Vows to Save Her Reputation

by Christine Merrill

  Before she could even greet them, her mother clasped her hand and said, ‘I heard that you attended a function at Lord Weatherby’s home last night.’ She leaned in, eagerly. ‘Tell me all about it.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Emma said, not sure whether to be amazed or embarrassed at her mother’s proclivity for gossip.

  ‘There is not much that passes in the area that one does not hear of if one takes the time to listen,’ she responded. But Emma suspected it was not so much the listening as the asking that gathered the information.

  Which meant that her mother would hear of the lemonade incident, whether she told her or not. She sighed and relayed the story.

  ‘You should not gesture so, when you speak,’ her mother replied with a frown. ‘I suspect that was what caused the problem.’

  Robert had promised her that what had happened was not her fault. And then...

  Then things had happened that she must not think about with her mother in the room. She fought down a blush and clasped her hands in her lap then replied, ‘I will be more careful next time.’

  ‘And be sure to invite the Weatherbys to dinner. A small gathering, I think. No more than ten. Only the best people, of course. I can help you with the guest list, if you need.’

  ‘No,’ she said quickly, which elicited a raised eyebrow from her mother. ‘I need no help with the list,’ she corrected, not wanting to have to explain her husband’s aversion to entertaining. ‘I can manage quite well on my own.’

  ‘If you really think so,’ her mother said with a doubtful smile. ‘But your behaviour at the Weatherbys does not support that.’

  When she’d got up that morning she’d felt capable of moving the world. But now that she was talking with her mother, she was unsure again. Perhaps she wasn’t capable of organising a dinner party. She had never done it before and just the seating arrangements could be a daunting task, with so many ranks and titles to remember.

  Then she remembered that she was not allowed to have dinner parties, so the point was moot. ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘I will need no help.’

  ‘Perhaps it would be easier to start with a gathering that is already set,’ her mother said, ignoring her denial. ‘And we have come here to give you just such an opportunity. We have a problem and only you can help us.’

  ‘Really.’ She could not manage a better response, for she was sure, whatever the issue was, Robert would not want her involved in it.

  ‘After the fire, the churchyard is a ruined and rutted mess,’ her mother said, eliciting a hesitant nod from Mrs Wilson.

  ‘And the annual midsummer festival is less than a month away,’ the other woman said, wringing her hands.

  ‘Since they cannot hold it in the usual place...’ her mother started explaining.

  ‘You thought that you would appeal to use the grounds of Gascoyne Manor,’ Emma concluded for her, trying to hide her wince.

  ‘You do have the land to manage it,’ her mother said in a tone that said the matter had already been decided. ‘And we know that if money is an object, your father can take care of it.’

  Not only did she mean to host a major event on Robert’s property, she meant to pay for it, too. It removed an objection, just as it added others. She doubted that Robert would want to be reminded of his recently constrained finances by receiving more help from her parents. ‘That will not be necessary,’ she said, then added, ‘But I would have to talk to Robert, before any decision is made.’ And she already knew what he would say when she asked him.

  ‘How can he possibly object?’ her mother said with a broad smile meant to bolster the worried Mrs Wilson.

  ‘It is not in his nature to socialise in such large gatherings,’ Emma said, trying not to reveal too much of his motivations.

  ‘It is not as if he has to attend,’ her mother reminded her. ‘We simply need the use of his land.’

  ‘The house will not be involved,’ Emma said, almost to herself.

  ‘Of course not. The whole thing will be no trouble at all.’ She made it all sound so simple. And when her mother was in a mood such as this, it was difficult to deny her. She could wear down any opposition in no time at all.

  ‘When is the date of the festival?’ Perhaps they were already committed and she would never have to explain this to Robert.

  ‘A week from Saturday,’ Mrs Wilson replied with a smile. ‘Thank you so much for your help, Lady Gascoyne. I was at a loss as to what we would do. And this celebration means so much to the villagers.’

  ‘I told you it would be no problem,’ her mother said, patting the other woman on the hand. ‘How could she refuse us?’

  Though she had not actually agreed to anything, apparently her assent was now assumed. At a loss as to how to turn back the conversation, Emma replied, ‘You are most welcome.’

  * * *

  The Harris carriage was in front of the house again and Robert tried to convince himself that he was not walking the grounds in an attempt to avoid his wife’s mother. He did not actually dislike the woman as much as he abhorred her influence on Emma. He had no intention of denying her visits with her own family, but he did not want to encourage the older woman’s obsession with his home. Nor did it seem that contact with her did her daughter’s confidence any good.

  But his own efforts to encourage her independence were dangerous as well. He had meant to reassure her with a few kisses after the debacle at the musicale. But, as they usually did when he got too close to Emma, things had got out of hand.

  By the astonished look in her eyes in the carriage, she had never climaxed before. Perhaps that was why she had needed so little to take her to completion. He had been almost as surprised by it as she had been, worried by the knowledge he had given her. Now that she’d had a hint of what might happen, she might not leave him alone.

