fool than Emma herself was for letting David turn her head.
She laughed at herself and turned back to the brittle pages of the old diary in front of her. Better to lose herself in the hopeless romances of people long gone than worrying any more about her own.
The bell over the door jangled and Emma looked up to see Beatrice entering the shop with her nanny. The little girl looked just as tidy and pretty as ever, like a little candy box in a pink pelisse and net bonnet, her hair tied at the nape of her neck with pink ribbon, unlike her messiness when they looked for botanic specimens. But her usual quiet, watchful air, so much like her father’s, had vanished in a new smile. She hurried eagerly to the counter on her little pink kid boots.
‘What are we going to learn today, Mrs Carrington?’ she asked, her eyes shining.
‘No, Miss Beatrice,’ her nanny chided. ‘Remember your manners.’
‘Of course,’ Beatrice said, bobbing a curtsy. ‘Good day to you, Mrs Carrington. Mr Lorne. So delighted to see you again.’
Emma laughed. ‘Good day, Miss Marton. I’m very happy you’re so eager to continue your lessons.’
‘Oh, yes, I am,’ Beatrice said.
Her nanny took her leave, saying either she or Sir David would return for the child before teatime, and Emma helped Beatrice change her pastel pelisse for an apron. Mr Lorne lifted Beatrice up on to the stool next to Emma’s, behind the pile of books Emma had chosen for her.
‘These look marvellous,’ Beatrice said. Emma wondered where the pale, quiet little girl had gone. Beatrice fairly shone with excitement.
‘I wasn’t sure where you wanted to start,’ Emma said. ‘I found some children’s books on English history and some pamphlets on botany...’
Beatrice examined a copy of Aristotle that was nearby. ‘When can I learn Greek, so I can read this?’
Emma laughed again, delighted at her eagerness. The little girl quite chased away her earlier silly broodiness. ‘I’m afraid that Greek is quite beyond me. I can teach you French, and a little Italian and German, which I learned on my own travels. You’ll need a special tutor for Greek, when you are older. In the meantime, we can start learning about another young lady who was eager to learn...’ Emma pulled a biography from the bottom of the stack. ‘Queen Elizabeth. I think she would be an excellent example for you and I found this lovely biography written for girls just your age.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Beatrice said as she opened the book to examine the engraved portrait on the endpapers. ‘I saw a book from my father’s library about the Spanish Armada once. I didn’t realise she was once a child like me.’
The time happily passed with Beatrice reading about the young Queen Elizabeth and asking Emma questions about Tudor England as she went along. Emma continued in between with deciphering the old diary, making notes of things she found interesting.
‘What are you reading, Mrs Carrington?’ Beatrice asked.
‘A very old diary your father’s uncle gave me,’ Emma said, showing her the faded ink writing on the crackling pages. ‘It was written in the 1660s by a girl who once lived at Barton Park.’
‘Did she know Queen Elizabeth, then?’
‘No, the queen had been dead many years by then. But she does write about Charles the Second, who once visited Barton after he gave it to one of his friends. She mentions the family at Rose Hill, too, though I fear it’s the old castle and not the one you live in now.’
Beatrice’s eyes brightened and she leaned closer to examine the pages. ‘Really? What else does she say? What was her name?’
Emma gave her an abbreviated account of the life of Arabella Bancroft, a poor cousin of the Bancroft who was given Barton Park by the king. Arabella witnessed parties at the new house and heard rumours of Court politics, all of which she shared in colourful detail. Arabella also had a budding romance with a handsome Cavalier, which Emma feared would not end well.
But Beatrice didn’t need to know that part. Emma told her what houses like Barton and Rose Hill were like two hundred years ago and about the treasures of lost Royalist gold Arabella wrote about.
‘A lost treasure?’ Beatrice said. ‘It sounds like a storybook.’
‘It is, in a way. I’ve heard tales of the legend of Barton treasure since I was your age.’
‘But is it true?’
‘I don’t know for sure. My father always thought it was true, but he could never find out where it was hidden.’ And it drove him crazy in the end. Emma could never forget that.
‘But he didn’t have Arabella’s diary, did he?’
‘He gave it to Mr Sansom a long time ago.’
‘Then maybe there is a clue in it your father didn’t see,’ Beatrice said thoughtfully.
Emma was somewhat alarmed to see the same spark for adventure and romance in Beatrice’s eyes that had once been in her own father’s. And her own, she feared. ‘It is just a local legend. Queen Elizabeth is a much more important subject.’
Beatrice reluctantly went back to her book, until the bell over the door rang again. Emma looked up, expecting a customer—only to find it was Philip. There could be no more avoiding him now.
‘Who would have guessed the loveliest ladies in all the village could be found in the bookshop?’ he said cheerfully. ‘And I have been searching for them for days in vain.’
‘Good afternoon, Philip,’ Emma said. ‘As you can see, I have been working.’
‘Working too hard even to see your cousin, eh?’ Philip said, but he didn’t seem put out by her avoidance. He smiled and strolled over to lean his elbows on the counter. ‘And who is this fair maiden?’
