by Anne Ashley
It swiftly became apparent, as they began to scan the pages for dresses that would compliment a young woman who was not precisely straight out of the schoolroom, that Lavinia, like her daughter, was keen for Emma to attend the party, and for a while Emma was able to forget those niggling reservations as she was swept along on the tide of her friends’ enthusiasm. Unfortunately her conscience was not quite accommodating enough to allow her to dwell overlong on the delightful prospect of being dressed for once in her life in the prevailing mode, for no sooner had she left the Hammonds’ house, armed with three of the journals, than those wretched misgivings returned to plague her, and she determined to discover the truth about her surprising invitation.
She was destined not to remain in ignorance for much longer. When she arrived back at the inn a few minutes later, entering by way of the kitchen door, it was to discover the being admirably capable of satisfying her curiosity seated at the kitchen table, happily conversing with the landlady like some lifelong bosom bow.
This in itself came as no great surprise to Emma. Martha’s attitude towards Mr Grantley had undergone a dramatic change since he had taken her and Samuel into his confidence the previous afternoon. Now she simply could not do enough for him. It really was quite nauseating!
‘Ah, so there you are, Emma!’ Martha was swiftly proving to one and all that she could smile just as readily as anyone else when she was of a mind to do so. ‘And you’ve managed to discover something you like in Mrs Hammond’s journals. Excellent! I can make a start on your new gown today!’
‘There may be no need for you to put yourself to the trouble.’ Emma wasn’t immediately aware that her evident lack of enthusiasm had dimmed Martha’s smile, for she was staring fixedly at the other occupant of the table. ‘Tell me, Mr Grantley, would I be correct in thinking that Miss Ashworth is not aware that it is I you wish to escort to her niece’s birthday party?’ she demanded to know, desperately striving not to permit the warmth she perceived in his blue eyes to diminish her resolve.
Broad shoulders rose in a shrug. ‘I really couldn’t say whether she does or not, Emma.’
‘No, I thought not.’ After carelessly tossing the journals down on the table, she went across the room to collect a clean apron. ‘There’s no need for you to cut out the dress, Martha,’ she added, pausing by the kitchen door. ‘I shan’t be going to the party.’
Benedict easily prevented Martha from following by placing a gently restraining hand on her arm as she made to rise. ‘No, I’ll talk to her. You take the opportunity to browse through those fashion journals. She may yet come to appreciate a new gown.’
He discovered his quarry busily engaged with the butter churn in the dairy, and knew at once by the stubborn set of that delightful little chin that he was going to find it no easy task to persuade her to change her mind. Undeterred, he made use of the door jamb by leaning his broad shoulders against it, before folding his arms across his chest, and studying her in silence, his expression clearly betraying a combination of amusement and faint exasperation.
Emma didn’t feign ignorance of his presence; nor did she attempt to ignore the look he was casting her. ‘I don’t know why you’re standing there, regarding me as though I were some unruly child, Mr Grantley. You must realise why I cannot possibly accompany you to the party on Friday.’
‘No, I’m afraid I don’t. Pray, do enlighten me.’
The blasé response almost had Emma gaping in astonishment. Surely he was being deliberately obtuse? Yet, she was forced to own that there was nothing in his expression to suggest that he was being anything other than totally sincere. She sighed, much moved by the fact that he evidently considered her worthy enough to attend the party, but refused to permit this to sway her.
‘I would not be welcome there, Ben, that is why,’ she said softly, in an attempt to make him understand that others would never come to view her in such a favourable light. ‘Miss Ashworth would never dream of inviting someone like me to her home. I suspect that when she acquiesced to your including another in your party, she supposed that you would be escorting someone of undeniable quality, someone of your own class.’
‘And that is precisely what I shall be doing.’ Bridging the distance between them in three giant strides, Benedict grasped her arms just above the elbows, and administered a slight shake, while forcing her to face him squarely. ‘So I want no more of this foolish talk, understand?’
