by Lynn Messina
“It is not a real sort of love,” Emma scoffed. “It is just the familiarity one mistakes for liking. Lavinia fears becoming a spinster. She doesn’t want to play maiden aunt to Roger’s monsters. She wants her own children. I cannot question the sentiment, but I can take exception to her solution. She’s marrying Sir Windbag because he’s the only man who has asked. She’s settling for a man she won’t be able to stand in a few years. His charm, such as it is, will pall, and she will be left with a hollow sham of a marriage. Her interests will have been taken away—I told you how he does not like her ‘hobby’ of raising orchids—and she will have nothing left to make her happy. I do not want that sort of life for my sister. She deserves better.”
“Her children will make her happy.”
Emma doubted that very much. Her parents’ marriage was very similar to the one she’d just described, and nothing she or Lavinia or Roger had done had ever made her parents happy. “No, they will just remind her of the rash choices she made when she was too young to know better.”
Not for the first time Kate’s heart went out to her dear friend. She knew Emma didn’t have a happy childhood and was still much affected by it, but she didn’t realize how deeply the hurt went. No wonder she is afraid of marriage, Kate thought. “Each person must take responsibility for her own decisions. I cannot believe that dear Vinnie would take her disappointment out on her children as your mother did. If she has had no other offers of marriage, then perhaps this is the best thing for her,” she added gently.
“Lavinia would have offers if she were more lively. She is very pretty.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“It’s just that she’s so practical, isn’t it? She never has adventures like other women. She’d rather stay at home and read horticultural texts. And she reads more now that she’s engaged to Sir Windbag. Wouldn’t she read less if she were really in love?”
“Emma darling, other women don’t have adventures. Only you do.”
“Well, then, doesn’t that just demonstrate all that’s wrong with the world?” she asked with a wave of a distressed hand.
Miss Kennington wasn’t inclined to agree, but she said nothing more on the topic. “I will think carefully on this project and get back to you as soon as I’ve compiled a list of agreeable candidates. Will I be seeing you tonight at Lady Sizemore’s musicale?”
“Good gracious, no!” answered Emma, horrified at the thought of spending even a minute listening to Sonia Sizemore’s off-key alto. “Sarah has promised to escort Lavinia and me to the theater. We are going to see the very excellent production of a Midsummer Night’s Dream at Drury Lane Theater.”
“Is Roger not back from the Continent yet?” Kate asked, examining the clock on the mantelpiece. The hour was growing late, and she needed yet to change her gown.
“No, though we expect him any day. I do not think it’s right that Mama send him to France to do business for her. Surely there are unmarried men without families she could hire to do her bidding. Must it be Roger?” Emma noticed her friend’s glance and stood up. “No need to say it, dear. I’m leaving. No doubt you are eagerly awaiting a call from Lord Hastings. I expect any day now to hear word of your engagement.”
“Don’t be so sure,” cautioned the lady. “I haven’t decided if I want him or not. Mr. Roth has been very charming of late.”
Emma didn’t know who Mr. Roth was and knew better than to ask. Even if he had been charming of late, he would not last. Kate’s affections were fixed on Lord Hastings whether she admitted to it or not.
They were approaching the door and finishing their good-byes when a thought struck Emma. “Tell me, Kate, what do you think of Lord Everett Carson?”
“A cad.”
“Just as I thought!”
Kate didn’t like the look in her friend’s eye. “What are you thinking?”
“I might have a possible solution. Carson would think nothing of courting a betrothed female. Perhaps I shall endeavor to engage his affections.”
“Why should you engage his affections? I can’t imagine what good that would serve.”
“No, my engaging his affections would serve no good, but if he thought I were Lavinia…” She trailed off as she considered her scheme. If she pretended to be Lavinia for a little while and if she flirted mercilessly with Carson, then maybe he would fix his attentions on the real Lavinia. It was a known fact that men liked women who liked them. The idea had merit. She looked up to find Kate staring at her, and she laughed at the expression on her friend’s face. “Don’t look so horrified, my dear. Lavinia and I are twins. What good is an adventure about twins without a case of mistaken identity?” She gave her dear friend a kiss on the cheek, promised to see her soon and went outside into the chilly March air. Miss Emma Harlow was much satisfied with this morning’s work. She might not have settled on the details yet, but she expected that within a month she’ll have extracted Sir Waldo Windbag from their lives. It was a lovely prospect.
