Wondering why it mattered, Emma lifted her shoulders in a shrug. ‘Only that you are good to my sister and mindful of your obligations to her. Although,’ she said, hoping to lighten the mood, ‘I suppose if you were to occasionally take your mother and two sisters-in-law to lunch at some hideously expensive but exceptionally good restaurant in London, it would not go amiss.’
‘Hideously expensive but exceptionally good,’ he mused. ‘That would have to be the Clarendon. A pricey ticket, but worth it under the circumstances. Have you ever eaten there?’
‘No, though Ridley may have. He has a taste for the finer things. What would you suggest?’
‘Many believe their Coquilles St Jacques to be without equal and their crêpes Suzette better than those served at the Hôtel Le Meurice in Paris. Personally, I prefer the langoustine d’anglais, followed by a tender fillet of beef, and to finish, either a chocolate soufflé or crème brûlée,’ Lord Stewart said. ‘And I would start with a chilled bottle of champagne. I find it stimulates the appetite and lends a rosy glow to the surroundings.’
‘Not to mention the diners,’ Emma said.
He actually smiled. ‘Only if one imbibes too freely. Then a piquant white for the fish course and a robust Burgundy for the beef.’
‘Goodness, after all that, I shouldn’t think you would be able to taste the food!’
‘Ah, but a good wine enhances the flavours,’ he informed her. ‘As well as lending a certain joie de vivre to the proceedings.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard my brother talk about joie de vivre,’ Emma said drily. ‘As I recall, they had to carry him to his room afterwards.’
‘That is the result of too much joie de vivre. A man must know where to draw the line.’
‘And I suspect you always know when and where to do that.’
He shot her a sardonic gaze. ‘I would have thought the ability to avoid falling into a drunken stupor something to recommend a man. You make it sound like a failing.’
‘Did I? It wasn’t my intention,’ Emma said with a smile. ‘I can think of nothing more demeaning than to see a man tumble into his host’s rhododendrons.’
His mouth lifted in a smile. ‘So, apart from entertaining you with good food and wine and not falling headlong into the bushes, what other expectations have you of me?’
‘None I can think of at the moment. As long as you and Linette contrive to be happy in one another’s company, I shall be content.’
‘I wonder if the rest of your family’s expectations will be as straightforward.’
‘Well, my brother expects nothing of himself and even less of others, and my father will only be concerned with Linette’s happiness.’
‘Then it would seem I have only your opinion to worry about.’ Lord Stewart narrowed his eyes against the brilliance of the morning sun. ‘Is that your brother I see coming over the brow of the next hill?’
Emma turned to follow his gaze. ‘Yes. Ridley arrived the night before last and will be staying for the duration of the spectacle.’
He shot her an amused glance. ‘Did I detect a note of sarcasm in your voice?’
‘Unintentional, but yes. I find all the pomp and ceremony excessive.’
‘Your sister is marrying the son of an earl,’ Lord Stewart pointed out. ‘Some would say that worthy of ceremony.’
‘I suppose, though I would enjoy it far more if it were all a little less grand.’ Emma risked a quick glance in his direction. ‘Do you like weddings, Lord Stewart?’
‘I’m not sure one can like or dislike them. They are a necessity of life. But I enjoy seeing a well-matched pair come together.’
Emma laughed. Had he any idea, she wondered, how much like an old pair of boots he made the bride and groom sound? ‘I take it by that you mean a lady and a gentleman of similar circumstances.’
‘Of course.’
‘Unlike my sister and your brother.’
He shot her a penetrating glance. ‘We’ve already had this discussion, Miss Darling. Why bring it up again now?’
‘Forgive me. Perhaps I should look to your marriage as the model for all others.’
‘Now you are being cruel.’
‘Not at all. I am quite sure your upcoming engagement to Lady Glynnis will be, in the eyes of the ton, an ideal match. She has all that you require in a wife, and you, all a woman could ask for in a husband. Why would you say I am being cruel?’