  It was yet another reason that he was hiding in the midst of his orchard, far away from the house and listening to the soft thump of falling fruit. Orchard was an effusive description for what was little more than a small grove of trees. But it had been enough to provide a year’s worth of apples to the estate for as long as Robert could remember.

  But not this year. The Gascoyne orchard was blighted to the last tree. That meant there would be no cider pressing, no apple tarts and no sauces unless they purchased the fruit from another farm.

  He wondered what Emma would say, should he choose to tell her. She would probably demand to know if this was the curse he had been speaking of. Then, she would want to know if the neighbours had similar problems. If so, did they attribute them to his curse or to the vagaries of farming and the fact that tree diseases might be as contagious as human ones?

  Instead of annoying him, the thought made him smile. When she was not blaming herself for anything that might go wrong, she had a way of making his problems seem ordinary and easy to manage.

  Of course, she still had not seen the worst of them and he hoped she never would. He had not suffered an attack since before their marriage. Perhaps she was the reason for it. For a moment, he allowed himself to toy with the idea that he might be free of his curse and live as other men did.

  Then he rejected it. The fact that she made life easier did not mean he should grow to rely on it. He had thought the same thing during his last marriage, which had been blissfully free of incidents, only to have his problems come rushing back when he most needed to be free of them. If the loss of Elizabeth had taught him nothing else, it was how transient peace might be and how devastating it was to lose it.

  It was why he had decided to keep his distance from his new wife, yet he had been failing dismally. He had not seen Emma since the previous evening, yet despite his hopes it had done nothing to diminish his desire for her. Worse yet, he missed her companionship. While he did not want to seek her out, there was no point in denying that when he went back to the house he would do so if only to tell
her of this latest development, so she could dismiss it as nothing more than a normal twist of fate.

  But it seemed he would not have to go to her, for she was walking up the hill towards him, head dipped and a wide-brimmed bonnet sheltering her fair face from the sun. In the open air, with no one to criticise her, she walked freely, taking long, easy strides to match the length of her legs. To see her move like this, he was aware yet again of how much she held back when around others and how hard it must be to fit in.

  She was close now and, as she looked up at him, he could see something was wrong. She bit her lip and her pace slowed as if she was afraid to approach. Before she could even get within earshot of him, he could see her mouth forming the word ‘sorry’.

  He folded his arms and waited in silence.

  ‘I know you told me that I was not to be allowed to entertain in the house...’ she said.

  ‘But your mother suggested it and you could not deny her,’ he said with disgust, his soft feelings fading.

  ‘It is not precisely like that,’ she replied with a nervous laugh. ‘And it is not as if we are to be throwing a ball.’

  ‘Just what did you agree to?’ Robert could not decide if what he was feeling was simply anger at being disobeyed, or some deeper, confusing emotion at the knowledge that, in a few short weeks, he had lost control of his life and his home.

  ‘Because of the fire ruining the grounds, there is no place to hold the midsummer festival. The vicar’s wife wanted our help. There is so much land here. What could I have done?’ his wife said with an innocent expression.

  ‘You could have said no,’ he replied. ‘Or you could have called for me and I would have done it for you.’

  ‘I did not think you wanted to be in my presence,’ she said. ‘We have not spent ten minutes in each other’s company all day.’

  ‘But that did not mean I wanted you to...’ What had he wanted her to do? Since he had been hiding in the orchard rather than offering his opinion, he could hardly complain that she had been influenced by suggestions from others.

  But that did not solve the problem of the church festival. ‘We cannot have scores of strangers wandering the property,’ he said. ‘It is far too dangerous.’ The musicale had gone well enough, but there was not a chance he could survive such a large gathering without incident.

  ‘As long as they stay out of the bullpen, I do not see what can possibly happen to them,’ Emma replied, warming to the subject. ‘The grounds are level and well groomed. It will not harm the landscape if a few tents are pitched and games are played.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘What if the curse takes someone?’ she said, with a touch of scorn in her voice. ‘If you think that the vicarage burned because you came too near to it, then you should be obligated to make up for the loss of the festival.’

  She was trapping him with his own words and his unwillingness to explain what really might happen should he find himself in a crowd of people. But unless he meant to keep his wife locked in the house like a princess in a tower, he must accept that the outside world would be seeping into his ordered life in ways he had not expected. He sighed and held out a hand of compromise. ‘Suppose I agree to this event...’

  ‘You would not be bothered by it at all,’ she said hurriedly. ‘It is not as if you...as if we have to attend. I am assured that they have everything they need, except the place to hold it.’

  He laughed. ‘You know that is never the case. Speak to the housekeeper about what will really be needed in the way of servants and preparation. You will find that it is certain to take more work than anyone expects.’

  ‘But they will not mind it,’ she told him hurriedly. ‘I have already spoken to Mrs Hill and she assures me the staff is up to the challenge and ready to help. They are very proud of the grounds and are eager for the villagers to see them.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to deny them, if the staff wants to entertain,’ he said. It appeared that the matter had been settled before he had even been consulted.

