The main thing was that Bertrand no longer had them.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BLAST.
Hugh knew he had felt happy when he’d had Emma in his arms, and he was certain that she’d kissed him back, but that happiness had rapidly halted.
Emma had vanished.
Well, she’d run away, which was hardly an improvement.
He hadn’t meant to scare her.
Perhaps she’d remembered he was courting seven other women.
He sighed and tramped back toward Odysseus. After leaving his horse at the stables, he proceeded to the house.
“Beechmont!” Jasper’s voice boomed through the air, and Hugh turned toward him. “Where have you been?”
“Riding.”
“What nonsense,” Jasper said. “You don’t seem to understand the delights of having beautiful women in your house.”
Hugh gave a wry smile. “And what are you doing outside?”
Jasper patted his stomach. “Trying to survive. I’ve eaten so much bread and cheese and jam. I’ve drunk chocolate and tea and coffee.”
“Then people are awake.”
“It’s past midday,” Jasper said. “Surely you know that.”
“Of course,” Hugh said, wondering just how long he’d been out on the grounds with Miss Braunschweig. “I should have been there.”
Jasper shrugged. “I managed it.” He grinned. “Besides, your mother was there too.”
Hugh groaned.
“Apparently, she needs to eat too.”
“But not with everyone!” Hugh moaned, hurrying to the house.
“I stayed as long as I could,” Jasper said. “It was a valiant effort.”
“Dear Lord,” Hugh muttered.
“Besides, not all of them were there. Miss Braunschweig is still sleeping, and Lady Letitia left for a morning walk.”
“Probably to escape your conversation,” Hugh said.
“Nonsense.” Jasper grinned. “I am a duke. Don’t think it hasn’t occurred to those women that I might be converted to the prospect of marriage.”
“Anyone you like?” Hugh asked.
“Naturally not,” Jasper said. “Nothing worse than premature marriage. Perhaps I’ll get around to it when I’m seventy.”
“That’s a bit old to be fathering children.”
“Ah, not when the equipment is perfect.” Jasper pointed downward, and Hugh rolled his eyes.
“On a more serious note,” Jasper said, “there really is no excuse for Miss Braunschweig’s absence. If she shows no interest in all of this, she should be sent home.”
“Miss Braunschweig was with me,” Hugh said.
Jasper swerved his head toward him. “Truly?”
“I mean, it was all quite in order,” Hugh clarified. “She went riding too.”
“Aren’t you going to go riding later?” Jasper asked. “With everyone? You could have waited. It’s not like you to change the plan suddenly.”
“I know,” Hugh said.
Jasper gazed at him. “You are fond of this chit.”
Hugh refrained from answering. Some expression must have played on his face, for Jasper’s eyes widened.
Jasper grinned. “Hugh Beechmont, Marquess of Metcalfe, has emotions. We should send for the doctor. The scientists! They’ll be shocked.”
“Don’t raise your voice,” Hugh said.
“But then you’ve found her. Your mate! Your partner for life! Your future wife!”
“It’s not that simple,” Hugh said.
“Because you’ve committed to this wretched house party?” Jasper asked.
“Not exactly.” Hugh remembered Emma running away from him, with no concern for her dress or her hair.
Miss Braunschweig would simply have to see he was in possession of some good qualities. He would show her.
“I must speak with the grooms,” Hugh said.
“They’ll have everything prepared,” Jasper said in a soothing tone that made Hugh wonder how upset he looked. “They’ll saddle up all the horses.”
“I must tell them not to do that.”
“Not to do that?” Jasper asked, clearly bewildered. “Do you want to ask the ladies to saddle them up? Because that part wasn’t mentioned in your otherwise very detailed itinerary.”
“No,” Hugh said, smiling at the thought of Miss Braunschweig saddling up her horse. He still didn’t know how she’d managed to do it. Perhaps she’d tightened it with too great force and that had compelled Odysseus to gallop, though perhaps Odysseus had simply desired to show off his prowess to her. Hugh didn’t blame him. He quite wanted to show himself in an appealing light to Miss Braunschweig as well.
“I’m going to cancel the riding,” Hugh said. “We’re going to have a picnic instead.”
“A picnic?” Jasper asked, managing to sound as baffled as he had when they’d been learning together how to add and subtract fractions.
“Picnics are good for conversation,” Hugh said.
“But that’s hardly an assessment.”
“Perhaps an ability to have a conversation is what is important in a wife,” Hugh said, quickening his speed to the stables. “I’ll have them arrange carriages for us. And then I’ll need to tell the kitchen.”
“Splendid,” Jasper said weakly.
EMMA TRIED TO PRETEND everything in her world hadn’t changed. She tried to pretend her heart wasn’t breaking. She tried to pretend life was just as it had always been, if perhaps in a nicer setting.
It helped that when Emma finally exited the castle, the others were bustling about. The servants were ushering people into carriages.
“The stables are nearby,” she said. “Surely we can walk.”
“We’re going on a picnic,” Lady Letitia said with a sour expression on her face. “I was looking forward to showing the marquess my riding abilities. I am a superb rider.”
