* * *
He did not see her until luncheon, in the dining room.
‘I suppose you are wondering what called me away,’ he said with a grim smile.
‘All the servants knew was that it was a fire,’ she said.
‘It was the first manifestation of the curse that you do not believe in,’ he replied, hoping that she did not want to delve too deeply into his reasoning. ‘Not even a day after our marriage, the vicarage burned to the ground.’
‘That is horrible,’ she said. ‘Was anyone hurt?’
‘No. All escaped unharmed.’
She thought for a moment. ‘Then that is good news and not bad.’
‘A fire is good news?’ he said with a doubtful raise of an eyebrow.
‘No one was hurt,’ she reminded him. ‘And what caused the fire?’
‘An improperly cleaned chimney,’ he said.
‘Carelessness on the part of the vicar’s wife, then.’
‘You could say that,’ he said. She might say it, but he would not.
‘If the building were smote by lightening from Zeus, I might see it as a curse,’ she replied. ‘Or if we had been anywhere near the site of the fire. As I remember it, we were married in the church and not the vicar’s home.’
‘They are side by side,’ he reminded her.
‘And the vicarage has, or had, a thatched roof,’ she agreed. ‘It is quite miraculous that the fire did not spread to the church.’
‘Not a miracle,’ he said with a frown. ‘It was with the effort of many men, me included, throwing water on the flames for the better part of the night.’
‘So, you admit that, when misfortune struck, it was possible to mitigate the effects of it,’ she said. In a way, that had been the reason he had gone. Mitigation, and the fact that he could not have borne the consequences he might face, had he remained home while people needed his help.
‘It must be a very weak curse, if you were able to thwart it so easily.’
‘It did not feel particularly weak while I was working last night,’ he said, annoyed.
‘I am sure the vicar and his wife are grateful for your help,’ she replied. ‘I will write to my mother to offer them a place to live while their home is rebuilt. Soon, everything will be back to normal.’
‘Until the next problem,’ he said, not convinced. ‘I usually avoid mixing with the neighbours to spare them misfortune.’ And to spare himself as well. One could not be bothered by what one could not see.
‘I am aware of that,’ she said, pausing cautiously. ‘And that is why I must ask you what I am to do with these.’
‘With what?’ he said, looking up to see the pile of letters she had placed in front of her on the table.
‘Invitations,’ she said. ‘Are there any particular ones you wish me to accept or decline? You have told me nothing of your acquaintances thus far, but I assume you have some friends in the area, even if you do not visit them often.’
Did he? It had been so long since he had visited any of them that he assumed they had forgotten them. ‘There is no one in particular,’ he said at last. ‘In fact, I am surprised that you are receiving mail at all, much less one day after our marriage. I have not received such a stack before.’
‘Never?’ she asked. ‘Because I am quite sure that, as a single man, you would have been in demand as a guest at any party.’
‘I am well aware of that fact,’ he said tartly. ‘But as I did not intend to marry again, I avoided the sort of gatherings that people would wish me to attend only to be paired off with eligible females...’
‘So, you ignored or refused all invitations you got until the neighbours stopped trying to contact you,’ she concluded for him with a shake of her head.
‘But why are they trying now?’ he said, confused.
‘I suspect that the vicar has told his flock that you were helping to save his house on your wedding night,’ she supplied, with a flush of embarrassment. ‘Now everyone is eager to get a look at the woman who has caught you.’
‘The fact might have been mentioned,’ he said uneasily. The vicar’s wife had wept in gratitude at his help and announced the news loud enough for all to hear. He had thought nothing of it at the time, for it was not as if he had meant to keep his marriage a secret. But the complications that the news might bring had not occurred to him.
‘They are also wondering why you were so eager to leave me, on our first night,’ she said with a sigh.
He wanted to reassure her, but could not. Of course, he had also assumed that an unconsummated marriage would be something that only the two of them would know. By going to aid with the fire, he’d given people a reason to gossip. He could not even lie and claim no one had noticed. The stack of mail in her hand was proof that they had.
‘Your silence does me no good at all,’ she said with another sigh. ‘Which of these should I accept?’ She gave the topmost invitation a poke with her finger, as if expecting it might come to life and snap at her.
‘None of them,’ he said suddenly, wishing that there had been more time for her to learn the risks of social interaction.
‘I cannot simply ignore the post and hope it will stop coming,’ she said gently. ‘It is one thing for a widower to go through a period of seclusion. But it is quite another for a newly married man and his wife to hide in the house and ignore everyone.’
‘Perhaps it is unreasonable of you to expect me to change,’ he countered.
‘Or perhaps it is unreasonable of you to make me a laughing stock.’ Her mouth snapped shut as if she was stifling the rest of her response. Then she took a breath, as if composing herself before speaking. ‘You came to me the night before we married and set conditions on our union. And I agreed to them.’
He nodded.
‘Last night, it was clear that I did not fully understand them.’
‘That is another matter entirely,’ he replied.
