Lady Emma's Dilemma (9781101573662) (24 page)

Turning her anxious gaze to the terrain ahead, Emma bit her lip. There were no clouds in the distance. “It most likely is not raining at Longdown. I am so afraid we will be too late,” she said as a big, cold drop of rain hit her forearm. “Richards, do you have the time?”

Shifting the reins to one heavily gloved hand, the coachman produced a timepiece from one of his pockets. “Ten minutes after one of the clock, m'lady.”

A few more drops fell on her. “How far away are we?”

Richards took a moment to adjust the reins before answering. “Maybe another thirteen to fifteen miles, m'lady.”

Emma squeezed her eyes shut as the sporadic drops turned into a definite sprinkle. This was disastrous, she thought as she impatiently removed her bonnet and tossed it across the carriage to the seat opposite her.

“Emmaline, we must stop. We shall get drenched if this continues.” Grandmère's tone was beginning to sound a bit cross.

“I cannot express how vitally important it is that we reach Longdown before the race starts,” Emma said, wiping raindrops from her cheek. “We cannot possibly risk being too late.”

The rain started in earnest and Richards had to slow the team's tempo as the road grew slick. The young groom, who had kept his gaze on the road ahead and his mouth closed since the carriage had left the townhouse, sent her a quick, concerned glance over his shoulder.

Grandmère made an aggravated noise deep in her throat. “Of course I understand. But this is folly, my dear. I know we are still some distance away, but I keep telling you that the race will not start right on time. Now, Richards, pull this rig over.”

“No!” Emma cried, turning away from her grandmother to speak to the driver's wide back. “Richards, a gentleman I know has a horse entered into the Severly Stakes. I have
information that his jockey has been bribed to lose the race. Even though it's raining, do you think we have enough time to make it by two o'clock?”

Richards said nothing and slowed the barouche—but he did not stop. The young groom's shoulders obviously tensed as he stared up at the driver, rivulets of rain running down his check.

Emma held her breath and waited, relieved that Grandmère did not immediately order him to stop again, despite the increasing force of the rain.

“Well, m'lady, we won't be able to run them on this wet road, but I'll do my best to get you there right soon,” Richards said over his shoulder in a calm voice.

At this, Emma turned beseeching eyes to her grandmother, whose beribboned bonnet was beginning to droop in what threatened to become a downpour.

“Oh, bother,” Grandmère said with a gusty sigh. “Neither one of us will be at all presentable. Drive on, Richards.”

Leaning over, Emma pressed a damp cheek against her grandmother's and pulled her into a tight embrace. “Thank you,” Emma whispered as she pulled back.

“Oh, bother,” she said again, but there was a soft warmth in her tone this time. “You are right. I would feel utterly wretched if Devruex was not warned. Do not worry. We will brave this horrid weather and arrive on time.”

As the rain soaked them, Emma smiled warmly, relieved that they were still moving. “We must.”

“Are you still going to tell me that the only reason this undertaking is so important is because you wish to be a Good Samaritan?”

Emma lowered her gaze from her grandmother's perceptive blue eyes. The last thing she wished to do was examine the myriad emotions coursing through her right now. It seemed as if she had been on a pendulum since coming to London. But she refused to think of anything except getting to Longdown before the race started.

Shrugging, she did not answer her grandmother and
tilted her head back to look up the sky and let the spring rain hit her face.

Neither spoke for several minutes as Emma turned to watch the countryside, which reminded her of a lovely watercolor painting, passing by.

“I shall not press you further. But I will share something with you that I want you to think about.”

At the unexpectedly gentle tone in Grandmère's voice, Emma looked over curiously and waited for her to continue.

“Before the Colhurst ball you asked me why I had not married again after your grandfather passed away. I recall that I made some offhand response.”

“Yes, I remember,” Emma said, wondering what the old lady was getting at.

“I should have told you what I really felt,” she said, smoothing the damp skirt of her yellow gown. “I did not marry again because I never met a gentleman who ever came close to making me feel the way your grandfather did.”

