Intertwine (4 page)

Emme leaned her back against the bag, leveraging her feet against the ground. Behind her, the bag gave slightly. Encouraged, she pushed harder.

“You did? Really?”

“Really. Look, I know I need to move past this, Marc.”

Ah, a little more give. Maybe she could fit all her luggage in after all. She cantilevered all her five foot seven, one hundred and twenty-eight pounds against the car. “I’m going to go to Marfield, find the real F and then move on and—”

With a shriek, Emme fell backward, hitting the ground. The car no longer supported her weight. Gasping for breath, she rolled sideways and looked up. The car was rolling directly toward the spiral, corkscrew ramp of the parking garage, picking up speed as it went. Her luggage scattered onto the pavement like desperate sailors abandoning ship.

Traveling disaster number one hundred and fourteen.

The drawing room

Haldon Manor

Six months before Beltane

October 11, 1811

“My condolences again upon your mother’s death,” James murmured politely.

Timothy, Viscount Linwood stood staring out the large mullioned window as the last of the fall leaves skittered to the ground, his back to James straight and unyielding. The black mourning band for the recently buried Lady Linwood neatly tied around his upper arm.

Linwood did not immediately acknowledge James’ comment. Instead his back seemed to become even stiffer, the set of his dark head more severe. James wondered for probably the thousandth time how someone his own age could be so cold. So off-putting.

Silence hung in the room. The white-washed paneled walls and high coffered ceiling of the drawing room were gloomy in the afternoon light. James moved to sit in a gold brocade chair near the marble fireplace, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles.

“Thank you,” Linwood finally said. Not, as James suspected, because he truly appreciated the sentiment. But because it was what a gentleman should say in such a situation. And Linwood played the proper gentleman to perfection.

The viscount remained silent for another moment. James waited him out; he would not break the silence first. Linwood would have to explain the reason for his visit without any help.

He knew Timothy well. They had grown up together after all. Linwood’s estate, Kinningsley, butted against Haldon Manor. But they had never been friends. Linwood had always taken himself far too seriously. And James never had—taken Timothy seriously that is.

“But I am not here to discuss my family’s recent loss.” Linwood turned from the window. “I am sure you know that Arthur has finally offered for Marianne.”

James nodded. He was well aware of his brother’s affection for Linwood’s younger sister. Their childhood friendship had blossomed into something more substantial over the summer. Marianne was as kind and docile as her brother was cold and domineering.

Linwood continued, “As I told Arthur, I have no particular aversion to him as a brother-in-law. But he is hardly the match I would prefer for my only sister.” Linwood fixed James with an icy stare, his gray eyes so colorless as to be nearly transparent.

“Indeed?” James cocked an eyebrow. “To my knowledge Arthur is still the great-grandson of both a duke and an earl, with a family name that extends practically to the time of Edward III. Pray tell me, how is that insufficient?” James kept his tone light, knowing that would be most annoying.

The viscount’s mouth moved ever so slightly. His eyes tightened imperceptibly. For Linwood, it was nearly a full on grimace.

“I do not cast aspersions upon your family’s illustrious name or history. But rather point out that, as a younger son, Arthur’s less-than-glowing prospects leave something to be desired. He would not be able to keep Marianne in the style and comfort to which she has been raised.”

“It is true that Whitcomb, the estate my mother left to Arthur, is not large. But it is modern and generates a reasonable income. I have not seen that Miss Linwood would object to life at Whitcomb.”

Marianne loved Arthur and Arthur, most decidedly, loved Marianne. It was rather cloying to see them together, all surreptitious glances and wistful sighs. Marianne was born to play the star-crossed lover.

However, the ever so top-lofty Viscount Linwood had little affection for their longing stares and aching whispers. Granted, he held little affection for most everything. But James knew that Linwood found the doe-eyed looks his love-lorn sister and Arthur cast at each together particularly irritating.

An irritation James was petty enough to enjoy.

Many days James wished he had not been born the eldest son. Arthur was made to be lord of the manor. He so perfectly encapsulated their illustrious ducal ancestors with his aristocratic air and sense of propriety. Arthur always acted the perfect gentleman, right down to his overly developed sense of honor and status.

Unlike Arthur, James took after the not-so-illustrious branches of the family. Knight ancestors who had risen dramatically above humble beginnings and made their own way in the world. Those branches that his mother had diligently tried to pretend never existed. (Though she readily accepted their money, which had replenished the family coffers.) To James, these ancestors were the truly admirable ones. The ones who had fought through poverty and insecurity to shape a prosperous future with the strength of their own raw hands.

The blood of those ancestors echoed strongly in James. He longed to grasp his future and forge it for himself. He made no secret of the fact.

“My sister is all that is amiable and good,” Linwood continued. “But as with all young women, she lacks the foresight to understand how marrying Arthur would impact not only her future but the future of her children.”

Linwood paused for a moment, considering, and then said, “I am not come here today to argue over Arthur’s merits, but instead to inquire if you have decided to improve his prospects?”

