The Trouble With Emma (26 page)

They all turned around in surprise as Mr Bennet approached, his brows drawn into a formidable scowl as he joined them.

“Why ever not?” Emma asked. “You don’t even know what we’re talking about –”

“I know well enough you’re talking about money, and the possibility of securing a loan from Mr Darcy.” He glowered at Emma and Lizzy in turn. “You know my feelings on the matter. Consider the subject closed, both of you.”

“But daddy,” Emma protested, “you haven’t even heard Hugh’s plan! At least hear him out –”

“I’ll be borrowing no money from my daughter’s husband,” Mr Bennet said firmly, “now or in future, and there’s an end to it.”

Chapter 46

“Please, Mr Bennet, let’s discuss the matter in private before you refuse me.” Hugh’s expression was as formidable – and determined – as the older man’s scowl.

“There’s nothing to discuss. I won’t take charity from any man. We both know if I default on the loan, you’ll never collect a penny.”

Darcy drew him aside. “Mr Bennet, I didn’t come this far as a businessman nor as a lawyer by backing ventures destined to fail. If I draw up a loan, and we reach an agreement, I assure you, I’ll hold you to the letter of that agreement.”

“At least talk to him, daddy,” Emma urged. “Please.”

For a moment it seemed as if Mr Bennet would refuse, and storm away; but he let out a deep, aggrieved breath, and agreed to discuss the matter further.

“Very well, then, I’ll hear Mr Darcy out. But not at present,” he added firmly. “I’m here to enjoy myself. As should we all.” And with a stiff nod to Darcy, he excused himself and went off in search of Mrs Cusack.

“Miss Emma! There you are.”

As Hugh and Lizzy left to explore the house, and Mark excused himself to go off in search of Jacquetta, Emma turned to see Martine shouldering her way through the crowd. She wore a simple but stylish Empire-waist dress that Emma had loaned her, and her hair was pulled back into its customary high, sleek ponytail.

“You look lovely,” Emma said, and smiled.

“I’m a nervous wreck. All these posh people…I feel like Cinderella at midnight, right before my dress turns back into rags.” She glanced around self-consciously. “I don’t belong here.”

“Nonsense. It’s only a party. And James invited you, didn’t he?”

“Only because you asked him to,” the girl pointed out. She bit her lip. “I wish Tom was here. He’d make rude comments about everyone in my ear, and make me laugh.”

“Then it’s a good thing he went back to London for the weekend. Martine,” Emma went on, and drew the girl aside. “You did the right thing, breaking it off with him.”

“I miss him,” she said, her expression gloomy. “I miss him somethin’ fierce.”

“You’ll get over it.” Emma spoke with assurance. “Better to end it now than get involved with someone who’ll only leave the moment filming ends. Not only that – he travels. You’d never see each other.”

“We’d manage, somehow. Lots of people do.”

“But you can do so much better for yourself. Tom’s a flirt, he was never serious.” Emma paused. “Mr Churchill, on the other hand,” she added as she caught sight of him, laughing and chatting with Mrs Cusack and her niece Isabella, “is true husband material. It’s
him
you should focus on.”

“I don’t know, Miss Em,” Martine said doubtfully.

“You need to have more confidence in yourself.” Emma took her by the arm and drew her forward. “Let’s go say hello to Mrs Cusack and Miss Fairfax, and while we’re there we can thank Mr Churchill for inviting us to the party.”

Martine froze and shrank back. “Oh, no, please. I can’t.”

“Come along,” Emma coaxed. “I’ll do the talking. You just smile, and leave the rest to me.”

Reluctantly, the girl allowed herself to be drawn across the crowded reception room until they found themselves standing before James Churchill.

“Hello, Mrs Cusack, Isabella,” Emma said with a polite smile. She turned to James and extended her hand. “How lovely your house is. I’m quite impressed with what you’ve done with it.”

His eyes crinkled into a warm smile. “Miss Bennet! A pleasure, as always.” He glanced at Martine. “Miss Davies.”

She blushed and dipped her head forward in an awkward nod.

“Have you had the grand tour?” he asked Emma. “I promise, you’ll be quite impressed. Both of you.”

