She had not seen Mr Hawthorne since the duel. It was as though he had disappeared from London. But that had nothing to do with her current discussion. She hoped.
Emma’s smile slipped only a little. ‘I am sure there is no need for you to tell me anything.’
Mrs Kennilworth’s eyes narrowed. ‘Then you will understand when an offer is not forthcoming. After all—’ she flicked open her fan and waved it vigorously in front of her face, as though just the discussion heated her ‘—when a man already in debt to the point of ruin loses a small fortune, one cannot expect a prospective husband to bail the family out.’
Emma’s smile disappeared completely. Her nightmare was happening. She managed to say, ‘I agree totally, Mrs Kennilworth. One can only hope to get out of the potential embarrassment as quickly as possible.’ She looked away from the disagreeable woman. ‘Luckily, you did not approach my father.’
That would remind the Dowager that this conversation should not be taking place. She might be chaperoning Amy, but their father was the one who would determine who Amy wed.
The Dowager ignored Emma’s last comment. ‘I knew you had uncommon good sense, Miss Stockton. It is truly a shame your brother doesn’t share that with you.’
Emma abruptly stood. She had endured more than enough. ‘I am getting the headache, Mrs Kennilworth.’ She rubbed her temples for emphasis. ‘I am sure you understand.’
The other woman nodded sympathetically. ‘Yes, yes. I am so sorry to be the one to tell you.’ The look of smug satisfaction on her face belied her words.
Emma led the way to the door. ‘Amy, Mr Kennilworth and his mother must be leaving.’
Mr Kennilworth looked mutinous, but he was used to following his mother’s lead. He rose and followed the Dowager out the door. Amy stayed seated, a look of utmost relief on her delicate features.
Emma closed the door with precise care. What she wanted to do was slam the heavy oak so that it jumped on its hinges with a satisfying bang.
She returned to her seat and stared at nothing. She needed privacy to deal with the anger simmering inside her. Bertram went from one disaster to another with no regard for anyone else.
Mama’s pearls flashed through her mind. They would not be enough for this. They had gone into the ravenous maw of Bertram’s gambling just as everything else had, and none of it was enough.
‘Em.’ Amy rose and sat beside her sister. ‘What is the matter? You look as though you just lost—as though Mama had just died.’
Emma gave up trying to smile and allowed her mouth to turn down. There was no sense in keeping the truth from Amy. The news would be all over the ton by this evening when they went to Almack’s. If they went.
She took Amy’s hand and squeezed. ‘Bertram has once again lost a great sum of money. Mrs Kennilworth took much delight in telling me.’
‘Well, that should stop Mr Kennilworth’s courting.’ Amy tossed her blond curls. ‘Don’t look so shocked, Em. One must find the bright side of everything.’
Emma closed her mouth. ‘You do have a point, dear.’ What bright side could she find? Then she knew. ‘I believe it is time we went to the country for a while. Preferably before we are evicted for failure to pay rent.’
Amy’s insouciance went up in smoke as she jumped to her feet. ‘The country! I am not even halfway through my first Season.’
Emma craned her neck to look at her sister. ‘I know, but with this extra financial burden, we will not be able to sustain even a semblance of Town life.’
‘You say that because you prefer the country. I don’t!’ Amy flounced to the door and turned back. ‘Well, I won’t go. You can’t make me.’ She stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her.
Emma remained seated, her small burst of gratification at going to the country buried under Amy’s justified fury. They had come here for Amy. She deserved to enjoy her one and only Season before entering matrimony with a man she likely would not love and would be fortunate to like.
And there was Charles Hawthorne. Against her will, a memory of him trussed up in her attic bed filled her senses. He made her feel as though life was electrifying. Now she would never see him again.
They would go to the country, and if Amy was lucky, she would marry some small land-owning squire. She herself would go into service with an equally unpretentious family since no one of consequence would hire her after this latest debacle of Bertram’s. She would spend the rest of her life raising other women’s children.