‘On the contrary,’ she replied. ‘I am still learning to adjust to the fact that my husband does not want my company. But now I must contend with the scrutiny of others on the subject.’
‘That was never my intent,’ he argued. But intent did not matter. Why had it not occurred to him that, in making her a Gascoyne, he might be doubling his troubles and not lessening them.
For a moment, her lip trembled as if she might be on the verge of tears. Then she took another breath and it stopped. When she spoke again, her voice was steady, almost businesslike. ‘Can you explain your reasoning for refusing these offers, or is it merely habit?’
This was the point where he could explain the truth to her. But it was too much, too soon. So, he settled for a half-truth instead. ‘I have always thought that it was for the best to avoid gatherings, so that I did not spoil them in some way.’ Hopefully, she would never learn just how bad things might be.
‘You are talking of the curse again,’ she said in a tone that said she thought he was being a superstitious old woman.
In a way, he was. As she had said before, avoiding people had been his habit for so long he had difficulty citing an example that would prove his argument. ‘Things do not go well, when I am around,’ he said at last.
‘If the curse is on you and your family, the effects on those around you need not be your primary concern. Unless it is your own health that you fear for.’
‘Of course not,’ he said, not wanting to look like a coward. ‘Any bad fortune that falls on me will happen wherever I am.’ He just did not like displaying his weakness to the world.
‘Are you sure it is not that you are ashamed of me?’ Now her voice was barely above a whisper. ‘It is not as if I am eager to go about in public. I am sure the vicar has not already told everyone that you have married beneath you. But now that they know your contempt of me...’ She was staring at the pile of mail again, her cheeks colouring in embarr
assment.
‘I do not feel contempt,’ he insisted. But in the rest, she was right. He had made her an object of curiosity and, if something was not done to stem it, the gossip about her would grow rather than dying away.
‘But how will I believe you if you will not be seen in public with me?’ she asked. ‘What harm will it do to accept a few of these invitations?’ she countered, before he could come up with another excuse. Then she added, ‘I will likely embarrass you in some way, for I am exceptionally graceless when I try to go about in society. But that is bound to happen, sooner or later. It might be easier if we just get it over with.’
She would embarrass him? ‘That idea had never occurred to me,’ he insisted. In fact, it was the least of his worries.
She brightened somewhat at the reassurance. ‘Lady Weatherby is holding a musicale in three nights’ time. The greatest risk to anyone at such events is a flat soprano. You need fear nothing from the curse and I will try not to disgrace us with my awkwardness. It will likely be a thoroughly dull evening and exactly the sort of thing we need for our first appearance as man and wife.’
Just the thought of going out in public made his throat tighten. But perhaps it had been so long since he’d tried that he had forgotten how dull things might be. Just the thought of attending a concert in a country drawing room made him want to doze in his chair. What could go wrong? He had managed the wedding without difficulty and the firefighting as well. Perhaps his troubles were over.
Then he looked at his new wife who was staring at him, part in hope, part in dread of this latest refusal. He had denied the poor woman everything she should have expected from a normal husband. How could he say no again? ‘Very well,’ he said, giving up. ‘Accept the one invitation. But do not blame yourself if it all goes terribly wrong.’
Chapter Seven
After the conversation at lunch, Emma was left wishing that her mother had taken more time to research more than titles and property. Surely there should have been a note that Sir Robert Gascoyne’s reclusiveness was a sign that, though he seemed so perfect when she looked at him, he was mad as a March hare.
The idea of remaining childless had been shocking enough. But she had thought it the most extreme thing she would hear from him. Now, it seemed that there might be an endless list of conditions on their interactions that she might not yet be aware of.
It was some consolation that she had got him to yield on attending the Weatherby gathering. It was a sign that change might be possible. She just had to make sure that the event went well, to convince him that there was nothing to fear from accepting further invitations.
Of course, that plan had its own problems attached to it. To accomplish it, all she had to do was develop grace and poise that she’d not had at any previous point in her life. It had been kind of Sir Robert to suggest at dinner that she would grow more co-ordinated with time. But this miracle of maturity was not likely to arrive in time to save her first appearance as Lady Gascoyne.
When some social failure on her part occurred, which it was surely likely to, he would blame it on his curse and use it as an excuse to keep them both home in the future. If she truly wished to help her new husband, then she must begin by proving to him that the world would not end if they left the house. She would simply have to be on her best behaviour to make sure the musicale was without incident.
It was something to ponder during a largely empty afternoon. Her husband had worked himself to exhaustion the night before and was probably enjoying a well-earned nap. But Emma had no idea how she was expected to fill her own time. The menus for the week had been approved. It was too late in the day to make calls, even if she knew someone other than her mother that wanted visiting.
It had taken no time at all to write to that woman and encourage her to reach out to the vicar and his family. But she took care not to invite her mother to the house. If she was honest, having a day without her mother’s criticism had been surprisingly liberating.
But now that she had this freedom and no one was trying to organise each minute of her day with ladylike education, what was she to do with her time?
