Running from Scandal

by Amanda McCabe

  ‘Who it is?’ Carrington called out, muffled, impatient.

  ‘It is David Marton,’ David answered, equally impatient.

  There was silence, thick and heavy. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Open the door and I will tell you.’

  ‘I have nothing to say to you.’

  ‘That’s too bad, because I have a great deal to say to you. Open the door, Carrington, or I will be forced to break it down. And I don’t think you would want such a scene. It would just add to the amount you owe the innkeeper.’

  Once, a ‘scene’ would have been the last thing David wanted as well. His respectability, his name, his daughter—they were everything. But now taking care of Emma was equally as important. She deserved that—and so much more.

  So, yes, he would break down the door if he had to.

  Finally there was a creaking sound and the door swung open. Carrington stood there, his cravat hanging loose, his eyes bloodshot.

  David pushed him back in to the room and stepped after him, slamming the door behind him. ‘I should have you up before the magistrate for blackmail. It’s a hanging offence, you know.’

  A smile twisted Carrington’s cracked lips. ‘So she told you, did she? I am shocked. Emma was always one to bear her burdens alone.’

  ‘So you thought she would be an easy mark for your villainy?’ David said, his fury growing. ‘She is not alone any longer, and if you value your skin at all you will return her money to her and crawl back to hell.’

  ‘The white knight, are you?’ Carrington sneered. ‘I tried to be that for her once. But I wasn’t good enough for her. No title, I suppose. The little whore.’

  David’s temper snapped at that vile word. He reached out and grabbed Carrington by his stained shirtfront, the fierce urge to bash the smirk off his unshaved face burning through him. His fist pulled back...

  ‘You leave him alone!’ a scream rang out.

  David spun around, his fist still twisted in Carrington’s linen shirt, to see Miss Harding standing in the doorway between the small sitting room and the bedroom. She wore only a chemise and her hair fell in a tangled skein over her shoulders.

  A different kind of shock overtook David’s anger. Had Carrington been victimising all the women in the area? ‘Miss Harding...’ he began. With another banshee-like scream, she launched herself at him and pounded at him with her little fists.

  Not exactly a victim, then. David had to let go of Carrington and try to hold her back. She was shockingly strong.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said, once she backed away, panting. Carrington took her in his arms and quieted her. ‘This is most unexpected. I think we might negotiate after all, Carrington...’

  * * *

  ‘Emma!’ David called as he ran up the stairs at Rose Hill. He found himself ridiculously eager to share the tale of Carrington and Miss Harding with her, to see her reaction and maybe hear her laugh at the awful absurdity of it all.

  It was the strangest sensation, wanting to share something after being alone for so long. But he wanted to tell Emma everything. Share everything with her.

  He pushed open the bedchamber door, only to find the space completely empty. The blankets on the chaise where she had laid were neatly folded. In his excitement, he had forgotten that her family had already taken her away.

  Then he saw the note, neatly folded atop the desk, labelled with his name. A cold finger of disquiet touched his earlier excitement and the house suddenly seemed so cold.

  He slowly took it up and unfolded it to read the words looped across the paper. It was short and all he could see was her last message.

  I’ve seen now how I can only be a misfortune in your life, David. I cannot stop my hoydenish ways and I have led you and Beatrice into danger. I have been careless too long and I can’t do it any longer, not to people I care about as I do you. So I must go...

  David crumpled the paper into his fist and tossed it away in a sudden rush of anger, and—and of fear. He hadn’t realised until Emma was hurt how much he needed her in his life, and in Beatrice’s too. He would even face scandal for her.

  If she thought she could run away now, she was much mistaken.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Are you sure you feel quite well, Emma dear?’ Jane said as their carriage rolled closer to the village. ‘I fear you still haven’t quite recovered from your fall. If you want to return home...’

