Putting that thought firmly in place, she plastered a smile on her face and descended to the drawing room. A footman in scarlet livery stood by the door. She nodded to him as he opened the door for her to enter.
A quick glance showed a dozen or so guests scattered around the room. Her hostess sat pouring tea for Lady Juliet Glenfinning. A young man with blond hair and moderately high collar points above a simply tied cravat sat with them.
Amy stood by the French doors talking with Charles Hawthorne. Emma stopped and took several deep breaths in an effort to slow her racing pulse. It was because Amy laughed up at the man as though he were the wittiest and only male in existence. All her good intentions to let Amy go her own way fled. There was no other reason for her pounding heart.
Instinctively she started towards them.
As though he sensed her intention, Charles looked at her. Their eyes met and Emma wondered why he always made her feel flustered, no matter what the situation. He didn’t even need to speak to her to upset her. Or to remind her of his order to kiss him and the knowledge that she had.
She twisted around and headed for the empty spot on the settee next to Lady Juliet Glenfinning. If Amy chose to throw herself at the man, then so be it. She only hoped her headstrong sister would stop short of anything scandalous.
‘Please sit here.’ Lady Juliet Glenfinning patted the place beside her. ‘The scones are excellent.’
Emma made a curtsey to her hostess before sitting.
Lady Juliet Glenfinning said, ‘Miss Stockton, this is Lady Johnstone, godmother to the three of us, George, Charles and myself.’
‘Thank you for inviting us, my lady.’ Emma smiled.
Lady Johnstone lifted a lorgnette to her pale blue eye and studied Emma through it. Emma felt like a bug under a magnifying glass but managed to keep the smile on her face. She owed this woman a great deal.
‘So, you are the Miss Stockton. I have wanted to meet you for some time.’ Lady Johnstone picked up the teapot. ‘One sugar or two? Cream?’
‘One. Cream, please.’
Emma began to feel as though she had stepped into a surreal situation. One minute the woman was studying her as though she were some strange specimen and saying she was glad to meet her—as though she were truly curious—and the next she was mundanely pouring tea.
‘Yes, I do ramble on, Miss Stockton. But first things first, as I always say, and tea before curiosity.’
Emma accepted the teacup and saucer.
‘I was impressed when you graciously called off your engagement to my godson, George Hawthorne. Much as I love the boy, his behaviour was outrageous. He was fortunate you were the one he was betrothed to. Many other women in your circumstances would not have been so generous.’
Emma choked on the sip of tea she had just taken. She stared coughing. Juliet Glenfinning took the saucer from her hands before she spilt tea down her dress.
Setting the cup and saucer on the table, Juliet said, ‘Are you all right, Emma?’ She emphasised her concern by patting Emma on the back.
Emma finally gasped for breath, her spasm over. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I am sorry. I was…’ How to say she was shocked without sounding rude?
‘You were shocked by my rudeness,’ Lady Johnstone said. ‘I am not one to mince words. Just as I will say that it amuses me to see your young sister flirting with Charles as though her entire future depends on entertaining him. I can assure you that it does not. The boy is a rapscallion, but a charming one. However, she would do better to exert her wiles on young Chevalier over there. He is closer to her in age and has the money your family needs.’
Emma’s eyes widened at the older woman’s plain speaking and she was glad she hadn’t picked up her tea. Likely she would have spewed it everywhere this time.
‘Yes,’ Lady Johnstone said, again seeming to read her mind, ‘I am blunt. My husband says to a fault. Phah! He pussyfoots around everything.’
Juliet turned to Emma. ‘You always know where you stand with our godmother.’
Emma nodded, wondering if it was safe to pick up her tea. She felt in need of sustenance.
‘In my day, we called a rake a rake and a loose screw a loose screw. Charles is a rake and he used to be a loose screw, but he seems to have mended his ways in that one area.’
Arrested by the turn in topic, Emma was glad she hadn’t picked up her tea. She wanted badly to ask the older woman what she meant, but didn’t feel it was her place.
Lady Johnstone’s shrewd brown eyes watched Emma like a hawk eyes a mouse. ‘Want to know what I’m talking about, eh?’
