First Season / Bride to Be (32 page)

“To detach me, you mean?”

They exchanged an understanding smile. “Well, yes.”

“I'll go and speak to her. If you'll excuse me, Miss Crane?”

Emily looked mortified. That was probably all to the good, Richard thought as he walked away. In fact, it certainly was. Things must be kept on a clear footing.

“I beg your pardon for sending Richard away,” said Lydia.

She used his first name with practiced ease, Emily thought, as if she had done so for uncounted years. “It is of no consequence.” She started to excuse herself.

“We've had so little time to talk,” objected Lydia. “And we will be members of the same family. More or less.”

The last phrase made Emily raise her eyebrows. But Lydia didn't explain.

“It was quite a whirlwind romance, I understand. You'd been in town only a few weeks before the engagement was announced?”

“Yes.”

“Charming. Like a fairy tale.”

Something in her voice made Emily examine her. Would Richard have confided the truth to this intimidatingly beautiful cousin? Emily found that she hoped not.

“When is the wedding to be?”

“We haven't decided.”

“Oh, you must set a date. You have no idea of the planning involved. Your mother…but she might not realize either, I suppose.”

Emily choked back a gasp. This reference to her parents' elopement was in the worst possible taste.

“My dear,” said Lydia, laying a hand on Emily's arm. “Families have no secrets.”

Of course Lady Fielding knew all about it. What else had she expected?

“I would be happy to help with the wedding plans. I do love a wedding. It would be such fun.”

If there were going to be a wedding. Richard must not have told her. Emily's spirits rose. “It's kind of you to offer.”

“You may call on me at any time.”

The look in Lydia's dark eyes was intent. Emily didn't know what to make of it.

If she were truly engaged, she would ask her to convince Lady Fielding that the Cranes were not demented. As it was, she simply smiled and thanked the woman. “My aunt will be looking for me,” she added.

Lydia looked as if she were going to speak, but then she just smiled back warmly and nodded. When Emily saw her a bit later in the evening, bent close to Richard laughing over some unknown joke, she wondered whether Lydia had told him of their conversation. But it looked as if they had quite enough to say to each other without that.

As Emily was walking home from the Fitzgibbons' house a few days later, still smiling from her visit with Sarah, she was suddenly overtaken by a sense of foreboding. It was so abrupt and unexpected that it stopped her in the middle of the pavement. It wasn't late. Though she had once again slipped out without the maid she was supposed to bring, she wasn't foolish. She looked around.

Everything looked perfectly normal. Emily started walking again, but she couldn't dismiss the uneasiness, and she decided to find a cab for the rest of the way home. It was all very well to get a bit of exercise, but one thing her parents had taught her was to heed the promptings of intuition. She gazed up and down the street. No hacks were visible. Walking faster, she kept an eye out.

She saw nothing more unusual than a cat leaping from a tree branch to a windowsill. But the sense of oppression didn't lift. When no cabs materialized, Emily walked faster still. She wouldn't come out alone again, she vowed. Not ever. Just let her get home today, and she…

There was a loud report from somewhere behind her. Before Emily could react, she heard a whine like a wasp and something pinged on the stone wall of the house beside her. Chips exploded from the stone, hitting her skirts and cutting her arm. She heard a shriek and a man shouting.

“Are you all right?” someone asked.

“Of course she is not all right, Harold,” replied a woman. “You can see she's bleeding. Where is your handkerchief?”

A cloth was applied to Emily's arm.

“Find a hack,” said the authoritative second voice.

There was an indistinct mumble.

“I'm all right,” said Emily, raising her hand to her forehead.

It was pushed aside with surprising gentleness. “Your arm is covered in blood. The wound is superficial. I can see that. But I am surprised you don't feel dizzy.”

She did feel a bit dizzy, Emily thought, but she wasn't going to admit it.

“Where do you live?”

She gave the address, and wished fervently that she was there now, or that she could at least sit down.

After what seemed like a very long time, hoofbeats approached. Emily was bundled into a cab over the driver's protests about her condition. Assured by her formidable rescuer that she wasn't anywhere near dying, he finally slapped the reins and started off. In a few minutes, which passed for Emily in a daze, Harold was helping her down and knocking sharply at the house her parents had taken.

The housemaid who opened it screamed. Harold abandoned her at once, slipping back to the cab and away. Emily tried to reassure the girl, and keep her quiet, but it was already too late. Her mother came running from upstairs, and her father started to bellow from the back. Perhaps she could faint, Emily thought. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. But her consciousness remained stubbornly alert.

