Emily and the Dark Angel (27 page)

Emily awoke, and the sun told her it was later than her usual time for rising. She also remembered it was the day she was to go hunting. She wondered what Marcus and her father would have to say to that but didn’t much care for her mind was full of Verderan and their future together. She hummed happily as she dressed in her habit and went to the door, only remembering when it refused to open that it was locked.

Really, she thought with a frown, this was ridiculous. She’d been so tired last night after all the excitement that she hadn’t been able to work herself up about it, but now she felt irritated. She wasn’t a schoolgirl, after all.

She knocked, and called genteelly. After a little while she heard Junia say, “Henry’s got the key and he says they’re not ready yet.”

“They?” asked Emily. “Who’s they?”

“He, Marcus, and Hector.”

“Well, how ridiculous,” said Emily. “Do they think I’m going to meekly fall in with whatever mad plan they come up with?”

“In a word, yes. Shall I go and get an ax?”

“Only as a last resort,” said Emily. She looked around her room and found a large brass tray and a hard-heeled shoe. “If you want to help, Junia,” she said through the door, “you could ring that old gong in the dining room.” Then she applied shoe to tray.

It made a satisfying crash.

In a few moments the resonant sound of the old gong joined in. Just to add to the mayhem, Emily took to marching around her room in her boots, stamping in time with the crash of the tray.

The gong stopped.

After a moment her door was opened by a laughing Marcus. “You’re utterly mad!” he declared.

Emily looked at him, saw he wasn’t the enemy, and fell into his arms. This time she wasn’t repulsed.

“Oh, Marcus. I really am glad you’re home,” she said, half crying.

“And I’m glad for whatever it is has happened to you, Emily. But be gentle with Father. He’s confused and afraid.”

“Why afraid?”

He came to perch on the corner of her bed while she restored her instruments to their proper places. “He can’t believe that a man like Piers Verderan wants to marry you,” he said simply. “Don’t blame him. You used to be a meek little sparrow and you’ve turned into . . . I don’t know. An eagle?”

“Thank you!” Emily declared.

“My pleasure,” he responded. “I realized it almost as soon as I saw you again. But it’s crept up on him and he can’t quite grasp it yet. He’s worried that you’re going to cause a scandal, and get hurt. He’s also terrified that I’ll call the man out for it and get killed. He seems to think he kills at the drop of a hat.”

“Not quite,” said Emily. “But he has killed two men in duels.” She was determined not to try to whitewash Verderan.

Marcus looked startled, but said, “I’ve killed a few myself. One does in a war. Perhaps he had reason.”

Emily smiled and gave him her hand. “I think you’ll like him. Truly. Now, I’d better come down and sort things out.”

He raised a brow at this decided utterance and looked her over. “You’re dressed for riding roughshod. Tread softly, Emily.”

“I’ll be as soft as I can and still get my way,” she replied. “And I am dressed for hunting.” She swept out and down the stairs before he could ask the startled question on his lips.

In her father’s room, Hector sat looking sanctimonious. But he held his tongue.

Sir Henry said, “What in Hades do you think you’re doing, girl?”

“Getting out of my room,” said Emily pleasantly. “Good morning, Father. Hector.”

Her cheery normalcy dumbfounded them, but Sir Henry rallied. “It’s just possible that Hector here will make you an offer, Emily, if you promise—”

“How kind of you,” Emily said to Hector, keeping up her smile. “But I’m afraid I am already pledged to another.”

“Nonsense,” said Hector, growing flushed. “Even if he was to offer you marriage, would you really marry a man who has a loose woman installed in his house? One he paid for?”

“I’m sure you’ll be delighted to learn,” said Emily, “that Titania is in London, learning her new trade as an actress.”

Hector didn’t look delighted. “I would if I believed it,” he scoffed.

“Believe what you want.” She turned back to Sir Henry. “Father, I am going hunting, and there I will formally become engaged to marry Piers Verderan, who is, incidentally, now Lord Templemore.”

Her father gaped. “Hunting!”

“So she says,” supplied Marcus, leaning against the door and looking amused.

“Oh Lord!” gasped Emily.

“Finally come to your senses?” barked Sir Henry.

“No, but Father, we’ve sold Wallingford!”

“What!” asked Marcus, ceasing to be amused.

