by Julia Byrne
She glanced proudly at her little group. The girls were wearing the pale blue muslin dresses that comprised their uniforms but without the navy blue smocks they usually wore during the day. The dresses each had a flounce around the hem and blue sashes under the bodice. Chipstraw hats, tied with blue and white ribbons, covered neatly combed hair that ranged in color from Felicity Cartwright’s auburn curls, through several shades of brown, to the blonde tresses of the two youngest students.
Each girl carried a small flag on a stick.
On the other side of the picnic rug, Charlotte was chatting to a heavily-veiled Miss Tibberton, while, behind her, Lucas and the two housemaids packed up the picnic baskets.
“Miss Proudfoot?” Isabel, one of the ten-year-old girls, stood up with a hopeful expression in her blue eyes. Her friend, Susanna, jumped up beside her. “There’s a man over there selling ices. May we buy some, please?”
Emily eyed the crowd surging back and forth between the picnic rug and the ice-vendor’s stand. “Perhaps when the crowd has dispersed, Isabel.”
“I’ll take them,” Lucas said. He eyed her as hopefully as Isabel. “Unless you want me to carry the baskets back to the school, Miss Proudfoot.”
She got to her feet, taking Lucas’s outstretched hand when he reached down to assist her. “The baskets can wait,” she said, giving him a look that told him she knew he’d been fishing for an excuse to leave. “Isabel, you and Susanna may go with Lucas to purchase ices for anyone who wants one.” She reached into her reticule for some coins. “But you are to stay with him at all times.”
“Yes, Miss Proudfoot,” the girls replied.
By the expression on Lucas’s face, Emily suspected he was restraining himself from joining in the obedient chorus. She watched him as he and the girls departed. Isabel and Susanna were skipping with excitement; Lucas was limping.
Emily narrowed her eyes at his back. If he was trying to make her feel guilty by feigning a limp, it wasn’t going to work. Especially as he had brought it all on himself. After all, if he’d been frank about his injuries she would have kicked him on the other leg.
Somehow, she didn’t think Lucas would appreciate that reasoning. Since their encounter in her bedchamber that morning, he’d been in a difficult mood. Perhaps his leg really was hurting him. Surely nothing else could explain his outrageous behavior when she’d introduced him to Tibby, prior to leaving for the park. Instead of a polite bow, Lucas had given Tibby one of his intense stares, as though he could bore straight through her veil to her face, and then he’d asked how her black eye was progressing.
Emily had promptly glared at him, but to her astonishment, Tibby, who could only be described as timid around anyone of the male persuasion, had peered at him through her veil just as intently.
“Turning yellow, I regret to say,” she’d piped up in her reedy little voice. “That is why you see me wearing this veil. I can’t bear to have people thinking I’ve been engaging in a bout of fisticuffs.”
Lucas had merely quirked a brow.
Perhaps everyone was affected by the excitement of the parade, Emily thought, coming back to the present when a drum roll sounded. Her nerves were certainly on edge. They started dancing up and down her spine every time she recalled the touch of Lucas’s hand against her cheek. The lethal power she’d felt in those hands last night had been transformed this morning into an equally powerful restraint that had stolen her breath. She’d felt the strangest urge to tip her head back so his fingers could slip down over her jaw to rest against the side of her throat.
Clearly, her resolve to keep Lucas in his place was melting faster than an ice-vendor’s wares in the sun. In an attempt to restore it she assumed her severest expression when she saw him returning, then hurriedly changed it to a sunny smile when Isabel and Susanna looked doubtfully up at her.
“Here you are, Miss Proudfoot.” Susanna handed her a glass.“We thought you might like some lemonade.”
“How very thoughtful of you. Thank you, Susanna.”
Conscious of Lucas’s gaze on her, she took cover behind her lemonade as the two regiments billeted in the town marched into the park and took up their parade positions. The crowd cheered and waved their flags.
“Everyone’s standing up,” Susanna observed in dismay. “Isabel and I won’t be able to see.”
“Here.” Lucas picked Susanna up and deposited her on one of the broad lower branches of the tree. He turned and did the same for Isabel.
