Joanna Maitland – Marrying The Major (страница 2)

But now, from her vantage point, all she could make out was the top of his head.

The tree shook suddenly, as if some giant had leaned heavily against it. It was only the wind, but Emma clutched at her book, loose in her lap, to prevent it from falling. She was too late to retrieve the apple core, though, which rolled down through the branches. Mercifully, it stopped, caught on a tiny twig a few feet below Emma’s perch.

‘I thought I did know all Emma’s hiding-places,’ said Richard’s voice thoughtfully, ‘but clearly not. The little brat has obviously been keeping something from me. And if we don’t find her soon, she won’t have a chance to see you before you go—and then she’ll be fizzing mad.’

‘Why should she be?’ Hugo sounded puzzled. ‘She hardly knows me.’

‘With Emma, that’s not the point. She may be only thirteen, but she believes she has a divine right to know everything about everyone round here—and to put in her two penn’orth. If you leave without saying goodbye, she’ll ring a peal over me for ignoring her.’

‘But she’s only a child—’

‘Only sometimes, Hugo. Sometimes, she sounds exactly like a Society lady. It’s uncanny—especially since she still looks like a child, all dirt and scratches and tangles.’

‘Maybe she’s growing up,’ said Hugo quietly.

‘Now, that would be a pity,’ replied Richard. ‘We’ve had such fun together. She’s a great sport, you know. Never complains about cuts and bruises, or getting wet and muddy when we go fishing. I can’t imagine her as a young lady, all prim and proper and simpering—and clean!’ He laughed aloud at that.

Emma did not pause to wonder why Hugo was leaving, for she was almost overcome by righteous anger at Richard’s words. She was not always a grubby urchin as he seemed to believe and—

And then her eyes became riveted on the apple core. The tree was moving again, almost as if it were responding to Richard’s laughter. The apple core had become half-dislodged and it was starting to slip…

She held her breath. For a long moment, there was silence.

‘I wish I were going with you, Hugo,’ said Richard, sounding suddenly very serious. ‘But with m’father the way he is…’

‘I know.’ Hugo sounded sympathetic. ‘But even if Lord Hardinge were not ailing, you still wouldn’t be permitted to go, you know. There are times when I’m really glad I’m only a younger son. And this is one of them. My mother’s brother has told me what great fun he had when he first joined the regiment. The older officers played all sorts of tricks on him of course—it’s a bit like school, in that sense—but he had such adventures…’

‘Yes, I know. You told me, remember?’ Richard was more than a little envious of his friend’s good fortune. Emma could hear it in his voice. As an only son, he would never be allowed to join the army.

‘Where on earth can she be?’ said Richard with a sudden burst of fury. ‘You go and look in the orchard, Hugo. I’ll search down by the river, but that’s it. If we don’t find her in the next ten minutes, we’ll have to go. You can’t afford to be late.’ He thumped the tree in exasperation. ‘Blast the brat. Why can she never behave?’

The apple core jumped just a fraction, hung suspended in mid-air for what seemed like seconds, and then disappeared down through the leaves.

Emma swallowed a gasp. Then, with a tiny shrug of her shoulders, she leaned towards the gap in the branches. She might as well give in gracefully. They were bound to find her now.

But Richard had gone, striding angrily across the lawn in the direction of the river.

Down below her, a sudden shout of laughter was quickly stifled. Hugo’s voice, rippling with amusement, said quite clearly, ‘Now, that is strange. My education must have been sadly at fault. I’d have sworn that this was an oak tree, but it’s obviously an apple. Unless this is an oak-apple… Yes, that must be it. And the teeth-marks must have been made by a…a squirrel, I suppose. Very large squirrels they have on this estate. Next time, I’ll bring my gun…’

Emma could have sworn she saw a flash of white teeth through the leaves. The next moment, Hugo was sprinting across the grass to the orchard, without once looking back.

She stuffed her book into her pocket and began to climb down, automatically finding the well-known footholds. Little brat, was she? Never clean? Well, she would show Richard Hardinge.