Emma watched her grandmother's usually proud expression soften at the onslaught of distant memories. Knowing how difficult it was for her grandmother to show any vulnerability, Emma said, “Thank you for telling me this,” and felt grateful for the rain masking her unexpected tears.

T
en minutes later the downpour stopped as suddenly as it started and the sun shone with dazzling brightness upon the wet countryside—and also upon the wet occupants of the barouche.

But Emma did not care, for once they turned onto the road leading to the village of Westerham, Richards was able to put the horses back into a fast rhythm and she began to feel that they were making up some lost time.

Grandmère recovered from her moment of poignant emotion and soon was complaining about the sad state of her clothing. “This is terrible! I have no idea how far behind our baggage coach is. Who knows how long it will be before we will have dry clothes.”

Emma smiled a little at her grandmother's grumbling but did not reply. There were a few more carriages traveling along the road and she hoped they would not slow their progress.

“We'll be there shortly, m'lady,” Richards said with a practiced flick of the reigns.

At his confident tone, Emma felt her shoulders relax a bit. Suppressing a pang of guilt over practically forcing them to drive through the sudden shower, she glanced up at the bright blue sky. Thank goodness the day was warm, she thought as they entered the village square.

The narrow cobbled streets were crowded with coaches
and baggage carts and servants in every style and color of livery.

As they went by a posting inn, Emma noticed the stable yard was full of carriages with stable boys scrambling to unharness tired horses.

“I am sure this village has not seen this much activity all year,” Emma commented as Richards carefully navigated through the serpentine lanes.

“Indeed,” Grandmère replied. “Evidently anyone not fortunate enough to be a guest at Longdown is crowding into the meager lodgings offered here.”

Emma felt another wave of relief when they left the village and entered a narrow road canopied by trees, which led to the Severly estate. When she finally saw the open, ornate iron gates, she was practically bouncing up and down with impatience to reach Jack.

Immediately upon passing through the gates, Emma allowed her anxious gaze to sweep across a beautifully proportioned Tudor mansion situated in the middle of a wide expanse of flat green parkland.

Off in the distance to the left, there were hundreds of people—some on horseback and in carriages—dotting the lawn.

From the pattern of the banners fluttering in the breeze, she could see the racecourse was set up in a large oval.

They continued up the curving graveled drive until they caught up with a short line of carriages depositing their occupants beneath the wide marble portico.

Unable to contain herself a moment longer, Emma stood up before the carriage came to a complete stop.

“Emmaline, what on earth—”

“I must find him,” she said quickly, sending an apologetic smile to her alarmed grandmother. Before the groom could act, she had opened the carriage door and jumped down without the aid of the steps.

“Emma! You cannot go traipsing around the estate looking like a drowned cat,” Grandmère called after her.

Unheeding of anything but her desire to find Jack, Emma hurried down the drive. She stumbled a little as her damp skirts hampered her stride. But she soon recovered and continued around the large house toward the back, where she assumed the mews were located.

Once she rounded the side of the house, she was suddenly confronted by a hive of activity. Men and boys dressed in the latest fashions to the most serviceable clothes rushed around the stable yard in a seeming chaotic dance.

She darted around a gray steed, whose rider wore silks of blue and gold. The groom holding the horse's bridle shouted, “Hey there, miss, you should'na be back here. The races will be startin' in a few minutes.”

Emma whirled around, her gaze darting from one man to the next as the horses cantered passed her. A fashionably dressed man trotting next to a beautiful chestnut thoroughbred came toward her.

“Please, sir,” she said loudly, hoping she could be heard above the din. “Have you seen Lord Devruex?”

The gentleman hesitated, his surprised gaze sweeping over her bedraggled appearance. “He's at the other end,” he said with a jerk of his head in that direction. “The fillies are racing next.” And with that, he went trotting off again.