The question hung between them. Heavy and laden with baggage.

Trust Linwood to come right to the point. James sighed and said quietly, “No. . . . As much as I would like to, in speaking with my solicitors, the family entail would be nearly impossible to break. My late father saw to that.”

James knew that Linwood had held out hope that somehow the family entail could be broken. That James could declare Arthur the heir to Haldon Manor and give it over to his brother’s capable (if somewhat self-righteous) hands, freeing James to pursue his own life as he wished.

But as James knew, nothing could change the fact that he had been born first. James could not sign away his responsibilities. He could ignore them. But he could not renounce his inheritance, could not decline it. His father had renewed the entail in its strictest form, perhaps sensing that his eldest son would bolt if given the option. The land and property and, well, everything had been left to James’ care. And to him alone. Until he died and passed it on to his own heirs.

The entire weight of Haldon Manor and its ten thousand acres, its tenants, its industry, all rested on his shoulders. His unwittingly steady I-will-be-responsible shoulders.

“That’s a pity,” Linwood said slowly. “My sister turns twenty-one in less than a month and will be of age to marry without my consent. Do you think that your brother will act dishonorably given my rejection of his suit?”

Cocking an eyebrow, James replied, “Are you asking if Arthur will convince Marianne to elope? That seems unlikely. Arthur’s sense of propriety and family obligations agrees with your own. He understands that Marianne is not for him unless you wish it.”

It was true. Based on some time-honored sense of gentlemanly morality, Arthur couldn’t even disagree with Linwood’s assessment of him. Of course, this didn’t stop him from pining for Marianne, which left the couple in an endless limbo, not able to marry, refusing to elope but still unable to leave each other and move on. James found it ludicrous. He could not imagine giving his heart to another and then not fighting to secure a future with her.

Linwood pondered for a moment. “I would have no objection to your brother’s suit if he were to inherit Haldon Manor.”

“Yes, well, he is my heir currently.”

“Indeed.” Linwood gave his ghostly hint of a smile. “Unfortunately, at this moment you look to be in good health.”

James blinked slowly, refusing to rise to Linwood’s bait.

Silence.

“How fares your sister, if I may ask?” Linwood asked, changing the subject. “I understand the nature of her illness is quite serious.”

“She is ill. Her cough worsens, but it is early yet. She might make a swift recovery. And if not, I have already begun to search out the best treatments for her. I am determined she will not remain ill for long.”

“Well, given our mother’s recent passing, Marianne will not attend the London Season. She will observe the required full year of mourning, so she will remain at Kinningsley through mid-summer at least.” Linwood paused, glanced out the window and then back to James, his face utterly impassive. “I would ask that your sister reduce her visits until the true nature of her illness is understood. Marianne’s comfort and health are the world to me.”

James narrowed his eyes. Georgiana and Marianne were good friends and Georgiana’s health was not precarious yet. Linwood was being needlessly petty.

James waited to reply, allowing the smallness of Linwood’s request to hang in the room, silently condemning.

“Georgiana will be sad to hear it,” James finally said. “She enjoys your sister’s company so. Though it is no matter. I am sure that Georgiana will be recovered and whole in no time.”

“Of course,” Linwood intoned. But his back remained stiff, his entire demeanor saying otherwise. “Naturally, we all wish Miss Knight a speedy recovery. With my mother’s recent passing, there has already been enough death in the neighborhood.”

James managed a faint smile. Nothing more.

Chapter 3

Duir Cottage

Beltane

April 30, 2012

E
mme startled as her cell phone rang, the sound chirping through the growling thunder.

“Well, how is it?” Marc’s voice sounded eager in her ear.

Emme understood immediately. “Oh, you know, uh-mazing.” She crawled back under her blanket. An errant draft of wind caused the fire to flicker.

Marc laughed, rich and low. “I still can’t believe they upgraded you to a BMW for the entire summer.”

“I know, right? The poor attendant who left the tiny car in neutral with no parking brake on got an earful from his supervisor. But seriously, you should have seen it spiraling down the parking garage ramp.”

It really had been quite the sight. The car, scraping its way along the corkscrew exit like some drunken escapee from the circus, ending in a dizzy heap three stories below.

“Don’t you usually make fun of people who drive flashy cars?” Marc chuckled. “Let’s savor the irony of this moment, shall we?”

“Even all of my luggage survived.” Emme shook her head at the wonder of it, watching rain hammer against the window. “My traveling disasters never turn out like this. Finn seriously saved me.”

“Well, tell Fabio ‘thank you’ for me. I’ll enjoy driving that BMW when I come visit you after filming this latest martial arts project in Hong Kong. By the way, how’s the internet at your place?” asked Marc. “Football season will be in full swing in September, and I’m going to have to stream all the Broncos games from my DVR.” Marc hadn’t held onto much of their growing up years in Denver, except for the city’s beloved football team.