“Yes, she is,” her mother said.
“My daughter is also a superb rider,” Mrs. Carberry said, raising her voice. “She is utterly brilliant. Quite exceptional.”
Miss Carberry’s face reddened, and Emma had the impression Mrs. Carberry’s enthusiasm for her daughter’s horseback abilities stemmed partly from the fact no one would be able to test the veracity of that statement.
“I was certain we were going riding,” Emma said.
“It seems Lord Metcalfe has changed his mind,” Mrs. Carberry said through gritted teeth, eying the servants, as if worried one of them would immediately report back to the marquess.
The carriage jerked to a start, but in the next moment it glided along on the dirt road. Emma thought the marquess might desire they have a picnic near the folly, and she braced herself for visiting the site of their inappropriate embrace.
Instead though, the carriage turned before it reached the stables onto a road that led along the side of the castle. For the first time Emma was able to examine the sheer magnificence of the building. It wasn’t simply wide: it stretched back. She stared at the thick walls, wondering at the marquess’s ancestors who had roamed this building.
Hugh still seemed so sad about his father’s death, and she marveled at the weight of the history he strove to live up to.
He should find the person he wants to be with.
Everyone deserved happiness. Hugh deserved happiness. Somewhere in this group of women was the woman whom Hugh was supposed to spend the rest of his life with. After all, he’d already narrowed his list of prospects to these people.
She moved her gaze from woman to woman, pondering their suitability.
And yet...
No one was suitable.
Not the Dunham trio, not Lady Henrietta and certainly not Lady Letitia.
They weren’t kind enough, even if their maids were competent enough to make them look presentable and they’d been blessed with pleasing appearances.
Hugh didn’t need a wife who would give him subtle barbs about everyone in their life, and then, when she was bored and con
fident of her position, give barbs related to himself.
“You look distant,” Lady Henrietta said.
“I was thinking.”
“Daydreaming, it seemed,” Lady Letitia remarked.
The carriage moved past the castle and toward a river. Evidently, the estate was far larger than she’d first imagined.
I’m not supposed to be here.
She forced away the feeling.
The servants prepared the picnic, and Emma settled on a blanket beside Miss Carberry and her mother. Some of the mothers boldly approached the marquess with their daughters, and Emma watched them speaking to him.
Something tightened in her heart, but Emma concentrated on the warmth of the sunbeams on her skin and the feel of the blades of grass against her hands.
In moments like this, she could pretend she was still ten years old, and her brother had not yet decided to haul her to England. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed rural life until she’d visited here and discovered it again.
Finally, the marquess approached her.
She raised her eyes, surprised.
“You changed the itinerary,” Emma said.
“I know,” the marquess replied.
“But schedules are important to you.”
“Yes.”
“And it was carefully planned,” she said.
“But I realized the itinerary did not give sufficient time to conversation,” he said. “And sometimes that’s important.”
She gazed at him.
He wasn’t telling anyone she’d stolen his horse in an effort to practice, and that he didn’t want to put her, and anyone else who was unconfident in their riding abilities, into a potentially humiliating experience.
He was pleasant and kind.
He wasn’t supposed to be pleasant and kind. He was supposed to be foolish and given to excessive displays of wealth.
“I thought you might not be up for another horseback ride so soon after this morning’s experience,” the marquess said.
“Thank you.” She looked at the river. “Where does that go to?”
“It goes all the way to London,” the marquess said.
“London?” Emma widened her eyes. “How lovely.”
“Yes,” Lord Metcalfe said. “I’m fond of the city. I’m spending more time there now.”
“Of course.”
“Do you like the city?”
There was something curious about the manner he asked the question, as if it were important to him that she respond in the affirmative.
“I like the idea of it,” she admitted, not desiring to lie. “I’ve never been there.”
“You’ve never been to London?” The marquess widened his eyes.
“You needn’t appear quite so shocked.”
“Well, that explains why I’ve never seen you before,” he said.
“London is a large city. Even if I had been there–”
“No.” He shook his head. “If you’d been there, I would have seen you and then I would have demanded an introduction.”
“And then?”
“Perhaps I wouldn’t be having this house party,” he said softly.
She lowered her lashes, ignoring the thrill that shot through her. “Have you spoken with Miss Carberry yet? I find her most fascinating.”
“Fascinating?” He blinked, and she felt guilty for the sudden change of subject.
Still, she carried on, remembering her brother’s words.
“And she’s quite beautiful,” Emma added. “I think brown hair is quite the loveliest shade there is.”
“Truly?” Amusement danced in his eyes.
“Dark brown hair. None of that nonsense with caramel strands mixed in.”
Lord Metcalfe narrowed the distance between them. “I have dark brown hair.”
Emma’s skin heated. “But it’s–er–shorter.”
“So, it doesn’t count?” he asked, tossing his hair. “Perhaps I should grow it longer. A bit last century for me, but doable. I’m certain my valet will be relieved to stop cutting it with such regularity.”
“I just meant that Miss Carberry–”
“–has beautiful hair,” the marquess finished. He glanced at her. “Perhaps she does, though it’s not obvious from that bonnet.”