Pushing a lose tendril off her cheek, she wended her way through the crowded yard, past the mews, in the direction the gentleman had indicated. Despite feeling utterly relieved that she had arrived before the race started, she still felt panicked that she might not be able to locate him amongst the hundreds of men bustling around the stable yard and mews.

Just then, as she paused to let another horse and rider by, she saw him some twenty feet before her. Her breath caught in her throat as she moved toward him.

He was speaking to two other men, his tall, athletic frame magnificent in a dark blue jacket, tan leather breeches, and gleaming Hessians. His head was bare and
his black hair swept away from his strong features. He was quite the handsomest thing she had ever seen.

At that moment he turned. She met his riveting dark eyes and stopped.

She watched as a flash of surprise crossed his features and his gaze swept her from head to toe and back up again. Without a word to the men he had been addressing, he moved toward her with long strides.

“My God, Emma, are you all right?”

“I had to tell you,” she paused and took a deep breath. “Mrs. Willoughby informed me this morning that Monteford has attempted to bribe your jockey. I am sure she told me the truth, Jack.”

She looked up at him, keeping her voice low so that only he could hear her. Darting a quick glance around her, she could not mistake the avid attention she was receiving from the other men.

Jack said nothing and his gaze continued to rove over her features. There was an expression in his eyes she had never seen before.

“There is still time,” she said quickly. “Is there another rider—”

“You came here to tell me this?” he cut in, a smile lurking at the corner of his mouth.

“Of course I did,” she said impatiently, alarmed at his nonchalant attitude. “Your jockey has been bribed.”

“I know.”

Emma stared at him in surprise. “Y-you know?” she stuttered.

“Yes, Tommy came to me right after he received the packet from Monteford.”

Emma blinked several times, at a complete loss for words. Suddenly she felt utterly deflated and a bit foolish. Glancing down at her damp, wrinkled clothing she felt painfully self-conscious. “You trust your jockey?” she asked a little lamely.

“Implicitly. I told him to keep the money, for even if
Circes loses it won't be because Tommy did not try his best. But he refused, saying that it would be bad luck to do so.”

“Oh,” she replied, unable to think of anything else to say.

Suddenly, it occurred to her with mortifying clarity that she could have chosen any number of less embarrassing ways to handle this situation. For one, she could have simply sent a note with a groom on a fast horse.

But no, she had to be so dramatically foolish as to come herself, she thought with a feeling of shame and self-recrimination.

“Emma, you came all this way and got soaked in the rain just to inform me that my jockey had been bribed?”

With a sigh, she nodded her head. After all, he wouldn't believe her even if she did deny it. “Yes, it's rather silly, isn't it?” But something about the glint in his eyes made her heart start to pound rapidly.

“Very,” he agreed with a tender smile.

In the next moment, he pulled her into his arms and his warm lips were suddenly on hers. Startled almost out of her wits, she put her arms around his neck to keep from losing her balance.

At first, the feel of his body overwhelmed her over-wrought senses and she could hardly form a coherent thought. But a moment later, the strength of his arms encircling her body and the tenderness of his lips washed away the vestiges of shame, doubt, and fear. She began to kiss him back with all her heart.

As the kiss went on, she became vaguely aware of whistles and laughter swirling around them. Reluctantly they both pulled back and Emma felt as if she could willingly drown in the tender passion she saw in his eyes.

“Looks like you've been right compromised, Devruex!” someone shouted good-naturedly. The men nearest them laughed and a few more good-natured teases were made as Emma's cheeks began to flame. For his part, Jack looked unfazed and kept his gaze on hers.

“Beggin' your pardon, my lord,” said a spry-looking
man standing some dozen feet away, holding a cap between his hands. “Circes is balking at having the saddle put on her back.”

Jack sent the man a brief nod before turning his intense gaze back to her. “Emma,” he said, his hands warm through the sleeves of her pelisse, “I have so much to do in the next few moments—”

At the concern and hesitation in his tone she sent him a tremulous smile and said, “Good luck. I'll be watching the race.”