“Oh, capital!” Isabel exclaimed. “Thank you, Lucas. We can see so much from up here.”
Emily was about to tell them to hold onto the branch when a familiar male voice smote her ears. She sighed and turned her head.
Mr. Harbury was approaching, his daughter Priscilla by his side.
“Good afternoon, Miss Proudfoot,” he said with his usual pinched smile. “I see your pupils are exhibiting the proper patriotism for the occasion, but is it quite the thing for those girls to be sitting in a tree?”
Under a sudden blast of bugles and beating of drums, Emily pretended she hadn’t heard that last bit. “Good afternoon, Mr. Harbury. Good afternoon, Priscilla. Are you enjoying the parade?”
“Difficult to do that if you’re not watching it,” Lucas muttered behind her.
Harbury appeared to notice him for the first time. He waved an imperious hand. “You there, my good man, get those girls down from that tree at once.”
“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Harbury,” Emily said, trying not to grit her teeth. “But Isabel and Susanna are perfectly safe.”
“How like you to give them such a treat,” Harbury said, his smile turning unctuous. “But one must consider the propriety of their position, Miss Proudfoot. Not to mention your own.”
“Very true,” Lucas said, stepping up beside Emily and fixing Harbury with a menacing stare. “It would be best if you moved on, sir. Miss Proudfoot can’t be seen to be chatting with any male who happens to wander by.”
Harbury’s jaw dropped. “Any male?” he spluttered. “I’ll have you know, fellow—”
Another barrage of drumming interrupted him. The regiments began the advance manoeuver to more cheers from the crowd. Isabel and Susanna waved their flags madly.
“Oh, dear, I quite forgot,” Emily said when the noise subsided somewhat. “Mr. Harbury, you haven’t met the latest addition to our staff. This is Mr. Lucas.”
Lucas raised a brow.
Harbury turned an interesting shade of puce, but refrained from further argument. “No doubt you know what is best for your pupils, Miss Proudfoot,” he said, pointedly ignoring Lucas. “Tell me, are you having your usual afternoon tea tomorrow? I fear your numbers will be sadly depleted with all these young men going off to the Continent.”
Emily inclined her head. “They will, indeed, but we’ll be at home tomorrow to anyone who would like to visit.”
“I shall attend so your drawing room will not be entirely devoid of company,” Harbury announced, as though conferring a royal favor. “Come, Priscilla. We shall rejoin your aunt and uncle.”
With a bow for Emily and another for Charlotte and Miss Tibberton, Harbury took himself off. Priscilla waved to her friends and followed him.
Emily breathed a sigh of relief. The reprieve didn’t last long.
“He wants you,” Lucas growled in her ear.
“He’s a widower looking for a second wife,” she said repressively. “For some reason, he seems to think I’m a suitable candidate for the position.”
“Call it what you like. Tomorrow I’ll make sure he’s left in no doubt that he’s not going to get you.”
“For goodness’ sake, Lucas, what business is it—”
“Miss Proudfoot!” Rupert Quadling, resplendant in a bright yellow coat, a Belcher handkerchief knotted about his throat, and his deliberately-disheveled blond locks uncovered, hurried up to them. He beamed as if he’d finally located her after days of searching. “There you are.”
“Where the de
vil did you expect her to be, Quadling? The Antipodes?”
Mr. Quadling blinked at Lucas as if the tree had spoken. He finally appeared to place him. “Lucas, isn’t it? I say, just pop off and get a couple of ices for myself and Miss Proudfoot, there’s a good fellow.”
Emily seized Lucas by the arm before he could annihilate Mr. Quadling. “Lucas’s wounded leg is troubling him today,” she said hastily. “Perhaps you should return to the school, after all, Lucas.”
“What, and miss all this fun?” he said. “No thank you, Miss Proudfoot.”
To the accompaniment of more drum rolls the regiments turned into the retire manoeuver. Emily wished she could do the same.
“How delightful you look in this sylvan setting, Miss Proudfoot,” Mr. Quadling chirped. “I wish I had brought my paints and brushes with me.” He held up his hands as though making a frame for her. “Titania reclining in the woods, at one with nature and draped only in the flimsiest of—”
“Consider your next words very carefully, Quadling.” Lucas growled, looking distinctly menacing again.
