The boy grinned, showing a hole where one of his front teeth had been. Charles knew Tom had lost it in a fight the year before.
Charles ducked his head to enter the tap room of the pub. Candles and a fire made the dimly lit room smoky. He made his way to the bar and ordered a pint of ale.
‘Good to see you, sir,’ said Johnny Carter, the bartender and owner, as he pulled the drink. He handed it to Charles, who smiled as he took it. He drank it half down and wiped the foam from his mouth. ‘It’s good to be here, Johnny. I forget how much better your special ale is than that in London.’
Johnny grinned. He made the ale. ‘Good reason to spend more time at your estate, sir.’
Charles laid a coin on the bar without replying. He smiled and moved to sit near a window and watch other patrons play darts. The alcohol settled in his stomach with a mellowness that relaxed him. And he thought.
He had run away from her. He had made love to her and left her, scared of the emotions she evoked in him. He was a coward. He had refused to call off his duel with her brother because he didn’t want to be known as a coward, and yet he had run from the feelings he had for her.
She didn’t love him. Or did she? Would a woman like her give herself to a man otherwise, no matter what reason she used? He began to think not.
Did he love her?
Could he live without her?
He had been gone from her for less than a day and already he was thinking of her. This wasn’t like him at all. But then, the only thing he had done in the past months that was like him was to chase Amy for his own pleasure. And he had stopped that because it caused Emma too much trouble.
He realised she meant more to him than his own pleasure. Then she meant too much for him to walk away from her.
But would she accept him? He had to try.
Charles stood, leaving his glass still half full. He had to get to London. He would need a hefty draught on his bank and that would take time. He would have to liquidate some of his assets.
Two days later, Emma and Amy took their leave of Lady Johnstone. ‘Thank you for having us,’ Emma said.
‘Please come again,’ Lady Johnstone said. ‘I imagine the next time Miss Amy will be Mrs Chevalier. I expect an invitation.’
Amy blushed to the roots of her hair. William Chevalier stood beside Amy and turned equally red. Two fair people. Two beautiful people who were meant for each other. Emma intended to see that their happiness wasn’t thrown away by the greed of the men in her family.
They were going home to Hopewell to present Mr Chevalier to Papa. Emma hoped that by the time they arrived, she would have several answers waiting from her advertisement in The Times for a governess position.
Mr Chevalier handed her and then Amy into his post chaise. He was comfortably well off, but not well off enough for her family’s needs.
Mr Chevalier took the seat with his back to the horses. A consideration Emma appreciated although she knew the two young people would have preferred to sit beside one another. She smiled at him.
He smiled back at her but it was obvious all his regard was for Amy, who blossomed under his admiring gaze. Emma squeezed Amy’s hand and Amy squeezed back. Both of them were nervous about what Papa would do.
The time passed slowly for Emma. She listened to the couple talking. She might have not existed except that she was their chaperone. She looked out the windows at the passing countryside. It was beautiful and verdant.
They passed a wrought iron gate with images of clouds chasing across the two portions. On either side of the opening and running as far as the eye could see was a brick fence.
‘That is Charles Hawthorne’s estate,’ Chevalier said.
Emma’s pulse jolted. ‘Hawthorne? I didn’t know he had property.’
Chevalier tapped on the roof of the carriage so the driver stopped. ‘He has a small holding that I understand is comfortably profitable.’
‘Oh.’ She could think of nothing else to say.
‘Well,’ Amy said with interest, ‘I cannot picture him as a farmer. He is far too fashionable and far too debauched to stay in the country.’
‘True.’ Chevalier tapped the roof again and they moved on.
Emma craned her neck to watch Charles’s land as though it held the secret to the man. She too could not picture him living a peaceful, domestic life in the country.
She would feel fortunate beyond words to live in a place such as his property. He was much too vibrant to be mired in a backwater.
He was much too vibrant for her, as he had made obvious when he had run from her without a word. She felt as a doxy must when her client snubs her without reason.