‘I believe I understand about the rake part, my lady.’
‘And think you know about the loose screw, no doubt.’ Lady Johnstone glanced around the large room. None, of the nearly dozen people, was close. ‘But I would wager you don’t.’
Emma flushed at the term for gambling.
‘Don’t like ‘wager’, eh? Don’t blame you.’ She took a long drink of her tea and Emma eyed hers wistfully. It was likely cold. ‘Well, a couple of years ago, Charles gambled like your brother. Probably deeper.’
Emma’s lip curled sardonically. ‘I can’t imagine anyone being worse than Bertram.’
Even as the disloyal words left her mouth she found she didn’t regret saying them. She was tired beyond belief of Bertram’s behaviour and no longer willing to either condone it or try to make light of it.
‘Got some spunk after all. I had my doubts. Good.’ Lady Johnstone nodded approval. ‘Well, Charles gambled and wagered again and again. Fortunately he comes from a wealthy family and George bailed him out so many times I lost track.’
‘Ten,’ Juliet put in. ‘Each one progressively worse than the one before.’
Emma looked from woman to woman. ‘Why are you telling me this? It is none of my business. Even when I was engaged to Lord Hawthorne no one mentioned this.’
Lady Johnstone sat back in her chair and studied Emma. ‘Maybe you aren’t as intelligent as I thought.’
‘What?’ Emma wasn’t sure if she should take offence or write it up to an eccentric old woman who was used to doing and saying what she thought without regard to others. Or… ‘Is he about to offer for Amy, for I must tell you, his suit will not be welcome.’
Lady Johnstone shook her silver-curled head. ‘It has nothing to do with your sister. Anyway, George finally let Charles go to debtors’ prison.’
The air left Emma’s lungs in a whoosh of shock. ‘Let his own brother be imprisoned? I have heard men die in that place.’
Juliet nodded. ‘George didn’t make the decision lightly.’
Emma looked from one to the other. ‘But—’
‘What are you ladies discussing?’ Charles Hawthorne’s voice came from behind her.
Heat drenched her face. She had not heard him approach. Nor had his sister, if the look of chagrin on her countenance was any indication. Lady Johnstone looked unchanged. Obviously the older woman didn’t care if he knew what she was talking about.
She looked Charles squarely in the face. ‘You.’
‘Ah.’ He sat beside her without asking permission. ‘Flattering me, I hope.’
Lady Johnstone poured him tea with no sugar and no cream. ‘No. Telling the truth.’
He looked at Emma, who couldn’t meet his gaze. She felt as though they had been gossiping about him—which they had—and the topic had been too personal. Yet she had listened avidly.
‘And what did you think about it, Miss Stockton?’ His voice was smooth as honey, but underneath was a hint of iron.
Emma folded her hands in her lap to give herself a moment to think. ‘It was educational.’
‘And about time she knew.’
Emma looked at Lady Johnstone and wondered again why the woman felt she should be privy to Charles Hawthorne’s private life. ‘I don’t think so,’ she finally contradicted the woman and made herself meet his eyes. ‘What you have done in the past, or plan to do in the future,’ she tacked on hastily, ‘is none o
f my concern.’
‘Twiddling prat!’ Lady Johnstone stood abruptly. ‘This generation is made up of namby-pambies. I am going to take a walk in the grounds.’ She shot one hard look at Charles. ‘I had thought you more honest than this.’
She stalked off, her short, rotund figure held with energetic dignity. She beckoned to the young man she had pointed out earlier as being eligible for Amy. He looked surprised and apprehensive, but came to heel beside her.
‘She is a character,’ Lady Juliet Glenfinning said.
‘Blunt nearly to a fault,’ Charles seconded.
Emma released a sigh of relief. Even with Charles across from her and all the emotions his proximity always made riot through her, she felt more comfortable than when Lady Johnstone had sat here telling tales.
‘I don’t suppose she kept her talk only to my public escapades,’ Charles said.
Juliet shook her head. ‘Afraid not. She seemed most determined that Miss Stockton learn about the worst period in your life.’
