Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle (87 page)

Still reeling from the force of Helena’s former words, Emily hesitated. “Perhaps it would be best if you take up the matter with Wetherell.”

“It was a gift, you see.”

“I didn’t steal it from Wetherell; he gambled it away.”

“
I
was the one who gave it to him.”

“Then he shouldn’t have been so heartless as to offer it up as a wager.”

“What do you need with an emerald ring? You must have an abundance of them at Windsor.”

“It was won fairly.”

“I
cannot
bear the thought of you having it.”

“Is there a particular sentiment attached to this ring?”

“It was given from a mother to her son on his eighteenth birthday.”

“Is Wetherell your favourite son?”

Her reply was shockingly swift. “No! Somerton is.”

“I’m curious; did you give your
eighth
son a ring on his eighteenth birthday? Or had he been sent to sea at that time, and was therefore out of sight and mind?”

The duchess recoiled in her chair, her posture reminiscent of the sudden change in winds, which often flattened the square sails of the
Isabelle
against her masts. “Why should you care about my
eighth
son? It was my understanding that you were not acquainted with him.”

Emily was beyond caring for discretion. “I believe
Octavius
could’ve benefitted greatly from some of the attention you amply lavish upon your two eldest sons.”

Helena grasped the arms of her chair. “Whatever does that mean?”

“If I can help it, you shall
never
know.”

Helena leapt to her feet, her face as white as her summer gown. “You have kept secrets from us.”

“I am no more
secretive
than you are.”

“How dare you.”

“You are welcome to banish me from your house; I’m quite ready to leave. Say the word and I’ll have my things gathered in less than an hour. Perhaps Somerton would be so kind as to take me to town.”

Helena looked down at her. “Somerton will
not
be taking you anywhere.”

“Are you worried I’d knock him about the head, stuff him into a sack, and impress him into the Royal Navy?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Perhaps Wetherell should be
impressed
as well. Your sons might enjoy the experience; it would give them something
useful
to do.” Emily was certain she could see steam rising from Helena’s elaborate crown of curls.

“You’re a selfish, outspoken, ill-bred young woman.”

Emily’s gaze flicked upward. “Your own description, I think, though I wouldn’t use the word
young
.”

Helena looked like one of the boiling pots in the Hartwood kitchen, but Emily turned away from her, sickened by the stifling humidity of the room, which had enveloped her like a fur-lined pelisse. Into her consciousness crept the carefree conversation of the gardeners, and the happy songs of the chestnut trees’ winged residents, awakening memories of a more tranquil world beyond the library walls. Oh, to be outside with them, seeking out her magpie, or climbing up the spreading trunk of one of those old chestnuts and hiding out upon its shady arms. She was plotting her escape when a sudden pounding upon the library door gave her a start.

“Oh, what is it now?” snapped Helena.

Glenna poked her round, glistening face into the room. “Lud! I’ve been knockin’ for ten minutes.”

“
Do
remember your station, Miss McCubbin!”

Glenna squeezed through the door, curtsied quickly, and then shot a quizzical look at Emily, mouthing the words, “
Such a rumpus
!”

“Well?” Helena asked, her eyes shut, one hand pressed to her forehead.

The old housekeeper glanced anxiously at her employer. “We have visitors, Your Grace.”

“Don’t tell me the Duke of Clarence is here already?”

“Nay, Your Grace. He’s not expected ’til dinnertime.”

“Well then, who is it?”

“An older gentleman and a lame boy.”

Helena growled. “How did they get past the gatekeeper? Are they beggars? Gypsies? Send them away at once. I’ll not have riffraff at my door.”

“I wouldna say they’re beggars,” said Glenna with an uneasy peek at Emily, whose suspicion was immediately aroused.

“Have they
professed
their business?” asked Helena, standing there in all her state, a pillar of indignity.

Glenna looked flustered. “Might I’ve a word with ya alone, Your Grace?”

“By all means!” Helena gloated before drifting from the room with the housekeeper. “You may continue your reading, Emeline. I shall
not
disturb you again.”

2:30 p.m.

