Any silver lining was welcome at this point.
Chapter Fifteen
Emma checked her appearance in the mirror. Her hair was tidy and pulled back with a few tendrils dangling down her nape. She pinched her cheeks for colour, telling herself she didn’t want to look like a ghost. Lastly she smoothed down the folds of her lavender evening gown, her gaze skittering to her neck and away.
The pearls were gone. She had to accept that and stop looking for them.
Her paisley shawl was just the thing to cover the bare expanse of her throat and upper chest. She picked it up and draped it so her shoulders were covered.
Determined to think no more about her appearance, she left. She had never been one to primp, and she told herself she wasn’t doing so now. She merely wanted to look presentable.
But over the past few days—in fact ever since Lady Johnstone had told her about Charles Hawthorne’s past—she had found herself more and more interested in the man. It was not a good thing. She had already been too responsive to him. But to know he had fallen to the greatest depths possible for a gambler and pulled himself out and changed his ways made her respect him. He was far from the self-indulgent dilettante she had believed.
Consequently, he was more dangerous to her emotional well-being.
She shuddered in apprehension, knowing he would be among the other guests. They would be gathering in the parlour for drinks and before-dinner conversation.
Without conscious thought, she glanced back at the mirror. She had done all she could to make herself presentable.
The men had spent the day hunting. Emma had spent the day in Lady Johnstone’s extensive library. She refused to worry about what Amy had spent the day doing.
Her new motto was to allow her sister to do as she wished. It helped knowing that the only man Amy seemed interested in flouting convention with was doing everything he could to show he wasn’t interested. Charles Hawthorne had spent the last couple of days rebuffing Amy, politely, but definitively. Emma was uncertain what to think.
Leaving her room, she stopped and knocked on Amy’s door. When there was no answer, she looked inside. Not surprisingly, Amy was already gone. She was determined to enjoy every minute of this house party and Emma didn’t blame her.
This excursion was the last one Amy would get. The girl either found a husband or would be mired in the country for the rest of her life. Emma was thankful she personally had the temperament to be a governess. She was used to putting others before herself. Amy was the opposite.
But knowing her future, Emma was determined to enjoy this house party as much as Amy was. Between the two of them, they would have a lot of memories to store before the cold hard reality of life took over.
Emma stood in the double doorway to the parlour and wished—only for a moment—that she had the wherewithal to look as elegant and refined as the other women in the party. It was a momentary thought only. She was not one to bemoan her fate or envy others. She entered and made her way to her hostess.
They were a party of fifteen women and fifteen men. Lady Juliet Glenfinning was here without her husband. All the other ladies, with the exception of herself and Amy, were here with their spouses. That left three eligible gentlemen. Charles Hawthorne being one of the three, and if the group of women surrounding him was an indicator, the most interesting. Even their hostess swatted him with her fan.
Emma’s mouth curled. Older women seemed to be unable to resist hitting him with their fans.
Juliet Glenfinning separated herself from a small group of young matrons and came to Emma. ‘I was wondering when you would be down.’
Emma smiled politely at her. ‘I napped later than I had planned. It is so nice to be in the country again.’
Juliet nodded. ‘Charles mentioned that you prefer country life to the city.’
‘He did? I’m amazed he remembered.’ Or had paid attention. ‘I mentioned that weeks ago when he took Amy and me for a ride in Hyde Park.’
Juliet chuckled. ‘Charles can remember the most provoking things. Usually exactly what you wish he would forget.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Please come and join us.’ With a wave of her hand, Juliet indicated the gathering she had just left. ‘Amy is in the midst of the throng around Charles. The rest of us are shaking our heads in amazement at the attraction he holds for so many women. It’s not as though he is on the lookout for a wife.’
‘That is probably the exact thing which makes him so irresistible,’ Emma said dryly. ‘The unattainable is always the most challenging and attractive.’
‘Well, they certainly don’t know what they are after!’
‘A rake and a gambler.’ The words were out before Emma considered them. Belatedly she realised they weren’t the most polite things to say about a man to his sister. ‘I am sorry. That was uncalled for. From what Lady Johnstone said, he has done much to change his ways.’