‘Because on the basis of our brief association, you know that I have chosen to put practicality first and I know you decry the idea of marrying for anything but love.’
Emma tilted her head to one side. ‘I said I would rather marry for love, my lord. I did not say it was the only reason for marrying.’
‘Yet you mock me for saying that Lady Glynnis and I are well suited, rather than being madly in love.’
‘If I mock anything, it is the way in which you say it. And, in truth, I should not mock you at all—while I do not like to think of two people marrying without love, it is, perhaps, the more intelligent reason for them to do so.’
‘Have you ever been in love, Miss Darling?’ he asked. ‘Or know how it feels to have your heart broken?’
‘Oh, I have most definitely had my heart broken. When I was seven years old, Johnny Beaton stole my beloved stuffed elephant and threw him into the pond,’ Emma said. ‘I could not speak of it for days. And I did not speak to Johnny Beaton for several months.’
The smile transformed him, lighting up his face and making him look years younger and far more approachable. ‘Now you are teasing me and for that I demand a forfeit.’
Emma snorted, even though her stomach did the silliest flip flop. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, my lord. Teasing does not warrant a forfeit. I am constantly being teased by my brother and as you are soon to be my brother-in-law, that falls under the heading of family privileges.’
‘Nevertheless, until I am related by marriage, you owe me for being impolite.’
‘I was not impolite!’
‘Sarcasm is a gentleman’s prerogative. It is not a quality to be admired in a lady.’
‘Oh, very well. What is my penalty to be?’
He turned his eyes to the rolling countryside around them. ‘A painting. The subject of which will be of my own choosing.’
Emma stared at him. ‘Are you mad? I’m not talented enough to do the kind of work someone like you would wish to hang on his wall.’
‘On the contrary, what you are not is a good judge of your own talent. I like what I’ve seen of your work and, since I am the one naming the forfeit, I shall be the one who says what it is to be. And if I say I want a painting, you have no choice but to agree.’
‘And what would you have me paint, my lord?’ Emma asked mockingly. ‘A tranquil landscape? A bowl of fruit? A picture of your horse?’
His gaze moved over her face in a way that caused her breath to catch. ‘I shall tell you at the ball what I wish the subject to be. But do not think I will forget. I’ve a far better memory than that. Good day, Miss Darling.’ He touched the brim of his hat and turned the bay around, galloping back in the direction of Ellingsworth Hall.
Emma watched him go, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He wanted her to do a painting for him? Ridiculous! A man like that could afford to buy the works of the finest artists in the world. Why on earth would he ask for a painting from an amateur like herself?
* * *
Given that Aunt Dorothy and Linette could talk about nothing but the upcoming ball, Emma decided it was a good time to run a few errands. She needed to replenish some of her painting supplies and Mrs Wilbers, who ran the village shop, made a point of keeping most of what Emma required in stock. As well, Aunt Dorothy had asked her to pick up two lengths of lace and the latest fashion magazines from London. Her aunt might not be living in London, but her heart never left the bustling metropolis for any length of time.
Emma enjoyed her trips into the quaint little village. Thatched roofed cottages lined the main st
reet, each with gardens bright with colourful flowers. And while there were only a few shops, they seemed to provide all the residents required. There was a bakery and a linen draper, a bookstore and a greengrocer, and whatever those establishments weren’t able to provide, visitors to London could often be called upon to bring back. Consequently, two hours later, with all of her errands done, Emma returned to the trap, her arms piled high with purchases.
‘Miss Darling, how nice to see you again. Here, let me help you with your purchases.’
Turning, Emma was surprised to see Mr Tufton walking towards her. ‘Thank you, Mr Tufton, but it really isn’t necessary—’
‘Nonsense, I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing I had allowed a lady to struggle unaided beneath the weight of her purchases.’ He relieved her of several of the boxes and placed them carefully in the trap. ‘I suspect a good deal of this has to do with Miss Linette’s wedding.’
‘Some of it,’ Emma agreed, ‘though just as much is for me. Painting supplies and the like.’
‘Ah, yes, your sister told me you were a talented artist. It must run in your family.’