She told herself it could be worse. Already it seemed there was emptiness where her heart should be, as though she had lost something she couldn’t even name. She buried her face in her hands.
In another part of London, Charles lounged with his feet propped on his desk. A half-empty decanter of Scotch sat on a table beside him and a full glass in his hand. Every time he moved, he winced.
‘Damn Bertram Stockton. The man is a lousy shot, yet he winged me.’ He drained the glass, grimacing as the strong spirit burned its way down his throat and hit his stomach with a small explosion.
Adam looked up and cocked one ear. He made a muffled whine of enquiry.
‘Yes,’ Charles looked at his canine companion, ‘the man is a menace.’
A knock at the office door preceded Adam’s namesake; Sir Adam Glenfinning entered without waiting to be asked. ‘Drowning your pain, I see.’
Glenfinning sat in the vacant leather chair that just a week ago had held Emma Stockton. Charles frowned at him. Glenfinning smiled back as though he visited his disapproving brother-in-law every day.
‘What brings you here uninvited?’ Charles felt as surly as he sounded. He had come a long way to accepting Glenfinning as his brother-in-law but not completely, and the throbbing in his shoulder made his temper short.
‘You.’
‘Then go away. I don’t need you. Didn’t need you at the duel, but you insisted on being there. Don’t need you now. The surgeon got the ball out, and it’s just a matter of time before I heal.’
Adam’s fine mouth curled in a sardonic grin very similar to the one Charles was known for. ‘That is why you have drunk nearly an entire decanter of aged Scotch.’
‘What I do is my business.’
From his rug by the fire, Adam, the mutt, stood and growled low in his throat. Adam, the man, glanced at him and laughed.
‘Call your guard dog off. He doesn’t scare me.’
A sly grin spread over Charles’s face. ‘Adam, behave yourself.’
The dog sat down on his haunches, but kept his attention trained on his namesake.
A look of surprise, quickly followed by appreciation moved over SirAdam’s countenance. ‘Nicely done, Charles. Did you christen him before or after your sister and I married?’
‘After,’ Charles said, some of his surliness leaving as he found humour in the situation.
‘Since you have such a finely tuned sense of ironic humour,’ Glenfinning drawled, referring to the fact that he was a bastard and the dog a mutt, ‘you should be laughing hysterically at what has become of Bertram Stockton since he hit you in the duel. It seems only fitting since the man gained entry to some of the most notorious gaming hells in London because of his successful encounter with you.’
Disgust warred with anger in Charles. Anger won, but he did not intend to show Glenfinning how deeply the new knowledge affected him. He flicked his fingers as though tossing away something of no importance. ‘Should I? The man has no honour and his family suffers for it.’
Sir Adam turned serious. ‘As yours did not so many years ago?’
Charles flushed and carefully set his empty glass down. How many lessons was this man going to teach him? ‘That was different.’
Adam raised one black brow.
‘Yes, it was,’ Charles answered his unwelcomed guest’s implied contradiction. ‘My family didn’t like my gambling to excess, but it didn’t pauper anyone. My sister didn’t have to marry for money to bail us out of the River Tick.’
Charles set his empty glass down with a clunk. ‘No, I haven’t. Do you think I want people to see me like this, to know Bertram Stockton did this? Not bloody much.’
Glenfinning continued to study him. ‘Have you heard the latest on dit about the man?’
Unease started in Charles’s stomach, making the warm tingle of the Scotch feel like acid. ‘Don’t tell me he traded on his new notoriety to gain access to more gambling.’
Glenfinning laid his palms flat on his knees. ‘Then I won’t tell you.’
Charles screwed his eyes shut and clamped his lips together. There was no reason to spew his anger at Glenfinning. But it was hard not to let go with the condemnation and fury he felt about Stockton’s selfishness.
And why did the man’s selfishness matter? Charles wasn’t impacted by Stockton’s actions. No one could force him to wed Amy Stockton, and he didn’t have the blunt for them to want him anyway.
