The Trouble With Emma (11 page)

Emma’s smile was polite. “Perhaps.” She was about to excuse herself and turn away to the kitchen when another man made his way down the garden path to join Isabella and James.

Mark Knightley.

He extended his hand to James and Miss Fairfax in turn and engaged Isabella in conversation. Her face dimpled into smiles, and she let out a light trill of laughter.

Knightley was plainly captivated.

A flicker of irritation – and something akin, perhaps, to jealousy – swept over her. Miss Fairfax had an uncanny ability to draw handsome men into her orbit like a blossom attracting every passing bee…which fact Emma found quite annoying. Not only was the girl pretty; she was clever, as well.

No wonder James – and Mr Knightley – were so taken with her.

“Well, it looks like Mr Knightley’s wasted no time introducing himself to Isabella,” Mrs Cusack remarked, echoing Emma’s thoughts. “And quite a handsome man he is, too,” she added. “One way or another, I hear wedding bells in the offing, mark my words!”

Emma’s lips were stiff from smiling. “I’d best refill the sandwich tray. If you’ll excuse me –?”

As she returned to the kitchen and took a fresh tray of egg-and-cress sandwiches from the refrigerator, she couldn’t help but wonder what Isabella and James had been talking about.

Whatever the subject, it had plainly made Mrs Cusack’s niece unhappy. And that hardly seemed like a conversation between two people who’d only just met.

She glanced out the window and her gaze went straight to the rose garden. Mr Churchill was gone, leaving Mark and Isabella to continue their conversation together.

Emma frowned. She wondered why the sight of Mark Knightley talking to Isabella Fairfax – and making her laugh – bothered her so much. It was surely only polite, meaningless chitchat between two acquaintances at a garden party. Nothing more.

Besides…she was interested in James,
not
Mark.

Jealousy’s such a petty, childish emotion, Emma Bennet
, she scolded herself as she took up the tray and headed for the door.
It’s beneath you. Stop it, at once.

But her irritation with Mark – and with Isabella Fairfax as well – remained firmly in place for the rest of the afternoon.

Chapter 19

As the last of the guests left, Emma stood on the doorstep and said her goodbyes to Hugh and Lizzy.

“I’ll call you next week,” she promised her sister. “Let me know once you’ve arrived safely in London.”

“I will. Thanks, Em. You ought to come visit us,” Lizzy called out as she stood beside Hugh’s hire car. “We’ve plenty of room. Why not next weekend? We’ll have lunch, go shopping…have a hen party.”

“I’d like that.”

“Bring Charli too, if you wish.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” Emma said. “Letting Charli loose in the city?”

“We’ll keep an eye on her,” Lizzy promised. “And at least there’s no chance of another Ciaran incident.” She eyed her sister meaningfully. “He’s filming in Australia at the moment.”

Ciaran Duncan, the actor who’d stayed at Cleremont earlier in the summer during the filming of
Pride and Prejudice
, had swept the star-struck Charlotte off her feet with his attentions…and like Mr Wickham, the character he’d portrayed in the film, had almost convinced her to run off with him.

Emma shuddered at the memory. “What a disaster that nearly was. Although we needn’t worry – Charli got over him the second she caught him snogging Cara Winslow.”

Cara was the leading lady who’d played the part of Elizabeth Bennet.

“I’m sure daddy won’t object to a couple of days of peace and quiet,” Lizzy added. “Between the incident with Charli and Ciaran, and my wedding, he’ll welcome the solitude.”

“It seems I can’t escape you Bennet women,” Hugh said, and smiled over at Emma. “Thank you again. Please tell your father how much we enjoyed ourselves. We’ll see you and Charlotte at the weekend, I hope?”

“I can’t wait.”

She waved as they drove off, and noticed as she did that James’s Lamborghini was still parked nearby.

“Emma,” Mr Bennet called out from the kitchen, “will you help me bring in the plates and cups from the terrace, please?”

“Of course.” She shut the door and made her way back down the hall to the kitchen and through to the terrace. As she began gathering up plates and cups she heard someone giggle.

Mr Churchill and Martine were talking under the shade of the old oak. Martine held a tray of uneaten fairy cakes and tarts in front of her – there weren’t many left, Emma noticed with satisfaction – and she looked as pretty and fresh now as she’d done two hours ago.

