by Trisha Telep
Mother waved one hand. “Unpardonable, pish. He fancies you, my dear; who are his people? Where is he from? What are his connections?”
“He is my neighbour,” she snapped. “He is a gentleman, and that is all I know about him. I shall have to apologise tomorrow – how could you do that?”
“Emma, my dear, you are such an innocent.” Mother was unmoved. “Sir Arthur left you a pittance. You shall have to marry again, and it might as well be to a man of means and station.”
“You mean someone unlike me,” she retorted. “Because I have modest means and modest station.”
“And you don’t want to sink lower, either!” Mother rounded on her suddenly. “You don’t know what it’s like to be watched with pity and scorn,” she said in withering tones. “Wearing your clothes until they are practically rags because you can’t afford a new gown or gloves. Dusting your own parlour so you look like a servant – and then receiving a caller in that state! I want more for you, dearest, and you should, too.”
Emma met her mother’s fierce gaze. Mother’s father had been a baron, but a destitute one. Mother had told her many times how the family went hungry after her father lost at the races or the card tables. There had been no money for fine clothes or servants, and that poverty had shaped Emma’s mother into a woman of endless ambition. With her beauty she had caught one husband, Emma’s father, who was a prosperous mill owner, and then a second. Mr Hayton had been an MP, and a decent man, although thoroughly under his wife’s thumb. Even now, twice widowed and with a healthy annuity, Mother was constantly thinking how she could improve her situation, by any means necessary.
Emma had learned early on that her mother would happily use her to do it. Mother had contrived to have her compromised by a wealthy viscount, even though he was three decades older than Emma, and then tried to persuade her to seduce Mr Fitzwilliam, who had no title but owned one of the largest estates in north-eastern Sussex. In desperation Emma had wed Sir Arthur, who was kind and genial and managed to keep her mother from overrunning their lives.
“Mother, I am content as I am. I do not need a new husband so that I might wear new gowns and keep my own carriage and dine on fine china. Sir Arthur left me enough to be comfortable, as I am,” she said, raising her voice to forestall her mother’s impatient protest. “Now you have gone and manipulated Captain Quentin just for fun, and he was too polite to say nay! He is my neighbour, and a kind man, and you have humiliated me.”
Mrs Hayton cupped Emma’s cheek in her hand. “You are so like your father,” she murmured. “Satisfied with so little.”
Emma clenched her jaw. Her father had been an affectionate papa. “Is that what you were to him?” she whispered. “What I was to him?”
Mother released her. “The Captain is a handsome man,” she said, picking up her reticule. “He is young to be retired; he must have made his fortune in the wars. I shall see what I can learn about him. Do not do anything until I speak to you again.”
“My feelings, whatever they may be, wouldn’t be affected in the slightest by anything you say.”
On her way to the door, Mother glanced back at her. “You would ignore a man of fortune, right on your doorstep, just to spite me?” She shook her head. “Emma dear, sometimes I wonder how you can be my child.”
“I do, too,” she replied quietly as her mother closed the door.
Phineas walked slowly down the steps of Lady Bowen’s house. That had not gone as expected. Mrs Hayton was a beautiful woman, but Phin thought he’d be careful not to be drawn into conversation with her again. She’d manoeuvred him right into throwing a dinner party when he suspected Lady Bowen would have rather accepted his invitation to the theatre. And now he would have to go tell his sister Sarah they weren’t going to the theatre after all, but that she must help him plan a dinner at his house. He’d never done such a thing. Sarah would have such a laugh at his expense over this. Whom could he even invite? Sarah and her husband, of course; perhaps he could get his old mate Hakeham to come, and Morris and Campbell were genial fellows . . .
No, too many gentlemen. Phin felt a flutter of panic. Just Hakeham, then, and . . . and . . . he could ask his mother, he supposed, or ask Sarah to invite another lady. Instead of going on to his club, as he had planned to do, Phin jogged up the steps of his own home and let himself in. “Godfrey!”
“Yes, sir?” Godfrey stepped promptly from the dining room.
