The dog, Adam, flopped down on his pillow, kept near Charles’s chair, with a resigned sigh. Charles dropped his arm so his fingers could scratch the fluff of hair behind the dog’s ears. ‘Yes, I know, Adam. Damned difficult, this waiting.’
Adam looked up with soulful and understanding brown eyes.
‘I wish everything in life were as simple as a full belly and warm fire.’
Adam flicked one ear as though he understood perfectly.
‘Yes, I know,’ Charles continued. ‘I’m going dotty. Next it will be bedlam.’ He stared at the dog’s brown, nearly black, eyes and would have sworn he saw commiseration in them.
Emma woke up the next day to the maid she shared with Amy, who was also the housekeeper, and a steaming cup of hot chocolate. The sweet, rich smell made her stomach growl. She hadn’t eaten much dinner last night, knowing the visit she was going to make. Then there had been the encounter with Bertram.
The headache that had made it difficult to fall asleep threatened to return. She closed her eyes and counted slowly to twenty, trying to keep all other thoughts from her mind.
‘Here, miss, you’ll be needing this, I’ve no doubt.’
Emma opened her eyes to smile at the woman who had been in service with the family before Emma was born. Funds were so tight that they couldn’t afford to employ a separate maid and housekeeper. In most houses Betty would be called Mrs Murphy, but they had long ago dispensed with that. Betty had been Betty when she was the nursery maid. She would always be Betty.
‘Thank you, Betty.’
Emma pushed up to a sitting position and took the drink, downing the hot beverage in several greedy gulps. She closed her eyes, relishing the peace and pleasure of the moment, knowing it would disappear all too soon.
‘Tsk.’ Betty bustled around the room. ‘Here is more.’ She fetched the pot of hot chocolate and poured another cupful.
‘Thank you.’ Emma smiled at her. ‘You always know what I need before I do.’
‘Harrumph!’ The older, plump woman blushed to the roots of her silver hair. ‘A sad thing it would be if I didn’t.’
Emma’s smile widened but she made no reply. Betty was as modest as she was caring and efficient.
She noticed Betty was hustling about as though something bothered her. ‘Whatever is the matter, Betty, that you cannot settle down?’
The older woman paused with Emma’s morning dress clutched in her hands. ‘Master Bertram is up and about. He wants to talk with you immediately.’
Emma snorted. So, Bertram was still upset over last night. Since she had refused to tell him where she had gone, he was going to pester her until she did. Well, she was made of sterner stuff than that as he would soon find out.
She threw the heavy covers to one side and slid to the floor, her feet landing on a threadbare throw rug. She quickly put on her nearby slippers. Her thick woollen gown kept some of the chill in the unheated room from reaching her skin.
‘I’d best hurry then, since I intend to eat breakfast before speaking to him.’
Betty shooed her to the dressing table and pressed her onto the chair. Emma saw herself in the mirror. She looked a fright.
‘I should have braided my hair before going to sleep last night.’
But she had been thinking too much on what to do about Charles Hawthorne. She would pay for her negligence of the night before when Betty dressed her hair. The older woman would be gentle, but the tangles would take a long time to straighten out and would be painful in the process.
Bertram was going to wait longer than he liked.
What a mess everything was.
Over an hour later, Emma entered the breakfast room to find it empty and the fire blazing merrily. Gordon, the butler, entered behind her.
‘I will bank the fire, miss. Mr Bertram is in the parlour.’
Emma jumped. She had not realised the butler had followed her in. She had been too preoccupied with Bertram.
‘Thank you, Gordon.’ She smiled at the butler. ‘I will have a piece of toast and an egg before joining my brother.’
The butler bowed and left to tell Cook.
Emma sank into the chair where a fresh pot of hot chocolate had been placed and poured herself another cup. This was the one luxury she allowed herself, for chocolate was not inexpensive. She savoured the drink until her piece of toast and soft-boiled egg arrived, hoping all the time that Bertram would leave her in peace until she finished eating.
