The Trouble With Emma (33 page)

Lizzy let out an exasperated breath. “Yes, we slept together…once! God, I wish I’d never told you,” she exclaimed. “It was a mistake to ever mention it.”

“Why? Because you still have feelings for him?”

“No!” Lizzy said sharply. “Because it meant nothing. Nothing! It was the result of mutual loneliness and an afternoon spent drinking far too much wine. We’re both too different to ever be more than friends, and we realised it straight away.”

“So I suppose,” Emma mused, her fingers tightening on the edge of the sink, “when things didn’t work out with you, Mark decided to move on to Bennet sister number two.”

Lizzy reached out to grip her by the shoulders and turned her around. “Em, stop it this instant! He chose
you
, not me, because he –” she paused.

“Because he what? Did he settle on me because I was available, because I was
here
? Should I be flattered by his condescension in choosing me?”

“Emma –”

“He’s bedded one sister, now it’s time to move on to the next,” she went on, her words grim. “And since we’re over, he and I, what now? Is Charlotte next on his agenda?”

“That’s a horrible thing to say,” Lizzy said sharply. “And completely unworthy of you.”

Emma pushed her sister’s hands away. “I saw you last night, Lizzy, when I brought Charli back home. I saw you both under the apple tree. I saw you and Mark –” her face crumpled. “I saw you in each other’s arms, and I knew at once it wasn’t over between the two of you.”

She began to cry, great, noisy, hiccupping sobs.

“Oh, Em,” Lizzy said gently, and drew her into her arms. “What a goose you are sometimes.” She stroked her sister’s hair. “You’ve got it wrong. So very wrong.”

And to Emma’s surprise, Lizzy began to laugh.

“It isn’t funny.” She lifted her tear-swollen face to regard her sister in outrage. “How dare you laugh at me when I’m in such pain –”

“I’m laughing,” she explained, drawing away with a smile, “because you’ve misread the situation, and jumped to conclusions like you always do, and you’ve got it so spectacularly wrong that I can’t help but find it funny.”

“Explain, please.” Emma wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Because I fail completely to see the least bit of humour in my present situation.”

“Come and sit down.” She guided her sister to the kitchen table, and they both sat down. “Mark came to talk to me early last night. He said it was very important.”

Emma was silent.

“He told me you’d gone to fetch Charlotte and it might be the only opportunity he’d have to speak with me alone.”

“He told you he still loved you, didn’t he?”

“No! He never loved me in the first place. Do be quiet and listen, Em,” Lizzy added irritably, “or I shan’t tell you anything.”

She drew in a deep, shuddery breath. “Right. Sorry.”

“We talked about London, and our time working together, and how long ago it all seemed. I told him how happy I am, how much I love Hugh and love being married to him. Time got away from us, and it was nearly dusk when he finally got up the nerve to tell me what he wanted to talk to me about.”

Emma stiffened. “Which was –?”

Lizzy bit her lip and eyed her indecisively. “I really shouldn’t tell you. I promised I wouldn’t…”

“If you don’t tell me what he said, and this instant,” Emma warned as she leaned forward, “I swear, Elizabeth Bennet, I’ll post that picture you took of Hugh in his Speedos on the yacht all over the internet. He’ll divorce you straight away.”

She laughed. “All right, all right! I’ll tell you. It isn’t really my secret to tell, and I’m betraying a confidence, but…” she sighed. “I hope Mark will forgive me, eventually.”

Emma’s heart was beating so loudly she was sure Lizzy could hear it. “Tell me, now. Please.”

She reached out and took her sister’s hands in hers. “He loves you, Emma. He’s head-over-heels, can’t-see-straight, madly in love with you. He intends to ask you to marry him but he wanted my opinion first. He knows how devoted you are to daddy, and he wasn’t sure if you’d be willing to leave Litchfield Manor. I told him,” she added firmly, “that daddy will be perfectly fine, and he should certainly ask you to marry him, and straight away.”

Emma was stunned. “I…I can scarcely believe it.”

Lizzy grinned. “I was so happy when he told me the news, I threw my arms around him and hugged him silly.”

“And that’s what I saw last night,” she said, slowly.

“That’s what you saw. That’s
all
you saw.”

Emma recalled the words Mark had flung at her so recently from the kitchen doorway.