“You can give her an opportunity to take off her bonnet,” Emma said boldly.
The marquess turned to her sharply. “You are a most curious woman.” He shrugged. “Though perhaps that’s only because you haven’t experienced the wonders of London.”
“That has nothing to do with it,” Emma said.
“Nevertheless,” the marquess said. “I will take you to London. I will take everyone to London,” he said, raising his voice. He lowered it again. “Call it a scientific experiment.”
“I didn’t realize you had scientific inclinations,” she said.
“I hope we will get to know each other better.”
Memories of their kiss inundated her mind.
“Yes,” she squeaked, turning away suddenly.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
PICNICS, HUGH DECIDED, were underappreciated.
No dining room, despite any multitude of gilded and silver candelabras, despite expertly carved furniture, and despite fine art hauled in from the best studios on the continent, could compete with the beauty of the outdoors.
Wildflowers scattered across the grass, imbuing the air with a floral scent that competed with anything a French perfumer might compile in his laboratory. Birds sang merry songs rivaling those of most musicians, their cheerful chirps joined by the sound of leaves rustlings in the summer breeze. Cook’s warm bread, cheese and assortment of berries tasted divine.
Some of the women were reclining on blankets the servants had scrounged for them. They spoke merrily, and some of them had worn cheerful pink and yellow dresses for the occasion.
Only Miss Braunschweig’s dress was plain. Gray wasn’t a color most woman chose to wear for picnics. Still, the dull color only showcased the wonders of her luminous skin, the blue of her eyes, and the gold of her hair. The lack of flounces, and paucity of ribbons, to adorn the gown in no manner made her look less splendid.
“This was supposed to be a riding competition,” Jasper muttered, and Hugh tore his gaze from Miss Braunschweig.
“I think my guests are enjoying this more,” Hugh said.
“How caring,” Jasper remarked, but a frown settled upon his face. “Well. I think it’s time for another elimination.”
“Nonsense.”
Jasper grinned. “You can’t take all of them to you with London.”
“Are you questioning the size of my townhouse?” Hugh grumbled.
“It’s not a question,” Jasper said. “I know the size.”
Hugh sighed.
The problem with maintaining one’s childhood friendships was that those friends did not have the habit of losing their memories at convenient times.
Best friends were even more difficult.
It was an unexpected burden, and Hugh gave Jasper a sullen look.
Jasper was unfazed.
That was another problem with best friends. They were entirely too confident of their position.
“Surely, you want me to mingle with my guests,” Hugh said to Jasper, moving away before he could protest.
His mother waved from one of the picnic blankets and then rose to approach him. Her speed was slow, and though she’d adopted a more languorous pace a few years ago, he wondered whether she was taking extra time in a show of unneeded drama.
Hugh raked a hand through his hair. It would be far better if he could have simply sent her away to Cornwall to muse over the colors in the channel.
Propriety dictated that the event needed a hostess, and unfortunately, that hostess had to be his mother.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Mother?” Hugh asked. “I hope you do not find it tiresome. Perhaps you wish to return to the castle?”
“Tiresome? Ha! What is tiresome ab
out a picnic?”
“The food is hardly a novelty for you,” Hugh said in an explanatory tone. “And those blankets on that grass. Not really the cleanest thing to be doing.”
“If you are so against the concept of picnicking, one wonders why you dragged your guests here.” His mother fixed a stern look at him, and he was silent.
As a child, he’d thought sternness a trait solely of his nanny, but he’d learned that his mother was equally good at displaying it.
Perhaps all women were.
“The chaperones will want to see me,” his mother said. “Still, it would be nice if they could think of a conversation trait that did not involve listing their daughters’ capabilities, which are all, coincidentally, exceptional.”
“You could always tell them about my good traits,” Hugh suggested.
“You seem intent on making jests today,” his mother remarked dryly, and Hugh’s skin heated. “It is truly most unnecessary.” She pointed toward her book. “I have some good reading material with me.”
His mother sauntered off, gliding briskly, even over the uneven grass.
Hugh would have to inform the gardeners the sheep should graze here. Grass truly wasn’t meant to be so long.
The women, fortunately, did not seem to mind.
They still beamed at him when he so much as glanced in their direction, and a few of the bolder ones even fluttered their fans at him in a manner the proprietresses of Almack’s would have found disgraceful.
Fortunately, they were not at Almack’s. Hugh was not forced into wearing tight breeches that would not have appeared amiss on someone two generations ago. Moreover he was certainly not eating stale cake, the preferred food of those venerably regarded private reception rooms.
They were outside, and the sun had the good sense to shine today. The nervousness that had emanated from some of the women yesterday had disappeared as they enjoyed the delights within the straw baskets, laden with culinary delights, from the kitchen.
“Hugh! Darling!” His mother’s voice bellowed, its strength not decreasing with her age. “Over here.”
His mother had settled on a blanket between Lady Letitia and an older woman whom Hugh imagined must be the woman’s mother.
“Join us!” his mother called again.
A Kiss for the Marquess (Wedding Trouble Book 5) Page 12