“Plan a dinner party,” Phin told him, flexing his fingers and cracking his knuckles as he thought. “For Saturday next.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I send notes around to the usual guests?”
He meant Hakeham, Morris, Campbell and some other men who had been with them in the Navy, Phin’s usual companions. Phin squared his shoulders. “No. There will be ladies present.” Godfrey’s eyes flickered in the direction of Number 12, and he went a shade paler. “Yes, that lady,” Phin told him. “Clean the house from top to bottom. Send to Lady Stanley if you need any plate or advice or . . . anything. And, for God’s sake, get Smithy sobered up to cook a decent meal.”
“Truly, sir? A dinner party?”
Phin nodded. Lady Bowen had looked lovelier than ever today, her chestnut hair a little mussed and her pink gown that looked soft and worn. She was a beauty, but not a hard, polished one. Phin preferred a woman who looked natural and comfortable rather than a woman who looked arranged and artful, as if she would crumble the first time a man embraced her. He had spent far too much time already thinking about embracing Lady Bowen, but Phin wanted to court her properly. If he had to throw a damn dinner party to do that, so be it. As his man hurried off to carry out his orders, Phin took a deep breath. It was like the preparation to set sail, making sure the supplies were ordered and the men instructed on their duties. But he was in charge of setting the course.
Five
Emma tried at once to rectify the situation. The next morning, she was up early, and rushed into the garden, hoping he would be there. As soon as he came out, she called over the wall to him. “Good morning, Captain.”
“Good morning, Lady Bowen.” He sounded as cordial as ever.
Emma said a quick prayer he wasn’t holding Mother’s actions against her. “I must speak about yesterday, when you called—”
“Yes, I enjoyed it very much. It was a pleasure to make your mother’s acquaintance.”
He was a good liar, she thought. It had been a nightmare from her point of view. She forced herself to go on. “I must apologise for her behaviour, though. To suggest you throw a dinner party—”
“But no, my dear,” he protested, and Emma paused. “My dear Lady Bowen. I am delighted you agreed to join our party – it will be a small gathering, just my sister and her husband, my mother and an old friend of mine from my Navy days.”
Emma pushed aside the little flicker of interest in the way he’d called her ‘my dear’ before adding her name. She tried not to recall her mother’s blunt assessment of the Captain’s regard for her. She said the only thing she could say. “I’m sure it will be lovely. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
The dinner was almost a success.
Phin had prevailed upon his mother to act as hostess, since his sister couldn’t stop smirking when she looked at him. Mama had raised her eyebrows when he asked, and he knew Sarah had already told her why he was throwing together a party on such short notice. But Mama merely smiled and said it was good to see him taking an interest in society at last, and agreed.
Godfrey polished the dining room to a sparkle, and laid the table with Sarah’s second-best china and silver. He impressed upon Smithy, the cook, that his employment hung on this dinner. Phin was relieved by the succulent smells that filled the house as Saturday evening approached. Godfrey brushed and pressed his best coat, and Phin dressed with care. He hadn’t been this nervous even when the admiral had come aboard his ship.
Then Sarah and her husband arrived, Sarah still delighted by the image of Phin infatuated with his neighbour, an
d Gregory flashing Phin a glance of wry sympathy. Hakeham arrived, as good-natured and discreet as ever, and then his mother. Mama cast a critical eye over the arrangements, and then gave a satisfied nod. Phin kissed her cheek. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“You know you have only to ask, Phineas. I cannot wait to meet the lady who has inspired you.”
He’d told his mother all about Lady Bowen. Phin pulled out his pocket watch again and checked the time. “Perhaps I shall go escort her,” he said. “Would that be acceptable?”
Mama smiled. Sarah tried to hide her laughter in a cough. “Go fetch her, Phineas.”
Emma tried not to attribute too much to the evening. She wore her best dress, a glazed cotton with embroidered hem, and her favourite shawl. Her mother had called the day before, clearly ready to tell all she had learned about the Captain, and for once Emma refused to see her. She pleaded a headache and locked her bedroom door. She didn’t want Mother to pollute her impression of the Captain or his guests. She didn’t want to have her head stuffed with Mother’s talk of advantageous matches and how to seduce the Captain, if he were good enough for Mother’s requirements. She still felt a burn of humiliation over the way Mother had acted, and resolved to be as polite and restrained as possible, to prove she wasn’t like that.