  She let out a relieved sigh, completely missing his sarcasm. ‘You will not be sorry.’

  ‘I am sorry already,’ he replied.

  Then she threw herself into his arms and kissed him quickly on the mouth, in gratitude. She pulled away again, just as quickly, covering her mouth in surprise at what she had done and waiting to see his reaction.

  He grinned. His lips tingled and any troubles he might have with the festival were days away and not worth worrying about. So he reached out his arms in a feint at grabbing her.

  She laughed and dodged out of the way.

  ‘You had best run,’ he said, glancing towards the house and feinting again.

  She laughed, then turned and tore down the hill towards the house. And he let her go, just to watch her run.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The day of the festival arrived and, despite Robert’s hope, there was no sign of inclement weather, or other trouble that might require it to be cancelled. He had avoided all contact with the planning and organisation of the thing, thinking that if he did not know about it, it was less likely to bother him when it arrived.

  So far, it was working. He watched from an upper window as tents and awnings were raised about the property and felt nothing more than idle curiosity and mild anticipation. The sky was exactly the sort of cloudless blue that any village child could hope for. Many of them were already running across the lawn, dodging in and out between adults setting up displays of prize produce and stands selling sugared buns and hot sausage rolls.

  Of course, in avoiding the festival, he was also avoiding his wife, feigning more anger than he felt over her agreeing to the host the village on the property. Really, it was his own loss of control that bothered him most. When they were alone, he sought out excuses to kiss her, pretending that it was innocent flirtation that could be handled by seeking his release in private.

  But her response in the carriage was clearly more than that. The awed look on her face as she had climaxed had amazed him. And the thought had risen that he might see that face again and again, if he would just yield and take her.

  So after the kiss in the orchard, he had let her beat him to the house. Then, he had given her a peck on the cheek as a reward and gone to visit the graves of his late wife and son to remind him what dangers lay in getting too close. He must remember that there were things at risk far more important than fulfilling a momentary desire. He must keep her safe in the only way he could.

  From his vantage point today, he could see her, her fair skin protected by a large straw bonnet, as she worked her way from group to group, making sure that they had everything they needed. Occasionally, he could hear her laughter along with a snatch of conversation, carried up on the wind from below.

  Instead of the hesitance she displayed in more formal situations, she appeared confident and at ease in her role as hostess of the festivities. And he could tell, by touched caps and briefly bowed heads, that the villagers had accepted her authority. It was all as it should be, if his household and marriage were normal ones.

  Looking down at her, he felt a pang of guilt at having trapped her into something less than she deserved. If she had married another, she might be doing just as she was now, but she would not have had to oppose her husband at each step of the process.

  She would also have a man willing to love her as she deserved to be loved.

  At that moment, she turned, looking back towards the house and at him in the window. Then she gave a broad wave of welcome to him, as if he needed an invitation to come to his own garden. Though he was too far away to see it clearly, he could imagine the smile hidden by the shadow of her bonnet brim.

  He stared back at her, his hand gripping the windowsill. If there was going to be a problem, he thought he’d have felt some sign of it by now. But his head was clear and his heartbeat and breathing were normal. Could i
t do any harm to join the festivities? If things changed, he could always excuse himself and return to the house.

  Slowly, he left his room and walked down the stairs and then outside into the bustle taking place at the front of the house. Once he was in the thick of it, the activity was almost too boisterous for him to stand. It was proof that he had spent too much time alone that a gathering as simple as this seemed loud.

  He paused to steady his nerve, forcing himself to take deep, even breaths, and concentrated on the smiling face of his wife and her need for a successful day. He was standing in his own yard, on a bright sunny day. There was nothing to worry about. He would be fine, just as he had been on his last outing with Emma.

  Before he could think further on the matter, someone had pressed a mug of ale into his hand. Mr Wilson, the vicar, was standing at his side, beaming in admiration. ‘I cannot tell you how much it means to the village that you have opened your home to us, Sir Robert.’

  ‘Well...’ He gave an awkward cough and took a drink. Technically, he had done nothing of the kind. The house was still closed, as he’d always intended it to be. And the outside of it would not be in use if it hadn’t been for Emma’s prodding. ‘You have my wife to thank for that,’ he said at last. And, no doubt, her mother.

  ‘The lovely Lady Gascoyne,’ the vicar said, his smile growing even brighter. ‘It is so fortunate that the two of you found each other. She is truly a blessing.’

  ‘Yes, she is,’ he replied automatically, because one did not deny such a thing after only weeks of marriage. And then, to his surprise, he realised that he was telling the truth. He glanced across the lawn to where she was rolling hoops with a group of children, laughing as if she was one of them.

  She looked up and saw him staring at her. Then she passed her toys to the nearest child and came running across the grass to his side. ‘I did not think you meant to join us,’ she said, reaching out to take his hand and pull him into the fun.