“I regret to say we haven’t. Hugh and Lizzy just went upstairs; perhaps I’ll join them in a moment.” She cast a quick glance at Mr Churchill. “Why don’t you give Martine a quick tour of the house yourself in the meantime, James?”

He hesitated. “I really don’t think –” he began.

“Oh, no need,” Martine said quickly. “I’m fine on my own. Very good at wandering, I am.”

Emma smiled at their host. “I’m quite sure Mr Churchill doesn’t mind showing you round in the least, do you, James?”

“No.” He gave her a brief, somewhat strained, smile. “Of course not.”

“Before you go,” Emma added, “I’m planning a little celebration party when the filming at Litchfield Manor ends in a few weeks. I’d love it if you’d agree to come…and I was thinking you might bring Martine along as your plus one.”

His face, usually so genial and good-natured, went still. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Miss Bennet.”

Her smile faltered. “I don’t understand. Do you mean to say you can’t come to my party? Oh, how very disappointing –”

“I’ll come to your party, and gladly.” His expression tightened as he glanced from Emma to Martine. “But I’m afraid it’s quite impossible for me to bring Miss Davies as my guest. I’m sorry. If you’ll excuse me –?”

And with a curt nod, he turned and made his way through the crowd, and strode through the French doors to the terrace.

For a moment Martine stood unmoving. Her face was frozen in a mixture of disbelief and humiliation.

“Oh, dear. I do believe that was a resounding ‘no’,” Isabella observed, and arched her brow, first at Emma, then at Martine. “You see, Miss Davies, James prefers slim women.” A smile flickered on her lips. “How…unfortunate, for you.”

Emma glared at her and turned to Martine. “I’m so sorry,” she said in a low voice as she drew her aside. “I can’t imagine what’s got into Mr Churchill.”

“I can.” The girl’s voice trembled. “He wants no part of me, and never has. Tom was right. I’m not good enough for the likes of him.”

Before Emma could protest, or tell her she was wrong, Martine’s face crumpled, and tears streaked down her face as she turned and thrust her way through the crowd to leave.

Emma stared after her in dismay. What on earth had gotten into James, to be so inexcusably rude to the poor girl?

She heard a footfall behind her and turned around with a start.

“Well! Are you proud of yourself, Emma?” Mr Knightley asked, his voice low and tight with anger. “Are you pleased that you humiliated Martine in front of a roomful of people?”

She glanced around them, stricken. Curious faces met hers, then quickly looked away.

“Well?” he demanded. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?”

“I-I didn’t mean…”

“I warned you, Miss Bennet. I told you that your meddling would lead to nothing but trouble. But you didn’t listen.” He took her by the arm, and none too gently. “Come with me.”

Emma tried to pull free, to no avail. “Come with you? Where, exactly? Damn it, let me go –”

“I won’t. Not until you find Miss Davies, and apologise to her.”

“Apologise to her? But –”

He did not heed her protests, only gripped her arm more tightly, and pulled her along behind him to the front door.

Chapter 47

Although they looked for Martine in the gardens and on the back lawn, it was soon evident that she’d already left.

“Her car isn’t here,” Emma said as they rounded the house and stood at the top of the drive. “She borrowed her mum’s Skoda. Poor girl – she was
so
upset. I can’t imagine why James was so rude to her! I do hope she’ll be all right driving back home –”

Mark rounded on her. “If she isn’t,” he promised her grimly, “I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

Before she could form a suitable reply he turned and strode away.

“Having a lovers’ quarrel, Miss Bennet?” Isabella Fairfax asked.

Emma looked up to see the young woman, a flute of champagne in hand and a smirk on her lips, regarding her from the front steps.

“Hardly,” she retorted. “Mr Knightley and I were having a conversation. A
private
conversation,” she added.

“It sounded more like a telling off than a conversation. I’ve never seen the man quite so angry.”

“Excuse me.” Emma turned to leave, having no desire to explain herself to Mrs Cusack’s niece.