When Emma arrived home, she found Sarah in the parlor, staring blankly into the fireplace. Her needlework lay untouched on her lap and her eyes were red from tears.
“Sarah darling,” Emma said, flying to her sister-in-law’s side and kneeling at her feet, “how distressed look you. Whatever is the matter?”
“It’s Roger,” she said, faintly, turning her eyes away from the flame.
Emma gasped. “He isn’t…”
“No, dear, he isn’t. But he has been hurt just the same.” Fresh tears began to trickle down Sarah’s face. “They had to amputate—his left arm. My dear, darling Roger.”
“Come here, darling,” Emma said, pulling Sarah into her arms and murmuring words of comfort. “He’s alive, dearest, that’s all that matters. He doesn’t need both arms.”
“I know that, Emma. I’m not crying because he lost an arm. Really, I’m not such a ninny as that. He can hold me tight enough with one arm.” Sarah sat back in her chair and straightened her hair. “I’m crying because of all the pain he must have suffered, all the pain he must be suffering still. It’s unbearable. I should be with him. It should be my hand he holds on to for comfort.”
Never one for inaction, the Harlow Hoyden considered this problem and arrived instantly at a workable solution. “Very well, we’ll leave this instant. I’ll throw a few things into a bag and have Dobson pack one for you as well. We will be in France by nightfall.”
For the first time since getting the dreadful news an hour before, Sarah laughed. “France is many miles away. We cannot reach it by dark.”
“Well, Dover then,” she said reasonably. “We will take a boat across the Channel first thing in the morning. I better tell Dobson not to prepare dinner for us. And I must leave a note for Lavinia. Where’s my sister anyway? She should have been here to comfort you when the news came. Is she in the conservatory? Really, Sarah, all you had to do is send Ludlow to fetch her. She would have gladly abandoned the Rhyncholaelia digbyana for you.”
“Emma, we cannot reach Dover before nightfall.”
“Yes, we can,” she answered, distractedly. She was trying to compile a list of things she would need for the journey. She would leave Ellen here, of course. An abigail would just slow them down, and Sarah was all the companion she needed to put the stamp of respectability on it.
“No, we can’t, my dear. It is too far away.”
Emma smiled. “Not the way I drive.”
“No, dear, it’s very sweet of you, of course, but I must insist that you stop in your wild notion. We will not go tearing off after Roger in a curricle,” she said, thinking of all the things that could go wrong with such a plan.
“All right,” said Emma with that faraway calculating look in her eye, “we won’t go tearing off after Roger.”
Sarah knew her sister-in-law too well to accept this statement without further caveats. “And you will not go on your own. You will sit here and comfort me and not move from my side. I don’t want you sneaking off under the cover of dark
ness, either, as soon as my back is turned. I’ll have your word on this matter.”
Since this was exactly what Emma had planned to do, she gave her word with a petulant look. She knew she shouldn’t burden Sarah with her bad temper, but sitting around waiting for news was not her style. She preferred to chase after things, rather than let them come to her. “All right, dearest, I give my word, but only because you look so worried. Really, Sarah, you needn’t worry so much about me. I’m no longer a child and am well adept at taking care of myself.”
“Yes, it’s your reputation you don’t have a care for.”
“Well, which is more important—my person or my reputation?”
Sarah looked at her with considering eyes. “Honestly, my dear, I don’t know the answer to that one.”