Emma smiled, assuming from his comment that word of Ridley’s new profession had also made the rounds.
‘Still, there must be a great deal of excitement in your house,’ Mr Tufton went on, ‘with your sister about to be married to the Earl of Widdicombe’s son.’
A little too much, Emma was tempted to say, but feeling it might sound disloyal, said, ‘There is indeed. And with Ridley home, we are quite a houseful.’
‘I’m sure you are an admirable hostess and well able to keep everyone under control,’ the vicar complimented her. ‘You strike me as being a supremely organised young woman, entirely capable of managing a household.’
Emma inclined her head, wondering if he thought ‘organised’ the type of compliment a woman liked to hear. ‘How are you getting on with your visits to parishioners?’
‘Very well indeed. I have eaten more cake and drunk more tea in the last two weeks than in the previous six months,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘But I have been made to feel welcome and for that I am exceedingly grateful. It is not easy to fill the shoes of a man like Mr Humbolt. He was a gifted orator, loved by one and all.’
Emma was touched by the note of humility in his voice. ‘He was vicar here for a long time, Mr Tufton. It is only to be expected that he would garner a loyal following. You will too, given time.’
‘You are kind to say so, but there are those who think I am too young to do the Lord’s work.’
And likely too handsome. Emma already knew of several young ladies who had taken to attending Sunday service with a great deal more enthusiasm than they had in the past. ‘Never mind, they’ll come round. Country folk do not like change and resist it for as long as they can. But you have a very pleasant manner and I feel sure you will be as well loved as Mr Humbolt in no time at all.’
‘Thank you, Miss Darling. Your support and your friendship mean a great deal to me. I hope you know that.’
He smiled down at her and Emma saw a glimmer of earnest affection in his eyes.
‘Well, I had best be getting home,’ she said quickly. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr Tufton. It was most appreciated.’
‘My pleasure. I look forward to seeing you again in the near future.’
Emma felt her cheeks grow warm as she climbed into the seat. Was it possible Mr Tufton was interested in her? She didn’t have a great deal of experience in that area, but it was hard to ignore the warmth in his voice when he spoke to her. The last time they had met, she had assumed his attentions were merely those of a man of the cloth towards one of his flock, but after today’s encounter, she wasn’t so sure.
Emma flicked the reins and set the mare to a brisk walk. How did she feel about the idea of Mr Tufton courting her? On a practical level, she knew she could do worse. He held a position of respect within the community, had a nice home and garden, and if he was at all ambitious, his chances for advancement were as good was any man’s and better than most. And he was certainly handsome enough.
Not, perhaps, as handsome as Lord Stewart, but then she had met very few men who were. But his manner was pleasing and she did not feel as unsettled with him as she did with Lord Stewart. Nor did she feel the need to be on guard with everything she said.
No, Mr Tufton’s was definitely the more tranquil presence. Lord Stewart was about as tranquil as a tiger. She couldn’t believe she was even thinking about the two men in the same light. Lord Stewart was heir to the Earl of Widdicombe, practically engaged to Lady Glynnis Pettle. He clearly had no interest in her, and she certainly had no interest in—
Craacccckkk!
It happened without warning. The trap suddenly lurched to the left. As the mare whinnied, Emma toppled backwards off the seat, the reins wrenched from her hands as she landed on her back, her head hitting the floor of the trap hard.
For a few minutes, she just lay there, staring up at the sky. Though she’d heard that people often saw stars when they hit their heads, she had never experienced that particular sensation until now. And it was not in the least pleasant. Nor was the rest of her predicament. She was lying on an angle, with her feet higher than her head and her dress up around her knees. She was also over a mile from Dove’s Hollow. How on earth was she going to get everything home?
She tried to sit up, only to sink back with a moan. Never mind getting home, how was she to sit up when every time she tried, the world started to spin madly around her?
‘Miss Darling. Are you injured?’