Although his hold was secure, it was not ungentle, unlike the steely edge Emma could clearly discern in his voice, a further example had she needed one that the amiable Mr Grantley could be quite ruthlessly determined when he chose. To her surprise she didn’t find this display of male dominance in the least distasteful. In fact, much to her intense amazement, she discovered she rather liked it, most especially the wonderful feeling of security the touch of those long-fingered hands was beginning to engender. Undoubtedly this man would know well how to guard his own. It would be a fortunate lady indeed who succeeded in winning his regard, and who would then experience the sheer joy of being protectively held in those strong, muscular arms. Oh, how she wished…
Aghast at where her wayward thoughts were leading, Emma broke free of his clasp, before forcing herself once again to meet a faintly quizzical gaze which left her with the uncomfortable feeling that he wasn’t totally ignorant of what had been passing through her mind.
Her first impulse was to flee the dairy, to put as much distance as she could between them, but she curbed it. After all, she couldn’t possibly hide from him indefinitely; worse still, she could never hope to escape from her own rapidly increasing regard.
Somehow summoning up sufficient courage to stand her ground, she said, ‘I have already mentioned, sir, that I would never stoop so low as to trade on my kinship with the wealthy Derbyshire Lynns, none of whom I have ever met, in an attempt to gain acceptance into polite society.’
‘And as I have already assured you that would never cross my mind for a moment. I have, however, taken it upon myself to write to Charles, informing him of your existence.’ He could not forbear a smile at the look of utter bewilderment which took possession of her delicate features. ‘Charles Lynn, unless I much mistake the matter, is your cousin, Emma, and the head of that particular branch of your family. It just so happens that he’s a very good friend of mine. We were up at Oxford together.’
‘And you’ve written to him about me?’ Indignation replaced bewilderment. ‘The devil you have, sir!’
‘Now that is not the sort of language I expect to hear passing a young lady’s lips!’ he didn’t hesitate to inform her sternly, waving an admonishing finger. ‘And I want to hear no more of it, understand? Nor do I wish to hear any more feeble excuses why you shouldn’t attend this party. Of course you’ll go!’ he went on masterfully, suppressing a smile as her expression changed yet again to one of indignant outrage. ‘Deborah and her mother would be most disappointed if you did not take your seat in my carriage, not to mention Harry. Furthermore, I refuse to be denied the pleasure of escorting the only female I have any desire to have on my arm.’
With which he sauntered from the dairy, leaving Emma with absolutely nothing to say, and not quite knowing whether to feel annoyed by his high-handed attitude, or deliriously happy because he truly did wish to escort her to the party.
As Benedict, for reasons best known to himself, had decided to accept Colonel Meecham’s invitation to dine, Emma was destined not to see him for the rest of the day. This, however, did not prevent him from intruding into her thoughts all too often, and although she tried desperately hard to check those ever-increasing romantic images of herself locked in a pair of well-muscled arms, she was, by the time the evening was well advanced, no longer foolishly striving to convince herself that she had not, for the very first time in her life, fallen hopelessly in love.
The sound of a carriage pulling up in the yard had her foolish heart turning a somersault, and Benedict’s sudden appearance in the doorway a few m
oments later did little to improve that ungovernable organ’s increasingly wayward behaviour. Well, she might now be powerless to suppress tender feelings towards Mr Grantley, she told herself sternly, but at least she could attempt to keep them well hidden. He had a purpose in coming here to Ashworth Magna, and she must strive not to lose sight of this fact, and make his situation uncomfortable by revealing her feelings, no matter how difficult that might prove to be.
Fortunately help was at hand on this occasion in the form of Martha who, unlike Emma, did not attempt to disguise her delight at his early return. ‘Why, Mr Grantley! I didn’t expect to see you back here for another hour at least.’
Benedict transferred his gaze from the young woman who was busily cleaning the surface of the table, and who had acknowledged his presence with the merest nod of her head, to the more welcoming landlady.