“And Verderan and Randal are riding Nelson and Oak-apple. We’d best make sure they don’t sell them too!”

“You’re damn right!” exclaimed Marcus. “Why are you selling the hunters?”

“To pay for the sheep ...” Emily started to laugh at the look on his face.

“The world has gone mad,” he declared.

“I know,” she gasped. “It’s
Poudre de Violettes
. I must have brought enough home on my clothes to influence everyone!”

“Sir Henry,” said Hector. “It distresses me to have to say this, but Emily is undoubtedly unbalanced.”

“Oh, stubble it, Hector,” said Marcus. “This business with the horses is serious! I’m coming with you, Emily. No one is selling the hunters.”

“Hold on,” said Sir Henry. “You’re not leaving me here! Hector, you’ve got your gig?”

Hector allowed that to be so. “Give me a ride,” demanded Sir Henry.

“Father—” Emily protested, but then stopped herself. If Sir Henry could get about, it would do him a world of good.

“Go away,” Sir Henry said, “and send Oswald to dress me. Then he and Marcus can carry me out.”

Emily waited in the hall, fretting a little at the passage of time, but not able to disappoint her father if he were truly willing to make the attempt to leave his bed. Marcus had rushed off to change into riding gear. Hector merely stood, looking offended.

Emily tried to think of something healing to say to him, but suspected anything she said would only bring on a new diatribe. She decided it was charitable, if conceited, to believe he was suffering from, not a broken, but a slightly bruised heart.

Junia appeared and asked, “Why are you hanging about? Not turning chicken-hearted, are you?”

“No,” said Emily with a rueful shrug. “But Marcus wants to come and make sure no one sells the horses and Father’s decided to come too. Why don’t you join us,” she asked facetiously, “and make it a family gathering?”

Junia looked much struck. “And Helen Sillitoe’s up at Hume House?”

“Yes,” said Emily, confused.

“I think I’ll go riding too.”

“But you haven’t ridden in years!”

“I still have a habit somewhere,” said Junia and hurried off.

Emily just shook her head and eyed the clock.

Soon Sir Henry was ready and was carried on linked hands out to the gig, without apparent pain, though he grumbled and cursed at his useless legs. Hector continued to voice disapproval of the whole business.

“Shut up, Hector,” said Sir Henry, “and drive. No, wait. Marcus, fetch me a loaded pistol.”

“What on earth for?” asked Marcus.

“Impudent cub! Do as you’re told.” When his son still hesitated, he said, “If that fellow hurts my girl,
I’m
going to shoot him. There’s not much they can do to me for it, is there?”

Marcus shook his head but went on the errand.

Emily looked at her father, quite touched. “Just you be sure, Father,” she warned, “that I have some complaint before you fire.”

Soon Marcus was back, and the gig set off down the road at a steady pace. Emily and her brother hurried down to the stables to find their own mounts.

There they realized they had a shortage of good horses. Marcus went straight to Beelzebub, a bright light in his eye.

“He’s mine,” said Emily firmly. “You can ride Corsair, or one of the three-year-olds.”

“Yours? How could you afford a horse like this?”

“He’s Ver’s,” she said softly, and stroked Bel’s velvety nose. “He never lets anyone ride him, but he’s letting me today.”

Marcus looked at her, and the horse. “He really is going to marry you, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” she said. “Unless, of course, I’m late and he shoots himself from grief. Choose a horse, for heaven’s sake.”

When Haverby told her Junia had ordered Venus saddled up and had headed out at a bouncing canter, Emily felt it was in keeping with the way the world was these days. She had thought she was going to ride out lonely and nervous to make a spectacle of herself. Now she was going with her whole family in train and didn’t feel strange at all.

Just impatient.

Soon they were ready. They set off at a gentle pace, and soon caught up with the gig.

Emily slowed to match the vehicle’s pace, though she longed to race to Verderan. She consulted her small fob watch. “If we’re going to be late, I’m riding ahead,” she warned them.

“Emily,” said Hector, “your forwardness astonishes me.”

“Hector,” said Marcus. “You’re turning into a prosy bore. A vicar doesn’t have to be a dull stick, you know. Kirby Gate?” he asked Emily.

