Intertwine (26 page)

“Still not having this conversation, Arthur.”

“I know you had hopes over that small lead Ethan’s man found near Bristol,” Arthur continued, relentless.

“It’s a pity the weather turned so dreary today. Don’t you agree?” Head still down. “Let’s talk about the weather.”

“But it now appears that the missing Miss Willis had actually just eloped with a footman.”

“Or gooseberries. We could talk about gooseberries.”

“In any case, you cannot continue to give Emma shelter.”

“What about ninjas? I understand they are fascinating.”

Arthur paused. Wisely, he ignored the comment. “James, even you must admit that she knows far too much about the world.”

“Or zombies. We could talk about zombies.”

Arthur blinked.

“I hear they like to eat brains.” James permitted himself a small smile as he continued to stare at his accounts book.

Arthur let out an annoyed grunt. “Zombies? Ninjas? What on earth are you talking about? I swear, James, sometimes you are addled in the head.”

“Yes, well, that is most likely true.”

Arthur sighed his most long-suffering sigh. “James, she cannot continue to remain. The only logical explanation is, well, . . . you know.”

James exhaled, still not raising his head. He made a note in the ledger, letting the silence stretch.

“Again, Arthur, that is not the only explanation,” he finally said. “And I
cannot
express how tired I am of saying that sentence. Once we know the truth, everything will make perfect sense. We just have to be patient until then.”

“But, James—”

“No, Arthur.” James pushed the account book away and returned the quill to its stand.

Raising his head, he looked his brother in the eye.

“We are done with this conversation. Done.”

James rarely became upset. His even-temper was the one positive trait that all his acquaintances agreed upon. He was the easy-going one. The gentleman who would step in to create harmony when tempers flared. He indulged in exasperation at times. Irritation on occasion. But true blood-boiling anger? That was almost a complete stranger.

Only Arthur had the incessant persistence necessary to goad him into losing his temper.

“James—” Arthur started again.

“Are you accusing the lady of improper behavior?” James asked, trying but failing to keep anger out of his rising voice. “Besmirching her name? Has she been anything other than a proper lady while here in my home?”

“You know exactly what I am saying, James. Dash it, do not try to twist this into me accusing her. You ride with her everywhere. Unchaperoned—”

“Which is my own fault, Arthur!” James interrupted. “I am the one who keeps forgetting to take a groom along, not Emma.”

“You haven’t heard the talk around town. I don’t need to say anything. I just let the facts speak for—”

“What facts? I don’t like the tone of this conversation.” James tried again, without success, to keep his own tone level.

“She knows things that are quite improper. That maneuver with Sir Henry, for example.”

“She saved the man’s life! Good grief, Arthur. Would you have had her watch him die?”

“No, of course not. But she recognized all of those odd fruits including the Chinese gooseberry and—”

“Oh, heaven protect us from ladies armed with a knowledge of exotic fruit!”

“—even you must admit that any normal young lady would not have such knowledge, much less the impertinence to act on it. Can you imagine Marianne doing such a thing? Her excellent sense of propriety would never allow for it!”

“Oh please, Arthur,” James said with a grimace. “Marianne hasn’t enough backbone to say ‘boo’ to a stray dog, much less insert herself into a crisis. Propriety has nothing to do with it.”

Arthur gasped. “How dare you impugn Miss Linwood’s honor!”

James rolled his eyes, trying to figure out how their conversation had arrived at this place.

“Arthur, now you are being ridiculous. Stating that Miss Linwood has no pluck is hardly attacking her honor. It’s just declaring the obvious.”

Arthur flushed dangerously. “Marianne represents all that is lovely and virtuous.”

“Agreed. And if she had even an ounce of courage, she would have renounced her brother and run off with you months ago. You know I would do everything in my power to ensure your future happiness. You would never want for anything.”

“Marianne is bound by honor and propriety, just as I am. Unlike others I know.” Arthur’s narrowed eyes made his meaning obvious. “This conversation isn’t about Miss Linwood and her exemplary behavior. We are discussing Emma’s continued residence under this roof. Or rather her removal.”

James took a deep breath and forced his anger down. “I have made my feelings on this matter abundantly clear, Arthur. Miss Emma will stay until she decides to leave. This conversation is finished.”

James stood and turned away and walked over to the window, staring unseeingly at the lush dripping landscape, his hands clasped behind his back. He heard Arthur stand behind him and shuffle his feet, as if undecided about something.

“James, I know you better than you might think.” Arthur’s voice had lost its edge. He sounded almost weary. “It is obvious to me you have developed an attachment to this woman. But you must see nothing can come of it. Even if she truly is a lady of genteel birth, the man in the locket is most likely her husband or at least her betrothed.”

James said nothing. He let the truth of Arthur’s words wrap around him, tried to force his traitorous heart to believe them.

Unclenching his jaw, James took a deep, stuttering breath, gazing out the window, tracing the rain as it snaked down the glass.

“Do you have any idea how much I would give to actually
be
the man in that locket?” he asked after a moment. “To have that kind of claim on her? I would rejoice in finding her free.”

