by Anne Ashley
‘Certainly not!’ he countered brusquely; and had it not been for the betraying little twitch she clearly detected at one corner of that shapely masculine mouth, she might have supposed that he was genuinely miffed at the mere suggestion. ‘I would have you know, Miss Lynn, that I have the reputation of being one of the most sociable and even-tempered gentlemen in polite society. No, it is merely that, over the years, I have developed a partiality for a strictly regulated lifestyle, and I seldom deviate from my customary practices. I rise at precisely the same time each morning, retire at precisely the same time at night, and only rarely during the hours between do I vary my daily routine.’
Her sudden gurgle of mirth induced more than one passer-by to glance in their direction. ‘Now, I am convinced that you are bamming me, sir! Only a devilish dull dog would choose to live such a humdrum existence. And that you are not!
Torn between amusement and indignation, he stared down at her mischievously smiling countenance. ‘So you do not approve of punctuality and an orderly lifestyle, Miss Lynn?’
‘I didn’t say that, sir, precisely. I very much abhor unpunctuality, but I would never allow myself to be ruled by the clock.’ She began to walk on, and he automatically fell into step beside her. ‘My situation demands that I perform certain tasks at certain periods during the day. But at other times I am at liberty to do as I please. A little spontaneity can supply the leaven to what for many is life’s tediously heavy dough.’
Much struck by this viewpoint, Benedict followed her into the various shops, where she made her purchases swiftly, proving that, although she might not favour a strictly regimented lifestyle, she certainly possessed an orderly mind.
After making the last of her purchases, Emma led the way outside. It took a moment or two for her eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight once more, then she noticed the two figures strolling towards them on the same side of the street. ‘It would appear, sir, that this is your lucky day. None other than the Ashworth ladies are approaching.’
She cast a surreptitious glance up at his profile, and was astonished to discover that he appeared quite unimpressed by Miss Clarissa Ashworth’s undeniable beauty. This apparent lack of appreciation struck her as most odd, for whenever Clarissa attended the village church on Sundays, the majority of gentlemen in the congregation seemed quite unable to take their eyes off her. She was held to be one of the most beautiful girls in the county. Yet Mr Grantley, amazingly enough, appeared far more interested in her companion.
Emma watched him doff his hat politely as the ladies drew nearer, and noticed the slight inclination of Miss Isabel Ashworth’s head in response, before her niece remarked, just as they passed by, ‘Who on earth do you suppose that was, Aunt Isabel, with that female who resides at the inn?’
Inclined to be more amused than anything else, Emma shot a further glance up at her very amiable companion to discover him looking surprisingly grim. His good humour, thankfully, had not deserted him completely, for by the time they were heading back to Ashworth Magna, he had already begun to regale her once more with humorous tales of his many Seasons in town.
No sooner had Emma turned into the inn yard than Josh took charge of the horse and gig, and Benedict took charge of the heavy basket once more, escorting her into the kitchen, and earning himself a disapproving look from the innkeeper’s wife for his trouble.
‘You’ll find your nephew awaiting your return in the private parlour, sir, if you’d care to go through,’ Martha informed him, making it abundantly clear that she didn’t approve of guests invading her private domain.
Thankfully, he took the hint and quickly departed, leaving Martha to focus her attention on a faintly dreamy-eyed Emma. Alarm bells began to sound louder than ever. ‘You oughtn’t to bring guests in here. You should know that.’
Concern had made her sound sharper than she had intended, but the scolding tone appeared to have had little effect on her former charge. Emma removed her bonnet and began to swing it to and fro by its ribbons, her eyes still retaining that dreamy, faraway look.
‘He carried my basket for me…he carried it for me all the time.’
Martha shook her head, as she watched Emma wander out into the passageway. The sooner Mr Benedict Grantley left the Ashworth Arms the better for all concerned!