‘This is Miss Beatrice Marton,’ Emma said. She felt strangely unsettled, but she couldn’t quite decipher why. ‘Miss Marton, this is Mr Carrington, who was cousin to my husband.’
Beatrice gave him a doubtful look. ‘How do you do, Mr Carrington?’ She slowly held out her hand to him.
Philip gallantly bowed over it. ‘How do you do, Miss Marton? You must be the daughter of that chap I met a few days ago, Sir David Marton.’
‘Yes, I am,’ Beatrice agreed.
‘I’m amazed he is so fortunate to have such a beautiful daughter,’ Philip said teasingly. ‘I hope he is very protective of you and carefully guards such a jewel.’
To Emma’s surprise, Beatrice laughed. ‘You sound like a character in a book.’
‘The book you are reading right now?’ Philip said, peeking at Beatrice’s volume upside down across the counter. ‘A life of Good Queen Bess, eh? Sounds quite weighty for such a petite girl.’
‘I like it,’ Beatrice said. ‘Maybe you could have been someone at her Court, Mr Carrington. They liked to give compliments too.’
‘Very wise of you, Miss Marton, to know so much about the Elizabethan age already,’ Emma said, quite enjoying watching their light banter. Beatrice was actually smiling. ‘Never believe flatterer
s, no matter what era they live in.’
Philip laid his hand over his heart and affected a wounded air that made both Emma and Beatrice laugh. ‘I vow I speak only the truth! But Mrs Carrington is quite right, Miss Marton. You must read all you can and learn all about the world and the people in it. Tell me more about Queen Elizabeth.’
Beatrice showed him some of the illustrations in her book, explaining the various chambers of old palaces, the food and gowns and servants. Emma was amazed she had already absorbed so much information.
‘And this is a great banquet for a foreign ambassador,’ Beatrice said. ‘I wish I could have seen the dances then. Were they much like the ones we have now at assemblies, Mrs Carrington?’
Before Emma could answer, Philip held out his hand to Beatrice and said, ‘If you would do me the honour of partnering me, Miss Marton, I would be delighted to demonstrate a Spanish gavotte. Which my mother once made me learn to show off at a fancy dress party when I was about your age.’
Emma frowned. ‘I am not sure...’
‘Oh, please, Mrs Carrington!’ Beatrice said eagerly. ‘I do so want to try it.’
‘I, too, would like to see a gavotte,’ Mr Lorne said, leaning on the crate he had been unpacking.
‘Oh, very well.’ Emma gave in with a laugh. ‘We are meant to be learning lessons, after all. Dancing should be included.’
Philip helped Beatrice off her stool and led her to a cleared space in front of the shelves. He bowed low and she gave a giggling curtsy.
‘First we step like this,’ Philip said. ‘Then to the left. Hop. Hop, clap and spin.’
Soon they were whirling and twirling between the piles of books, Philip humming horribly out of tune as Emma and Mr Lorne clapped in time.
‘Look, Mrs Carrington!’ Beatrice called merrily. ‘I am dancing.’
Emma laughed to see the delight on her pretty little face. ‘So you are—and very well, too. Philip, you have hidden talents!’
‘If my fortunes wane, I can find work as a dancing master,’ he answered.
‘May I have this dance, Mrs Carrington?’ Mr Lorne said with a wobbly bow.
‘I would be honoured,’ Emma said, and soon the four of them were twirling and spinning amid laughter and cries.
‘These are the best lessons ever!’ Beatrice called out, just as the door opened amid a jangle of bells.
David stepped over the threshold—and went very still at the sight of their hilarity. His solemn gaze swept over them, casting a chill over their impromptu ball.
Emma staggered to a stop and Beatrice suddenly toppled over, her hair bow askew. Philip lifted her up, until he too saw David watching them in silence.
‘Papa,’ Beatrice cried, ‘I’m learning Elizabethan dances.’
‘So you are,’ David said quietly. ‘It’s not quite what I envisioned when I said you should have lessons...’
‘Sir David...’ Emma gasped, suddenly cold and dizzy after the giddiness of the dance. David was the last person she ever wanted to look foolish in front of, yet she always seemed to end up doing it anyway. ‘We were reading a book about Queen Elizabeth, and Mr Carrington came in...’
‘I do see,’ David said, still very still and serious looking. He strode over to Beatrice and quickly retied her hair bow, drawing her away from Philip. ‘It’s getting rather late, I fear. We should be going home, Beatrice.’
‘But, Papa...’ she began.
‘Now, if you please. Nanny will have your tea ready.’
Emma saw something she had never before glimpsed on Beatrice’s face—the beginning of a pout. She leaned over to grab the child’s hat and pelisse, and helped her put them on. She felt flustered and unsure and she didn’t like that feeling at all.
‘You must take the books with you, Miss Beatrice, and tell me what you’ve read in them next time I see you,’ Emma said.
‘Oh, I will, Mrs Carrington. I promise, I will read them all,’ Beatrice said. ‘Can I come back here very soon?’
‘I’m sure Mrs Carrington must be very busy, Beatrice,’ David said. He took his daughter’s hand and led her toward the door. ‘We cannot monopolise all her time.’