Emma Stockton’s worried face as she asked him not to meet her brother rose in his mind, followed quickly by the arrested look in her hazel eyes after she had pressed her lips to his. She had been attracted to him. He knew she had come close to kissing him again, deeper. His body responded to the idea and he looked away from Glenfinning not wanting the man to see anything in his eyes.
More calmly than he felt, Charles finally said, ‘The man has no regard for anyone but himself. It’s a wonder the women in his family aren’t more self-serving.’
A strange smile crooked Glenfinning’s mouth. ‘You admire Amy Stockton?’
Seeing another face with red hair and freckles that refused to be ignored, Charles missed the irony in his brother-in-law’s voice. ‘I feel sorry for her. It is Emma Stockton I admire. She continues to do everything in her power—and she has too little power—to ameliorate the results of her sibling’s actions.’
‘Ah…’ Glenfinning sat back in his chair. ‘So that is the way the wind blows.’
Charles snapped back to awareness of his guest. ‘What are you implying?’ he asked ominously.
Glenfinning looked as innocent as a man of his experience could. ‘Only that you seem mighty interested in your brother’s former fiancée.’
Charles pushed to his feet and towered over the other man, thinking the position would give more emphasis to his words. ‘Nonsense. But I do feel sorry for her plight. I wouldn’t want to chaperone Amy Stockton or to feel responsible for a loose screw like Bertram Stockton. Nothing more.’
Glenfinning stood so their eyes were on an equal level. ‘Of course. I mistook your concern for a more serious emotion.’
‘You did mistake it.’ Charles met Glenfinning’s gaze and changed the subject. ‘How badly is Stockton duped?’
‘Oh.’ Glenfinning’s voice turned nonchalant. ‘I don’t know for certain.’
Charles’s foot started to tap. ‘I am sure you know very closely or you wouldn’t have come here to tell me.’
Glenfinning laughed. ‘Nearly three sheets to the wind and you keep your wits about you. I heard you have a head hard enough to withstand a hammer hit.’
‘Compliments will get you nowhere,’ Charles said sourly, although he was secretly pleased with his reputation.
‘Two thousand pounds.’ Glenfinning answered flatly as though the former banter hadn’t occurred.
Charles started. ‘That is a great deal of money. He has ruined them for sure this time.’
‘That is what I thought.’
Charles turned thoughtful. ‘They are likely planning to leave London shortly.’
‘Rusticating.’
‘That will put paid to any chances Amy Stockton has of finding a husband with enough blunt to pay her brother’s debts.’
‘That is what Juliet and I thought.’
Charles’s eyes narrowed. ‘You and Juliet have already discussed this?’
Glenfinning’s nodded. ‘She feels it is too bad this happened. If George had married Miss Stockton none of this would matter.’ His smile turned sly. ‘She felt sure you would agree. Perhaps even have a possible solution or be willing to help her in hers.’
Interest flared in Charles. ‘Juliet has a plan to help the Misses Stockton? I didn’t know she knew them that well.’
Glenfinning shrugged. ‘She has observed them while you cavorted with Miss Amy. She is convinced you have hindered the chit’s chances in the Marriage Mart and that we must make restitution by arranging for them to be invited to your godmother’s house. Lady Johnstone has agreed to host a fortnight-long house party.’
Charles plopped back into his chair, his head whirling with all the information. ‘Juliet certainly worked quickly.’ He didn’t hide his sardonic amusement.
‘Juliet is Juliet.’ Glenfinning smiled and love lit his face.
Charles blinked at the change in his brother-in-law’s countenance. The man really did love Juliet. Perhaps a rake could change his behaviour.
‘So what do you want from me?’ Charles finally asked.
‘To stay away from the house party.’
‘If that is so, then why tell me?’
‘Because Juliet thought that when you found out the Stockton ladies were gone, you would find out where and pursue them.’ Glenfinning’s smile turned apologetic. ‘She thinks it better if you stay away.’
‘Ahhh.’ Charles leaned back in his chair and propped his feet back on the desk. ‘I see. Juliet always did think she knew what was best.’
‘She still does.’ Glenfinning laughed.