She turned away with a smile. Mr Churchill was an inveterate flirt, and very popular with the ladies. And he was nothing if not generous with his attentions.

He’d focused himself first on her, then Isabella – although Emma was sure there was something more between them than a mere flirtation – and now Martine, all in the space of scarcely two hours.

Emma’s smile faded. Although she liked James, and enjoyed his company immensely, she began to suspect she could never be happy with a man of such profligate attentions.

She could not – no, she
would
not – watch from the sidelines as he flirted and charmed his way through the female population of Litchfield.

Whomever she chanced to fall in love with, of one thing she was determined. She must be the first in his affections.

Perhaps it was best, Emma decided, to cease her own flirtation with Mr Churchill, no matter how harmless it might be, and instead focus her attentions elsewhere…on James and Martine, for instance.

She paused now at the sound of his laughter and turned to study the two of them. They made a handsome couple. Martine was young and pretty and vibrant, and Mr Churchill had an excess of charm, a pleasant nature, and striking good looks – not to mention Crossley Hall and an expensive car, all things sure to impress a young woman like Martine.

James was wealthy and settled, and he’d make the girl –
any
girl – a perfect husband. The only drawback to her newly hatched matchmaking scheme, Emma realised, was Mr Churchill himself. For if she transferred her attentions from him and manoeuvered Martine in his path instead, she’d undoubtedly rouse his suspicions and deflate his delicate male pride.

But the end justified the means, surely?

“There you are, Emma,” Mr Bennet said, interrupting her thoughts as she returned to the kitchen and began putting plates and cups into the sink to be washed. “Mrs Davies just called. She can’t pick Martine up as she’s not feeling well. Would you mind taking her home in a few minutes?”

“No, not at all.” Thoughtfully, she squirted dish detergent into the sink and filled it with hot water. “I’ll let the dishes soak and go and take care of it right now.”

She returned to the terrace and saw Martine and James still talking under the oak tree, and paused. Mrs Davies had just handed her a perfect way to nudge the two potential lovebirds closer together.

“Martine,” she called out as she went down the terrace steps to join them, “I’m so sorry, but your mum’s just called to say she can’t pick you up. She’s not feeling well.”

“Oh! Well, I’d best find a way home then, and right away. Poor mum.” The girl smiled apologetically at Emma. “Would you mind calling a taxi for me? I’d do it myself but I forgot to bring my phone.”

“Nonsense,” Emma said, her words brisk. “I’ll take you home, it’s the least I can do.” She cast a regretful look at the piles of dirtied dishes and glasses littering the tables and sighed. “This mess will just have to wait.”

“I won’t hear of it, Emma,” Mr Churchill told her firmly. “You and your father have far too much to do. I’d be happy to take Martine home.”

Martine regarded him in surprise. “You would, sir? But I-I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Why not? I don’t mind in the least.”

“Thank you,” Emma said gratefully. Just as she’d hoped, Mr Churchill had played right into her plans. “How very kind. I’d take her myself, but…” She sighed and glanced once again at the plates and cups and crumpled napkins piled up everywhere.

“It’s no trouble,” he assured her. “It’s time I left anyway. It seems everyone else is gone,” he added as he glanced around, surprised. “I enjoyed myself so much,” he added as he smiled at Emma and Martine in turn, “that time got away from me. Are you ready to go, Miss Davies?”

“Yes,” the girl said. “Thank you.”

Martine returned to the house to get her purse, and as the two of them drove away a few minutes later in Mr Churchill’s car, Emma waved goodbye, feeling very pleased with herself.

Perhaps Mrs Cusack was right, she mused as she shut the front door. Perhaps there
would
be a wedding in Litchfield again, and soon.

But it wouldn’t be herself standing next to James Churchill at the altar, or, God forbid, Isabella Fairfax.
No
, Emma reflected with sudden determination,
with a bit of luck and a tiny push or two from me, I’ll see Martine exchange her vows with James before the year is ended.

With a small, self-satisfied smile, she returned to the kitchen, and turned her attention to washing up the dishes that waited in the sink.

Chapter 20

As promised, Simon Fox and Jacquetta Winspear arrived at Litchfield Manor promptly at nine o’clock on Tuesday morning.

After a flurry of how-do-you-dos and a great deal of barking from Elton, Mr Bennet led their guests to the drawing room and Emma hurried into the kitchen to let the dog out and make tea.

