How Miss Rutherford Got Her Groove Back (2 page)

C
HAPTER
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mily and her sisters spent the rest of the day readying themselves for the evening ahead. They had laundered their dresses the previous day and now took turns pressing them in the kitchen, where the oven kept the irons hot.

At three o’clock, they paused for tea. They had just sat down in the parlor when Beatrice spotted Mrs. Hughes through the window. She was a short, plump woman in her fifties, with short, curly hair that had recently begun to show signs of grey.

“I daresay,” Beatrice exclaimed. “I do believe that Mrs. Hughes intends to pay us a visit.”

Claire immediately turned her head in order to have a look for herself. “Well, I hope we shall not be too delayed by this. After all, we still have to bathe and dress and . . .” she trailed off with a sigh. “You know how much the woman loves to talk.”

It was true. Mrs. Hughes was a veritable gossip who could be very difficult to get rid of if they encouraged her to stay for tea.

“We cannot be so rude as to turn her away,” Emily said. “Especially not when we are just now sitting down to tea ourselves. It would be very poor behavior on our part.”

“Yes, of course we must invite her in,” Beatrice said as she rose to her feet. “I shall go and greet her. Claire, stop scowling.”

A moment later, Mrs. Hughes was sitting in their parlor on a chair next to Emily. “I’m terribly sorry if I caught you at a bad time,” she began, still drawing heavy breaths from her quick walk. “I presume you must be readying yourselves for the ball this evening.”

“Well . . . we . . .” Claire began.

“We were just taking a break from all of that and allowing ourselves to enjoy a cup of tea,” Beatrice cut in, quickly interrupting any inappropriate remark her sister might have been about to make.

“Would you like a cup?” Emily asked.

Claire groaned, and Emily and Beatrice both glanced at her reproachfully, in response to which she gave an exasperated sigh. There was no telling how long Mrs. Hughes planned to stay.

“I would love a cup” was the reply. “If it’s not too much trouble,” she added, looking around.

“No trouble at all,” Emily told her as she went to fetch another teacup from the china cabinet. She set it on a small round table next to Mrs. Hughes’s chair and proceeded to pour tea into it. She then offered her a biscuit, which Mrs. Hughes eagerly accepted.

“What brings you here this afternoon?” Beatrice asked with a friendly smile. “I am guessing that there is something that you wish to tell us.”

“Well,” Mrs. Hughes began as she took a bite from the biscuit and followed it with a sip of tea. “There are two issues which I thought might be of interest to you. Firstly, I have been led to believe that the young Mr. Fairchild is inclined to choose a bride this season.”

Emily almost choked on her tea. “Adrian?” she virtually sputtered.

“Why, of course,” Mrs. Hughes told her, as if that was the silliest of all questions. “His brothers are already married, are they not?”

“Why, yes, I suppose they are,” Emily agreed.

“If I am not completely misinformed, I do believe that you must have some inkling as to whom his chosen bride shall be. Is that not so, Miss Emily?” Mrs. Hughes regarded her kindly as she sipped her tea.

Emily’s bright red blush was hard to miss. She was thankful that if she should blush so, then it was amongst only those who had her best interests at heart. “We do have an agreement,” Emily confessed. “But nothing has been set in stone. Perhaps he has other intentions.”

The mere thought of Adrian planning to marry someone other than her made her immensely nervous. What would she do if that happened? Her heart would surely shatter into a thousand pieces.

“Honestly, my dear, there really is no need to fret about such things. You have an agreement and Adrian is above all else a true gentleman. Everyone in Hardington knows how much he adores you,” Mrs. Hughes told her as she placed her hand on Emily’s and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Emily let out a small sigh of relief. She knew what she was being told was true, but it was still nice to have it confirmed. Adrian was, as Mrs. Hughes had said, a true gentleman. He was kind and generous, but above all else he was honorable.