“Be quiet, Nan,” said her mother to the maid. She took Emily's uninjured arm and led her into the front parlor, pushing her down on a sofa. “Get some water and soft cloths,” she told the servant, who ran to do so. “What happened?” she demanded then.

“Something hit a wall I was passing. Bits of stone flew out and some struck me. It's really not…”

“Hit?” The maid returned, and Olivia began bathing her arm.

“I didn't see what it was.” Which was true, Emily thought woozily, though she had a pretty good idea.

Though Olivia was concentrating on her task, it didn't prevent her from giving her daughter a searching look. “Were you out alone again?”

“Yes, but—”

“I have
told
you…”

“I will never do it again, Mama.”

Her tone appeared to convince Olivia. She finished bathing the wound and began to bandage it. “I still don't understand how this can have happened.” Completing her work, Olivia sat back. “We should have a doctor look at you.”

“I don't need…”

“You will do as I say.”

Emily blinked at her tone of command, which she had heard only a few times in her life. “Yes, Mama.”

Olivia continued to gaze at her. “I cannot imagine how such an accident might have occurred. And I have a very good imagination.”

“I should have asked the people who helped me.” She should have questioned them, Emily thought. “I was too shaken.”

Her mother responded to the genuine chagrin in her voice. “Only natural.”

“I didn't even get their names.” She couldn't believe she had been so heedless. “Well, the man was called Harold, but that is not very useful. I'll never find them again.”

Her obvious bitterness had puzzled her mother, she could see.

“I…I didn't get a chance to thank them properly,” she added.

“Nor did I.” Olivia shook her head. “It is too bad.”

Emily sat up straight, only to be urged back onto the sofa. “You will lie still for the rest of the day,” commanded her mother. “In fact, I think you should have your dinner on a tray.” She left unspoken the true reason for this—preventing an outburst by her father. Emily understood it immediately, however, and agreed to be helped up to her room and put to bed.

Someone had shot at her, she had absolutely no doubt of that. They had followed her—she'd felt their presence—and then tried a shot. She shuddered when she thought of the whine passing her ear. A tiny deviation, and she would be dead. The certainty made her feel cold, and she pulled the covers up under her chin.

It didn't make any sense. Richard was the one in danger. Had he been targeted as well? Was he all right? Sitting bolt upright, Emily reached for the bellpull, then she drew back. Jumping out of bed, she got writing materials. With shaking hands, she wrote a note and sealed it before finally ringing.

Nan appeared at once, looking worried. “Would you have this delivered to Lord Warrington's house? And have the footman wait for an answer.”

Emily tossed and turned for two hours before receiving a reply. Lord Warrington was well and thanked her for her inquiry. Emily smiled in relief as she read this, and in amusement as well. Obviously, her vague note had puzzled him considerably. She savored the thought as she settled down to sleep. He imagined he knew everything, but he didn't.

In the morning, she evaded her father over breakfast, then endured the attentions of an imposing doctor recommended by her aunt. She wasn't entirely surprised to hear a knock on the door in midmorning and be brought Warrington's card. She was very glad he had come, she realized. There was no one else she could talk to so freely.

* * *

Richard cast a generally approving eye over the neat entrance hall of the house the Cranes had hired. It was well proportioned, and it appeared there was more room than showed from the street. The hallway stretched back a good distance. There was a faint smell of gum spirits in the air. No doubt the older Cranes were already at their easels.

He smiled slightly. It seemed such a simple way to find contentment—a piece of canvas and some brushes. But it hadn't been simple at all, of course. It had meant giving up the prerogatives of birth, the support of family, everything, in fact. He should keep that in mind.

The maid returned and ushered him into a small parlor. Emily rose to greet him, but the words froze on his lips when he saw the bandages on her arm. “What happened to you?”

Emily made an airy gesture. “The most foolish thing. It was quite diverting, really.”

Richard stared at her. What could be diverting that required bandages? Then he heard the parlor door close behind the servant.

Emily took a breath. “Mama will be down in a few minutes. I haven't told her…anything.”

“You will tell
me
.”

“There is no one else I can tell.”

Richard sat down, feeling oddly unsettled by her apparent reliance on him. She could tell him what she told no other? He was puzzling over that fact when her next words drove all thought from his brain.

“Someone shot at me.”

It was like a whip cracking overhead. He couldn't believe he'd heard correctly.

“I was out…walking. I began to feel uneasy, and then I heard the shot.” She put her fingers on her bandaged arm. “It knocked splinters of stone from a building. That is what cut me.”