Emily had no intention
of returning to her reading; how could anyone concentrate on
Robinson Crusoe
after such a tumult? She lingered for a few respectable minutes before leaving her books and the library to follow the women. Who was it that had come? And why had Glenna appeared so uneasy? Blazing with curiosity, she hurried after them, hoping to hear their voices whispering in collusion, or to find that Glenna had left the visitors awaiting their audience in one of the ground floor rooms. Her hopes, however, were soon dashed; her curiosity rewarded with nothing more than a series of empty rooms and secured doors.

At last, as she approached the front hall, Emily found Fleda standing in the doorway, her hair afire in a beam of afternoon sunshine that had found its way into the darkened house, her skinny arms folded and locked upon her chest, as if she were trying to intimidate someone or something. Beyond the child, out on the gravel courtyard, Helena’s vocals rose up in crackling irritation. Tiptoeing toward the shelter of the nearest marble column, Emily flattened herself against it to listen in.

“I am most displeased that you were let onto the grounds. You’ve no business here.”

A male voice, as warm as the August breeze wafting through the open door, answered her. “We shall not stay but a moment, Your Grace. If you would just allow us to extend our regards to Her Royal Highness, we would be much obliged. We’ve come such a long way.”

“I do not permit Her Royal Highness to receive visitors with whom I am not acquainted, and, as my husband and sons are not presently at home, I ask that you leave at once.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” There was a lull in the conversation, and the sound of shoes shuffling upon the gravel could be heard. “Would you be so kind as to inform Her Royal Highness that we came by, and that we’re lodging at the coaching inn down the road?”

“Perhaps, but as I determine who she sees, and who she does not, I can assure you she’ll
not
be visiting you in the taproom of a vulgar posting-house.”

At that moment a young boy spoke up, his voice panicked, as if he were terrified of being turned away. “With respect, Your — Your Grace, we don’t want to give you any trouble. Would you feel more at ease if I told you I’m an officer of the Royal Navy?”

Helena’s laughter was trenchant. “Really! An officer? Not a street urchin?”

Not to be deterred, the boy kept on. “I recently served under Captain James Moreland on HMS
Isabelle
.”

Emily’s hand flew to her mouth; the shock of joy embraced her. It was Gus Walby, and, more than likely, his elderly doctor, the man she had seen in Winchester, the man whom she had fancied was …

In the doorway, Fleda relaxed her stance. “Did you know my brother?”

“I’d be happy to tell you, Miss,” chirped Gus, “but I’m afraid I don’t know the name of your brother.”

Helena put an end to their exchange with a rumble. “Fleda! Return to Mademoiselle at once.” She waited until her daughter had unhappily drawn back into the shadows of the hallway. “Now then, you two, I don’t care if you’re the Prince Regent and his servant, no one invited you here. Leave quietly now, or I shall have to —”

Emily had heard quite enough. Startling Fleda, she jumped out from behind the column, and pushing past the girl, hurried through the door with a happy cry. “Dear Mr. Walby! How good of you to have come!”

Gus’s mouth fell open, as if he hadn’t quite believed in the first place that she was actually housed within the uninviting walls of Hartwood, but once he had gathered his wits his young face was wreathed in smiles, and he hobbled toward her, shouting, “Em! Oh, Em!” His outburst of familiarity sent a shiver through Helena and the gentleman at his side to leap after him in order to place a steadying hand on his shoulder.

Unable to acknowledge the elderly gentleman — so certain she was that he could hear the riotous pounding of her heart — Emily smiled her warmest for Gus, and kept her eyes on the boy as she addressed the glowering Helena. “They are
my
visitors, Your Grace. If you’ll not permit them to stay, then I shall leave with them.”

Helena eyed the men with disdain, her cheeks suffused with red, her lips tightly pressed together. Finally, she levelled a stare at Emily. “They may walk the grounds with you,” she said, her voice no longer vociferous, “but they shall not receive an invitation indoors to drink tea with
me
.” With her head held high she slipped into the house, slamming the door behind her, and, with Fleda at her side, took up residence at one of the hall windows to observe them. Refusing to be put off by the duchess, Emily flew to Gus and seized his hand, the two of them talking at once in their pleasure of being reunited.

