Joanna Maitland – Marrying The Major (страница 8)

Richard looked suddenly somewhat disconcerted. ‘Well, sir,’ he began, ‘I’m not exactly certain. I…Jamie’s condition…’

Sir Edward reddened visibly and cleared his throat. ‘Beg pardon, Richard,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’m afraid I—’ He rose abruptly from his chair, without draining his glass. ‘I fear we are neglecting the ladies. Shall we adjourn to the drawing room, gentlemen?’

Hugo allowed all his companions to move out ahead of him, so that he would be the last to mount the stairs.

Emma was deep in conversation with Mr Mountjoy when Hugo gained the drawing room. As house-guests of the Rector, the young man and his sister had had to be invited, even though they were not close friends of the Fitzwilliams. Hugo could see that the brother appeared to be much taken with Emma—for, although he was conversing with animation, his eyes held the slightly dazed look that tended to afflict very young men on first meeting a ravishing beauty. Hugo himself had been the same—a lifetime ago.

Miss Mountjoy rose from the pianoforte and crossed the room to join her brother. ‘Oh, Miss Fitzwilliam,’ she began impulsively, ‘this is such a lovely room—just made for dancing. Might we not make up a set? It would be such fun.’

For a moment, Emma seemed to be at a loss for words. Hugo thought he could see the beginnings of a flush on her neck.

Mr Mountjoy beamed at his sister’s suggestion. ‘Why, that would be wholly delightful,’ he said. ‘I should be honoured if you would consent to partner me, ma’am.’

Emma’s flush was mounting. Hugo wondered how she would respond to her young guests’ highly improper proposal without embarrassing them. Lady Hardinge could not dance, given her condition. The Rector’s wife and Mrs Halliday would probably view such an impromptu affair with stern misgivings. That left only Miss Mountjoy herself—and Emma.

‘Well…’ began Emma doubtfully.

Lady Hardinge intervened. ‘I’m afraid I am not able to dance myself,’ she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, ‘but I would gladly play for those who can.’

That settled it, for no one would gainsay the Countess. Hugo saw that Emma was both relieved and sorry. However, she said nothing more on the question, merely turning her attention to ensuring the servants set about rolling back the Turkey carpet.

Hugo tried to avoid Miss Mountjoy’s hopeful glances. In spite of her youth—and his disfigurement—she had clearly marked him down as the only bachelor in the room. She was pretty enough, but incredibly gauche—seemingly she did not begin to grasp that country dances were quite beyond Hugo’s capabilities at present.

Richard came again to the rescue. ‘My wife may have excused herself from dancing,’ he said brightly, ‘but that is no reason why I should deny myself the pleasure. Will you honour me, Miss Mountjoy?’

The sudden glow on the girl’s features suggested that she had never before been led into the dance by a peer of the realm.

Two couples looking somewhat sparse, Sir Edward offered his hand to his old friend, Mrs Halliday. Then Lady Hardinge struck up the opening chord and, in no time, the set was forming and re-forming.

Hugo crossed to the instrument to offer to turn for her ladyship.

As he bent forward, she said softly, ‘I hope you will forgive me, Major—but Miss Mountjoy does not really know how to go on. She is so very young…’ Her voice trailed off.

‘So young that you stepped in to save her blushes—as Richard saved mine,’ said Hugo warmly. ‘You are, both of you, most thoughtful, ma’am. Miss Mountjoy may be too unschooled in the ways of the world to collect what was done for her, but I certainly am not. Thank you.’

‘Major Stratton—now you attempt to put me to the blush,’ said Lady Hardinge with mock severity, ‘besides distracting me from my task. Emma will upbraid me roundly if I fail to keep time.’

Hugo smiled down at her, even though she was looking at her music rather than at him. Her playing was expert—not a note out of place. He was lucky to have such friends.

At the end of the set, Miss Mountjoy came rushing back to the pair at the pianoforte. ‘Oh, Lady Hardinge, that was such fun. Thank you so much. You played quite beautifully.’

Her brother appeared at her elbow, echoing her thanks. ‘Could you be persuaded to just one more set, ma’am?’ he continued. ‘This is terrifically good sport.’

Lady Hardinge nodded and began to leaf through the music on the instrument.