The only reason Emily didn’t apply an elbow to his ribs was because Mr. Quadling, clearly dazzled by the masterpiece taking shape in his mind, appeared utterly insensible to the peril in which he stood.
“Mr. Quadling is speaking in purely artistic terms, Lucas,” she said in quelling accents.
“Hmm.” He studied Quadling for a second, then scowled; a lion deprived of its prey. “I think you’re right, but if he’s picturing you as a near-naked Titania, he can damn well do it in a less public place.”
For some reason, Emily found that hilarious. She started to laugh.
Fortunately, Felicity Cartwright’s excited tones carried through the air, creating a timely diversion.
“Oh, look, Miss Proudfoot. There goes Netherby. Doesn’t he look terribly proud of himself.”
“Don’t try to get his attention,” Lucas said quickly, as Felicity stood on tiptoe and raised a handkerchief. “If he waves to anyone in the crowd during a parade, he’ll be in serious trouble.”
Rupert Quadling looked annoyed at this interruption to his artistic musings. Emily was hoping his irritation would make him retire to a quieter spot, when Charlotte came up to her.
“This noise is dreadful,” she said quietly. “It’s given me the headache. Do you mind if I go home, Emily?”
“Oh, Charlotte. I’m so sorry you’re not well. Of course you must go home. Shall I come with you?”
“Allow me, Miss Haymes,” Mr. Quadling piped up, offering Charlotte his arm. “Can’t have you walking home alone. And I simply must look at your garden.”
Charlotte appeared somewhat taken aback by this ungallant rider, but to Emily’s surprise, she inclined her head. “Thank you, Mr. Quadling. I would appreciate your escort.”
With a bow for Emily and a vague wave in Lucas’s general direction, Rupert ushered Charlotte across the grass.
“Well—” Emily looked up at Lucas. He was watching Charlotte and Mr. Quadling, a thoughtful look on his face. “What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said, glancing down at her. “For some reason, I assumed Miss Haymes didn’t like men, but maybe it’s just me.” He gave her a bland smile. “I must have done something to annoy her.”
“Surely not,” Emily said dryly. “Oh, dear. Is this thing ever going to end?”
“Why? Do you have the headache, too?”
She sighed, her brief moment of humor forgotten. “No. It’s just… I know it’s important for those young boys to see the crowd cheering them before they go off to war, but look at everyone. It’s as if they’re watching a…a…balloon ascension or something.”
“They haven’t seen the other face of war, as we have,” he said with surprising tolerance. “But I doubt this latest outbreak will last long, Emily. Everyone seems to think that Wellington knows what he’s doing. If the papers are to be believed, most of Society is flocking to Brussels, full of plans for parties and balls.”
“Let us hope they don’t regret it,” Emily murmured.
“Yes,” Lucas agreed soberly. He massaged his thigh.
His action seemed more absent-minded than caused by pain, but under cover of all the cheering and waving, knowing the movement was hidden by her skirts in front and the tree behind them, she slipped her hand into his.
She had meant it as a brief gesture of comfort, but Lucas’s fingers closed around hers, hard and warm and strong.
They stood like that for a long time, until the regiments marched out of the park and the crowd started to disperse.
CHAPTER NINE
When Emily returned to the house, the first thing she did was run upstairs to Charlotte’s bedchamber to check on her friend. She knocked softly on the door and was bidden to enter.
She smiled when she saw Charlotte sitting at her dressing-table, tidying her hair. “Oh good, you must be feeling better.”
“Yes, much better thank you, Emily.” But Charlotte didn’t return her smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “I want to talk to you.”
Emily sat down on the bed. “You sound serious, Charlotte. What is it?” A thought occurred to her. “Never tell me that Mr. Quadling escorted you home so he could pay his addresses to you!”
“Emily!” Charlotte frowned in reproof. “Mr. Quadling must be at least ten years younger than me. Besides, he really did want to look at the garden. He said he was searching for a sylvan setting.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“Perhaps he thinks the garden might be a good subject for the girls’ next drawing lesson,” Emily said hastily. “Although now I come to think about it, he took them out there two weeks ago to do some sketching.”