And she loved him.
She turned away from the sight of his country home, the beech tree-lined drive blurring. All it did was make her think of what she wanted but would never have.
She found a handkerchief in her reticule and blew her nose, blinking rapidly. She was beyond this maudlin behaviour. She had to be, for nothing was going to change.
They spent that night at a coaching inn and left early the next day. Three days later they arrived at Hopewell, a small estate in Yorkshire.
The carriage came to a halt in front of the old Elizabethan manor house. Both Amy and Chevalier looked beaten down by the worrying they had done nonstop since starting the journey.
Chevalier helped them from the carriage and directed his footman to unload their trunks. Emma had invited him to stay with them. If Papa or Bertram objected, she would stand up to them. After what Charles Hawthorne had done to her, not even the thought of Papa’s anger fazed her.
She had never stood up to Papa before. But knowing love herself and knowing the devastation caused by not being loved in return, she would do anything to see that Amy got her chance with Chevalier. Even defy Papa.
Gordon opened the front door. He had travelled here while Emma and Amy had gone to Lady Johnstone’s. He barely raised a brow at sight of Mr Chevalier.
‘Hello, Gordon.’ Emma smiled at him as she went inside. ‘Betty is following behind with our things. Please see that a room is made ready for our guest, Mr Chevalier.’
Amy bounded inside. ‘Is Papa about?’
‘I believe he is in the library reading the paper, miss.’
Mr Chevalier came slowly behind Amy. He gave Gordon his hat. Emma saw his hand shake. She looked from one young person to the other. Both were afraid of what Papa would do and say, but both were eager to move forward.
Emma sighed. ‘Let me speak to Papa first.’
Amy frowned. ‘That—’
‘It is my duty—’ Mr Chevalier interrupted.
‘It will be better if you let me go first,’ Emma said firmly.
‘Oh, all right.’ Amy pouted for a second before nodding her understanding. ‘You are going to threaten Papa.’
Emma grimaced. ‘I hope not.’
‘I say—’ Mr Chevalier started again. Amy laid her hand on his arm.
Emma smiled even though she felt like collapsing on the nearest bed and sleeping until morning. It was her duty to make sure Papa accepted Mr Chevalier’s suit.
Leaving the lovers in the foyer, she moved to the right and down the hall that led to the library. She paused at the closed door and took a deep breath. This was not going to be pleasant.
She rapped and entered without waiting for permission. ‘Papa?’
He sat in a large leather chair pulled near a south-facing window for the afternoon sunlight. A brace of candles sat on a nearby table adding illumination.
He looked up at her and frowned. ‘Emma.’
He wore half glasses that perched on the end of his bulbous nose. He once had light brown hair. Now it was completely grey. Whiskers made his round cheeks appear rounder. He wore simple country clothing with a sturdy jacket over his shirt and breeches.
She knew he was displeased with her. She had not got Amy successfully married off. It wouldn’t matter that she had done her best and that Amy hadn’t co-operated o
r that Bertram had gambled them out of London. He was still bitter over her refusal to hold George Hawthorne to their engagement.
‘Papa, I need to speak with you.’
She moved into the room and took a chair close to his. She wanted to stand, but that would be too much like towering over him and what she intended to do would be bad enough without seeming to come from on high.
‘About your failure to get Amy married to a rich man?’ He still held the paper showing her he wasn’t interested in talking.
She ignored the slice of pain caused by his accusation. ‘I did my best, Papa. Sometimes that is all one can do.’
‘Humph!’ He lifted the paper back up to shield his face.
‘I am not leaving, Papa, no matter how you try to ignore me.’ She fought the urge to go away and come back later. But no time would be a good one. ‘I need to talk to you about the young man who is courting Amy.’
‘Ah.’ The paper went on the nearby table. ‘You didn’t tell me this.’
‘Because he is not wealthy and cannot pay all of our debts.’
‘Then why are you talking to me? She can’t marry him. Simple as that.’ He picked the paper back up.