“So as you see, you must prepare yourself, my dear. He will undoubtedly broach the subject with you this very evening. If I am correct in my assumptions, you may find yourself to be engaged no later than tomorrow morning,” Mrs. Hughes told her.

That had Emily’s nerves playing havoc all over again. Would Adrian really propose to her that very evening? Her stomach fluttered at the mere thought of it. However would she keep herself together until he did? She was sure she would be a total wreck by the time she saw him that evening.

“You mentioned that there were two things that might interest us?” Claire suddenly asked, breaking Emily’s spell. “What was the other?”

“Oh, I merely wished to inform you that Francis Riley, the Earl of Dunhurst, is visiting Coldwell Manor this week and possibly even next, as well. As I recall, he is also a friend of yours. Is he not?”

Emily groaned inwardly. It was true that she had met Francis on numerous occasions while growing up. He was Adrian’s cousin, sharing the same maternal grandparents, but all similarities ended there.

Where Adrian was fair-haired, Francis was dark. Where Adrian was open and warm, Francis was forever brooding. One could always count on Adrian for a good laugh, but Francis . . . Emily wondered when she had last seen him smile.

She seemed to recall that he hadn’t always been that way. Hadn’t they all enjoyed playing together as children? They’d all been happy back then, including Francis. In fact, Francis had been a closer friend to her then than Adrian had been, but somewhere along the way he had changed and Emily couldn’t help but wonder why.

“Francis!” Emily heard Claire exclaim. “But he’s positively dull!”

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Beatrice scolded her sister. “I really wish that you would learn to keep such statements to yourself, particularly when we have guests.”

“Oh, it’s quite all right,” Mrs. Hughes told them. “After all, everyone knows that Lord Dunhurst has a somewhat stern demeanor. However, I do not think he is unkind.”

“I never suggested that he was,” Claire said pointedly, as Beatrice and Emily cringed at her rudeness.

“In any event, it is hardly our place to judge him,” Beatrice concluded in an attempt to smooth over her sister’s last statement. “I am sure that there is a valid reason for his being the way he is. In any case, it is his business and not ours.”

Emily gave a slight sigh as she smiled at her older sister. “You always were a diplomat, Bea,” she said. “But in this instance I really must agree with Claire. Francis
is
an absolute bore. On top of that, he’s stern to the point of rudeness. I understand he wasn’t always this way, but what matters is what he has become.”

Beatrice didn’t respond. Her reprimanding glare told Emily just how disappointed she was in her. Must she always behave properly then, flattering even those who did not deserve flattering? But she loved her elder sister and had no wish to embarrass her in public.

“Oh, I daresay,” Mrs. Hughes suddenly remarked as she strained her neck to peer out the window. “It does appear as if the gentleman in question has come to call upon you.”

“Who? Francis?” Claire exclaimed, turning in her seat in order to have a look.

“It would appear so, yes,” Mrs. Hughes remarked as she raised her spectacles to her eyes. “He’s securing his horse to your fence as we speak—beautiful creature, I must say. Then again, Lord Dunhurst always did have impeccable taste when it came to horses.”

Beatrice hurried to the door, straightening her apron as she went. If she was put out of sorts by receiving more guests in one afternoon than they usually received in the course of a whole week, she hid it exceedingly well. Emily was quite impressed with her sister’s ability to remain calm and undeterred by it all. Even if none of them were particularly fond of Francis, he was an earl after all.

When he appeared a moment later in the doorway, Emily was incapable of ignoring just how stiff and awkward he looked. In fact, there was something about him that suggested that this was truly the last place in the world he wished to be.

Yet there was one thing by which she was somewhat taken aback. Francis was far more handsome than she remembered him. It was perhaps two years since she had seen him last, and it was quite clear that her mind had chosen only to remember the faults that she had found with his personality. When it came to looks, he certainly had no equal. Not even Adrian could measure up to him in that regard, though Emily felt a twinge of disloyalty for thinking it.