She even left the fire burning. Today she felt she needed all the comfort she could get.
The last bite of toast was a memory when Bertram slammed into the room. ‘Emma, I told Gordon to tell you I was in the parlour. Why have you taken so long?’
Emma took the final sip of chocolate before looking at her brother. Even now, she could see vestiges of the young, mischievous boy he had once been. She could even remember playing hide-and-seek with him down by the stream where Father would fish for trout. The memories softened her reply.
‘I am eating breakfast first. Then I had planned on meeting with you.’ She carefully folded the many-times mended linen napkin and laid it beside her empty plate before standing.
Bertram pivoted on his heel and strode from the room. Emma followed, refusing to look at the butler who she knew was studiously not looking at her. Gordon had been with the family as long as Betty, and like the housekeeper he had nearly a fatherly interest in what was happening to the family. Not to mention how the finances would impact on her ability to provide for him in his old age.
She entered the parlour behind her brother and noted still another coal fire. The room was nearly warm enough for her to take off her shawl.
Bertram stomped to the fireplace and placed one immaculately shined Hessian boot on the grate. She sat in the chair nearest the fire and waited. Taking the offensive only made Bertram defensive and accomplished nothing. That much she had learned from watching Mama deal with both husband and son.
‘I will get right to the heart of the matter, Emma. You must refuse to let Amy continue seeing Charles Hawthorne. The man is a rake with no title and he is totally unacceptable.’ He took a deep breath and added, ‘Why have you not been able to keep Amy away from him?’
Emma looked at her folded hands until she could get her emotions under control. ‘Charles Hawthorne is accepted everywhere, Bertram. There is no way to avoid him if I intend to take Amy about.’
Bertram’s light blue eyes chilled. ‘Then I must start to accompany you. What is today’s schedule?’
The light at the end of this tunnel was that as long as Bertram was with them he would not be gambling. ‘We have a visit to pay Lady James this afternoon. We have no plans for this evening.’
While she spoke Bertram’s eyes glazed over with boredom. Too bad.
He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and looked as if he were facing a firing squad. ‘Very well, then. I shall go with you.’
Emma rose, realising that taking Bertram uninvited was not the thing to do. And she could escape before he started asking where she had been last night. She was surprised he hadn’t asked that first. He must truly be worried about the rumours linking Amy to Charles Hawthorne. Or had he been too inebriated last night to remember?
‘I must send round a note to Lady James to see if she has room for you. If you will excuse me, I will see to that immediately. When I find out, I will let you know.’ She moved to the door, paused and looked over her shoulder. ‘Will you be here?’
He removed his foot from the fire grate and nearly did a shuffle. His actions told her what his answer would be. She swallowed a sigh of frustration.
‘I will be at my club. Send the message there.’
Emma left the room, praying he would not lose more money, but knowing he would. She could not force him to leave London, particularly since Papa had sent him.
But she could and would do something about putting a stop to Bertram’s impending duel with Charles Hawthorne. Right after she took care of the
new work Bertram’s latest decision had caused.
Chapter Nine
Emma dabbed rose water on her temples because that is what her Mama always used when she had a headache. Then she pulled her old robe around her shoulders and sent Betty, who had watched everything with a critical eye, to fetch Amy and Bertram.
Leaning back in the mound of pillows on the bed, Emma closed her eyes and told herself she had to do this. It was the only thing she could think of to stop the duel between her brother and Charles Hawthorne. Bertram was a young man who fished well and gambled. He was not a crack shot, and rumour said Charles Hawthorne was the best shot in the ton. The two could not—would not—meet.
She heard Bertram’s irritated voice before she saw him. ‘What is the matter now? I am on my way out. Can’t this wait?’
Betty said something but Emma couldn’t hear the housekeeper’s lowered tone.
‘Oh, if she insists.’ Bertram came through the bedroom door without knocking.
