The Trouble With Emma (25 page)

“But I do owe her,” Martine said, her voice barely audible. “I always will. You don’t…you don’t understand.”

“Damn right I don’t! Why don’t you tell me, then?” he demanded. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re so happy to let Emma Bennet run roughshod over your life?”

Emma’s eyes widened. Run roughshod…? Was that truly how Tom saw her? How other people saw her? As a meddlesome, controlling cow, interfering in their affairs?

Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them away. She only meant to try and ease the path to happiness for those around her. Was that really such a terrible thing?

“All right, I will!” Martine cried. “I’ll tell you why I give Emma a free hand with my life.” She dragged in a breath. “My dad died when I was eleven, on Christmas Eve. He was hit by a car while ’e was crossing the street, on his way home.”

There was a beat of silence. “Oh, shit, Mart,” Tom breathed, stricken. “God – I’m sorry. I didn’t know –”

“He went out at the last minute to buy mum a present,” she went on, her voice a dull monotone. “A bracelet she saw in the jeweller’s window and said she liked. It was meant to be a surprise when she got home from cleaning her last house.”

Tom was silent.

“Someone – pissed to the gills, no doubt – came flyin’ round the corner in a car and plowed into ’im. Hit and run. Dad died before they could get him to hospital, of massive internal injuries.”

“Oh, hell, Martine! I can’t even begin to imagine…” His voice trailed away. “I hope the police caught whoever did it, I hope they threw the book at ’em –”

“No. No one saw it happen.” She shook her head. “It was Christmas Eve, and snowing pretty heavily, so most folk were home already. Besides…what good would it have done, anyway?” she asked, resigned. “No amount of money – or punishment – would’ve brought my dad back.”

“Look, what happened to your father was terrible,” Tom said, his words gentle. “No question. But I don’t see what any of it has to do with Miss Bennet.”

“She was there for me, Tom, through all of it. Her and Mr Bennet – Father Bennet, as he was – they brought us food, and coffee and tea, and cakes and casseroles from the ladies at church. That’s how I got this,” she added, and looked down at her rounded stomach and hips in disgust. “I ate constantly; I couldn’t seem to stop. Long as I had a gob full of cookies or cake, I was happy. At least I wasn’t thinking about dad. Every evening Emma came and sat with me, or we watched telly, or she read to me.” She smiled faintly. “
The Wind in the Willows
, it was.”

“I didn’t know. About any of it.”

Martine sniffled. “You wouldn’t, would you? I never really thanked Em for any of it. I could barely put a sentence together for months afterwards. I was a mess. But I never forgot how kind she was. Of course I was grateful for the piles of books she brought me, and the puzzles, and the clothes, even if some of ’em didn’t fit me properly. But mostly, I was grateful just to have a friend, a real friend. And that’s what Emma was – and still is – to me. A friend when I needed one.”

Tom was silent.

“I know people think Miss Em’s a snob,” Martine went on. “They think she’s critical and bossy and has her own way too much. And it’s true, I suppose.” Martine paused to sniffle once again. “But she’s also the best, most kind-hearted person I-I’ve ever known.”

Emma brushed at the tears tracking down her face with the back of her hand. Gratitude welled in her chest at Martine’s words, and she managed a watery smile.

“It still doesn’t give her the right to tell you how to run your life,” Tom said. “How many years ago was that? Eight? Ten? How long until you finally tell her to leave off and mind her own business?”

“The truth is, Tom, I…I feel sorry for her,” Martine confessed.

Emma’s smile froze.

“Sorry for Emma Bennet?” he echoed. “What for? She lives at Litchfield Manor – which isn’t exactly a council estate, mind – her brother-in-law is the richest man in England, and she doesn’t have to work for a living like the rest of us. Why the
hell
would you feel sorry for her?”

“Because she has no one,” Martine said. “Her mum died, and now Lizzy’s married and then Charli’ll be off to uni; and Mr Bennet will likely ask Mrs Cusack to marry him before long. I think Emma feels like a – a third wheel.”

“I wouldn’t worry. Just like her sister, she’ll marry a rich bloke of her own before long. Mr Churchill, if I were a betting man, or someone similar.”

“No.” Her words were emphatic. “She’s very particular, is Miss Em. She won’t settle for just anyone.”