I shall be very glad to be quit of this place – and of you – after tomorrow.

“Em?” Lizzy prodded. “Isn’t that the best, most exciting news?”

Emma didn’t answer. She scraped her chair back abruptly, choked back a sob, and ran, crying, from the room.

Chapter 60

Thankfully, Lizzy didn’t follow Emma upstairs. She locked her bedroom door and flung herself across the bed, weeping until her tears were spent and her throat was dry and sore.

What a great, colossal, bollocksing mess she’d made of everything.

Martine refused to speak to her since she’d all but forced the girl to cast Tom aside; and as for Mark…he was so angry he could barely look at her.

And who could blame him?

He’d planned to ask her to marry him, but now, because of her interference, because she’d humiliated and hurt Martine, a girl who’d trusted her, he looked on her with disgust.

And after tomorrow, he’d be gone.

She rolled onto her back, and a tear leaked out of the corner of her eye and streaked slowly down her face.

He knows how devoted you are to daddy,
Lizzy had said,
and he wasn’t sure if you’d be willing to leave Litchfield Manor.

Leaving Litchfield Manor wouldn’t be easy, she knew. A year ago, even a few months ago, she couldn’t have imagined it. The thought of leaving her father behind still felt like a tiny betrayal.

But he had Mrs Cusack to look after him now. Whatever else the woman might be – a gossip, a know-it-all, a talkative, inquisitive busybody – she was devoted to Mr Bennet. She baked for him, made his tea, talked to him, and kept him company.

So, Emma thought bitterly, the way was free and clear. She could leave Litchfield Manor and her father behind with a clear and untroubled conscience. How ironic that her own interference in Martine’s life – no matter how well intentioned it was – now made leaving impossible.

Mark Knightley was done, not only with Litchfield Manor and the programme; but with her, Emma Bennet, as well. And she had no one to blame for it but herself.

The doorbell rang downstairs. She sat up. Someone else could answer it.

As she went into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face, Emma stared at herself in the mirror. She looked ghastly. Her face was puffy and her eyelashes were matted and damp. She was just reaching for lipstick and mascara when the doorbell went again.

After repairing the damage as best she could and dragging a brush through her hair, Emma went downstairs to answer the door. Two people stood on the front steps – Tom Carter, and an attractive young woman.

Emma frowned. The woman looked familiar, but she couldn’t think why.

“Hello, Tom,” she said, and held the door wider. She glanced at the woman. “Is this your date?”

“My date?” He shook his head. “No. We just happened to arrive at the same time.” He thrust out his hand to the attractive blonde. “Tom. Nice to meet you.”

“Hello, Tom. I’m Nicky. James Churchill’s plus one,” she said, and smiled as she took Tom’s hand briefly in hers. She turned to Emma. “I’m sorry that James and I didn’t arrive together, but I was running a little late. I often do.”

“Oh, that’s quite all right,” Emma assured her. “It’s an open house, after all, so everyone’s free to come and go as they please. Mr Churchill’s outside. Drinks are on the terrace, do help yourself.”

As she directed Nicky down the hall to the French doors, Tom remained behind. He looked uncomfortable. “Thanks for the invite. Is…Martine anywhere about?” he asked, his expression wary and hopeful in equal measure.

Emma hesitated. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “She was until a few minutes ago, but I haven’t seen her –”

“I’m here, Tom.” Martine came down the stairs, her hand trailing the banister and her earlier tears scrubbed away, and stopped before him. She smiled shyly. “Would…would you like to go outside and get a drink?”

His expression, at first guarded, relaxed into a smile. “I would. Thanks.”

He held out his arm, and together they went down the hall towards the terrace.

“The Pimm’s is very good, but the Bloody Marys are a bit strong,” she confided with a giggle. “I think I dumped a little too much vodka in the pitcher…”

Emma saw Nicky, glass in hand, pause just outside the French doors to greet Mr Churchill, and as he leaned forward to kiss her, she remembered where she’d seen the woman.

Of course! This was the blonde in the poppy-print dress who’d stood, angrily texting, outside the Natural History Museum the day she and Mark took his nephews to London.

She was obviously James’s girlfriend. He slid his arm around her waist and drew her away to introduce her to his circle of acquaintances.

Right, Emma decided grimly. It was time she got back out there and acted like a proper hostess.