Chapter Five
Benedict had not been far wrong when he had suspected that the materials for Emma’s dresses were, on the whole, purchased for their hard-wearing qualities rather than an eye for the latest mode. None the less, Emma did possess a few stylish gowns, some of which she kept for wearing to church on Sundays, and one or two others which she donned when she was invited out in the evenings. As these were rare events indeed, the gowns had had very little wear, and looked as fresh and elegant as the day they had received those final little touches added by Martha Rudge’s expert hands.
After placing her one and only silk shawl about her shoulders, Emma took a final look at her appearance in the full-length mirror, and was not displeased with her reflection. She had taken more care than usual over the arrangement of her hair, and was wearing the gold locket presented to her by her dear uncle on the occasion of her twelfth birthday. She didn’t try to delude herself that she looked every inch the fashionable young lady, but she felt that at least she didn’t appear quite the country dowdy.
Not that either Lavinia or Deborah would care a whit how she was attired, she mused, as she left the bedchamber. If she turned up wearing a scullery-maid’s apron she would still be most welcome to sit at their table.
Since her arrival at the Ashworth Arms they had both been wonderfully supportive, and Deborah, almost five years her junior, had swiftly become her closest friend. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why Lavinia, not so many weeks ago, had suggested that if she sold the house and moved to Bath, Emma might consider seriously making her home with them. Although Emma had not dismissed the idea out of hand, she had no intention of becoming Lavinia’s pensioner. When she came into her inheritance, and could pay her way, she would certainly give the matter some serious thought.
Having flicked a duster round the private parlour, Martha went out into the coffee room in time to see Emma descending the last few stairs. There was a noticeable softening of her dark eyes as she cast an approving glance over the pink silk gown which she had lovingly made the previous year.
‘So you’re off, are you?’ There was no noticeable softening of her tone. ‘Well, don’t you be leaving late,’ she warned. ‘I don’t want you walking back here in the dead of night. There’s been some mightily peculiar goings-on in recent months.’
Emma regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, wondering whether she ought not to disclose the reason why their guests had decided to put up at the inn, but then decided against it. If Mr Grantley wished to take others into his confidence then he would do so himself. She could not suppress a slight smile as something else occurred to her. It just might succeed in softening Martha’s attitude towards him if he did eventually choose to do so.
‘No, I shan’t be late, dearest,’ Emma assured her, placing a loving kiss on one thin cheek. ‘I’m certain that Lavinia will ensure that her manservant escorts me home. She usually does.’
It was only a matter of a five-minute walk to the late doctor’s house, but it took Emma rather longer as she was forced to pause on three occasions to pass the time of day with friendly villagers. When she eventually arrived at Lavinia’s front door, she heard the church clock chime the hour. As the clock was invariably slow, she knew she was late, and was not in the least surprised, when she was admitted by the manservant, Gregory, to hear voices raised in cheerful discourse as she approached the parlour.
The instant Emma stepped into the room, Lavinia was on her feet and moving forward to greet her in her usual, affectionate way, grasping her hands and saying how lovely she looked.
‘She certainly does,’ a deep voice drawled in her ear, making Emma start. ‘But that is no excuse to keep us all waiting for our dinn
er. It rather gives the lie to your admission earlier in the day, does it not, young lady?’
Having nowhere near recovered from the initial shock of discovering him there, Emma forced herself to gaze up into those wickedly teasing masculine eyes, cursing herself for every kind of a fool for not realising at once that Mr Grantley’s dinner invitation must also have come from Lavinia. Her only excuse, she supposed, was that after their return from Salisbury, when she had gone upstairs to her room to change her attire, and had caught sight of her dreamy-eyed schoolgirl look in the mirror, she had done her utmost not to think about him at all. If she were honest, though, she would be forced to concede that she had not been wholly successful in her endeavours.
‘Don’t pay him any heed, Emma dear,’ Lavinia advised, coming to the rescue of her delightfully flustered young friend. ‘You have not kept us waiting at all. Dinner is not until seven-thirty. Come, let me introduce you to my other guests—Harry you know, of course, and this is Dr Fielding, our new practitioner.’