His eyes narrowed and his hand holding the delicate porcelain cup cracked the handle. The cup fell to the floor, spilling tea and cutting his finger.
‘Oh, my goodness.’ Emma rummaged in her reticule and pulled out a white handkerchief. She handed it to him. ‘Use this to stop the blood.’
He paused, studying her before taking the pristine linen square. ‘Thank you.’
Emma sensed Juliet looking from one of them to the other. She wondered what the other woman saw. Probably concern on her part and disinterest on his part. More intriguing was what Lady Johnstone had seen that had prompted her to air Charles’s dirty linen. Likely she had wanted Emma to know because of Charles’s attentions to Amy. She could think of no other reason, regardless of that lady denying that was the cause.
Charles wrapped the material around his finger, but couldn’t secure it. Emma watched, itching to reach over and tie a knot, but waited for Juliet to do so. He was her brother.
Exasperation knit his black brows together. ‘Will one of you tie this? It should be obvious that I cannot.’
Emma looked at Juliet, who just smiled and shook her head. ‘I quit bandaging him years ago. He is too irascible. And he is never grateful for help of this sort, even though as a child he was forever hurting himself.’ She frowned. ‘The final straw was last week when he took a bullet to his shoulder and yelled at me when I tried to change the bandage.’ She shook her head again and rose. ‘Oh, no. He will get no help from me.’
Immediate contrition flooded Emma. ‘I forgot to ask how you are doing.’ Her hands fluttered in her lap. ‘My only excuse is that you aren’t wearing a visible bandage and are here. I thought Bertram had exaggerated his prowess.’
‘Which I’m sure isn’t unheard of for him.’ Charles’s voice was dry.
Emma looked down at her hands and willed them to be still. ‘No, it isn’t.’
‘I am well enough to be here. An occasional twinge, but I hurt more when I broke a leg. At least with this I can ride a horse.’
Emma chuckled. ‘I suppose one needs to look on the bright side.’
‘I do.’ He smiled at her, the devastating curl of lip that promised things she had never experienced. ‘Are you going to help me with this or shall I ask your sister.’ He held out his hand.
Her previous sense of connection with him evaporated. ‘You have a habit of giving me choices with no good ones available.’
He shrugged and the errant lock of black hair fell to his forehead. ‘That is your opinion.’
She resisted the urge to push the hair back and instead focused on his hand which he held out to her. Her handkerchief was wrapped around his thumb and kept in place by him holding his index finger against the linen.
‘You could hold it like that until you go up stairs and then have your valet bandage it properly.’ She met his gaze defiantly.
‘I could, but I won’t. What will it be?’
His voice was low and provocative, making her think he had used that tone with many a woman before. But she knew he had been offering them something different from what he offered her now. The room seemed overly hot.
She sighed as though heavily put upon. The truth was she was afraid of how touching him would make her feel. She remembered him lying in bed in her attic, demanding that she kiss him. She still regretted the kiss, but even more she regretted not kissing him again.
‘You leave me no other choice.’
‘I do,’ he murmured, ‘but you don’t like it.’
‘True.’
She reached for his hand and pulled it closer. He winced.
‘Oh, was that the shoulder Bertram hit?’
‘Yes.’ He was white around the mouth, but said nothing else.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. You got what you wanted.’ He grimaced. ‘I didn’t hit your brother and it was just bad luck that he hit me.’
Discontent over the past situation dampened any reaction she might have felt to the feel of his flesh against her. ‘Yes, I did, but I never intended for anyone to get hurt.’
‘It happens in duels.’
‘I know.’
His hand moved in hers, reminding her of what she was to do. His skin felt warm and his fingers were long and strong. They were pale, as though he spent little time outdoors, which wasn’t surprising as he was a very fashionable man. His nails were short, clean and well cared for.
Her fingers shook just a little as she unwound the handkerchief. ‘You cut yourself pretty deep.’
‘Yes.’ He shrugged and winced again. ‘Habit. I need to stop moving my shoulders until the wound heals. I didn’t know until Bertram winged me how much I shrug my shoulders.’
‘You seem very philosophical about all this.’