But as she went down the stairs, her heart ignored all her sense and sped up.
Then she opened the door, and jumped back in surprise. The Captain himself stood on her doorstep, hand raised as if to knock. He looked as surprised as she.
Emma pressed one hand to her bosom and gave a shaky laugh. “I beg your pardon.”
“No, no!” He looked abashed. “I merely thought to escort you.”
Emma could see his front steps from the corner of her eye. “It is only twenty feet or so . . .” He looked to his steps and gave her a rueful smile, looking up at her from under his brows like a boy. Her silly heart bumped again. “But it is so kind of you,” she finished a bit shyly. “Thank you.”
He extended his arm and they walked down her steps, covered the short distance between the houses, and then up his. A servant was waiting to open the door, standing stiffly at attention. Emma had seen him chatting with Jane over the railings. He took her shawl, then the Captain led her to the drawing room, where he introduced his other guests. Lieutenant Hakeham, a charming, merry fellow, had sailed with Captain Quentin. Viscount Stanley was married to the Captain’s sister, Lady Stanley, who greeted Emma with warm enthusiasm. It was Mrs Quentin, the Captain’s mother, who gave Emma the most pause. She was tall and regal, and seemed to size Emma up with one glance. But her greeting was polite enough, and then Lady Stanley took over the conversation, chattering gaily.
“How wonderful you could join us tonight,” Lady Stanley said, drawing Emma apart. “I understand you are a gardener; my brother has often mentioned how lovely your garden is.”
“Oh,” said Emma, glancing at the Captain. He was talking with his mother, but watching her. Good heavens, he looked attractive in his evening clothes. His dark hair gleamed with lighter streaks in the candlelight, but his eyes were as blue as she remembered. Emma had to drag her eyes away. “Indeed.”
“Oh, indeed!” Lady Stanley exclaimed. “I vow, he has described a veritable Garden of Eden! You must share your secrets.”
“Oh,” said Emma again. “It’s really not so grand; it is only a small city garden, after all.”
Lady Stanley laughed. “To Phin, any patch of trimmed grass looks grand, after all his years at sea. Tell me, do you have roses? Our gardener does not like them, but I so long for some pink ones.”
Emma smiled, glad for a safe subject. She could still feel the Captain’s gaze on her back, like the heat of a fire. It warmed her even as she talked, with relief, of roses and gardens until they went in to dine.
Six
It wasn’t until dessert was served that everything went wrong.
Emma had excused herself to the necessary, and then took some time trying to pin up her hair again. The dinner had been marvellous, expertly prepared and served by the Captain’s man with astonishing speed and economy of movement; when the Captain mentioned Godfrey had been with him in the Navy, Emma understood why. All her fears about being out of place had evaporated in the easy atmosphere as the conversation flowed like wine – rich and mellow. The Quentins were an affectionate family, and it made Emma’s heart swell to see how the Captain was so easy and relaxed with his sister and his mother. It was exactly the sort of familial scene that had been so lacking in her own life, with her mother constantly worried about how such familiarity would appear.
In fact, the conversation at dinner had been so animated and lively, half her hair seemed to have slipped its pins as she laughed. As she twisted curls back into place, she caught a glimpse of her expression in the mirror. Her colour was high, her eyes bright, and her lips seemed stuck in a slight smile. Even with her hair verging on untidy, she looked rather nice, much to her relief.
It was only for female pride that she wanted to look nice, of course. She was not putting stock in what her mother said, nor taking her mother’s advice to pursue the Captain. She was just enjoying his company, and he was even more interesting without a wall between them. As he related some story, with frequent asides from Lieutenant Hakeham, about fishing in the Caribbean, Emma found herself drifting away as she always did when he spoke, and his rich tenor voice carried her imagination away to some faraway place. Only when she caught Lady Stanley watching her curiously did she recall where she was.