Emma found her right hand taken in the firm, warm clasp of a man she judged to be more or less the same age as the far too personable Mr Grantley. ‘Well, Miss Lynn, if all the young ladies in the village and surrounding area possess your healthy bloom,’ he announced, his keen gaze quickly noting her heightened colour, ‘I shall never become a rich man.’
Emma quickly withdrew her hand before he detected her pulse, which was behaving in a foolishly erratic manner yet again. Coming face to face with Mr Grantley so unexpectedly had completely overset her for some obscure reason, and she felt slightly foolish for so easily losing her self-control.
Fortunately by the time they had sat down to dinner, and she was enjoying the several mouth-watering dishes on offer, she had succeeded in regaining her poise, though she could have wished that Lavinia had not placed her next to Mr Grantley, who sat at the head of the table.
‘Yes, I am content to rent the cottage for a few weeks, Mrs Hammond,’ Dr Fielding, sitting on Emma’s left, responded to Lavinia’s enquiry. ‘Naturally I will need to look about for a larger residence once my wife and children join me at the end of next month. I’m afraid poor Elizabeth has been left to deal with organising the storage of our furniture and the selling of our home in Bath.’
‘Ah, yes! I remember hearing that your old practice was in that city,’ Lavinia responded. ‘I myself am seriously contemplating taking up residence there.’ She cast a meaningful glance in the direction of another of her guests. ‘And am hoping that a certain someone can be persuaded to make her home with us, if and when I do.’
Although Emma realised she was the focal point of everyone’s attention, only that violet-eyed gaze disturbed her. ‘And as I’ve already mentioned, Lavinia, I intend to give the matter some very serious consideration.’
‘Can’t stand the place myself,’ Harry put in. ‘Too dull by half. Why, there’s hardly a person there under the age of seventy.’
‘A slight exaggeration, my boy,’ Benedict countered, before turning to the doctor. ‘I expect you’ll find somewhat different conditions to treat round here, Fielding.’
‘Yes, you’re right. In Bath ailments brought about by overindulgence are the norm. That is one of the reasons why I decided to come here. I shall find it more rewarding helping those less fortunate.’
Benedict nodded in approval, before turning his attention to Emma. ‘And are you seriously considering moving away from here?’
‘Oh, yes. I never intended it should be a permanent arrangement. Originally I had planned to stay only for a few weeks, until I could obtain some position whereby I could support myself.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I just never found anything that I thought would suit me, and so remained.’
‘Yes, it is quite easy to get oneself into a rut,’ he astonished her by remarking. ‘One can be fortunate enough to be in a position whereby one can command almost any luxury, and still not be perfectly contented.’
‘But surely you cannot be dissatisfied with the life you lead, sir?’ She found this very hard to believe. ‘You give the impression of being completely relaxed and happy.’
‘Do not be fooled by appearances, my dear Miss Lynn.’ He reached for his glass of wine, and gazed down at it thoughtfully for a few moments before sampling its contents. ‘It most certainly gives one pause suddenly to discover that the life one has taken great pains to build for oneself is not so very fulfilling, after all.’ His smile was a trifle crooked. ‘Fortunately I have not quite reached the stage where I’m so set in my ways that I cannot change.’
Lavinia then drew his attention by enquiring after the various members of his family, and his less than flattering remarks, most especially concerning his sister, Lady Fencham, succeeded in keeping everyone in a high state of amusement until Lavinia invited Emma and Deborah to return to the parlour, leaving the gentlemen to enjoy their port.
Benedict, the first to rejoin the ladies, entered the room to discover one noticeable absentee, and moved directly across to the French windows, which had been left open to allow the pleasant evening air, sweetly perfumed with the fragrance of roses, to freshen the room. Lavinia, sitting close by, distinctly heard him muttering something under his breath, but could not quite catch the words. The unguarded look in his eyes, however, was unmistakable, and she turned her head slightly in the direction of his openly admiring gaze to see Emma, framed in a garland of delicate pink roses, almost exactly the same shade as her dress, standing beneath the wooden archway.