“And what if you find that she is free but not entirely respectable, as I strongly suspect?” Arthur asked quietly. “Would you still pursue her?”

“You have known me your entire life, Arthur, and yet you still understand me so little.” James turned back to his brother. “I have always cared more about who a person is than what society tells me about that person.”

“Even you would not take her as your mistress, James. Under your own roof with Georgiana in residence.”

“You are quite correct, brother. I would not take her as my mistress. I have significantly more respect for Emma than that. I would marry her.”

James ignored Arthur’s dismayed gasp.

Really, Arthur had insisted on this conversation. Now what right did he have to be shocked by it?

“Marry?! You would marry a courtesan?”

James snorted wryly. “It’s been known to happen, Arthur, in case you have forgotten recent history.”

The shocking scandal of the current London Season had been the marriage of Thomas Hill, Baron Berwick, to Sophia Dubochet, a Swiss clock maker’s daughter and popular, well-known courtesan amongst the
ton
. Everyone had scratched their heads in surprise, as there was no apparent reason for Lord Berwick—who was not much older than James himself—to have married the girl. But James, being acquainted with Berwick, knew of his love of art and general disregard for the opinions of high society. He had a suspicion that Berwick and Miss Dubochet had fallen in love and Berwick respected her enough to honorably commit his life to her.

Arthur snorted. “Yes, well, Berwick’s family is currently suffering the result of his poor choices.”

“Truly, Arthur? How? His sisters are all long married and his brothers could care less. The only thing he suffers is the loss of acquaintances such as yourself. Which, begging your pardon, I don’t think he considers much of a loss at all.”

Arthur clenched his jaw at the insult.

“I would like to think, James, that you wouldn’t do that to Georgiana and myself. We are both as yet unmarried and a stain upon our family honor could be devastating. So why keep her here, if any future involvement is moot? You are just putting off an inevitable separation.”

Again, James said nothing. Arthur did make a valid point.

But James refused to give up on the idea so quickly. Georgiana was dying and would not be with them for much longer, much as it pained James to face the fact. Marriage seemed an impossible prospect for her. And as a man, Arthur would hardly be irreparably tainted by any decision James made.

“Arthur, you are making assumptions that simply may not be true. We will not know anything about her past until Emma’s memory returns or until someone comes to claim her. In the meantime, Emma’s presence has lifted Georgiana’s spirits and improved her health. You condemn her based on supposition, not facts.”

Every instinct cried that Emma was meant for him. That their lives were intertwined together. If they were indeed fated to be separated, James would not be the one to precipitously cause the break. He would wait out their drama to the bitter end.

Arthur scoffed.

“James, be reasonable—”

“This is my house and my decision to make.” James cut him off. “Emma stays. If you have a problem with it, you are more than welcome to leave tomorrow for Whitcomb. No one is forcing you to remain here.”

Arthur ground his teeth, obviously perturbed. “You would like that, brother. But Linwood has relented and will allow Marianne to attend the assembly ball this week, despite her still being in half-mourning. I will hardly absent myself from her side.”

“Then you will have to deal politely with our house guest, as I most certainly will not turn her away.”

Chapter 21

Haldon Manor

The walled garden

The next day

June 9, 1812

T
he warm night beckoned Emme outside. Everyone had said their goodnights and trudged upstairs, but Emme wasn’t tired.

Instead she felt confused and lost.

Gathering a shawl around her shoulders, she slipped down the stairs, across the back terrace and out into the walled garden. The scent of green growing things enveloped her. Wildflowers and wisteria and the season’s first roses, all wrapped in cricket song and the far off hoot of an owl.

The moon was a pale sliver, leaving the night in darkness. Nearly unnaturally dark and yet . . . somehow not.

Though the actual sky was inky black—darker than seemed normal to her—the heavens glistened with stars. Millions, . . no, billions of them. The entire sky pulsing with pinpricks of light—the Milky Way a clear, glittering ribbon cutting through it all.

Had there always been so many stars? Though the moon shone faint and thin, the starlight was still bright enough to cast shadows.

Odd that.

Looking up, Emme felt as if she were falling into the heavens. Vast and unnerving.

She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, closing her eyes to blot out the blinking stars, fighting back the panic. She had gone almost a week without an attack. Funny that the night sky should bring one on.

Emme heard a rustle of sound behind her and jumped with a slight cry of alarm as a strong hand grasped her arm.

“It’s fine. It’s just me.” His voice was low, warming her. She sighed in relief.

“You startled me.” Her own voice sounded husky. Sultry even.

She could make him out even in the starlight, catching the gleam of his bright hair, the white of a cravat against his dark jacket. He shifted and slid his hand to the small of her back, directing her toward a bench she could see, glinting in the light of the stars.

“Come. Sit with me,” James murmured, his lips close to her ear.

Emme sank into the bench, drawing her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. James sat next to her, his leg pressing against hers.

“You seemed sad tonight. Want to talk about it?” His voice ached with caring. Or was that just her own heart? Emme gulped, her throat suddenly tight.

“Oh, James,” she whispered into the night. “What are we ever to do?”

He found her hand and curled it into his grasp. Rough and slightly calloused. A man’s hand. Strong and solid and encircling.