Oh, wonderful! And now Lord Stewart had happened upon her. Of all the people who could have ridden by, why did it have to be him? ‘I’m fine, though I’m not so sure about the trap,’ she said in a depressingly weakened voice. ‘Is Bess all right?’
‘If you’re referring to the mare, she’s fine.’ She heard him dismount and, seconds later, saw his face looming over hers. ‘The trap’s thrown a wheel. Are you sure you’re all right?’
Strangely enough, she was—now that he was here. But when she went to sit up, not only did her head swim, but the angle of the trap made it virtually impossible.
‘Here, let me help you,’ he offered.
‘That won’t be necessary—’
He brushed her objections aside. Leaning down, he slid his left arm behind her shoulders, and his right arm under her knees. Thank goodness she had pulled her dress down, but the cool air on her ankles told her it wasn’t far enough. ‘Lord Stewart, I hardly think this is necessary—’
‘Put your arms around my neck,’ he ordered.
Her cheeks flamed. ‘That wouldn’t be proper!’
‘It might not be proper, but it will make getting you out of the trap a good deal easier.’
‘But—’
‘Miss Darling. Either do as I ask or I shall leave you here until dark. Which would you prefer?’
Too weak to argue, Emma put both of her arms around his neck and, seconds later, felt herself lifted out of the trap as though she weighed nothing at all. She had never been carried by a man before and she found the sensation startlingly intimate. The scent of fine linen and starch clung to his clothes, the scent of bay rum and lemon to his skin. Unfortunately, when her head suddenly came up higher than her legs, the world began to spin in a most alarming fashion. Perspiration dotted her forehead and stars danced in front of her eyes again. The sound of him calling her name was the last thing she heard before the white light exploded and silence blanketed her world.
Chapter Five
Emma came to slowly, rising from the depths of sleep to an awareness of soft grass beneath her back and a canopy of green leaves over her head. She blinked a few times, waiting for memory to return. When it did, she groaned and went to sit up, only to feel a hand at her shoulder gently pressing her back down.
‘You might like to think twice before doing that,’ Lord Stewart advised. ‘Judging by the size of the lump on the back of your head, you would only p
ass out again.’
Emma reluctantly subsided, aware that he was probably right. Obviously she’d hit her head harder than she’d thought. She closed her eyes and drew a long deep breath. When she opened them again, it was to see him sitting beside her. ‘Lord Stewart, where is your jacket?’
‘Folded up beneath your head. I thought the lump needed cushioning.’
That explained the fragrance of lemon. ‘It will not be fit to wear.’
‘A small price to pay for your comfort. How do you feel?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I should probably try sitting up.’
‘Only if you go slowly.’
When she nodded, he slipped his arm beneath her shoulders and carefully brought her to an upright position. Emma kept her eyes closed and took a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the pleasurable feeling of his arm behind her back. Oh, yes, her head was definitely spinning, though whether that was from bumping her head or being in such close proximity to him, she really couldn’t say.
‘You might like to apply some cold cloths to that lump when you get home,’ he advised. ‘It will help bring down the swelling.’
‘Thank you, I will.’ She finally opened her eyes—and found herself staring into his: two clear blue mirrors that reflected her own face back at her. And try as she might, she couldn’t look away.
‘I’ve…taken the liberty of disengaging the mare from her harness,’ he said abruptly. ‘The trap is of no use now. I’ll put you up on Thunder and walk alongside with the mare. We can take a few of the packages you’d rather not leave behind, but I’m afraid the rest will have to stay. I’ll send someone back for them later.’
Emma nodded. He was being very sensible. Very gallant. Both of which were making her feel very guilty. ‘I don’t want to be a bother, Lord—’
‘Alex.’
She glanced at him. ‘Lord Alex?’
‘Just Alex. I think we can drop the formality given what’s happened. Besides, if I’m to be your brother-in-law, it is perfectly acceptable for you to call me Alex and for me to call you Emma.’
It did make sense. Unfortunately, it also made things a great deal more intimate, at least as far as she was concerned. ‘I’m sure it would raise eyebrows if we were to be heard addressing one another in such a manner.’
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