  Emma turned from staring out at the gathering darkness beyond the carriage window and gave her sister a reassuring smile. ‘Of course not. I’ve been looking forward to this concert and feel perfectly capable of sitting and listening to music for an hour or two. You need an outing, as well. You’ve seen almost no one since you returned to Barton.’

  ‘I’ve seen my family and that’s all that matters,’ Jane said firmly. ‘Though I fear the twins have not exactly been helpful in expediting your recovery.’

  Emma laughed. She had insisted on staying in her cottage to recover, but Jane and the children were there every day anyway. Jane came bearing picnic baskets of healing jellies and soups, the nurse carrying the gurgling, pink-cheeked baby Emma behind her and the twins running ahead of her. It was quite true that they chased Murray and knocked over piles of books in their wild games.

  But they were the only things that kept her from brooding over David, remembering every moment with him. When he held her in his arms, kissed her so tenderly, she had dared begun to hope...

  But she knew she was right to have left him that note. Perhaps David did care for her, in some way. In fact, she was sure he did. He was no cad like the Carrington men, no consummate actor who could feign affection for a lady until he got what he wanted and then left. He deserved better in his life. And she knew it was best if they parted now, before she created some terrible scandal in his life. She had to be sensible, practical, and do what was best for David and Beatrice. Even if ‘best’ was not her.

  Why, then, did being so sensible make her feel as if she was being cracked in two?

  ‘I love their company,’ Emma said. ‘And yours. I can’t tell you how happy I am you’re home, Jane! But I think it will do us good to get out of the house for a while.’

  Even though her first instinct when Hayden suggested they attend the concert at the assembly rooms had been to hide in her cottage and lock the door behind her for ever. What if she saw David there and had to be polite? What if she ran into Philip and he made his vile threats again? But even in her fears she knew Hayden was right and she should go. This place was her home now. The sooner she faced down her fears and got on with her life, the better.

  Jane sighed and tapped her folded fan on the edge of the carriage seat. ‘I confess, as much as I adore my children, I am happy to have an outing. I’m terribly behind on the local gossip and you are of no help there since you spent all your time buried in the bookshop while I was gone.’

  Emma was saved from having to admit she had not spent all her time in the bookshop when the carriage lurched to a halt outside the assembly rooms. They were a bit late, so there was no line of vehicles waiting to disgorge their passengers. The windows glowed with flickering light and laughter spilled out of the open doors. Emma took up the cane Mr Sansom had sent her when he heard of her injuries and followed Jane into the building.

  ‘My dears!’ Lady Wheelington called out as soon as they stepped into the hall. They had barely handed their wraps to the attendant when she took their arms and led them toward the ladies’ withdrawing room, the only place for a quick gossip. ‘Have you heard the very latest news?’

  Jane laughed. ‘Of course not. I have only just returned from the wilds of town. But do tell. The design in coming here tonight was to hear everything.’

  Emma nodded, though she was not quite so sure. What if the news was that David was to marry Miss Harding?
Or had gone back to London? How could she maintain her façade of polite interest then?

  ‘Well, my dears,’ Lady Wheelington said, ‘it seems that deliciously handsome Philip Carrington, who appeared in our midst only a few weeks ago, has already vanished again. His rooms at the Rose and Crown are utterly cleaned out. And you will never guess who vanished with him!’

  Jane was wide-eyed with interest, but Emma feared where this tale might be going, even as relief swept through her that Philip was really gone. But she knew she couldn’t trust whatever trouble he left behind.

  ‘I can’t even imagine,’ Jane said with a sidelong glance at Emma. ‘You must tell me at once.’

  ‘The admiral’s niece Miss Harding!’ Lady Wheelington cried. ‘We all thought Mr Carrington was here for you, Miss Emma. And that Miss Harding was all set to marry Sir David Marton. That’s what Mrs Smythe was sure of, anyway. And now they have eloped together. People are ever surprising, are they not?’

  Emma was actually rather shocked by the ending of this tale. And—and relieved. Miss Harding was not to marry Sir David? David was free?