Emma resisted the urge to rip the paper from his hands and tear it into shreds. It was a week old anyway. ‘She loves him and he loves her.’
‘Love isn’t everything.’ His voice barely rose over the barrier of the newspaper.
Emma stilled her twisting hands and spoke firmly. ‘If the men in this family hadn’t gambled us into debt and if they did not continue such behaviour, it would not be necessary for her to marry for money. So instead of sacrificing Amy, why not make Bertram find a wife with money?’
Papa laughed, a great belly laugh. ‘Because the guardians of young chits with money won’t let them marry Bertram. Now go away, I am reading.’
She had known he would not want to talk about this, but even so, she had not expected him to be so dismissive. His words hurt. ‘I am not going away, Papa. I want you to give Amy permission to marry Mr Chevalier.’
‘Not going to.’
‘Papa, you leave me no choice then.’ She was proud her voice was calm and showed none of the hurt his callous words had caused. ‘If you will not give your blessing to this union then I will see to it that they elope.’
The paper crashed down and George Stockton shot up. ‘How dare you threaten me, girl.’
Swallowing hard, but knowing her father was more bark than bite, Emma stood up to match him. ‘I will do what I must. I refuse to let you make Amy miserable for her entire life because you and Bertram cannot control your gambling.’
He stared at her, his brown eyes narrowed over the tops of his half glasses. ‘You’d do that to the entire family?’
She nodded. ‘Amy loves Mr Chevalier. I told you that. They deserve a chance for happiness.’ She took a deep breath and let it out. ‘Goodness knows someone in this family should be happy.’
He turned his back to her and went to the fireplace where he kicked the grate. ‘I’ve half a mind to call your bluff, girl.’
Emma’s feet wanted to admit defeat and carry her from the room. But Amy’s entire life was at stake. And she had her own share of anger and bitterness to pull from for strength.
‘Do as you think best, Papa, but you will not be able to imprison us here forever. If you refuse your blessing, then sometime Amy and I will get away and Mr Chevalier will be waiting. And if they elope, I am sure you will get no money from Mr Chevalier. You let Bertram continue to wager sums of money we don’t have, then you expect Amy or me to sacrifice ourselves to your weakness. I refuse to help you do that. So, you may give your blessing.’
He turned to face her. ‘You’ve come back hard-hearted, girl.’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve come back stronger, and I hope smarter. Even if Amy married for money, and her husband paid all our debts, you and Bertram would soon be in the River Tick again. I want her to be happy.’
‘You really would go through with this?’ He eyed her with disbelief. She had never rebelled in her life. She was the child he could always depend on to do as told.
‘I am tired of paying the piper for what you and Bertram do, Papa. I am tired of watching Amy be miserable. It has been a joy to see her with Mr Chevalier. I intend to see that they stay together.’
He slumped into a nearby chair as though she had pushed him into it. The chair rocked before stabilising. ‘Bring them to me.’
She stood her ground. ‘Are you going to give them your blessing?’
He scowled at her. ‘It seems you won’t let me do anything else. But mark my word, if we are totally ruined you will be sorry.’
All she could do was look at him for a long moment. His words were like a knife slicing through her skin. She had always known he was selfish and bent on his own entertainments and that he allowed Bertram to do the same. But she had refused to see just how callous he was as well. Perhaps if Mama hadn’t died it would not have come to this, but here it was.
‘No, Papa, I won’t be sorry. I am going to become a governess and Amy is going to marry Mr Chevalier. It is you and Bertram who will be sorry.’
She left before he could say anything more hurtful.
Amy and her beau were outside the closed door. She could tell from their faces that they had heard everything.
‘He will give you his blessing now, or as close as he can make himself.’ Emma smiled wanly at them. She was exhausted.
‘Thank you, Em,’ Amy said softly. ‘We heard nearly everything.’
‘Yes, thank you, Miss Stockton,’ William Chevalier added. ‘I can imagine that wasn’t easy for you.’