Mr Mountjoy was clearly remembering his manners, at last. ‘But I must not monopolise our hostess,’ he said, looking towards Emma and then back to Hugo. ‘If you wish to stand up with one of the ladies, sir, I should gladly take over your duty here.’

Hugo swallowed the biting snub that rose temptingly to his lips. The young puppy meant well enough. And his sister was still looking hopeful, unfortunately. ‘Thank you, but no,’ Hugo said. ‘I do not dance this evening.’

Mr Mountjoy bowed and withdrew, looking relieved.

Lady Hardinge, having selected her music, was about to begin to play once more. ‘Major,’ she said in an undertone, ‘I really do not need a page-turner, you know.’

Hugo laughed quietly. ‘Thank you, ma’am. I shall take that as my congé,’ he said. With a polite bow, he made his way to the door as quickly as he could without drawing attention to his departure. He would go down to the terrace, just for a quarter of an hour or so, to smoke a cigar in private. All the ladies were occupied. He would not be missed.

Emma was not best pleased to be dancing a second set with Mr Mountjoy. She told herself it was because a hostess should not allow herself to be monopolised by a single guest—but out of the corner of her eye, she found she was watching Hugo’s every move. She felt very proud of him—even though she knew she had no right to be, for she was nothing to him, not even a friend. She had feared he would snub silly Miss Mountjoy—or her equally silly brother—but he had shown remarkable restraint. Probably he had been used to dealing with rash young subalterns during his army days and knew just how thin-skinned they could be.

Noticing Hugo slip out of the room, Emma remembered that he, too, was thin-skinned. It was not surprising that he wanted to escape from the Mountjoys and the dancing. Emma wondered, while she mechanically executed the steps of the figure, whether Hugo had liked to dance before his injury. All the more distressing for him, if it were so. Poor Hugo.

No, not ‘poor Hugo’. She was beginning to feel sorry for him—as he was feeling sorry for himself. But it was wrong to encourage him to withdraw even further into his shell. No matter how dreadful his injuries, he should not hide from the world. No true friend would permit him to do so. It was already obvious that he was making some progress; he climbed the stairs much more easily than before. Surely he could learn to ride again—and to drive and to shoot—if he were but prepared to make the effort? Emma resolved to enlist Richard’s help in making Hugo face up to the future. Between them they could help Hugo to become more like the man he had been. Why—he might even be able to dance again, one day.

At that moment, Emma thought she heard the sound of the front door being opened. Hugo could not be leaving, surely? He would not be so impolite. And besides, he could not leave without Jamie and Richard. No. Someone else must have called.

Emma gratefully excused herself to Mr Mountjoy and hurried out on to the landing to see what was happening. Looking over the balusters, she saw that a complete stranger had been admitted. A tall dark man was lounging carelessly against the delicate spindle-legged table in the hallway and lazily twirling an ivory-handled quizzing glass. On his face was an expression of acute boredom.

But he was, without doubt, the most beautiful specimen of manhood that Emma had ever beheld.

Emma stood transfixed on the landing, unable to tear her eyes away from the gentleman’s finely chiselled features. Then, from the vicinity of her father’s study, she heard Hugo’s voice exclaim in surprise, ‘Kit! What on earth are you doing here?’

The newcomer raised a mocking eyebrow, but did not move an inch from where he stood. ‘Why, waiting for someone to relieve me of my coat,’ he replied in an affected drawl. ‘What else did you think I might be doing, brother?’

Chapter Five

Emma was still standing as if frozen when her father—probably alerted by her hurried departure from the dance—appeared at her side. He took one look into the hallway below and rushed down the stairs as fast as his bulk and his tight satin breeches would allow.

Sir Edward strode across to the newcomer, hand outstretched. ‘Welcome, my boy, welcome,’ he boomed, clapping the new arrival on the shoulder. ‘What brings you here at this hour? Something important, I’ll be bound.’ Without giving anyone a chance to reply, Sir Edward turned in the direction of the servants’ door. ‘Godfrey! Where the devil are you, man? Do you not know we have guests?’

The butler materialised almost immediately on the landing behind Emma and glided down the staircase with no appearance of haste or of concern. He bowed politely to the visitor. ‘May I take your coat, sir?’