“Well, he’s very absent-minded, isn’t he. He actually wandered downstairs and went out through the kitchen. Then he asked if he could go up to the attic to see if the light would be suitable for painting or drawing.”
“Goodness, the attic is a popular place these days, what with Monsieur Maurice and now Mr. Quadling wanting to inspect it. But never mind that. What did you want to speak to me about, Charlotte?” Quick alarm had her eyes widening. “You’re not going to give notice, are you?”
“Heavens, no. I love the school, you know that. No, it’s Lucas, Emily. I’m very concerned about how familiar he seems toward you.”
“Oh.” Emily tried to suppress a self-conscious blush. “Well…he’s rather blunt, I’ll admit.”
“Blunt! Emily, I could not help overhearing the way he spoke to Mr. Harbury, who is a most estimable gentleman. He was downright rude.”
“He certainly was,” Emily agreed with spirit. “Harbury held forth with the most pompous and patronizing speech I’ve ever heard. He was extremely rude.”
Another frown marred Charlotte’s face. “I was speaking of Lucas’s appalling manner, not Mr. Harbury’s speech,” she clarified. “Which I’m sure sprang only from his concern for you. Indeed, he seems quite interested in you, Emily.”
“Well, I’m not interested in him,” Emily retorted. “A more irritating man I’ve yet to encounter, and that includes Lucas.”
“You find Lucas irritating? Well, I must say I’m pleased to hear that, Emily, because I thought you were allowing him far too much liberty. I’m sure you are aware that a schoolmistress must never give the appearance of having formed an unsuitable attachment to a man, and—”
Emily felt heat creeping into her cheeks again. “I’m sorry if you think I’ve given that appearance, Charlotte.”
Charlotte leaned forward and patted her hand. “I’m not scolding you, Emily, dear. As if I would scold my employer,” she added archly. “I just don’t wish to see you get hurt. Despite your rather unusual upbringing, you are very inexperienced when it comes to men.”
Emily discovered that she was holding her breath. “Why do you think I might be hurt, Charlotte?”
“Perhaps I am wrong,” Charlotte said. “But you seem s
omewhat more…animated, shall we say, when Lucas is around. Not in any unladylike way, of course.”
“Of course,” Emily muttered. “We must be ladylike at all times.” When Charlotte raised her brows, she summoned up a smile. “I understand what you’re saying, Charlotte. Indeed, I said as much to…uh…someone else, quite recently.”
“I’m so glad, dear. And don’t be too hasty in dismissing Mr. Harbury. Any woman would be pleased to have such a sober and steady gentleman for a husband.”
“Charlotte, you are more than welcome to Harbury. I advise you to make a push to attract his attention immediately. I, for one, will be grateful if you do.”
Charlotte laughed softly. “Now you’re joking with me,” she said, rising. “I suppose we should go down and see what Miss Tibberton and the girls are doing. It will soon be time for supper.”
Emily nodded and rose. But as they descended the stairs she felt strangely cast down. Charlotte’s words had stung. But hadn’t she told Lucas, herself, that a headmistress must be above reproach?
“One good thing,” she said, trying to raise her spirits by reviewing the day. “Netherby didn’t appear heartbroken about leaving Felicity. I don’t think he even looked for her.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Charlotte said. “But I doubt Miss Cartwright would have responded to his advances, Emily. Like the other girls, she looks up to you. And I know you always try to set a good example.”
Emily was promptly cast into gloom again.
CHAPTER TEN
It came down to a simple choice, Luke told himself the following morning as he eased open the door that gave access to the area steps. If Emily was tempted by another foggy dawn to walk on the beach, he either followed her or went into her room to take a closer look at the book hidden under her shawls.
He was fooling himself, of course. If he was going to search her room, he would be waiting in the shadows of the hall for her to leave, not standing here ready to follow her if she appeared. Besides, he wasn’t looking for a book. He was searching for papers or a file, and they would hardly be kept in an unlocked drawer where any curious person might find them.