She took Amy’s hand. ‘Promise me you will marry this man no matter what Papa says or does.’
Amy nodded and looked at Mr Chevalier. ‘I will make him run away with me if need be.’
Emma released Amy’s hand. ‘That is what I told Papa, but I don’t think it will come to that. Papa wants a settlement from Mr Chevalier.’ Bitterness seeped into her final words.
She watched them enter the library before leaving. She was emotionally and physically drained.
She headed to the gardens in the back of the manor house. There was a maze and at the center of it a sundial and a bench. She often went there for quiet and privacy. She needed both now.
Within minutes, she was in her refuge spot. She sank onto the bench, thankful for the late afternoon sunshine. The warmth sank into her body.
The past months had been hard in so many ways. She had changed so much. She had even stood up to the men in her family for the first time in her life.
How much of that strength could she credit to Charles Hawthorne? He had been a thorn in her side from the beginning, but he had also challenged her to stand up for herself. She had finally done so.
She owed him a great deal.
She buried her face in her hands, unwilling even in this secluded spot to cry in case someone might see her. So much had happened. But the hardest was to realise she loved Charles and to know she could never have him.
When he had left her, it had devastated her, but it had made her stronger. If she could lose the one thing she wanted more than anything else, then she could face her father and see that Amy got a chance for the happiness she herself would never have.
At best, she would find contentment. She would have to settle for that.
Chapter Twenty
Nearly a month after leaving Lady Johnstone’s house party, Charles drove his high-perch phaeton up the poorly maintained gravel road that led to Hopewell. Emma’s home. The Elizabethan manor house was in need of repair and the grounds had seen better days.
His hands tightened on the reins, making his matched pair of bays skittish. He eased his fingers. He knew this neglect. Cloudchaser had been like this during his years of gambling away enough money to fund a grand estate.
He pulled to a stop and hopped out, handing the reins to his tiger. The lad walked the horses while Charles mounted the
steps and raised the lion’s-head knocker. Many minutes passed.
The door opened and Emma’s butler from London, Gordon, looked out. His bushy grey eyebrows rose marginally. ‘Mr Hawthorne.’ His tone would have frozen a lake in June.
‘Good day, Gordon.’ Charles kept his voice cheerful in spite of the servant’s undisguised disapproval. ‘I have come to see Miss Stockton.’
Gordon sniffed. ‘I do not believe she is at home.’
The butler moved to close the door and Charles did the undignified thing of sticking his Hessian booted foot forward to stop the action. ‘I am not leaving until I see her.’
The servant’s mouth pinched into a moue of distaste. ‘I will tell Mr Stockton you are here to see his daughter.’
Charles narrowed his eyes. Perhaps it would be better to start with her father. He had some choice words he’d like to deliver. ‘Do that.’
Gordon looked like he might open the door then thought better of it. ‘Perhaps that would be inappropriate. I believe you should just leave.’
The butler pushed harder on the door trying to close it in spite of Charles’s foot. Charles held his ground. ‘I shall wait inside.’
He made good on his decision by muscling into the foyer though the butler made it difficult. ‘You are not wanted here,’ the old retainer finally said quietly. ‘You have caused more than enough heartache. Be on your way.’
Servants didn’t tell visitors of importance to go away unless they felt their employers would agree. If Gordon felt comfortable trying to oust him, then Charles knew his job of persuading Emma Stockton to consider his proposal would be difficult.
But this was his last resort. All his letters had been returned unopened. And the old retainer had said something about heartache. He knew Amy didn’t pine for him since news of her wedding had reached London the day before he had left. Perhaps there was hope.
‘Tell Mr Stockton I have a matter of great import to discuss with him.’
Gordon looked down his nose even though he was shorter than Charles. ‘I—’
‘Who is this?’ Amy Stockton’s light voice intruded. She rounded a corner and stood looking at Charles. ‘Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mr Hawthorne.’
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