And as she pasted on a smile and went out through the French doors to the terrace, she sent up a silent but heartfelt prayer that her path and Mr Knightley’s would not cross again.

***

“Feeling better, daddy?” Emma asked a few minutes later as she spotted Mr Bennet near the dessert table, a mini apple pie poised halfway to his mouth.

He lowered it guiltily. “Much better, thanks, as you can see. I was just trying another of Maureen’s apple tarts. They’re very good, but I do believe she put in a tad too much cinnamon. I needed to be sure.”

“Is that right?” Mrs Cusack demanded as she joined them. “Well, that’s as may be, but at least they’re not bland and lacking in flavour like yours, William. Seasoning in food is
so
very important, you know.”

“You have your first critic, daddy,” Emma observed, and bit back a smile. Her smile faded as she caught sight of Mark Knightley. He stood on the lower terrace by the garden, deep in conversation with Tom and Martine. With his dark hair ruffled by the breeze and his casual, don’t-give-a-damn demeanor, he was quite the handsomest man at the party.

As far as she was concerned, he was the only man at the party.

She was about to turn away when he sensed her gaze on him, and glanced up. Their eyes locked.

So much for prayers, Emma thought crossly.

Just then she heard the sound of someone tapping a knife against a glass, and Mr Churchill called out, “May I have everyone’s attention, please? It won’t take long. I promise you, this isn’t a long-winded toast.”

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd.

“I have an announcement to make.” He smiled across the terrace at Emma. “I hope you don’t mind if I share my news with everyone here, Miss Bennet –?”

“Not at all, Mr Churchill,” she assured him. “We’re intrigued. Please do tell us, and put us out of suspense.”

“Well…if you insist.” More laughter as he rubbed his hands together in obvious anticipation, and his gaze skimmed over the crowd. “Darling, if you’d come up here and join me, please?”

There was a ripple in the crowd as Isabella Fairfax stood and began to make her way forward through the throng, a smug smile on her face.

But before Mrs Cusack’s niece could go up and take her place beside James, Nicky emerged and came to stand beside him. He put his arm around her shoulder and leaned forward to kiss her.

Isabella, her face at first registering confusion and then disbelief, came to an abrupt halt halfway across the terrace.

Mr Churchill beamed out at the gathered guests.

“And now, without further delay, my announcement. It’s my very great pleasure to introduce you all to the lovely lady beside me…please welcome my wife, Nicky.”

Chapter 61

After a moment of shocked silence, everyone began to exclaim and speak at once.

“His
wife
?” Emma breathed, stunned. “But I’d no idea James was married! He never once mentioned a wife.”

“Those sorts of men never do,” Mrs Cusack sniffed. “They take off their wedding ring, and string some poor girl along with empty promises, pretending to be single all the while. It’s a sin of omission of the very
worst
kind!”

Mr Churchill lowered his arm from Nicky’s shoulders and lifted his glass. “I’d like to raise a toast to my beautiful wife, if I may.”

There followed a smattering of applause and several offerings of ‘hear, hear’.

“We’ve been separated for the past few months, Nicky and I, since I arrived here in Litchfield; so it’s been a difficult summer for me,” he admitted, and glanced over at his wife. “But everyone, most particularly Emma Bennet, welcomed me and made me feel at home, right from the start. Thank you, Miss Bennet.”

More clapping, and Emma blushed and smiled at him.

“I truly thought Nicky and I were over,” Mr Churchill went on, “and our marriage would end in divorce. I’m very happy to say that we were able to work things out.”

Another polite ripple of applause followed his words.

“I just bet you are. Happy, that is.”

Everyone turned in surprise as Isabella Fairfax strode forward to stand before the couple, her hands clasped loosely before her. A hush settled over the gathering.

Churchill blanched. “Miss Fairfax.”

“The question is,” she went on, fixing him with an icy glare, “are you happy because you’ve got your wife back, James, or because you’ve got your hands on all of her lovely money once again?”

Nicky gasped. “What? How
dare
you! Who are you?”

“I’m your husband’s personal assistant.” Isabella’s glanced flicked from Mr Churchill to his wife. “I’ve been personally…
assisting
him, all summer.”

Her meaning could not be mistaken.

Emma remembered the conversation she’d overheard after leaving Weston’s Bakery that day not so long ago.