Her hair repaired, her heart light, she walked back to the dining room. As she reached the door, Godfrey slipped out, a laden tray in his hands. When he saw her, he bowed crisply, despite his tray, and left the door unlatched. “Thank you,” Emma murmured, moving aside to let him pass. She reached out to let herself back into the dining room.
“It’s her connection to Mrs Hayton that concerns me.” Mrs Quentin’s voice, though not raised or angry, carried through the partly closed door. Emma froze. “Phineas, her mother is quite beyond the pale. Her ambition is no secret to anyone – indeed, she does not try to hide it. I warrant she took one look at you and rated you a fine catch in terms of wealth, station and advantage.” Emma closed her eyes as each word struck home. “You mustn’t let yourself be taken in.”
The Captain’s reply was too low to hear, but Emma didn’t even try. It was bad enough that her mother’s scheming was widely known, and now presented to the Captain. He would have heard of it sooner or later, most likely. The Bowens had come to despise Mother because of her ceaseless manoeuvring for every little scrap of status. Her stepson William had refused to allow Mother at Bowen Lodge after his father died, not even for the funeral. He’d said he couldn’t bear to watch her try to catch a third husband over the cold meats, and Emma couldn’t argue against it. Her mother was shameless.
Quietly she turned and walked away. She should just leave. Emma didn’t want to know what the Captain himself might think of her now; her mother’s behaviour the other day could only have confirmed Mrs Quentin’s words. Perhaps if she stayed out of her garden for the next few weeks, the Captain would believe she hadn’t been scheming to marry him. Except . . . Oh, how she would miss him.
But the door opened before she had gone more than a few steps. “Lady Bowen,” said the Captain behind her. “Wait. Please, wait!”
“I must go,” she said in a rush, barely glancing back. “A sudden headache . . . I don’t wish to spoil everyone’s evening . . .”
“Wait,” he said again, firmly. He was already beside her, and took her arm. “I must have a word before you go.”
“Your guests,” she tried to protest.
“They can wait.” He pushed open the door to a small room. When he closed the door behind them, there was only cool, bright moonlight to see by, but she had no trouble making out his frown.
“You heard what my mother said.” He wasn’t asking.
Emma avoided his gaze. “You mustn’t think I am
offended. She is, in general, correct; you saw for yourself how my mother can twist things to suit her.”
The Captain turned away and put his hands through his hair. “Damn.”
“But I wouldn’t want you to think I came tonight because my mother wished it,” Emma forged on.
He wheeled around. “Why did you come?”
“Be-because . . . I . . .” she stammered. “Because I wanted to.”
Relief swept over his face, and his shoulders sagged. “Why?” he asked quietly.
Her lips parted. “Because of our friendship,” she whispered. “Oh, I really must go.”
“No!” He lunged for the door at the same moment she did. His hand closed over hers on the doorknob. Emma froze. He was so close, his hand so large and strong over hers. She could smell his soap, and the wine on his breath. “One more question,” he murmured, his cheek right next to hers. “Just for friendship?”
Emma breathed deeply. She couldn’t think, not when he was so close. He must feel how he affected her, not at all like a friend. She didn’t say anything.
With careful hands he turned her to face him. “I should go,” she whispered again, without making any effort to leave. He just looked down at her with those blue, blue eyes. As he raised his hand, his knuckles brushed the outside of her breast. Emma sucked in her breath; her whole body flinched. The Captain paused, his eyes searching hers, and then he slowly brushed his knuckles deliberately over the same spot. This time Emma gasped. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and her knees felt weak. Still watching her, Captain Quentin lowered his head and kissed her.
It was a kiss like no other. His mouth was hot and sweet, flavoured with burgundy and passion. It took Emma off guard, and for a moment she leaned into him, opening to him and letting him deepen the kiss. For a moment everything else fell away, and she was carried away again by the spell he seemed to weave over her so effortlessly. This was no fantasy or flight of fancy; this was his arm around her, his mouth on hers, and her body straining into his.