She raced across the lawn to the side door, raging inwardly all the while. With Nurse’s help, she would be clean and ladylike in a trice—well, ten minutes, at most. She would appear as a prim, proper—and demure—young lady. She’d show him…them.

No. That wasn’t fair. Hugo Stratton had not called her a grimy brat. Hugo had known perfectly well where she was, but he had just laughed—and flashed that wonderful smile…

Chapter One

1816

Emma Fitzwilliam slowed her chestnut mare to a relatively sedate trot just before she came in sight of the lodge gates. It was bad enough that she had ridden out without her groom. No need to make matters worse by galloping into the Harding estate like a mannerless hoyden.

She patted her blonde hair into place. Time to assume the role of the perfect lady—the role that she had long since learnt to don as easily as a pair of fine silk stockings.

Emma was longing to see Richard and his wife again. It was only a few months since the Earl and Countess Hardinge had left England for the Continent but, to Emma, it seemed like years. Surprisingly, given that Richard had been her childhood friend, it was his wife, nicknamed Jamie, whom Emma had really missed. The two women had become as close as sisters since Jamie’s marriage. Letters had been exchanged, naturally, but that always meant delay; communications with France remained, at best, uncertain, even though the war had been over for nearly a year and Napoleon was now safely installed on St Helena.

There was nothing like a long, comfortable coze—and that was precisely why Emma had come.

She urged her mare to slightly greater speed.

As she rounded the corner of the house, Emma saw a little group of figures sitting on the lawn under the ancestral oak. She started towards them, but then paused, for Jamie was not there. Two men were sitting on a rug with a very small child, much hampered by his petticoats. Goodness, how Dickon had grown. Emma barely recognised her little godson. He must be nigh on a year old by now.

Dickon’s anxious nursemaid was hovering as close as she dared, watching lest the clumsy males should mishandle her charge. Not much chance of that in Richard’s case, Emma thought, for he doted on Dickon and spent much more time with his little son than most fathers did. The other gentleman, however, seemed not to have noticed the child. He was half-turned away, apparently gazing into the middle distance.

Emma screwed up her eyes against the glare to get a good view of the second man. She did not know him, she was sure, though she could see little more than his profile. He was dark, like Richard, but his lined face looked older and much more serious—rather austere, in fact, in Emma’s opinion. She hoped, secretly, that she would not have to meet him. It would spoil the happiness of her day to meet a man who preached at her.

At that moment, little Dickon started to toddle towards the newcomer, holding out his arms and grinning toothily. His inarticulate squeals of joy at his own prowess carried across the lawn. The nursemaid started forward, arms outstretched to catch her darling before he fell. Richard—apparently unconcerned—smiled benignly. Dickon took two more steps, rocking unsteadily from one side to the other. His precarious balance was obviously beginning to desert him; his infectious grin was turning into the quivering lip that promised a wail of disappointment.

And then the stranger turned back towards the child, bending forward to catch him and lift him high in the air. In a matter of moments, Dickon was convulsed in shrieks of delighted laughter.

When, at last, the man moved to return the child to his father, Emma caught sight of his profile once more.

She could scarce believe what she saw. Why, he was almost like a different person. Playing with Richard’s child had transformed the unknown from a harsh, forbidding man into someone much younger, someone whose face was alight with laughter and a flashing smile…and all because of one tiny child.

Emma suddenly felt as if she were eavesdropping on the visitor’s innermost thoughts. Instinctively, she urged her mare towards the house.

The door opened well before she reached it. The butler stood waiting for her, his normally impassive countenance wreathed in smiles for the young lady who had been running around the Harding estate almost since she had learned to walk. ‘Good day to you, Miss Emma. Her ladyship will be delighted to learn that you have called, I am sure. If you will just step into the blue saloon—’

‘Oh, I don’t think her ladyship would have us bother with such formality, do you, Digby?’ Emma bestowed a dazzling smile on the butler. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to be announced.’ Laying her whip and gloves on the hall table and lifting the generous skirts of her blue velvet habit with both hands, Emma started to run lightly up the stairs. ‘I assume Lady Hardinge is in her sitting room?’