Tom let out a derisive snort. “Then she’ll either need to lower her lofty standards or resign herself to being an old maid. And
you
need to quit wasting time feeling sorry for her – and stop letting her run your bloody life!”

“Tom, wait!” Martine cried. “Where are you going?”

“Back to work. No point wasting my breath trying to convince you to change your mind. It sounds like Miss Bennet’s already made it up for you.”

“Tom, please, don’t go –”

Emma winced as she heard the back door slam, followed by silence.

Poor Martine.

Although she heard the muffled sound of the girl’s sobs, and although she knew the whole regrettable incident was entirely her fault, Emma decided it wisest to keep her counsel and remain in the kitchen, and she quietly took down the plates and set the table for their dinner.

Chapter 45

Crossley Hall had never looked more stunning that it did the afternoon of Mr Churchill’s party.

As Emma came through the gates and up the drive with her father and her sister Charlotte, she was struck anew by the transformation James had wrought in the place.

Gone were the encroaching vines and blank, lifeless windows; today the glass sparkled and the stone face of the Hall gleamed, its soft biscuit colour restored after the removal of centuries of dirt, and the parapet and chimneys stood in sharp relief against the August sky.

“How lovely it all is,” she murmured, her eyes sweeping over the elegant façade. “And how wonderful to see it restored to its former glory.”

“Amazing what money can do,” Mr Bennet observed tersely, “is it not? A pity we can’t effect such a transformation as this at Litchfield Manor.”

Emma and Charlotte exchanged glances. Their father, realising the manor house could not become a proper riding centre without far greater expense than they could reasonably afford, had subsided into a grim melancholy that nothing – not even the purchase by his daughters of a new scone cookery book for his birthday – could alleviate.

“Can’t they turn Litchfield Manor into a – a bed and breakfast, or a hotel, instead?” Charli asked.

Emma shook her head. “According to Simon, our house wouldn’t be a draw for the sort of people we want to attract – people with money.”

“It’s true Litchfield is small,” Charli agreed, “but it’s quiet, and lovely. I should think that’d be enough.”

“It takes a great deal of effort and cost – a chef, a maid, food and linens and whatnot – to kit the house out properly for guests. We’d be lucky to break even. Not to mention, daddy hates the idea,” Emma added. “But the country setting’s likely to appeal to the smart set if we can offer a top-notch riding experience.”

They stopped to greet Lady de Byrne and Imogen. “Such a delightful property,” Hugh’s godmother declared as she studied the gardens and the soft green slope of the lawn. “Have you seen the view from the back of the house, Mr Bennet? It’s really quite glorious. You can see all the way to Torquay.”

When he averred that he had not had the pleasure, she drew her arm through his and led him away, Imogen trailing behind them.

“Poor daddy,” Charli sighed as she watched them disappear around the corner. “He’s worried he can’t afford to keep Litchfield Manor much longer.” She surveyed the cars parked along the length of the drive. “Isn’t that Hugh’s car over there? I wonder if Alec is here…”

Emma lifted her head sharply. “What? Why would daddy say such a thing? What did he tell you?”

“He hasn’t said anything to
me
, exactly,” she hedged, “but I overheard him talking to Mr Churchill yesterday, after he brought me back from school. We stopped in the village on the way home to get a bag of kibble for Elton, and…” She paused. “And Mr Churchill offered to buy Litchfield Manor, and for a very good price, too.”

Emma could scarcely believe it. “I’m sure you must be mistaken. Daddy would
never
sell our home. And why on earth should Mr Churchill want it? It makes no sense.”

“I don’t know.” Charli shrugged and glanced at Crossley Hall with envy. “Why would anyone want our fusty old house when they could own a place as beautiful as this?” She caught sight of Hugh’s driver standing under a tree in his chaffeur’s uniform, smoking a cigarette, and brightened considerably.

“Laters,” she murmured, and dashed off.

Before Emma could ponder the matter any further, she heard her name called, and turned around.

“Lizzy!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“We only just got here. Hugh’s getting us a drink and having a chat with Mr Churchill.” She leaned forward to hug her sister and added, “Don’t tell Charli, but Alec’s around somewhere.”

“Too late, she’s already found him.”

“That girl wastes no time.”

“No. And what about you, Mrs Darcy? Still all loved up in London?” Emma teased. “Or has the newlywed thrill already worn off?”