“Well, I do, and that’s all that matters. Now let’s get some tea into you and then you can tell me all about it.” She stood up, stuck her head out of the parlor doors and called for the housekeeper. “Dobson, Dobson, where is that woma— Oh, there you are. Can we get some tea in here? And some sandwiches. My sister-in-law is in need of sustenance.” Sarah tried to demur, but Miss Harlow ran roughshod over her. “Yes, you do. Dobson, also bring some of my brother’s brandy. I’ve always found it very reviving.” She closed the door.
“Emma, I do wish you’d use the pull cord like everyone else. You can’t go around yelling your head off. The servants find it off-putting.”
“Pooh, certainly it’s less off-putting than being called with a bell like a dog.”
Sarah could not bestir herself to argue. “Very well. But I don’t think we should have the brandy. It’s the middle of the day.”
“Bad news doesn’t defer to the time of day—why should we?” Emma made herself comfortable on a footstool across from her friend. “All right, tell me everything. I know naught other than he lost his arm. How did it happen? Where did it happen? Who is taking care of him?”
“It was a riding accident,” explained Sarah. “His horse took a spill and landed on top of his arm. We are very lucky that he did. A few inches to the right and Roger’s chest would have been crushed. The doctor says that he’s very fortunate to have survived such an accident.”
“But there must be some mistake!” exclaimed Emma. “Roger is an excellent rider. He’s never taken a spill in his life. ’Twas he who taught me how to hold a seat, and a horse has never fallen on my arm.”
“I assure you it’s no mistake. The roads in France must be different from the roads in England. Perhaps there are more potholes. Perhaps he was riding at night. I do not have all the details. I only know that it happened four days ago in Calais and that he is alive. I don’t need to know more.”
Emma saw the look of calm on Sarah’s face and restrained her impatience. Because she didn’t have Sarah’s inner serenity, she was unable to accept this information without further questions. She wanted to know more, and she cursed the promise she had given. Really, if she left right now, she would be in Dover before dark and in Calais by luncheon tomorrow. It was so much more preferable to just sitting here waiting for news. “Does the missive say when Roger will be well enough for travel?” she asked.
“The doctor hopes within a week, barring infection.”
Emma nodded. Surely she could wait a week to get the details from Roger. She was much interested in hearing about this spill. Something very treacherous indeed must have crossed his path to make such an accomplished rider as he lose control of his steed. She allowed that on a moonless night a large animal like a deer might be able to do her some mischief. “We’ll have to prepare the house for his arrival. Shall I instruct Dobson or would you rather do that?”
“I shall take care of everything. Thank goodness the children are at Ridgeview House. I wouldn’t want them to see their father when he’s unwell. In a few months, I daresay, he’ll be used to his condition and will be able to put them at ease. When adults are awkward or uncomfortable, children sense it and react accordingly.”
“Yes, that’s exactly how it is.” The door opened and in stepped a footman with a tray of food. “Ah, here is Ludlow. Please leave it on the table and we will take care of it, my good man. And here’s the tea. I don’t see the brandy. I trust that’s forthcoming? Excellent. Sarah, why don’t you sit back and let me serve. You’ve done enough for the day. Why don’t you give me that sampler? You’ve got better things to do than drag a needle through a piece of fabric.”
All thoughts of going to the theater were instantly abandoned upon hearing the news about Roger. The Harlows were content to pass the evening quietly in their drawing room, taking comfort from each other. Even Lady Harlow changed her plans, telling her cronies to play whist without her. She sat now by the fire, anxiously shuffling a pack of playing cards. Emma was surprised and pleased by the concern their mama demonstrated. It had always seemed as if she didn’t care.
Emma’s scheme to break up Lavinia and Sir Waldo would have also been forgotten had Sir Windbag himself not come to sit with the family. He put himself on the couch, right next to Sarah, effectively squeezing out Lavinia, who had been quietly talking to her, and began asking questions. He had a morbid interest in accidents and seemed determined to get the details out of Sarah. Although told more than once that Sarah knew very little, Sir Waldo persisted in this useless line of questioning.
“You say the horse fell on his arm. Did it fall on his whole arm, up to his shoulder, or just the lower portion, to the elbow?” he asked, completely oblivious to her discomfort.