How strange it all was, she thought as she switched the kettle on and listened with one ear to the conversation going on down the hall. Simon was taller than she’d expected, formal and painfully polite, with the beginnings of a bald spot at the back of his head; Jacquetta was vivacious and pretty, full of complaints about the ‘odious’ late-summer traffic and the ‘horrific’ throngs of tourists in Litchfield.

Emma suspected her father was a bit overwhelmed by their new London guests, and hurried to set a tray with cups and saucers and their best china teapot and carried it into the drawing room.

“Here we are,” she said as she set the tray down on the coffee table. After dispensing tea and biscuits to everyone (except Jacquetta, who waved the Hobnobs away with an expression of horror), Emma sat down and balanced her cup and saucer on her lap and smiled over at Simon. “I expect you’d like a tour of the house when we’ve finished our tea.”

He nodded. “I would, very much. Although I must confess that Litchfield Manor is a bit smaller than we’d anticipated.”

“Very much so,” Jacquetta agreed, and took a tiny sip of tea. “Most of the properties we feature on
Mind Your Manors
are grade-I or II listed.” She glanced around the room, with its faded drapery and carpet, with a practised – and somewhat jaundiced – eye. “Your house isn’t listed, and it certainly isn’t a stately, is it? Nevertheless, it’s plain enough the place is in dire need of our help.” She glanced up at the brown water rings on the ceiling with a raised brow.

“Litchfield Manor is the former vicarage,” Mr Bennet informed her. “You’re quite correct that it isn’t a stately, nor is it listed, but it’s stood here since 1772 and is filled with history nonetheless…a duel, for instance, once took place here in 1816.”

“That’s all very well, Mr Bennet,” Ms Winspear said in polite dismissal, “but your home is hardly
old
in comparison to one of those ancient Tudor manses, for instance.”

Emma set her cup back in its saucer with a deliberate motion. “Then I’m sorry if we’ve wasted your time.” She put the cup aside and stood abruptly. “I’ll show you out.”

“Oh! Please don’t take offence, Miss Bennet.” Simon set his cup and saucer down as well. “We’ve no interest in leaving, we only just got here. And I would very much like to take a tour of the house and grounds.”

Confusion skimmed her face. “But I thought…Ms Winspear just indicated that Litchfield Manor isn’t qualified to be featured on your programme.”

“Normally we only feature listed properties, it’s true. But we haven’t ruled the Manor out yet.” He glanced at Jacquetta pointedly. “Have we, Jacqui?”

“No, of course not.” She smiled brightly at Emma and Mr Bennet in turn. “Let’s start that tour now, shall we? Let me just run to the powder room and freshen up first.”

Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes. At least she hadn’t called it ‘the little girls’ room’. But she couldn’t help noticing, as she stood and led them back out into the hallway, that her father was quick to volunteer to show Ms Winspear the way.

As he and Jacquetta turned the corner, Simon turned to Emma with a smile of apology. “I’m sorry if my co-presenter came off a bit rude.” He lowered his voice. “She has that tendency at times, but she means no harm. She’s a bit blunt.”

A bit?
Emma thought. “Oh, it’s fine,” she assured him. “She was so very…dismissive, that I honestly thought she wasn’t interested in the house.”

He glanced with interest at the crown mouldings and cornice work in the dining room. “Tact isn’t one of Jacqui’s virtues, unfortunately, and she tends to make snap judgments. She also favours sprawling family piles over smaller properties. And while it’s true that Litchfield Manor is modest in size, Mark was right – it has a certain undeniable charm.”

“Mark?” She looked over at him in surprise. “Mark Knightley said that?”

“He did. He was quite taken with –” he paused. “With your house, and is convinced it’ll make for an excellent episode of
Mind Your Manors
.” Simon smiled at her. “I’m inclined to agree.”

“Thank you,” Emma murmured as Jacquetta and Mr Bennet returned, having stopped to look in at the library on their way back. “I’m glad at least
one
of you finds us worthy.”

***

After completing a tour of the house and grounds with Emma and Mr Bennet an hour later, Simon and Jacquetta pronounced themselves satisfied.

“You’ll receive a contract shortly,” Simon told Emma. “It’s all bog-standard stuff but I recommend you have a lawyer look it over, particularly if you’ve any doubts or questions. In the meantime –” he glanced at Jacquetta. “We’ll draw up our list of recommendations.”