“Of course. Always is for the first meeting of the Quorn. Hector, I’m sure you could go a little faster without hurting Father.” Hector reluctantly urged his horse to more vigor.

“I’d give my right hand for that horse,” Marcus said, looking Bel over enviously.

“Make do with Nelson,” she said. “He’s turned out very well.”

“If Verderan’s going to be my brother-in-law, perhaps he can put me in the way of some good horseflesh.”

“Perhaps. He does have a place in Ireland now.”

“Good Lord,” he said. “You’re going to be ‘my lady.’ Will I have to bow and scrape? And you’ll outrank Anne. That’ll put her nose out of joint!”

“Marcus,” said Emily, “stubble it.”

 

 

At the meeting of the Quorn hunt Sophie was almost unaware of the notice her presence was attracting. She was too concerned over Emily’s nonappearance.

“Where is she?” she asked Randal. “There’s only ten minutes to go. After last night I can’t believe she’d fail now.”

“Anything could have happened,” said Randal and eyed Verderan. “I’m just not sure what Ver’s going to do if he’s stretched too tight. At least Osbaldeston’s not here.”

Verderan was sitting like a statue, watching the road down which Emily would have to come. Nelson moved occasionally under him and was controlled instinctively, but the horse too seemed to be still and focused.

The Master of the Quorn passed by. “Ashby!” exclaimed Assheton-Smith. “Good to see you out. Heard you weren’t going to hunt this year.” He smiled dryly at Sophie. “If we have to accept Lady Randal as the price of your presence, so be it.”

“Mr. Assheton-Smith,” said Sophie pertly, “there is no reason a lady cannot hunt.”

“Certainly there is,” he said. “You are designed by God to distract men.”

“Then perhaps men shouldn’t hunt,” offered Sophie with a twinkle.

“Take her away, Ashby,” said the Master with a groan. “I’d rather have balloons any day! Good day, Ver.”

Verderan looked around briefly with a slight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Tom.”

He immediately looked back to the road, and Assheton-Smith raised a brow. Before Randal could explain, Verderan stiffened. They all followed his intent gaze.

Down the road came not a lone rider, racing to be on time, but a slow cavalcade—one gig, one curricle, and a whole bunch of riders. One was Emily.

Randal grinned with relief. Verderan relaxed. “Care to see what’s going on?” he asked Randal and Sophie. “Don’t start the hunt without us, Tom!”

“I will start the hunt when I see fit,” Assheton-Smith called after him. “And don’t create any fiascoes. I’ll have no sideshows with the Quorn!”

Verderan raced Nelson towards the procession, registering blankly that Sir Henry was in the gig, but with eyes only for Emily.

When he was halfway, she set Beelzebub forward and raced to meet him. They ended, unsatisfactorily, feet apart.

“I suppose I can do without kissing you for a little while,” he said, smiling brilliantly.

“I suppose,” said Emily, equally besotted. “And don’t you dare think this was simple.”

“Has anything ever been for us?” He looked over at her entourage. “Moral support? Protection?”

Emily gave a look of exasperation. “Just family,” she said. “And friends. I hope you’re prepared for this after years of doing without. Your mother’s here too.”

“What?” he looked in surprise at the curricle driven by Junia Grantwich and containing his mother and Margaret Marshalswick.

“Junia decided your mother should witness this momentous event, then she thought she might as well pick up Margo.”

Randal came up. “That’s my curricle,” he said blankly, and rode off to see the damage.

“And your father?” Verderan asked.

“He’s risen from his sickbed to shoot you if you reject me,” said Emily with relish. “The tall strapping fellow is my brother Marcus, who has promised not to call you out, even if you do reject me, but who will doubtless beat you to a pulp.”

He smiled at her. “I’m utterly cowed and in your power.”

“I know,” she said.

He dug in his pocket and produced a square-cut ruby. “Are you prepared to wear this?”

She took off her glove and held out her hand. “When did you buy that?” she asked as he slipped it on.

“About a week ago. I told you I was a conceited fellow. Is it safe now to go closer to your protectors?”

They rode over.

“You’re supposed to ask my permission,” said Sir Henry gruffly.

“Ah, but I’m such a stiff-necked fellow I couldn’t think of it until I was sure she’d accept me.” He held out a hand to Marcus. “Welcome home.”