But Francis was a fine specimen: tall and lean with broad shoulders. His thick black hair, cut short, still retained an untidy look that Emily found oddly appealing. His eyes were dark, as though filled with concern and sadness; his nose perfectly straight like that of Michelangelo’s
David
. He was clean-shaven to expose a chiseled jaw line and a mouth that mirrored the look in his eyes.

“Miss Emily, Miss Claire,” he said as he glanced at both Claire and Emily in turn, giving each of them a curt nod. “Mrs. Hughes.”

“Lord Dunhurst,” they each said, returning his greeting.

“Would you like to have a cup of tea?” Beatrice asked as she pushed her way past him in the doorway, already heading for the china cabinet.

“Oh, no, please don’t trouble yourself on my account, Miss Rutherford,” he told her as he carelessly beat the tip of his riding crop against his brown leather boots. Emily guessed that it must be some form of habit, brought about when he was agitated about something.

“Then by all means, please tell us how else we may be of service to you,” Beatrice said, her voice a little more tense than usual. Perhaps his presence here had rattled her a bit after all.

The situation was ridiculous. They had all known each other since they were children. They had run about in the garden, called one another by their given names. Yet here they were behaving more formally than ever. A slight smile played upon Emily’s lips as she contemplated how fun it would have been if he had simply marched in and said “Beatrice, Emily, and Claire—I happened to be stopping by and thought you might like to catch some frogs with me, for old time’s sake . . .” Yet here they were with the formal addresses, acting as if they barely knew one another.

“Adrian tells me that you will be attending the ball this evening,” Francis said with a hint of dryness in his voice. “It will be quite a distance for you to walk in all your finery. Perhaps you would like for us to send a carriage?”

“That is indeed very generous of you,” Beatrice told him. She looked across at her sisters who both appeared eager to accept. It would at least ensure that their white muslin gowns would still be clean upon arrival at Coldwell Manor. “We accept your offer, with many thanks.”

Francis gave her a curt nod before regarding the other women present. “It is settled then. You may expect the carriage at seven thirty.”

“Thank you very much indeed, Francis,” Emily replied. She’d had enough of formalities. Besides, Lord Dunhurst needed to loosen up a bit, though he didn’t seem quite as stiff as she remembered.

His dark eyes settled on her when she spoke his name, narrowing slightly as he regarded her solemnly. Emily couldn’t help but smile slightly at provoking him. It was very clear he found her form of address far too familiar. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was because she and her sisters were no longer of the same social rank as he.

Of course it was.

Emily’s smile faded as she suddenly saw the situation from Francis’s point of view. He was an earl. How embarrassing it must be for him to have to come here on such an errand. If it hadn’t been for Adrian’s thoughtfulness . . . well, thank goodness for that.

“Well, I shan’t detain you any longer,” Francis told them, his eyes still on Emily. “I look forward to seeing you all this evening.”

“Mrs. Hughes,” he then said, giving the woman yet another curt nod. He then addressed each of the three sisters in turn, made a gracious bow, and turned on his heel and left.

They watched through the windows as he swung himself up into the saddle and started off at a canter.

“Well! He is far more handsome than I recalled,” Claire remarked, breaking the silence that he had left behind.

“And he wasn’t nearly as stern as I remembered him, either,” Beatrice added. “Though I daresay he was a bit put out by the liberty you took, Emily, in addressing him so casually.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks,” Emily exclaimed as she rolled her eyes heavenward. “It was obvious that he had no desire to be here. I merely meant to provoke him slightly.”

“And a fine job you did,” Beatrice told her with a sigh.

“Oh, Bea, the man is insufferable. We were friends once—close friends, but now, ever since Mama and Papa died and our situation is no longer what it used to be, he suddenly expects us to address him formally. Well I shan’t, Bea, and if that irks him, well then he is indeed a far greater snob than I ever would have imagined.”