Juliet gave her a sharp look. ‘True. He is still a rake, but he’s more than that.’
Emma smiled politely and hoped her interest didn’t show. It was bad enough that she wanted to know everything about the man. It would be worse if his sister knew it also. ‘Such as?’
Juliet considered her. ‘I am not his godmother, and I think Charles needs to tell you the rest—if he chooses.’
Instant disappointment, followed by a pang of loss made Emma turn away. The last thing she wanted was for Charles Hawthorne’s sister to see she was interested and hurt by the knowledge that there was more to the man and that he might not consider her important enough to tell her. He was nothing to her, and she certainly was nothing to him.
‘I think I’ll go see what Amy is doing.’ Emma moved away, not caring if she seemed rude. Her chest felt tight and the urge to cry was nearly overwhelming. She didn’t know what was happening to her.
Amy was still amongst the group surrounding the man who caused all of Emma’s problems. She gritted her teeth and managed to slip between two women to reach her sister.
‘Amy, come away for a while.’
Amy eyed her before turning back to Charles. She gave him a radiant smile. ‘You tell such an amusing story, Mr Hawthorne. Surely there is more.’
His gaze went to Emma. ‘Your sister has something to tell you, Miss Amy.’
Amy flicked her hand dismissively. ‘It can wait.’
‘No, it cannot.’ His voice was implacable.
Emma felt the heat mount from her chest to her neck to her cheeks. She wanted to sink into the Aubusson rug under her feet. She wished she had just gone into a corner by herself. Why had she come over here to get Amy?
Through stiff lips, she managed, ‘Thank you, Mr Hawthorne.’ She turned to face Amy again, her motion jerky. ‘Please.’
Amy’s rosebud red mouth turned down. She looked at Charles Hawthorne from the corner of her eye, and seemed to realise he was adamant. ‘Oh, if you insist.’
‘I think she does.’ Charles’s voice was soft, but no one listening to the tête-à-tête, and there were plenty, would mistake the hard edge.
Pouting, Amy followed Emma to the secluded settee they had used several days before, which now seemed an age ago. Ever since Charles Hawthorne had entered their lives, it seemed she and Amy were at constant loggerheads.
‘What now?’ Amy demanded before they were barely out of hearing distance.
Emma turned to her. ‘Nothing. Oh, I don’t know. It seemed the thing to do, come and get you.’
Amazement moved slowly over Amy’s countenance. ‘You don’t know why you dragged me away?’
Emma fingered the silken fringe of her shawl and wondered what had become of her common sense. She sighed. ‘No, Amy, I don’t. I never intended to get into a public confrontation with you.’
‘But you couldn’t tolerate watching me flirt with Mr Hawthorne.’ Amy’s sarcasm cut like a knife.
Emma knotted several strands of fringe. What was wrong with her? She sank onto the settee so she had to look up at h
er sister. ‘Please forgive me, Amy. I don’t seem myself lately. I told myself I was not going to interfere with you anymore.’
Instead of sitting beside Emma, Amy looked down. ‘Habit. Likely too many nights lying awake plotting how to keep Bertram in line and get me married. As I said, you aren’t Mama, and you can’t do what she did. None of us will listen to you like we did her. But you’ve tried so hard and so long that you can’t stop easily.’
Surprised at Amy’s insight, Emma answered, ‘You have grown so much. And, yes, you are right. It is very hard for me not to try and stop you from doing things I don’t think are becoming or acceptable. I told myself I would not do so, but…’ She sighed. ‘Go and entertain yourself, Amy. I will try harder to stay away.’
‘Hah!’ Amy lifted her brows. ‘You will try.’
‘Excuse me.’ Charles Hawthorne words cut between them.
Amy twisted around and Emma jerked, her fingers already buried in the shawl’s fringe got caught so she pulled a strand of fibres loose.
‘Mr Hawthorne, I didn’t hear you.’ Amy’s voice was sweet.
