Joanna Maitland – Marrying The Major (страница 4)

He stared her out. And he did not smile.

Emma swallowed hard and bowed her head politely, desperately trying to disguise the horror she instinctively felt. It was a full thirty seconds before she felt able to say, ‘How do you do, Mr Stratton?’

Chapter Two

‘I am so glad you have met Major Stratton again, Emma, since he will be staying with us for a time—while he recovers his strength.’ Jamie was sitting on a high spoon-back chair in the first-floor drawing room, dispensing tea from a fluted silver pot and looking hopefully at her inarticulate guests.

Richard carried a cup to Emma with an encouraging smile. But Emma still could not bring herself to speak again. Out on the lawn, she had wished for the ground to open and swallow her up. Now her feet were resting on a priceless Aubusson carpet, but the feeling was the same. She stared at the delicate pattern, willing it to slide back beneath her chair.

The strained silence continued while Richard ferried tea to his friend, who was seated rather awkwardly on the sofa with his cane propped up beside him. His left leg did not seem to bend very well at the knee.

‘Hugo—’ began Richard.

‘Major Stratton—’ said Jamie at the same moment.

Richard and Jamie broke off and grinned at each other, quite unabashed. Richard made a very grand bow, indicating that his wife should go first.

‘Ignore him, both of you,’ Jamie said. ‘He’s play-acting. Fancies himself to be dressed in a wasp-waisted satin coat and buckled shoes with red heels, making a leg like the veriest macaroni.’

Richard contrived to look pained. ‘Nothing of the sort, wife,’ he said. ‘I was merely conceding the precedence that you have so often informed me is your due.’

His face was such a mixture of innocence and mischief that Emma found herself laughing along with Jamie.

But Hugo did not join in, Emma noticed. He seemed to have withdrawn into himself. And his tea sat untouched by his hand.

Emma decided then that it was up to her to make the attempt to draw him out. After all, her total want of manners had been the cause of severe embarrassment to Hugo. She must stop thinking about how badly she felt. Hugo’s position was surely far, far worse.

‘I am sure you will make excellent progress here, Major Stratton,’ Emma said, trying to infuse her voice with as much warmth as she could. ‘I know at first hand what attentive hosts Richard and Jamie can be. And the estate is a delight in summer.’

Hugo turned his head to look directly at Emma. There seemed to be a challenge in that look. It seemed, somehow, familiar. Now that she was beginning to see beyond his terrible scars, she could at last recognise something of the young man she had remembered so vividly. His hair was still glossy and dark, his eyes still gleamed like polished steel, and his generous mouth still looked as if it might smile at any moment. But it did not. And his eyes remained hard as they swept over Emma’s figure. Emma detected not the slightest sign of approval of what he saw. Probably he favoured taller women…or brunettes.

‘I am sure you are right, Miss Fitzwilliam,’ replied Hugo at last, ‘especially about Lady Hardinge’s hospitality, for which I am most grateful. As to the estate, I shall do my best, but as I am unable to ride or to walk very far, I doubt I shall see all that much of it.’

Emma was suddenly quite sure that Hugo was relishing her discomfiture. Embarrassment vanished, to be replaced by an unwonted surge of anger. How dared he? He obviously thought his wounds gave him licence to behave outrageously. Well—she would show him.

Emma smiled dangerously. ‘I am sure that, with time and Lady Hardinge’s care, you will soon regain your strength, Major. I pray it may be so. And, in the meantime, you may fish and shoot to your heart’s content, may you not?’

‘No.’ He dropped his gaze so that Emma could no longer see the expression in his eyes. ‘I’m afraid not, Miss Fitzwilliam. My left arm is much too weak for either.’

‘But I saw you throwing Dickon up in the air—’ Emma blurted out the words without stopping to think. How tactless she was suddenly becoming.

‘Dickon is not exactly a heavyweight, you know,’ Hugo explained patiently. ‘And besides, my good arm took most of the strain.’

Emma looked away. She could think of nothing to say to cover yet another appalling faux pas. She ought to apologise—but that would probably just make matters worse. What on earth had happened to the Emma who was held up to débutantes as a pattern-card of feminine grace and good manners? Emma cringed inwardly. Somehow, Hugo Stratton was making her forget all the lessons she had ever learned about how to be a lady in polite Society.