“If our coming has caused distress, Em —”

“Do not worry about the duchess! She is surly by nature.” Emily stepped back to inspect Gus, unhappy to see dark circles under his eyes and that he had grown so thin. “But look at you! I swear you’ve gained a foot in height since I left you in Winchester. We must see to you getting fitted out with a new uniform before you return to sea. You’ve quite outgrown this one.” Knowing the gentleman’s eyes were watching her, Emily could not contain the quiver in her voice.

“Did you get my letter, Em?” Gus asked in a fit of coughing. “I sent it to you yesterday.”

“Not yet! But why only yesterday, why did you wait so long to write to me? I sent
you
a note the minute I’d slept off the exhaustion of our long voyage.”

“I never received it. If it hadn’t been for the kindness of the Duke of Clarence, I never would’ve known where you were.”

“Let us sort that out later, shall we?” said Emily, too elated to be discussing letters which had not arrived. She straightened before the gentleman and extended her hand, aware of having blushed as scarlet as the silk sofas in the library. “Kind sir, thank you so very much for bringing Mr. Walby to me.”

Gus stood between the two of them on his crutch, beaming at one and then the other.

“Your Royal Highness,” the man said, clasping her hand. “Arthur Braden is my name, and I believe … I’ve been told that you are acquainted with my son.”

Emily finally found the courage to meet the older man’s eyes, and just as she had suspected they were kind and intelligent, and the colour of the sea.

6:00 p.m.

“God Almighty, Emeline!”
declared Uncle Clarence upon seeing Emily stepping lightly into the music room with a flushed-faced Fleda in tow. “Have I not taught you to be prompt for meals, especially when you’re so blessed to be taking your dinner in the esteemed company of such illustrious gentlemen?”

Emily and Fleda had hastily washed and spruced up, having passed the afternoon strolling the worn paths of the estate with old Dr. Braden and Mr. Walby with no desire to part their company sooner than necessary. Arriving downstairs in their evening dress, they had discovered Somerton, Wetherell, and the latest arrival, the Duke of Clarence, assembled in the music room around the chimneypiece, enjoying a drink as they awaited both the call to dinner and the young ladies’ return. Wetherell was standing apart from the others, seemingly humming a tune in his head, but it did not escape Emily’s notice that Somerton had positioned himself with a clear view to the door, and had looked up the very second they appeared.

Emily bowed to the brothers, and gave her uncle a quick buss on the cheek. “I am so sorry. I quite forgot the time.”

“You didn’t forget I was coming.”

“Not at all; however, I do understand you shall be staying with us for a few days.”

“I shall be, for the duchess requires my brilliant and bluff repartee and some assistance in planning her next ball.”

“I keep hearing mutterings of another ball, and yet no one has said when the great event is to be held,” said Emily, looking to the brothers for an answer. Wetherell averted his head to carry on with his humming, and Somerton, although she had perceived his eyes moving over the detailing of her gown, decided it was time to consult his pocket watch. It was, therefore, left to her uncle to indulge her.

“Soon, my dear, soon,” he said with a wink.

Emily grimaced. “I do hope you won’t be inviting Mr. Gribble again, Uncle.”

“His name ranks among the first on our guest list. If I were to exclude him from our little party he’d be insulted, and return to his country seat for good.”

What a pleasing repercussion
, thought Emily, deciding against sharing her sentiment with the others. She teased her uncle instead. “You shan’t run off on us?”

“Only if my eldest brother calls me urgently to town on business. I must be ready at all times to heed his summons and do my duty.”

“You’re looking well, Emeline. Your exercise must’ve agreed with you,” said Somerton, his rigid demeanour so similar to that of his mother.

Emily smiled to herself, thinking of old Dr. Braden and the precious hours they had shared together. It was not only the colour and contours of his eyes, which his son, Leander, had inherited from him. “Indeed! It was
most
restorative,” she said, with an emphatic vivaciousness.

“I suppose,” added Wetherell, dressed in another outlandish combination of colours and collars, “if one enjoys that sort of thing, tramping about the county in the society of vagabonds.”

Emily swung toward him. “Really, sir, you should leave your club in St. James’s Street more frequently; you might be surprised to learn that your compatriots are not all hoydens and heathens.”