Easy Conquest

by Sandra Heath

  “I am as mystified as you what reason may lie behind it all,” Jack replied. “If Emily were a great heiress, I could understand it, but we both know she isn’t.”

  “Yes, I fear we do. However, mysteries beg to be solved, sir, and you and I appear to be cast in the role of investigators.”

  Jack smiled. “We do indeed.”

  “So I take it you will not argue anymore about staying on?”

  “I will not argue anymore.”

  Peter beamed among the leaves.

  * * *

  Barely an hour later, Emily confronted Jack in the grand parlor. Her hazel eyes sparked with mixed emotions as she closed the door, then leaned back against it to meet his gaze across the room. “How dare you stay on here when I expressly asked you to leave!” she breathed.

  Rafe had gone now, and Cora and Peter had wisely made themselves very scarce after Cora had endured an exceedingly difficult meeting with her daughter. Their raised voices had been heard all over the house, and then Emily had come for this next confrontation. She had changed into her heather pink gown, and her short hair was a little wayward because she had worn her riding hat for so long earlier on.

  He could see by the quick rise and fall of her breast that her anger was very real. But her eyes reflected other feelings too. Or was he simply hoping that he detected more in their bright depths? He struggled for something to say.

  “Mrs. Fairfield ... Emily, I—”

  “I gave you no leave to address me in so familiar a fashion!” she cried, straightening from the door and advancing a few steps.

  “I don’t mean to insult you in any way, I just want there to be no ill feeling.”

  “Then you should leave the Hall immediately!”

  He met her eyes. “I would have done, believe me, but I have been prevailed upon to stay.”

  “So my wishes mean nothing to you?”

  “You know that isn’t so,” he replied reproachfully.

  “I know nothing of the sort! You broke every rule when we were by the river, and if you had an ounce of honor, you would leave, whether or not my foolish mother begs you to stay.”

  His anger began to rise too. “Maybe I did break the rules, but I don’t think you were as entirely opposed to my actions as you would now have me believe!”

  Heat rushed into her cheeks. “That you should say so is yet another mark of your dishonor,” she replied.

  “There is no dishonor in this particular truth,” he said.

  “I want you to leave this house, Mr. Lincoln,” she repeated levelly without looking at him.

  “Please don’t ask this of me, for I have given my word to Mrs. Preston,” he said quietly. And I gave my word to your father before that...

  “You were pleased to bestow your promise to her after I had already ordered you to leave.”

  He was now equally as incensed. “An order that was issued in the heat of the moment!”

  Her lips parted on a gasp of outrage. “The heat of the moment!”

  “Are you going to tell me that isn’t how it was?”

  Her chin came up. “Yes.”

  “So I misinterpreted events immediately before your attack of conscience? I imagined you were in my arms, returning my kiss?” His voice and manner defied her to deny the truth.

  “I... I was carried away. I used to go there with Geoffrey ...”

  “Don’t make excuses, Emily! This has nothing to do with the past, it is to do with now! You wanted to be in my arms, you wanted that kiss, and you would have continued if I hadn’t said what I did, I reminded you of your debts, and so you overreacted. Now we have come to this, bandying angry words like spiteful children. Well, you will have to forgive my refusal to leave, because this particular cuckoo remains in the nest at your mother’s behest.” And remains, he vowed to himself, because he promised his help to Felix!

  She stared at him, unable to credit that she was being defied beneath her own roof. But deep within, hidden but not completely denied, there was a part of her that was glad he was staying. She looked away. “I find you quite detestable,” she breathed.

  “No, you don’t. You like me as much as I like you. And don’t pretend otherwise, for it will not wash!”

  Her eyes flew furiously back to him. “Why are you doing this, sir? Is it my seduction you have in mind? Do you imagine I will after all prove an easy conquest who will swoon into your masculine arms when next you beckon? Well, you are going to be disappointed, Mr. Lincoln, because I would rather marry a thousand Sir Rafes than surrender another kiss to you!”