‘There are benefits.’
His eyes held hers so she couldn’t look away. His hand lay in both of hers. His skin was rough as though he used them for more than cards. She looked down and saw a cut across two of his knuckles.
He saw her look. Pride replaced his former fascination with her. ‘I did that landing Gentleman Jackson a facer.’
‘You are a Corinthian.’
‘I like to think so.’
‘What are you two doing?’ Amy’s voice intruded.
Emma jumped and dropped Charles’s hand. ‘Nothing.’
He leaned casually back in his chair and allowed his hand to fall onto his thigh. ‘Your sister was bandaging my hand.’
Amy arched one blond brow. ‘With her handkerchief?’
‘Yes.’ He looked at the younger girl as though daring her to say more.
‘Well, I have a handkerchief, too, and I’m more than willing to use mine.’ She looked at Emma. ‘It seems you were taking overly long.’
Emma felt flustered and hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt. ‘I was only studying it. It is a deep cut. I was worried it might need to be stitched.’
‘Hah!’ Amy looked skeptical. ‘Let me see.’
Charles rose in one loose, powerful motion. ‘I think I will have Stoner attend to me. He is very good with this sort of thing.’
Indignation followed hard on the heels of Emma’s previous discomfort. If he had done that in the first place, they wouldn’t be in this predicament. As it was, she knew that as soon as he left Amy would start berating her.
Deciding not to get caught by Amy, Emma rose. ‘I believe I shall mingle with the other guests.’
She started off only to have Amy grip her arm. ‘Em, I want to talk to you.’
Emma put on her haughtiest face. ‘It can wait.’
‘No, it can’t.’ Amy looked stubborn.
Emma knew that expression. As a child when Amy had that look on her face and no one immediately did as she wanted, she had thrown a temper tantrum. Even today, if thwarted on something she wanted badly, she was prone to behave on the borderline of acceptability.
‘If you insist.’ Emma did nothing to disguise her unwillingness.
The two moved to an alc
ove where Amy squared off. Emma glanced quickly around the room to see if anyone looked their way. The young man Lady Johnstone had pointed out as a possible interest for Amy watched. If only Amy felt the same toward him. Everyone else was busy. Charles Hawthorne had left.
‘What is it, Amy?’ Emma’s voice sounded tired and resigned, much as she felt where Amy was concerned—where her entire family was concerned. A pang of guilt made her force a weak smile.
Amy’s rosebud mouth was a thin line. ‘Emma, if you are interested in Charles Hawthorne at least be honest enough to admit it.’
Emma rubbed her temple with one hand. ‘Of course I’m not interested in him. He is a thorn in my side. You have chased him brazenly and he has encouraged you. I was only going to bandage his hand because it was bleeding.’
Hands on slim hips, Amy said, ‘Something he said his valet could do.’
‘That—’ Emma stopped. The last thing she needed to do was tell Amy about Charles’s manipulation. ‘If you would stop chasing after the man, none of this would happen.’
Disbelief sent Amy’s eyebrows up. ‘Me? If you would leave well enough alone, he and I might be engaged by now.’
Emma blinked in shock. ‘He will not propose to you and you know it, Amy Ann. Just as you know Papa would never accept, and you are underage.’
‘You don’t know that.’
Emma’s stomach began to knot even as she realised their voices had risen. She glanced around again. The only person watching them was still the young man.
Exasperation sharpened her tone. ‘If you would take an interest in that nice-looking young man, none of this would have happened.’
Amy turned. ‘You mean Chevalier? His father’s in trade.’
‘And our father’s in debt! So what if his father isn’t from the aristocracy. We cannot afford to be beggars.’
‘So we are right back to bartering me to the highest bidder.’
Emma bit back a furious retort. ‘This is not the place for this, Amy. If you want to continue this after dinner tonight in the privacy of our rooms, then fine. But right now, we are starting to attract attention and not the kind that will benefit us.’
Amy gave Emma one last fulminating look before stomping off. Relief eased some of the edge from Emma’s muscles when she saw Amy stop by Mr Chevalier. At least her young sister didn’t find the young man repulsive.
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