‘When does this house party start?’ Charles asked nonchalantly.
Glenfinning’s eyes narrowed. ‘This weekend.’
‘Well, I don’t believe my doctor will allow me to travel by then anyway, so the Misses Stockton are safe from my depredations.’
‘Sarcasm accomplishes nothing,’ Glenfinning murmured. ‘Besides, we both know you will do as you damn well please and the devil take the hindmost.’
Charles grinned. ‘True.’
Glenfinning left shortly after. Charles remained sprawled in his chair. His immediate response to Juliet’s desire to keep him from the house party was to be the first to arrive. Further consideration made him wonder why Juliet was going to all this elaborate planning. He’d swear she barely knew Emma Stockton and thought Amy Stockton a flighty young woman with no conversation.
But Juliet had a soft heart, and there was no denying that George’s not marrying Emma caused great hardship for the Stockton family. Then again, Juliet also knew that if she told him not to do something, he would likely do it before anything else. He was a lot like Amy Stockton that way.
‘Stoner,’ he yelled, making Adam the mutt jump up from his bed by the fire.
‘Yes, Guv’,’ Stoner said minutes later, poking his head in the door.
‘We are going to the country.’
Stoner rolled his eyes. ‘I thought the sawbones told you no travelling.’
‘That was four days ago.’ Charles softly whistled a jaunty tune, the anticipation of fun lightening his previous foul mood.
Stoner shook his head. ‘Shooting or mixed company?’
‘Both.’ Charles smiled.
He didn’t want to imagine what Juliet would do or say. Neither would be fun, but meeting with Emma Stockton, and the look on her face when she realised he would be staying in the same house with her for a fortnight, would more than make up for the scolding his sister would level on him.
Emma looked at the embossed invitation to Lady Johnstone’s country house. They barely knew the woman so why would she invite them, and with the Season in full swing?
Still, it was a golden opportunity. There would be other members of the ton there so Amy might still meet a suitable gentleman. If they went home to Hopewell, their family estate, Amy would meet n
o one. There wasn’t much choice.
Emma sat down at the desk in her bedchamber and replied in the affirmative. None too soon, either, as Betty was packing up Emma’s clothes preparatory to them returning home. Amy’s things had been done earlier.
Rising, Emma motioned to Betty. ‘Please give this to David and tell him to deliver it immediately.’
Betty took the note and quirked one greying brow.
‘It is not for Charles Hawthorne. We are going to a house party,’ Emma said. ‘Lady Johnstone has been kind enough to invite us.’ She smiled. ‘You will come as our lady’s maid to lend us countenance.’
Betty sniffed. ‘As though you need countenance, miss. It is other members of this family as needs that.’
Emma’s smile slipped. ‘We are not going to discuss that, Betty. Just see that this is delivered.’
Betty’s eyes slid away from Emma’s glare, but the housekeeper and lady’s maid said nothing more. Emma watched her leave the room and wondered what they would do until it was time to leave. They were not due to arrive until two days from now. More than that, how would they get there? There was no money to hire a travelling carriage and going by mail carriage would leave them at the nearest town, not their hostess’s estate.
A commotion downstairs caught her attention. What was going on? If it was Bertram… She had not seen him since she confronted him with his latest and most serious losses.
Hair caught in a twist with strands straggling down her neck and back and a grey work dress streaked with dust, Emma stalked from her room. Her patience with Bertram was exhausted. She would make short shrift of her brother.
She reached the foyer, hands clenched in the folds of her skirt, mouth a thin line. Lady Juliet Glenfinning stood in the entry, giving her card to Gordon. Emma stopped abruptly, nearly slipping off the last stair step.
‘Lady Glenfinning!’
Juliet looked up at Emma. ‘Are we on such formal terms now, Emma? I had hoped that what happened between you and George wouldn’t impact on the rest of us.’
Emma was hard-pressed to keep the acerbity she felt from her voice. ‘Perhaps if I saw you more than across a room at some function it might have. But I have not seen you often.’
Georgina Devon Page 18