  “Then you would rather marry a devious, thieving scoundrel who bends the law in order to take what does not belong to him!” Jack cried.

  Emily flinched. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Simply that Warrender is my cousin, and had records forged in order to appear legally justified when he challenged me through the courts for my birthright! He won, thanks to Sir Quentin Brockhampton, and I lost everything that was dear to me. Warrender is the reason I left England, the reason I have spent years in exile. He is a disgrace to his title, a disgrace to the rank of gentleman, and a disgrace to England itself. So, my dear Mrs. Fairfield, if you would rather marry him a thousand times over than accept a kiss from me, I wish you well!”

  With that, he pushed past her and flung the door open. As he walked away, he did not look back, but his heart felt as if it would burst. “Oh, Emily, Emily, what have you done to me?” he whispered.

  Chapter 24

  Emily was shaken as she went downstairs after the recriminative encounter with Jack. She could hardly believe what he had just told her, and her thoughts were still in turmoil as she found her mother waiting for her in the hall.

  “Emily, I have something important to discuss with you ...” Cora began, having steeled herself to confess about her affair with Felix.

  Emily pulled herself together, determined to have a few things out with her troublesome parent. “Well, better late than never,” she replied shortly, her gaze accusing.

  Cora drew back. “I... I beg your pardon?”

  “Presumably you are about to tell me that Sir Rafe and Mr. Lincoln are cousins?”

  Cora blinked. “I, er ...”

  “Mama, did it not occur to you to tell me?” Reproach rang in the question.

  “Well, I...” Cora didn’t know what to say. She cleared her throat and managed to meet Emily’s eyes. “What is to happen now that Mr. Lincoln has told you?”

  “Happen? Well, he still flatly refuses to leave, but then you already know that, don’t you? In spite of everything, and in the face of his being the enemy of the man I am to marry, your guest is arrogantly determined to stay.”

  “Yes, my dear, because I have made it impossible for him to go,” Cora said quietly.

  “Why? Why is it so important to you that he stays?” Emily demanded. “Does it simply amuse you to have Sir Rafe’s foe beneath this roof?”

  “That was unworthy, Emily. I want Mr. Lincoln here because he brings Felix a little closer.”

  “And that is the only reason?”

  “Isn’t it enough?”

  “I suppose it will have to be, since I apparently have no say in what happens in this house.”

  “Oh, come now, Emily, don’t be so theatrical. You really are making a mountain out of a molehill.”

  “A mountain out of a—? Mama, Mr. Lincoln despises Sir Rafe!”

  “I know how he feels,” Cora observed wryly.

  “Don’t try to turn this into something amusing, because I will not have it!” Emily cried.

  “Amusing? Oh, my dear, that is the last thing I think it is, for Sir Rafe cheated Mr. Lincoln out of all that was his.”

  “So it pleases you to believe.”

  Cora’s eyes flickered. “It also pleases Felix to think it. Sir Rafe—with the legal sleight of hand of Sir Quentin Brockhampton—conspired to forge an entry of birth that seemed to prove that his ancestress, not Mr. Lincoln’s, was born first. Mr
. Lincoln said nothing to us because he did not know if you loved Sir Rafe.”

  Cora paused, “This disgraceful history gives me yet another reason to oppose this match, for how can I possibly support your alliance with such an unmitigated villain?”

  “I still say that we only have Mr. Lincoln’s side of the story, which, I may point out, is all Felix has too.” Emily’s chin came up in that mulish way that conveyed a determination not to be reasonable in any way, shape, or form.

  “Be honest with yourself, Emily Fairfield, admit that in your heart of hearts you know the truth to be on Mr. Lincoln’s side.”

  “I will not stoop to answer that.”

  “Which is answer in itself,” Cora observed smoothly. “Well, my dear, you now have another problem to contend with as well, because Peter and I not only wish Mr. Lincoln to remain here, but we also wish to invite his Peruvian friends to stay as well. May I proceed with the invitation?”