She looked out the window to see the dog that had greeted them on the previous day staring longingly back at her from the yard. Sir Robert had suggested that she exercise him and herself. Perhaps now was the time to do it.
She opened the French doors to the morning room and he approached, sitting just outside and making no effort to pass over the threshold, but wagging his tail encouragingly from the other side.
‘Are you lonely?’ she asked.
This elicited a puzzled canine frown and another thump of the great tail, as if to say he did not understand her, but was happy to agree with anything as long as he could hold her attention.
‘Well, I am,’ she answered for him. ‘And I think we could keep each other company on a walk through the yard. What say you to that?’
The dog stood, shifting eagerly from foot to foot, and then ran a little way away, looking back as if urging her to follow.
‘Who am I to argue with such a polite gentleman?’ she said, taking off after the dog. For a time, they rambled through the kitchen garden and he scared the rabbits out of the lettuce. Then they wound down the hill towards the stables and past, into the open fields beyond the formal grounds.
It was a beautiful day to be out of doors, watching sleepy bees and butterflies drinking from the wild flowers in a meadow. Perhaps, next time, she might bring her sketchbook. If this was her future, maybe it would not be so bad to be mistress of Gascoyne Manor.
But, apparently, the dog had other ideas of what made for a perfect afternoon walk. Before she could stop him, he had darted through a gap in a fence and was running free in the nearby pasture.
‘Theo, come back here. Come!’ she shouted, then muttered, ‘You stupid animal’, under her breath as she climbed the stile to start after him. It would be just like her to lose her husband’s favourite dog in the first week of their marriage. She suspected that would be far harder to forgive than a little spilled wine at dinner.
The huge dog cast a long look over his shoulder at her, pausing for a second as if he meant to obey. Then he started forward again, clearly on the scent of something more interesting.
‘There are rabbits much closer to home, you horrible beast,’ she shouted after him, stumbling over a tussock.
Then she saw what it was that the deranged dog had decided to chase. He was less than one hundred yards away from her, standing at the feet of a full-grown bull, barking up into the wide, angry face and wagging his tail as if it was the best joke in the world to risk his life in such a way.
Emma froze, momentarily at a loss for what to do. She was not a proper country girl, having spent most of her life in the confines of London where there was nothing more dangerous to be found than the occasional tomcat. But even she was aware that the last place she should be was near the behemoth that was facing down Theo. It did not matter if her husband was angry about the fate of the dog. He would doubtless be even more angry to send for a surgeon if she was gored half to death on the first full day of their marriage.
She began backing away, slowly. In her mind, she heard her mother’s words that a lady must never seem hurried in any of her actions. Her job was to float, serene, from one place to the next.
Emma had never been particularly good at it. She was even worse when trying to do it backwards, so as to keep an eye on the bull. It did not appear that he had noticed her yet. But he certainly would if she tripped over her own feet trying to walk in reverse.
So, slowly, she turned, faced the direction she had come from and hurried, in the most ladylike manner possible, away from the bull. But hurrying did not seem fast enough, so she bustled.
Then he saw her. At least she assumed that was what had happened. From behind her, she heard a bellow of rage and the sound of gathering hoof beats, rapidly closin
g.
It was then that she threw all maternal advice aside, hoisted her skirts and ran. When she reached the fence, she did not bother with the stile, but put a hand on the top and hurdled over it, her heels barely clearing the rail, hitting the other side still at a dead run. Now she heard the bull behind, reaching the fence, snorting and angrily pawing at the ground, unable to follow.
And the foolish dog that had got her into trouble was dancing around her feet, grinning and wagging as if they’d had the most wonderful walk ever.
From the hillside near the house, she heard a whoop of what sounded like mirth, and saw her normally stern husband pelting down the hill to stop at her side as well. ‘Emma!’
Perhaps it was not the first time he had used her name. But she had never heard it done with such emotion before. ‘I am sorry,’ she said, automatically.
‘Magnificent!’ he said, between pants of exertion as he arrived at her side.
‘What is?’ she asked, looking around her.
‘I have never seen a woman run like that,’ he supplied, grinning at her.
‘I am sorry,’ she said, again.
‘Do not be so. I suspect most women would at least attempt it, given the provocation you had. Few would be as successful as to vault a fence,’ he said, sounding strangely proud.
‘I have not given the matter much thought,’ she said, ‘And I am not sure I could do it again, even if I tried.’
‘Your ankle,’ he said with a nod of remembrance at her previous injury. ‘How is it feeling?’
‘Much better, thank you,’ she said, surprised that it had not given her the least bit of trouble during her escape.
‘Perhaps, for your next feat, you might try something more sedate,’ he said. ‘Like walking in locations of the property that are not bullpens. And before you apologise, that is my fault, not yours. I suggested you walk the dog and should have known that he would lead you there. For some reason, he is great friends with Hercules and the bull tolerates him.’
Vows to Save Her Reputation Page 6