  But even if he was free, that could mean nothing to her.

  ‘Is it quite sure they have gone together?’ Jane said. Emma could feel her sister’s gaze on her and she feared the truth of what Jane would read there. Her sister knew her all too well.

  ‘The impertinent girl left a note for her uncle saying as much,’ Lady Wheelington answered. ‘The admiral actually managed to rouse himself enough to send searchers after them, but no trace can be found.’

  ‘How shocking,’ Jane murmured. Emma hoped her sister was not remembering Emma’s own ‘shocking’ elopement. All of that seemed to have happened to an entirely different person, a foolish girl who let her heart rule her head, when it was obvious her heart had no idea what it was about.

  Yet how different was she now, really? She had certainly let her heart rule when it came to David.

  ‘That poor girl,’ Emma said.

  ‘Ah, well. Perhaps Mrs Smythe will be careful of her matchmaking in the future,’ Lady Wheelington said. ‘Shall we go in? The music should be most entertaining tonight...’

  As they followed Lady Wheelington into the ballroom, Jane linked her arm with Emma’s and whispered, ‘I thought you said your husband’s cousin did not stay long in the village?’

  ‘He didn’t, obviously,’ Emma whispered back, still bemused by all they just heard. ‘He just stopped to pay his regards. I had no idea he was involved in a secret romance.’ With Miss Harding—who everyone expected David to marry.

  ‘If you want to call it a romance,’ Jane said. ‘Lady Wheelington is right—people are ever surprising.’

  Emma studied the crowd as they found seats at the side of the room, near the doors to the garden. She didn’t see David there, or even his sister. Which was most surprising, since Mrs Smythe was never one to miss a social occasion.

  Emma was relieved not to face him again quite yet, but also felt the pangs of sharp disappointment. She managed to smile and chat with the people who stopped to greet Jane, but all the time she wondered where he was. Where he had gone.

  The musicians on their dais in front of the rows of chairs finished tuning their instruments and launched into their first selection, saving Emma from having to make further polite conversation. It was a lively, slightly out-of-control rendition of a local folk song and under its noise she could lose herself in her wistful thoughts.

  Suddenly she felt a warm prickle at the back of her neck, as if someone had just trailed a caress over her skin. She rubbed at the spot with her gloved fingertips and glanced over her shoulder. Yet she was already quite sure of what she would find there. No one else’s presence could ever give her that sudden lightning-shock of awareness.

  David stood just inside the doorway, a lean, austere figure in black-and-white evening clothes, his hair swept neatly back from his face, his spectacles gleaming. He looked so different from the dusty, dishevelled man who had rescued her from the cellar. He looked like the Sir David she had once thought so cold and remote.

  But now she knew the truth of what was hidden in him. She knew the real fire of his passion and it had warmed her for her whole life.

  And despite all her resolve to let him go, to forget him, she realised that was the last thing she could ever do. David was emblazoned on her heart. She couldn’t forget him.

  She tried to turn away from him, to hide what she was feeling, but his gaze found hers across the room and she couldn’t let go. An expression flickered across his face, a flash of pleasure that was so swiftly gone she feared she had imagined it.

  He gave her a small nod, and as she watched he slipped out the door into the garden.

  ‘Excuse me for a moment, Jane,’ Emma whispered.

  ‘Are you unwell?’ Jane asked, a concerned look on her face. ‘Shall I come with you?’

  Emma shook her head. ‘I won’t be long.’

  Once she was sure Jane’s attention was on the music again, Emma quickly slipped out the door behind him. As the darkness of the evening closed around her, her heart pounded in her chest so hard she could barely breathe. Barely think.

  She scanned the pathways, but she couldn’t see him and for an instant she feared he had already left. Or worse, was hiding, appalled she had followed him.

  Then a ray of stray moonlight fell on a dark silhouette, half-hidden at the far end of the garden. He waited under the tree where they once kissed, so still he could almost have been a stone Roman statue. Yet the warmth of his living body drew her to him.