‘The Meechams dine early, and as my time could be better spent here than whiling away the evening hours playing billiards, I decided to leave Harry to challenge the Colonel.’ Narrow-eyed, he glanced again in the direction of the table. ‘I perceive young madam here hasn’t got over her sulks yet?’
Martha was unable to suppress a chuckle. ‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, sir, but she’s certainly been in an odd mood all day. In a world of her own, as you might say.’
‘Would you two mind very much not discussing me as though I were not here!’ Emma snapped, managing to encompass them both in a darkling look. ‘And didn’t you have something to tell Mr Grantley, Martha?’ she reminded her.
‘Ah, yes! So I did,’ she confirmed, thereby instantly regaining his full attention. ‘I paid a visit to my sister earlier, sir, and managed to have a private word with my niece Alice. It turns out that she didn’t deliver that letter to Dr Hammond herself. It was Lucius Flint who pushed it under the door.’
Memory stirred. Benedict distinctly recalled Sir Lionel mentioning that particular name on the night he had dined at his house. ‘Am I correct in thinking that Flint is the Ashworths’ steward?’
‘Aye, that’s right, sir.’ The firm set, which had been less noticeable of late, returned to Martha’s mouth. ‘And he’s not well liked in these parts, I can tell you. Still,’ she shrugged, ‘I don’t think anyone who took Mr Granger’s position would have been well received. Now, he was a nice gentleman. Everybody liked him, and no one believed that he’d been lining his pockets with profits from—’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Rudge,’ Benedict interrupted, ‘I do not perfectly understand. Could you explain a little more fully? Firstly, by telling me exactly who Mr Granger is.’
‘He held the position of steward up at the Hall before Flint took over. He’d been there for about five years, and doing an excellent job by all accounts. The next thing we heard was that he’d been dismissed because of some discrepancies Miss Ashworth had discovered in the estate books, shortly after she came back to live at the Hall, and that there weasel-faced Flint had taken Mr Granger’s place.’
Emma watched those strikingly coloured eyes narrowing speculatively. ‘You think that might be in some way significant?’ she prompted, when he continued to gaze fixedly at the floor. ‘I don’t see how it could possibly have any bearing on Dr Hammond’s death. It all happened so long ago.’
‘True. But one should always take into consideration that which might at first seem the most insignificant detail.’ Benedict then addressed himself to Martha. ‘Let us return to the matter of Sir Lionel’s letter. What exactly did your niece tell you earlier?’
‘She said that Sir Lionel’s butler gave her the letter to deliver, as she needed to walk into the village that morning on an errand. She came upon Lucius Flint in the lane. Fortunately Alice, like Emma here, don’t offer him any encouragement, but seemingly she didn’t object to him bearing her company. When they reached the doctor’s, he offered to take the note up to the house. She said that she didn’t actually see him knock, on account of one of the villagers stopping to pass the time of day, but she clearly remembered seeing him bend to push the letter under the door.’
‘Which doesn’t necessarily mean that he did so,’ Emma remarked, reading Benedict’s thoughts with remarkable accuracy, and thereby earning herself a warm look of approval. She frowned as something else occurred to her. ‘I think it’s safe to assume that Alice probably knew that her master would be delayed in Salisbury that evening. It is also possible that she knew what Sir Lionel’s letter contained.’ Her frown grew more pronounced. ‘I wonder if, at some point during their walk to the village, she happened to tell Flint that Sir Lionel was having to cancel the chess evening with his good friend the doctor.’
‘I never thought to ask her that,’ Martha freely admitted, looking faintly annoyed with herself for this oversight. ‘But I’ll make a point of doing so the next time I see her.’
‘I would be grateful if you would, Mrs Rudge, because it might prove of real significance,’ Benedict assured her, before wandering across to the door leading to the passageway. ‘And I, in the meantime, with your assistance, will further my acquaintance with your patrons in the tap.’
As Emma watched them leave, she found herself once again taking stock of her far-from-idyllic situation. No matter how welcome he was now being made to feel, it was unlikely that Benedict would wish to put up at the inn for longer than was absolutely necessary. Therefore she might as well enjoy his company for the week or two he might possibly remain.