“I don’t know, Sir Windbourne.”
“What part of Calais was he in when it happened? I’m somewhat familiar with the geography of France. I wonder if he was near the Chapeau Triste. Did it happen near the Chapeau Triste?”
“I don’t know, Sir Windbourne.”
“This doctor. What was his name? I knew a family in those parts once, named Deveraux, I think. Was the doctor a tall man with a very thin—”
“Waldo, Mama and I were just about to start a hand of piquet. Won’t you join us?” said Lavinia, putting an end to the awkward exchange.
Emma hid a smile when she saw the expression on Mama’s face. “Piquet? Why, I haven’t played piquet in years. I don’t think I recall how. Why would you say such a thing, child?”
“How lovely. We’ll all be evenly matched,” said Lavinia as she accepted a seat from her fiancé.
Taking the recently vacated cushion next to her sister-in-law, Emma said, “I’m sorry that you had to go through that, but if his ill-bred treatment of you revealed one-tenth of his coarse nature to my sister, then I can’t think it such an awful thing.”
“Emma, you are too harsh in your judgment of him. Some people are uncomfortable in the company of tragedy and don’t know what to say. They don’t mean to behave badly.”
“And you, my dear, are too soft in your judgment. But not to worry, I’m on the case and will soon have this whole problem fixed.”
“What are you planning?” Sarah asked suspiciously. For the first time that day she recalled the Duke of Trent’s odd behavior the night before. He’d seemed on the verge of a confession.
“Nothing to furl your pretty brow over. Just concentrate on Roger’s getting well and returning home to us soon. I’ll worry about everything else.”
“That’s exactly what worries me.”
Emma merely laughed.
With the piquet game occupying her hands, Lady Harlow found her mind wandering. “The thing I don’t understand is why Roger had to go to France in the first place. It’s so dangerous.”
“The war is over, Mama, and Napoléon has been safely ensconced on St. Helena for these many months,” Lavinia said reasonably. “France is as safe as England.”
“Ha!” said the lady. “Roger never tumbled off his horse on English soil. Traveling is foolhardy and dangerous. I myself have never done it and look at the long life I’ve had.”
“Then perhaps you should not send him to France to do your bidding, “ said Em
ma, reminding her mother just why Roger had been on foreign soil.
“I, send him to France? What an absurd notion.”
“But what about your investments?”
“The only investments I have are English. I’d never send my money to France, where any old foreigner could steal it. Why, look at what happened to Roger. I’m not altogether convinced that this accident wasn’t intentional. Surely some thieves set upon him in the night, causing him to take a fall.”
Emma thought this disavowal of French investments odd but didn’t refine too much on it. Her mother was a careless, absentminded woman and forgetting that she’d sent her firstborn on a financial errand was exactly the sort of thing she’d do.
“That is neither here nor there,” said Sarah, fearing that Emma wouldn’t let the matter rest. “What’s important is Roger’s health. We must all keep that in mind. And when he returns to our hearth, we must be sure to treat him as we always have. We mustn’t let him think we’re treating him differently because of his missing arm. His state of mind is as important as his physical health.”
Everyone agreed that this was the best course of action, and the room fell silent once more.
CHAPTER FOUR
Much to his disgust, the Duke of Trent found himself looking for the Harlow chit everywhere he went. He expected to see her at the Sizemore musicale, which was the only reason he let his mama drag him there. Two hours of listening to what sounded like a hen caterwauling and not a glimpse of golden curls. He left the event in a huff and went to his club, where he passed the evening losing fifty pounds to the Earl of Tumbridge.
The exercise was repeated the next evening, at Lady Weston’s route. His delighted mama watched him make conversation with Miss Portia Hedgley under the very pleased eye of that lady’s father. The talk was desultory and bored the duke to flinders. If he had to hear another word about ostrich-plumed hats, he was going to scream. At the first possible moment, he offered to fetch the lady wine and disappeared into the crowd. He cornered Philip and made him deliver the refreshment to Miss Hedgley.