  Emily struggled to regain her aplomb. “Mama, I do not know why you bother to ask, for you will do as you please anyway,” she said, not a little resentfully.

  “Only because you indulge me, my dear.” Cora smiled infuriatingly.

  “I wish you would indulge me occasionally.”

  “I do, my dear, and you know it.”

  “Do I? Mama, you are obstructing this match at every turn—at least, you are attempting to. It hurts me very much that you cannot accept that in spite of everything, I have very good reason for wishing to become Lady Warrender.”

  “I know you do, Emily. You have debts, but surely Felix’s purse has alleviated matters a little?”

  “A little, and only temporarily.” Emily felt she had to overlook part of her promise to Rafe. She would tell her mother about Geoffrey’s lOUs; his possible French sympathies were a different matter, however. “Mama, the situation is far worse than you realize. Far worse.”

  Cora gazed at her. “What are you saying, my dear?” she asked quietly.

  “That Geoffrey left many extra gaming debts—outstanding lOUs—than originally seemed the case, and Rafe’s assistance is now more essential than ever.”

  Cora breathed out slowly. “How did you hear about these extra debts?”

  “Rafe told me.”

  “Oh, Emily! And you believe him?”

  Emily’s eyes darkened resentfully. “Yes, Mama, I believe him. He showed me one of them. It was made out to Sir Lumsley Carrowby, and Rafe settled it. It was Geoffrey’s writing, there is no mistake.”

  “So dear Sir Rafe has produced a new lever to use upon you, has he?” Cora observed with cool anger.

  “I admit that I now feel under more pressure than before to comply with his wishes, but he says he holds me in high regard, and I believe him.”

  “Oh, don’t make me shudder, for we are talking of the scapegrace who had evidence fabricated in order to rob his cousin of what was rightfully his!”

  “Mama, I cannot stop you from opposing the match, but one thing I do ask of you. Please don’t mention these extra debts to anyone else. It is Rafe’s wish—and mine—that Geoffrey’s reputation should not be harmed, which it certainly would be if it became generally known that he left behind a sheaf of lOUs as well as the other debts.”

  "A sheaf?

  “Yes. And maybe you should know that it was Rafe himself who expressed a desire to shield Peter by preventing any stigma attaching to his father’s name.”

  “So he’s the Archangel Rafe now, is he?” Cora murmured.

  Emily ignored the acid remark. “Do I have your promise of silence about what I have just told you, Mama?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” Emily caught up her skirts and hurried away, her shoes tapping on the echoing floor, but Cora called desperately after her. She had to make her confession now ... !

  “Emily, there is something else I must say to you.”

  Emily halted and turned. “Something else?”

  Cora gazed at her, suddenly unable to put it all into words. Tears sprang to her eyes, her lips trembled, and she bowed her head. Greatly concerned, Emily hurried back to her. “Mama? What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I ... I have a confession,” Cora whispered.

  Emily led her to the window seat that looked out at the knot garden. It was a particularly poignant view, reminding Cora once again of the last time she and Felix had been together. Emily took her hand. “Tell me what is upsetting you, Mama. I know we have just had words, but you realize it has not altered my regard for you, don’t you?”

  Cora exhaled very slowly. “Yes, my dear, but what I am about to tell you may make all the difference. You see, I ... I have a past ...”

  Emily’s lips parted. “A past? Mama, you make it sound as if you were a ... well, a scarlet woman.”

  “Mayhap that is what you will think of me when you know.”

  “Know what?” Felix’s name slid unbidden into Emily’s mind.

  Cora swallowed. “My dear, you know I did not love your father ...”

  “Yes.”

  “And that I did love Felix?”

  The truth began to dawn on Emily. “Yes,” she said slowly.

  “And have you never wondered about Peter’s adventurous spirit? His desire to travel the world?”

  “Felix is my father, isn’t he?” Emily said quietly.

  Cora closed her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.