‘Oh, but—’ Beatrice cried.
‘Say good day, Beatrice,’ David said firmly.
The pout became fully formed, but Beatrice obediently made her curtsy. ‘Good day, Mrs Carrington, and thank you very much.’
Then, to Emma’s surprise, Beatrice ran over to hug her around the waist. Emma longed to hug her back, to hold her close, but Beatrice left as quickly as she had come. She hurried back to take her father’s hand, her eyes downcast, all her giggling gone.
‘Good day, Mrs Carrington. Mr Carrington, Mr Lorne,’ David said. He led his daughter away and the door shut behind them, leaving stunned silence behind them.
‘Well,’ Philip said jokingly, ‘he isn’t much fun, is he?’
Emma had the strongest urge to rush to David’s defence. After all, surely she herself was in the wrong for letting Beatrice’s lessons get out of control? And yet—yet she was angry with David, too. They had been doing nothing wrong. She ran out the door just in time to see David helping Beatrice up into his curricle.
‘Sir David,’ Emma called.
He turned back to look at her, his handsome face blandly polite. She had come to hate the way that expression concealed so much from her. ‘Mrs Carrington?’
‘I—I hope you aren’t angry at the...er...exuberance of today’s lesson,’ she said, a bit out of breath after her dash from the shop and desperately eager that he should not be angry with her. ‘It won’t be that way again. Mr Carrington came in most unexpectedly and—’
‘Mrs Carrington, please don’t worry,’ he said politely and yet somehow impatiently. ‘It is none of my business who your relations are, of course. I must only be concerned with my daughter.’
And being with her would not be good for Beatrice? ‘Of course you must be. I only—’
‘David, dear! What are you doing here at this time of day?’ Mrs Smythe and her friend Miss Harding suddenly emerged from the draper’s across the lane, waving to David and turning his attention from Emma.
Emma turned away, most unwilling to let the ladies see how flustered she was. The last thing she needed was more gossip in the village. She rushed back into the bookshop and slammed the door behind her. As she turned to pull the shades down on the window, she glimpsed Miss Harding linking her arm through David’s and smiling up at him.
Emma spun around and marched back to the counter where she blindly shuffled books around. Mr Lorne had vanished behind the shelves.
Behind her, Philip peered past the edge of the shade, an expression of amusement on his face.
‘If that’s the level of amusing company in this place, Emma, I’m amazed you stay here,’ he said. ‘Especially after Italy and Germany. There’s nothing like that life here, is there?’
Emma remembered all those spa towns, the casinos and ballrooms, the drunken men. ‘No, and that is why I came back here. That is why I am trying to make a new life here, to fit in.’ And she was obviously doing a very poor job of it.
‘With such dry sticks as that Sir David Marton? He even looks bored right now, talking to that charming Miss Harding.’
Emma slammed a book down on the counter in a sudden fit of anger. She’d once thought David a ‘dry stick’ herself, when she was young and stupid, before life with Henry taught her what ‘amusement’ could do. Now she saw how very foolish she was then.
Now that it was all too late.
‘Sir David is a very respectable and amiable man,’ she said. ‘Why are you here, Philip? I know this place cannot amuse you.’
He looked back at her over his shoulder, a grin still on his lips. ‘I came here to see you, of course, Emma. We parted much too abruptly afte
r Henry died.’
‘I had to come home. There wasn’t much choice.’
‘But there was. I offered you my assistance, Emma. Indeed, I was most eager to give it.’
Emma closed her eyes against the spasm of pain the memory of that terrible time gave her. She had felt so alone, so lost. She’d only wanted home, peace, a place to belong.
For a few precious moments, when David kissed her, she had felt just that.
‘You were very kind, Philip,’ she said.
His face darkened and he let the shade drop into place. ‘I wanted to be more to you, Emma, and you would not let me.’
Disconcerted, Emma glanced toward the shelves where Mr Lorne was hidden.
‘Let me walk you home,’ Philip said. ‘I can see we have much to talk about.’
Emma didn’t want to walk home with him. She didn’t want to be reminded of the past any longer, to be in the company of one man when all she wanted was to be with another. Another who didn’t seem to want her. But she knew she had to hear Philip out, for once he had been her only friend.
She quickly gathered her hat and the diaries, and bid Mr Lorne goodbye. When they left the shop, David’s carriage was gone and Mrs Smythe and Miss Harding were nowhere to be seen. But Lady Wheelington was walking past and she stopped to greet Emma with an airy kiss on her cheek.
‘Mrs Carrington, my dear, how lovely to see you!’ Lady Wheelington cried. ‘I must hurry on my way, for I am meeting Mrs Smythe, Miss Harding, and my future daughter-in-law at the church to plan Sunday’s flowers. I think we may expect an interesting announcement there soon.’
Emma was still distracted by everything that had happened so quickly, but she did not want to be rude to Lady Wheelington at all. ‘Indeed?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Lady Wheelington said with a laugh. ‘Mrs Smythe is quite sure her brother is on the very verge of a match with Miss Harding, which would be quite the on dit in our little community, don’t you think? A new Lady Marton for Rose Hill...’
Running from Scandal Page 15