Emma hadn’t expected anything else since she had known this would irritate him. Anything that interfered with his plans irritated him these days. He could do with a rest in the country, but she knew better than to say that.
‘Thank you for coming, Bertram.’
She put all her effort into sounding tired and in pain, which, if she were honest with herself, didn’t take much. She was exhausted and worried her plan would fail—and it must not.
‘I am on my way out, Emma, so this must be quick.’
She saw the colour in his cheeks and wondered if his quick words had made her flush, too. This wasn’t the time to let her anger over everything get the better of her—as it had the last time she had spoken to him.
‘Then I am glad I caught you before you left. I have the headache, and Amy has just been invited to a ball where all the most eligible bachelors will be.’ She stared hard at Bertram, putting into her look all the things she could not openly say. ‘It is imperative she attend. You must take her.’
He returned her stare, his chin setting belligerently. She recognised the expression but she was not going to give in to him. Not tonight.
‘I have an engagement.’
‘You have a duty.’
His face darkened so that his straw-coloured hair seemed to stand out in bright relief against his narrow features. ‘You have a duty. You are the one who is Amy’s chaperone.’
She nearly shook her head in frustration. ‘I am not feeling well, Bertram. And Papa sent you here to lend us respectability. You must take Amy tonight in my stead.’
‘Then Amy can stay at home.’
Something snapped in Emma, and she wondered fleetingly if this was how she would be from here on. Always losing her temper? ‘How selfish do you intend to be, Bertram? First you gamble so that Amy must marry for money, then you drag her name through the mud by challenging Charles Hawthorne and now you refuse to help Amy find the rich husband you have made it imperative she marry.’
He drew himself up, the red that had filled his face draining away. ‘You speak harshly.’
‘You made me.’
She was not going to back down and allow him to do as he wished tonight. Both he and Amy had to be gone from the house. The only way to ensure they were both gone and she remained was for him to take Amy to the ball.
‘What is going on?’
Amy’s light voice came from the doorway where she stood, dressed for the ball. Her fair hair was in artful disarray with a spray of pansies tucked into a nest of curls. Tall and slim, her youthful figure was shown to perfection by a pale pink muslin gown, drawn up under her bosom and accented with deep violet ribbons the colour of the flowers in her hair. Her blue eyes were luminous and, at the moment, filled with curiosity.
‘We are having a discussion, dear,’ Emma answered before Bertram could say something cutting or petulant. ‘I have the headache, and Bertram must take you to the ball.’
Amy looked from one to the other. Her previous pleasure seeping away until her rosebud mouth formed a downward turn. She moved to stand by the bed.
‘Then I know exactly what is happening.’ She looked her brother up and down. ‘Bertram has plans already, and he refuses to change them to escort me.’ She tossed her head and turned to Emma. ‘Well, I can go to the ball by myself. That will solve everything.’
Emma closed her eyes for a moment, wondering why everything seemed to get worse. ‘No,’ she said, keeping her mounting anger from her words, ‘that won’t solve anything, Amy. You know you cannot go by yourself.’
‘Well, then why doesn’t Bertram seem to know that?’ She rounded on him. ‘For I know you have refused to take Em’s place, you selfish thing. All you think about is your own pleasure.’
Bertram backed up a step. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Don’t dare say that.’ Amy closed the distance between them. ‘What happened to the big brother who used to spend time showing us how to fish or how to walk in the forest so we didn’t make noise? I know. He got lost in the man who has decided that he shall do whatever he pleases regardless of the cost to others.’
Bertram’s fists clenched as though he wanted to push her away but he didn’t move. Emma realised Amy’s bitterness over her situation ran deeper than she had realised. If only the girl could find a man she could care for, things might work out.
‘All right. I will escort you.’ Bertram pivoted on one polished Hessian. ‘Give me time to change. I am dressed for an informal gathering, not a ball at Lady Cowper’s.’