How very, very gratifying, she mused, before hurriedly deterring Harry, who had suddenly appeared in the room, from following his uncle’s example by taking a stroll out into the garden.
Emma turned the instant she detected the approaching footsteps. ‘Are these not amongst the most perfect specimens, sir?’ she remarked while striving to regain some control over her pulse rate, which had suddenly seemed to have acquired a will of its own and a tendency to behave erratically at frequent intervals.
‘Quite exquisite,’ he responded, his gaze never wavering from her face.
The evening air seemed suddenly filled with more than just the powerful scent of flowers. ‘Dr Hammond was very fond of his roses.’ She raised her eyes fleetingly to his, then promptly wished she had not. What on earth was the matter with her? Anyone might suppose that she was unaccustomed to the company of the opposite sex. Which was simply untrue! What was totally alien to her were these peculiar sensations she seemed powerless to control whenever Mr Grantley was near her.
‘I do hope, sir, that you are successful in your endeavours,’ she continued, determined not to lose her poise entirely for a second time that evening, and took heart from the control she somehow always managed to maintain over her voice. ‘He was a good man who always put the welfare of others before himself. He did not deserve to die in such a way.’
‘With your help, Miss Lynn, perhaps I may solve the mystery.’
‘As I’ve already mentioned, I shall willingly help in any way I can. But I do not immediately perceive how I can assist you further.’
Emma raised one hand in a helpless gesture, and quick as a flash it was captured in long fingers, and pulled through the crook of one well-muscled arm so that she had little choice but to accompany him, as he began an exploratory stroll about the beautifully maintained garden.
She was immediately conscious of the firmness of the biceps beneath her fingers; conscious too of the latent strength in every line of his perfectly proportioned, muscular frame. From the first moment she had set eyes on him she had been struck by his air of refinement. Undeniably he was every inch the well-bred gentleman, dignified and courteous. Beneath the fashionable trappings, however, he was without question also every inch the powerful male. There was little point, she swiftly decided, to ignore the truth any longer—she was, and had been from the very first, more than just faintly attracted to him.
She was not so naïve as to suppose that he was indifferent to her, either. A virtual innocent she might be,
but she had recognised the raw longing in his eyes, which he had seemed incapable of concealing, or had simply chosen not to do so, when he had first joined her in the garden. Yes, he desired her—that was patently clear. But what niche was there for a female like her in the life of such a man? His mistress, perhaps? Yes, common sense told her, that was possibly all she could ever hope to achieve. It would mean her ruin, of course, if she were ever foolish enough to contemplate such a course of action. Yet, if these feelings she could no longer ignore were to deepen, and she ever came to—
‘I believe you mentioned you were on friendly terms with the Ashworths’ cook,’ he unexpectedly announced, and she forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying, pleased to be given the opportunity to abandon her unsettling reflections and to channel her thoughts in a less disturbing direction. ‘When do you expect to receive another visit from her?’
‘Tomorrow, early in the afternoon.’
‘Excellent! Find out as much as you can about this young maid who died up at the Hall. Try also to discover the state of the late Miss Spears’s mind before she left to visit her sister in London. I know I can rely on you to be discreet. Whilst you are busy prising information out of the estimable cook, I shall be attempting to coax Sir Lionel, who has, so I have discovered, returned home today, after spending several days with a friend, to give me all the information he can on the history of the Ashworth family.’
Puzzled, Emma drew her fine brows together. ‘Surely you don’t imagine that the Ashworths had anything to do with Dr Hammond’s death?’
‘At the moment, my dear, I’m still groping in the dark, searching for that one lead which might shed some light on this business. From reading Hammond’s diaries, I have gathered that he was suspicious over some aspect of that maidservant’s death. If it wasn’t an accident, then I’m afraid—’
‘She too may have been murdered,’ she finished for him. Emma shook her head, at a loss to understand why anyone should wish to dispose of an insignificant maid, and echoed her thoughts aloud.