Richard's throat was choked with surprise and apprehension.

“I was stupidly shaken, and I didn't even get the names of the people who helped me.” She shook her head as if she had made some silly social error. “I don't know why I couldn't have…”

“You are absolutely certain of this?”

She blinked, touching her bandage again as if to ask if he questioned its reality.

“You're sure it was a shot?”

“Oh. Yes. The ball buzzed just past my ear.”

“Just past… You speak of it as if it were a shuttlecock. Are you entirely out of your mind?”

Emily looked offended. “No. It was an unpleasant experience, but…”

“Unpleasant? Coming within an inch of death was unpleasant?”

“Well, you talk of it in much the same way,” she accused.

He scarcely heard her. “Why in God's name would anyone shoot at you?”

She leaned a little forward. “That is what we must discover. I have been puzzling over it ever since. We thought it was only you being attacked. But do you think the carriage incident might really have been aimed at both…?”

Richard couldn't concentrate on anything but the bits of cotton wool affixed to her arm. If she had heard the bullet, it had barely missed. It might very easily have snuffed out her life.

“I was thinking we should have asked the Bruiser…”

“You were a target because of me. Because you are associated with me,” he reasoned. “The engagement, perhaps. It was publicly announced.”

“Why should someone who wishes to kill you care about that?”

“To frighten me?” he wondered, hardly heeding her. “But what could that accomplish?”

“I think we should…”

Richard rose, unable to sit still a moment longer. “‘We' shall do nothing further. This supposed engagement must be broken off at once. We will not be seen together again.” He began to pace. The prospect was surprisingly distasteful. But it was necessary, of course. A shudder went through him. He could almost hear the bullet whizzing by her.

“You are abandoning me now that I have been attacked?” said Emily.

“I am not abandoning…”

“Not seen together again?”

She said the words as if they were an insult. “Your association with me has put you in danger. I cannot in conscience…”

“So you think. But you don't know.”

Richard didn't understand how he had made her so angry.

“It might be because I have been extremely helpful in the search for the attacker. Where would you be without me?”

“I…”

“Well, dead,” she went on. “Drowned in the pond behind our house.” She brushed this aside with a gesture, as if he had brought it up. “But that isn't what I meant.”

“I cannot see you put in danger,” he declared.

“I already am,” she pointed out, as if speaking to a simpleton. “I was shot at.”

“But if you were no longer connected with me…”

Emily sat up very straight, her chin in the air. “I see. You don't wish to be burdened with any other problems when you are trying to save yourself. It doesn't matter. I can manage perfectly well on my own.”

“That is
not
what I meant.” He had a fleeting desire to shake her. “You are willfully misunderstanding me. I don't want to see you hurt!”

This silenced her. She met his eyes almost timidly, it seemed. She looked—not frightened, but wary—of what he didn't know. “Do you really think I would be safer on my own?” she said quietly.

“If you had not gotten involved with me, you would not…”

“You may be right. But now that I am…involved, do you think whoever is behind the attacks will simply forget about me?”

He stared at her lovely face, a sinking sensation spreading through him.

“I helped discover certain things,” she continued. “If the plot succeeded and you were killed, do you think this person would want anyone knowing anything about it?”

Her voice was so calm, so reasonable as she set out this terrifying case. Slowly, reluctantly, he shook his head.

Emily stood. “If you wish me to break off the engagement, I will do so.”

For such a small, delicate creature, she had a great deal of dignity. He was deeply struck by it.

“I can take care of myself. I have been doing so all my life.” A melancholy smile curved her lips. “If I can manage my parents, I can manage anything!”

Richard was struck by a memory of their first meeting. She had scared off his assailants with her dogs, half carried him home, and then dealt with her volatile father with marvelous finesse. She did have surprising resources. “All your life,” he murmured, trying to picture it.

“Well, since I was quite small.” She wrinkled her nose. “I remember offering the local vicar's wife a pansy when I was about three. It just prevented her from beating my father about the head with her umbrella.” Emily nodded to herself. “He would have hit her back, you know, which she didn't expect, and then…” Her gesture left the ensuing chaos to his imagination.

Richard smiled. But his amusement was nearly submerged in some other emotion. “A big responsibility for a child.”

She glanced at him almost as if he had frightened her, then quickly away. When she spoke again, her tone was brisk. “So, what are we to do?”

“It appears we must leave things as they are, for now.”

“I am sorry.”

“For what?”

“That you are in such an…uncomfortable position.”

Richard shrugged. “That is the fault of this villain of ours.”

She started to answer, then stopped.