Emma sighed in relief. It had not been pretty watching Amy and Bertram, but Amy had succeeded where she had failed. Now her plan could be put into effect.
Amy sank onto the bed. ‘I am sorry you don’t feel well, Em, for I wish above all things not to have Bertram take me. He is such a boor that he will be sure to pout or behave poorly the entire time.’
‘Yes, I am sure he will make things uncomfortable. But be happy you get to go.’
Emma couldn’t keep a bite of dryness from her tone. If she were truly unwell with the headache, Amy’s self-interest would be hurtful. As it was, she accepted it with irony.
Amy caught her meaning and had the grace to blush. ‘I did not mean to say that I don’t care that you are sick. I know how uncomfortable it is to lie abed. I just…’
‘Yes, I know. You just do not want Bertram as your escort. But you must.’
‘Yes, that is it exactly.’ Amy jumped up. ‘I will go and get my shawl and everything and be ready when he is. He is upset enough without being kept waiting.’ She paused in the doorway. ‘I hope you feel better.’
Emma knew the words were Amy’s way of apologising. She smiled. ‘I am sure a night at home will do wonders. Go and have fun.’
Amy beamed. ‘I shall do my best if only to spite Bertram.’
Emma laughed, sharing Amy’s sentiment. ‘Then you shall have a great time.’
‘Yes, I shall.’ Amy pirouetted one time to show off her ensemble, then flipped a wave to Emma and was gone.
Emma sank gratefully into the pillows. Now she had to wait for Betty to return with the news that the two were off. Then the next part of her plan could be put into action.
What seemed an eternity later there was a knock on the door. ‘Enter.’
The housekeeper came through. ‘They are gone, miss.’
Emma threw back the covers and slipped from bed. She took off her robe to show a practical gown of kerseymere in a muted heather colour. She glanced at the older woman who frowned back.
‘I know you don’t approve, Betty, but I am at my wit’s end and can think of nothing else to do.’
‘Humph! You could kidnap Master Bertram. That would put paid to the duel.’ She bustled to fold Emma’s robe. ‘And you should know nothing about that, either. That is men’s business.’
‘True, but Bertram let the news spill so now I must stop it—or at least try. As for kidnapping Bertram, what would I do with him? Send him to father? He would only come back and challenge Mr Hawt
horne again.’ She went to her desk, sat and pulled a piece of paper. ‘No, the only way to ensure the duel doesn’t happen is to have Mr Hawthorne fail to show. Then Bertram will have no need to challenge him again.’ She picked up a quill and dipped it in ink, muttering, ‘Not that he had any reason to do so in the first place.’
She made the note brief. The less said the better.
Please call upon me. My servant will accompany you.
Sincerely, Miss Stockton.
She waited several minutes for the ink to dry before standing and turning to Betty.
‘Please get David here.’
‘You don’t have to do this.’
Emma turned away from the servant. ‘I do not intend to discuss this. Fetch David.’
She heard Betty leaving and turned to look out the window. It was just starting to darken outside. Summer with its long days and short nights was perfect for the ton to socialise through the warm months. By the time her note reached Charles Hawthorne it would be dark and many of the people they knew would be indoors at some social gathering.
Would he come?
He had no reason to do so. She was no one to him. He might come if she said Amy wanted him, but he would know she would never send for him to appease Amy. Likely he would come from curiosity—and the chance for amusement at her expense. He seemed to like needling her.
She twisted the paper into a screw for delivery and started pacing. So much hinged on him coming. If he did not, she would have to do something else. What could she do to ensure he came? Nothing.
She heard David’s boots on the hall flooring and went to the door before he could knock. Stepping outside, she looked him over to make sure he was inconspicuous. He wore dark clothing and a woollen cap.
He made her a bow. ‘Miss.’
Emma gave him the note. ‘Please deliver this to Mr Charles Hawthorne. We were there two days ago. Wait for his reply. Escort him back here.’
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