She wasn’t so foolish as to suppose that she would find it easy to conceal the depths of her feelings for the duration of his stay, and maintain the wonderful camaraderie which had surprisingly existed between them from the first. None the less, any attempt at avoidance on her part would, she felt sure, swiftly alert that large brain of his to the true state of her heart. Which would inevitably lead to her suffering the humiliation of rejection. Gentlemen of Benedict’s station in life, she reminded herself, did not foolishly fall in love with tavern wenches. When they looked about for a wife, they searched among those highborn ladies of the ton.
Desperately striving not to allow this unpalatable truth to send her plummeting to the depths of despair, Emma turned her attention to the pies she had made a little earlier and, after piling them neatly on a large plate, carried them through to the tap, where she discovered Benedict propped against one end of the counter, already deep in conversation with several regular customers. She did not find this in the least surprising, for although his dress alone proclaimed his vastly superior status, he possessed the innate ability to converse easily with people from a lower station in life than his own, without making them feel in any way inferior.
While making herself useful by pouring several tankards of Samuel’s very popular home-brewed ale, Emma noticed the arrival of a new customer, and began to edge her way down to the end of the counter without, she hoped, making her intentions obvious.
‘You might be interested to know,’ she said, easily managing to gain Benedict’s attention, ‘that Lucius Flint has decided to honour us with one of his rare visits.’
Casually glancing over his shoulder, Benedict took quick stock of the wiry, middle-aged man making his way towards the counter, and was not unduly amazed to find himself on the receiving end of a narrow-eyed, assessing look.
‘It is hardly surprising you have gained his interest,’ Emma remarked in an undertone, as she too noticed the swift appraising stare from a pair of hard, dark eyes. ‘You don’t precisely blend in with your surroundings. It isn’t often we have such fashionably attired gentleman propping up our counter. Your presence here is bound to give rise to a degree of speculation.’
This singularly failed to extract any response and, as he continued to regard her in silence, without any vestige of that wonderful smile which she had grown accustomed to receiving, she gained the distinct impression that he was not wholly pleased about something this evening.
‘Did you not manage to discover anything of interest from our regulars?’ she ventured, naturally assuming t
hat this must be the reason for his faintly disenchanted state. ‘It’s early days yet, remember. It might take some time before you win their confidence.’
‘Oh, I learned the odd interesting snippet. Discovered something of interest earlier, too, when I dined with the Meechams. One or two of the Colonel’s servants worked in the house when the property was owned by Squire Penlow, and remember well the dreadful goings-on. Which reminds me,’ he added, after sampling the contents of his tankard. ‘The Colonel’s pleased to hear that you intend to be among the guests at Ashworth Hall on Friday, and instructed me to inform you that he expects you to save him a dance.’
‘Oh, Lord!’ Her expression clearly betrayed dismay. ‘That will undoubtedly prove an interesting spectacle!’
This did induce a smile. ‘It is quite amazing the effect a very pretty countenance can have on the most case-hardened male.’ His eyes strayed to the door behind her as it opened. ‘Ah, Mrs Rudge! And not a moment too soon!’
Martha’s smile faded the instant her eyes fell upon Emma. ‘And what, may I ask, are you doing in here, young lady? Sam and Lucy can manage perfectly well on their own. We’re not busy this evening. Your time would be better spent with me upstairs, helping to make your new gown.’
If Emma supposed the glance of earnest appeal she instinctively cast in his direction would gain his support, Benedict swiftly disabused her. ‘I could not agree with you more. A common tap is no place for you, young lady.’
It was not so much the strong, masculine hand pressed against the small of her back forcibly ejecting her from the room that Emma very much resented as the taproom door being firmly closed against her a moment or two later.
Smouldering with resentment, she stalked down the passageway towards the kitchen. The wretched man was taking far too much upon himself. She might have unwittingly allowed herself to fall desperately in love with Benedict Grantley, but be damned if she would allow him to dictate what she might or might not do!