“We’re as nauseating as ever, I’m afraid. Oh, Em…” she reached out and laid her hand on Emma’s arm. “I hope you find your own Mr Darcy, and soon. You deserve happiness more than anyone.”

“I’m perfectly happy. I have the house to manage, and daddy to look after. Not to mention,” Emma added, frowning as she saw Mark Knightley striding up the drive, “a production crew to oversee every day. Hello, Mr Knightley. I didn’t realise you were on the invitation list.”

“I’m not. But Jacquetta is, so I’m here as her guest. She’s already inside.”

Emma blinked. “I see.”

He inclined his head. His smile warmed as he turned to Emma’s sister. “Hello, Lizzy. What a pleasure to see you again. How are you? Where’s Hugh?”

“I’m fine. And he’s inside, fetching us drinks. How goes the filming?”

“Very well.” He glanced at Emma. “We’ve run into a slight problem, though.”

Briefly he explained that Simon and Jacquetta’s suggestion – to make Litchfield Manor over into a riding centre – while sound, was too costly for Mr Bennet to implement.

“I suggested daddy get a loan from Darcy,” Emma told Lizzy, “but you know him and his blasted pride. He won’t hear of it. He refuses to even talk to Hugh.”

“But that’s ridiculous!” Lizzy exclaimed. “Hugh would be only too willing to loan him the money, I know he would.” She set her lips in a determined line. “I’ll go and find him, and speak to him about it right now.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Emma warned her. “I should come with you. Perhaps together, you and Hugh and I can convince daddy. I certainly couldn’t manage it on my own.”

“I’ll come too, if you don’t mind.” Mark fell into step alongside them. “I can outline the details of Simon’s business plan if Hugh has any questions.”

“We need all the help we can get,” Emma assured him, and her expression thawed into an almost-smile. “Daddy’s too proud for his own good sometimes.”

He slanted her a glance. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

“Careful, Mr Knightley,” she said lightly, “or you’ll fall out of my good graces again.”

“And we can’t have that,” he agreed, and accompanied them inside.

Although the outside of Crossley Hall was transformed, the interior proved even more impressive. Emma swept an admiring gaze around the main reception room.

The drop cloths and paint cans were gone; all traces of dust and dirt, as well as the birds’ nests in the chandeliers, had been dispatched. Oak floorboards gleamed, windows sparkled, and the frieze work and cornices were once again restored to their former beauty.

They spotted Hugh returning from the bar with two gin-and-tonics in hand, and he made his way through the crowd to join them.

“There you are, darling,” Lizzy said, and hurried forward to relieve him of her drink. “I’ve brought Emma and Mark along to speak with you. They want to talk business.”

Greetings were exchanged and the two men shook hands.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Emma said quickly. “I wouldn’t normally bother you with business at a party, Hugh, but it’s rather important.”

“Of course I don’t mind. You’re family now, after all.” Hugh took a sip of his drink and regarded them all expectantly. “So, what’s this about, then? I’m intrigued.”

Briefly, Mark outlined the proposed business venture and Mr Bennet’s immediate need for capital. “I’ll see that you get a copy of the business plan straight away. Simon’s an expert in the field of country house renovations, and a respected entrepreneur.”

Hugh nodded. “His reputation precedes him.” He frowned and glanced at Emma. “You do realise, however, that thoroughbred horses can be quite expensive. Do you have any stabled at Litchfield at present?”

She shook her head. “We can’t afford them.”

“We’ve six horses at Cleremont, and truthfully, that’s four too many.” He turned to Lizzy. “Wouldn’t you agree? We really only need the two, as no one else at the house rides but us.”

Lizzy nodded. “Lady Darcy prefers to walk through the fields with the dogs,” she told Emma.

“If you like,” Hugh said as he turned back to Emma, “I can provide you and your father with four horses for the riding centre. They’re excellent mounts and all of them are quite docile, perfect for training purposes. That should get you started. And of course I’ll put up the money required for any other related expenses.”

Emma stared at him. “But those are
your
horses, Hugh! They belong at Cleremont.”

He made an impatient gesture. “As I said, we’ve too many. They don’t get exercised nearly enough. You’d be doing me a favour. But of course,” he added with a lift of his brow, “I’d fully expect to borrow them for a hack across the fields with Lizzy now and then.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Darcy.”