His tone sardonic, he said, ‘I know. But I heard you.’
She flushed but met his eyes boldly. ‘How discourteous of you.’
He stared her down. ‘The same can be said of you. Your sister is doing her best for both you and your brother. Both of you behave like spoilt children denied a sweet. No wonder she is exhausted. Then you berate her in a public place.’ A muscle in his jaw twitched. ‘You are fortunate no one came this way. I managed to head off young Chevalier. He thinks you are perfection, a diamond of the first water is how he described you.’ Charles shook his head. ‘If he only knew.’
Amy’s look of defiance crumbled. Her eyes glistened. ‘How dare you.’
Emma shot to her feet, glaring at him. He ignored her.
‘How dare you treat your sister the way I just heard when all she is trying to do is help you.’
‘Well…’ Amy moved away, her back straight as a church pew. Within seconds Chevalier was beside her.
From the look on the young man’s face, he was concerned and besotted. Amy would be taken care of. Good. Emma was free to tell Mr Charles Hawthorne just what she thought of him.
‘You were out of line.’ Her voice was cold as frost. ‘That discussion was private. If you were a gentleman, you would have moved away.’
The muscle in his jaw twitched again. ‘But you have told me many times that I am not a gentleman.’ His voice was a low drawl, at odds with the dangerous glint in his eyes. ‘So I did as you would expect me to.’
The urge to berate him was strong. He was so contradictory. ‘I would never expect you to interfere between us—particularly not to defend me. Amy is the one you have been chasing.’
Why had she added that last? It didn’t matter to this conversation. The only thing that mattered was that he should have stayed away. Now he had hurt Amy’s feelings. But…
‘Of course,’ she continued, more considering now, ‘you realise she will not be so attracted to you.’
‘I don’t believe I shall lose sleep over the loss.’ Sarcasm dripped from every word.
She looked up at him, aware of his closeness and the scent of musk and bergamot that was uniquely his. Her throat suddenly dry, she swallowed and nearly choked. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ His eyes held hers. ‘I have learned a lot these last couple of weeks.’
‘You have?’ Her voice died into a husky whisper.
He loomed over her, his face harsh yet gentle. His shoulders were broad enough to block any curious viewers in the rest of the room. It seemed as though the two of them were caught in a pocket of privacy.
‘Yes, Emma.’
She shivered as heat flooded her body to be instantly replaced with nervousness. Her stomach knotted, but in a pleasurable way that seemed to promise even more delight. She felt as though she stood on the brink of a precipice. One step and she would be over the edge. Would he catch her?
The dinner gong sounded, and he edged away from her. Emma blinked as reality set back in. She was in Lady Johnstone’s parlour, waiting to eat and nearly swooning into Charles Hawthorne’s arms.
She scanned the room looking for Amy. ‘Excuse me,’ she muttered, edging around the man who made her feel reckless just by his proximity.
She halted beside Amy, who stood talking to Mr Chevalier and another gentleman, Mr George Helmsley. Mr Helmsley was older, a touch of grey in his brown hair and deep lines around his green eyes and mouth.
He smiled at Emma. ‘Good evening, Miss Stockton.’
She smiled back, including the others. ‘I am ready for dinner, anyone else?’
They all agreed. Mr Chevalier offered Amy his arm and Mr Helmsley did the same for Emma. She hesitated only a moment before lightly laying her fingers on his dinner jacket. Nothing happened. She felt absolutely nothing from the contact.
A quick glance told her Charles escorted his sister. An unwanted sense of relief lodged in her chest.
‘Are you enjoying yourself?’ Mr Helmsley asked, forcing her to pay attention to him.
They exchanged small talk into the dining room where Emma found herself seated between Mr Helmsley and Charles. A distinct feeling of unease crept over her. Her left side, where Charles sat, tingled and felt flushed then chilled. Her right side felt nothing.
Amy’s sat between Mr Helmsley and Mr Chevalier. That was the only comforting thing about the dinner arrangements.
Emma glanced at her hostess and saw a satisfied smile on the older woman’s face. Matchmaking. Well, at least Lady Johnstone had kept Charles away from Amy.