  Emily rose slowly to her feet. She supposed she had known it ever since she first realized there had been something between Felix and her mother; she just hadn’t acknowledged the secret thought.

  Cora watched her anxiously, uncertain of how she was reacting. “Felix is a thousand times finer than the man you have always thought of as your father. He is to me what Jack Lincoln should—” She broke off.

  Again Emily finished the sentence for her. “What Jack Lincoln should be to me? Is that what you were going to say, Mama?”

  Cora looked out of the window. “Yes,” she said softly. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying, my dear. I loved and lost, and that pain still cuts through me every day of my life. Please don’t let the same thing happen to you.”

  Emily couldn’t bear it a moment longer. She caught up her skirts and ran from the hall.

  Cora hid her face in her hands.

  Chapter 25

  Not long after his painful meeting with Emily, Jack drove to the Royal Oak to see Cristoval and Manco. He took Cora’s chariot, at that lady’s absolute insistence, for she was quite determined that Cristoval and Manco should stay at the Hall.

  The winter afternoon was drawing in, and there were lights in window as the chariot drove into the inn yard. Jack alighted, then turned as his attention was drawn by the noise issuing from the handsome new assembly room. Preparations for Bonfire Night were now moving swiftly toward completion. Hammering, voices, and general noise carried into the yard, and more shouting came from the gloom by the bonfire beyond the new building, where more men were piling it with the remains of a rotten old cart.

  The air was very cold, and Jack’s breath was visible as he removed his top hat and lowered his head to enter the inn, where the landlord, Mr. Porter, soon directed him to the rooms occupied by his friends. The innkeeper did not look best pleased when Manco’s name was mentioned, and muttered something about “damned heathen music at all hours.”

  “Heathen music?” Jack repeated curiously. Not flute playing in the middle of Shropshire!

  “Mr. Manco started playing his pennywhistle, or whatever it is, at three o’clock last night, and woke everyone up with his stamping. He said he was preparing for some woman named Vera Cotcher to come in the morning. I had the devil’s own job telling him he couldn’t cause such a disturbance here in Temford. I also warned him not to entertain any women in his room. The Royal Oak is a respectable house. Don Cristoval prevailed upon him in the end.”

  “Ah.”

  “If it happens again tonight, I shall have no alternative but to request them to leave.”


  “I don’t think it will come to that, sir.”

  “I trust not, sir, I trust not, for it does a hostelry’s reputation no good at all to have to eject guests.”

  Manco was running true to form, Jack thought as he hastened upstairs.

  Cristoval was delighted to see him. “Ah, my dear friend! Come in, come in.”

  “I thought you were in London,” Jack said, closing the door behind him.

  “And so we would be, but for a certain development,” Cristoval replied, going through to the hammock and prodding Manco, who had fallen into a deep sleep.

  The Indian awoke up with a start, then his face broke into a glad smile when he saw their visitor. “Capac Jack!” he cried, and slipped lithely from the swaying hammock to hurry over to pump Jack’s arm.

  Jack grinned at him. “I hear you’ve been serenading the unserenadable again. Manco, you old reprobate.”

  Manco scowled. “Flute good. Please Viracocha.”

  Cristoval gave Jack a long-suffering look. “I do not think I can endure it here much longer, Jack. Trouble seems to follow Manco around, and it has become quite intolerable.”

  Manco continued to scowl. “England very silly place,” he said, sitting down on the floor and crossing his legs.

  Cristoval produced a glass from one of the portmanteaux, then took it to a table where stood an open bottle of aguardiente and two other glasses. He poured a lavish measure into all three, and a friendship toast was warmly shared. Jack then leaned back against the windowsill and looked at Cristoval. “What is this important news you have for me?”

  Cristoval sat in an armchair. “Well, the laws of coincidence being what they are, I happened to take refreshment at a London coffeehouse where a certain Sir Quentin Brockhampton was obliged to share my table. Ah, I see you recall Sir Quentin’s name.”

  “I do. Coincidence indeed, Cristoval.”