  ‘How have you been, Emma?’ he asked quietly when she drew close to him, moving carefully with her walking stick.

  ‘Very well,’ she answered carefully. ‘My sister has been an excellent nurse. How is Miss Beatrice?’

  ‘She is quite well and asks after you daily. Her behaviour has been exemplary since her little—adventure. A new, younger nanny helps as well.’

  Emma had to smile to think of Beatrice. ‘I am glad.’

  A silence fell between them, and in the moonlight she could feel David studying her quietly, carefully. ‘I am very sorry I haven’t written,’ he said at last. ‘There were a few matters I had to take care of before I could see you again and once I was sure you were safe with your sister and brother-in-law.’

  ‘Matters?’ Emma asked curiously. ‘What can...?’

  As she looked up at David in the moonlight, she glimpsed a flash of sudden laughter in his eyes, and a suspicion struck her. ‘David, did you have something to do with this shocking news of Philip and Miss Harding?’

  A muscle flexed in his jaw, almost as if he tried not to smile. ‘I have no idea what you are speaking of, Emma. But I do assure you, Philip Carrington will not be causing you trouble in the future.’

  ‘I must admit that I am not sorry to see the last of him,’ Emma said slowly, still reeling from the knowledge that David had got rid of him somehow. ‘But poor Miss Harding...’

  ‘I believe you mean the poor new Mrs Carrington.’

  ‘They married?’ Emma cried, even more shocked than before.

  ‘They did, for better or worse. You are done with him, Emma, I promise.’

  ‘But what did you...?’

  ‘Never mind that now,’ David said. He reached inside his coat and took out two small items he held out to her. ‘I believe these are yours.’

  Emma stared down at his hand to see the pearl pendant she had sold to pay Philip, and the tiny bunch of silk forget-me-nots she lost from her sash the night of her first assembly back here.

  Amazed, she murmured, ‘Where did you...?’

  ‘I obtained the necklace from Mr Levinson’s shop, where it had sadly been misplaced,’ David said. ‘The flowers I confess I have been keeping far too long.’

  He had kept her
flowers? Emma swallowed hard at the knowledge that he had done such a thing. ‘How did you know I went to Mr Levinson’s? I was desperate and I heard Lady Wheelington say once that ladies sometimes went there.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter how I found out,’ David said with a laugh. Emma stared up at him, astonished to see him laughing—and confused.

  She had no idea what was happening. She’d been in despair, sure she could never see David again. Now here he was, smiling at her, giving her back her necklace—with the whole village merely feet away, where anyone could come across them.

  ‘The only important thing is that I did find it,’ he said. ‘And that I can say this now—no one else will ever hurt you again, not while I’m here. And I won’t let even you stand in our way, Emma. My dear, noble-hearted Emma.’

  Emma shook her head, afraid to hope. She had hoped for so many things so many times before and been so cruelly disappointed. Did she dare endanger her heart one more time, for the thing she hoped for above all else?

  ‘David, what do you mean?’ she whispered. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I am saying I have never been happier in my whole life than when I am with you, Emma,’ David said. ‘I am saying that you have shown me the joy of what being alive can mean. I didn’t realise before you that I was only living a half-life. Don’t make me go back to that. When I read your note, I was so angry, so unhappy to think I would never see you again. I never want to feel like that.’

  Emma was so confused. It seemed like the world had turned upside down. ‘But—I haven’t seen you since I came back to Barton. I thought you were angry with me for leading Beatrice into trouble. That you...’ She choked on her words, unable to go on.

  ‘I am so sorry, Emma dearest. I went to town for a few days because—well, because I didn’t feel I could declare myself to you without this.’ David reached into his coat again and withdrew a tiny box.

  As Emma watched, her heart pounding, he opened it to reveal an emerald ring surrounded by smaller diamonds that sparkled in the moonlight.