Mr Helmsley kept up a steady stream of conversation. He was a landowner in Wiltshire who had been tired of the Season when Lady Johnstone had invited him to visit. He was single and his family thought it time he settled down and produced an heir. He enjoyed hunting and riding and walking. Truth be told, his heart was in the country.
Emma nodded and smiled, all the while conscious of Charles on her other side. He made no attempt to disrupt the flow of information between her and Mr Helmsley. Nor did Charles try to catch Amy’s attention.
Contradictory as she was becoming, Emma found herself irritated at Charles for not doing something. Anything. Mr Helmsley was a nice man, an impeccable gentleman, but she had to stifle a yawn even though she enjoyed many of the country pastimes he did.
Dinner ended long past the point where Emma had decided she could stand no more of Mr Helmsley’s patter. Fortunately, she had not had to say anything to encourage him. She rose with their hostess and followed the other ladies from the room.
Amy trailed behind, laughing at something Mr Chevalier said. Emma looked over her shoulder and cocked her head to tell Amy to come along. Amy looked through her. Emma swallowed a sigh of exasperation and told herself she was not going to keep pestering Amy to behave. She had made that decision. She was going to stick to it.
Turning away from Amy, she noticed Charles Hawthorne watched her, a sardonic smile on his mouth that told her he expected her to march back and drag Amy off. She notched her chin up and looked away.
There, she had done it. She had refused to nag Amy and had met Charles Hawthorne’s unspoken challenge and won. Her steps were lighter as she walked into the parlour.
She considered retiring to her room, but in spite of her good intentions and success in not meddling with Amy earlier, she couldn’t bring herself to leave Amy when the gentlemen would be joining them shortly. Accepting that her resolution was going to take time and be difficult to succeed at, she took a chair away from the main group.
Amy chattered away with Juliet Glenfinning and another married lady. Emma breathed a sense of relief. No sooner did she relax than the gentlemen joined them.
Tiredness ate at her. She had not slept well and her afternoon nap had not been as restful as she had thought. She began to think she was more than physically tired.
She put her hands on the arms of the chair and pushed herself
up. She should have gone to bed and let Amy do whatever she wished.
She pasted a smile on her face and started toward her sister when she felt someone graze her shoulder. Sparks tumbled down her arm, making her clench her hand into a fist—as though she longed to keep the sensation trapped within herself. She didn’t need to look to know it was Charles. No other man made her feel this way.
‘Miss Stockton,’ he said, moving to block her progress. ‘Will you walk with me?’
She stopped so as not to run into his chest and kept her face devoid of emotion. ‘Thank you, Mr Hawthorne, but it is dark outside and I am thinking of retiring.’
He bowed slightly, his eyes challenging her. ‘Then I will be forced to ask Miss Amy.’
Emma sputtered in frustration and her look of unconcern evaporated. ‘Must you always use that threat?’
He shrugged with only a slight wince to show his wounded shoulder still pained him. ‘It seems to be the only thing that works.’
From the corner of her eye, she saw Mr Helmsley heading toward them. She could wait for him to interrupt this conversation.
As though he read her thoughts, Charles murmured, ‘If he comes and tries to dominate you, I will go do the same with your sister.’ His devil-may-care smile lit his eyes. ‘I am sure she will co-operate.’
‘Most definitely,’ Emma said sourly. ‘You win, Mr Hawthorne—again. But only because you fight unfairly.’
He extended his arm. ‘I fight to win. Anyone who does less is merely wasting time.’
‘I didn’t realise you were so competitive.’
‘There is a lot about me you don’t know, Miss Stockton. Just as there is much about you that I intend to find out.’
She cast him a look up through her lashes, wondering what he was at to flirt with her this way, and immediately wished she hadn’t. There was a tautness in his jaw and a glitter in his eyes that scared her even as they made her pulse jump before speeding up. She was in a situation she had no experience of. But she could not extricate herself, for she had no doubt he would go to Amy. Nor was she sure she wanted to.
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