The chiming of the long-case clock in the hall broke the renewed silence.

‘Good gracious,’ said Emma, ‘how late it is. I must go.’ She rose quickly from her seat. ‘I’m afraid I was so excited about seeing you all, that I failed to tell anyone where I was going. Papa will be worrying by now. I only hope he hasn’t sent out a search party.’ With an apologetic smile, she started for the door. ‘Oh, pray, do not get up,’ she said hastily, as both Jamie and Hugo struggled to rise. ‘I know my way very well.’

Richard was only just in time to open the door for her.

By the time Richard returned from escorting Emma to the stables, Hugo was alone in the drawing room, leaning against the folded wooden shutter for support as he gazed out across the park.

‘Miss Fitzwilliam has an excellent seat,’ Hugo said as Richard joined him at the long window.

‘Mmm,’ agreed Richard. ‘Almost as good as Jamie’s. Where is my wife, by the way?’

‘Lady Hardinge went upstairs to rest. She was rather tired by all the excitement, she said.’ Hugo could not drag his eyes from Emma’s retreating figure. The urchin had become a real beauty. Her manners were not exactly faultless, but her behaviour was certainly a remarkable improvement on the impossible child he remembered. Besides, she had been doing her best to conceal how repulsive she found him—which could not have been easy. He should not judge her.

Richard put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘What say we adjourn to the library, Hugo? It’s more comfortable down there, and there’s some decent madeira.’

Hugo half-turned from the window. Emma was just passing out of sight into the trees. ‘I’d rather not, if you don’t mind,’ he said softly, with a note of apology in his voice. ‘It will soon be time to go upstairs to change for dinner, and—’

‘And your host has the manners of a boor to wish to condemn you to incessant stair-climbing. I’m sorry I was so thoughtless, Hugo.’ He crossed to the bell-pull. ‘I’ll have the madeira brought up here.’

Hugo looked at his friend and smiled warmly. He owed Richard so very much—and Lady Hardinge, too. Who else would have taken in the wreck of a man that he had become?

‘How long is it since you last saw Emma?’ said Richard, dropping on to the sofa and stretching out his long legs.

Hugo limped slowly across the room to join his friend, noting that Richard now knew better than to make any attempt to help him. ‘More than ten years.’ He lowered himself awkwardly on to the spoon-back chair that Lady Hardinge had vacated, grateful for its relatively high seat. ‘In fact, it was the day I left Harding to join my regiment. I could never forget that. I was so excited—so certain of adventure, and glory, and…’ Hugo’s words trailed off into heavy silence.

Nothing more was said until the butler had received his orders and returned with the tray of refreshments.

Pouring out the madeira, Richard showed a renewed determination to be cheerful. ‘So, what do you think of Emma now? You have to admit, she’s changed.’

Hugo nodded. ‘She didn’t have the look of a beauty then, certainly.’

Richard laughed. ‘How could you tell, under all that dirt?’

Hugo raised an eyebrow. ‘Your memory is at fault, old friend. By the time we actually saw her that day, she was really quite clean. And remarkably well behaved, considering she’d been skulking up trees.’

‘Had she?’ Richard drank his madeira thoughtfully. ‘You may be right about that day. I’m afraid I don’t actually remember it very well at all. Emma’s been around for so long that all my early memories of her tend to merge. She was always there, always ready for anything, and always dirty. Until her father took her in hand and insisted she learn to be a lady. By the time of her come-out, she was totally transformed. A blonde beauty—with faultless manners for every occasion. I was quite sorry, in a way. I was very fond of her mischievous spirit. I miss it.’

Hugo said nothing. Richard spoke as if Emma had been moulded into a completely different person, a sort of beautiful automaton. What made him think that Emma’s mischievous spirit had been extinguished? Surely, having known her so long, he could see that Emma was still the same person under her conventional façade? Wasn’t it obvious?

‘In one way, though, she is still the same girl,’ Richard continued after a moment. ‘Can’t tell you how many offers she’s had, but she’s refused them all. She’s already mistress of her own household, of course, and a considerable heiress to boot, so she can afford to be choosy—though I fancy Sir Edward is beginning to worry that he’ll never see his grandchildren. He still dotes on her. And she knows exactly how to wind him round her little finger—just as she does with almost every man she meets. She may have perfect manners—but I warn you that she’s highly accomplished at getting her own way.’