“What did you do, I wonder? More meddling?” Isabella mused, and came down the steps to come after her. “You must’ve been a very naughty girl, this time.” She took a sip of her champagne and regarded Emma thoughtfully. “But then, it’s the prim and proper ones you have to watch out for, isn’t that what they say?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Emma raked her with a disapproving glance. “I suggest you limit your champagne consumption. It’s already having a poor effect on your behaviour. I should so hate for you to make a fool of yourself.” Her smile was cool. “I wouldn’t wish people to talk badly of you, Miss Fairfax.”

Isabella’s expression hardened. “Oh, but talking is much more your forte, isn’t it, along with spreading rumours and gossip and stirring up trouble.”

“Let me ask you a question, Miss Fairfax. If there was nothing going on between you and Mr Churchill that day in the garden, as you claim,” Emma remarked, and arched her brow, “then why deny it at every turn? And why keep bringing the subject up?”

“How dare you speak to me like that!” Anger flushed Isabella’s cheeks a deep and unbecoming red. “I see you parading in and out of the village shops every day with your head held high and a haughty look on your face, and it makes me ill.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes, it does, because the truth is, you’re nothing more than a vicar’s daughter.
Former
vicar, at that,” she added.

Emma pressed her lips together. “I’ve never claimed to be otherwise.”

“My aunt says you and your father and mother and sisters lived in the vicarage for years, under the generosity of the church – in other words,” she added with a gleam in her eye, “your father didn’t own Litchfield Manor, and you and your family were no better than the poorest of charity church mice.”

“It’s true my father made a modest living.” Emma’s voice was even and tight. “We lived simply, and we still do, and I have not an ounce of shame for it. But daddy bought Litchfield Manor from the church years ago, Miss Fairfax. It’s our home now. It belongs to us.”

Isabella smiled. “Well, it won’t be your home for much longer, I hear. My aunt tells me your father’s having difficulty making ends meet, so much so that Mr Churchill has approached him to buy the property.”

“Your aunt!” Emma exclaimed, her words trembling with outrage. “Your
aunt
is nothing but an officious old busybody who ought to mind her own bloody business and stay well out of everyone else’s. She’s nothing but a horrible, interfering old cow!”

There was a small sound – a gasp, Emma realised – and she looked up to see Mrs Cusack, along with Mr Bennet, standing on the lawn before her, both of them wearing twin expressions of shock.

“Mrs Cusack.” Emma stared at her in dismay and stepped forward. “I’m
so
sorry! I certainly didn’t mean –”

The woman looked at her with a mixture of hurt and disbelief and raised a hand to her throat. “Well, I’m sure I don’t know what to say. I thought you were my
friend
, Miss Bennet.”

“Maureen,” Mr Bennet murmured, and reached out to pat her reassuringly on the shoulder, “I’m sure Emma meant no harm.” He glowered at his daughter. “Did you, Emma?”

But before she could offer an apology to Mrs Cusack for her words, the woman let out a small sob and turned and hurried away, weeping. Miss Fairfax cast Emma a venomous glare and turned to go after her aunt.

“Are you pleased with yourself, Emma?” her father asked as he rounded on her. “It seems you’ve managed to offend quite a number of people in the space of barely an hour – Martine, Mr Churchill, Mark Knightley, and now Mrs Cusack and her niece. That’s a record, even for you.”

Her lip trembled, and tears shimmered and blurred the angry expression on his face. “Isabella goaded me, daddy. She launched into me after Mark and I had words and said all manner of horrible things. I only lashed out at her because I was upset.”

“Well, now you’ve upset Maureen as well. She didn’t deserve your unkind words.” He pressed his lips together and turned to go. “I’m going off to find her and try and calm her ruffled feathers. I expect you to offer her an apology before the weekend is over. Please say your goodbyes to everyone and thank Mr Churchill for having us. Once I find Charlotte, we’re going home.”

He left, and Emma’s face crumpled.

How had everything gone so horribly wrong?

She turned away from the front lawn to seek out a quiet corner of the garden where she might cry in peace. God knew if she spoke to one more person, she’d likely only cause more trouble –

“Emma? Emma, darling, what’s wrong?”

She looked up from her perch on a bench near the pergola and saw Lizzy, a drink in hand and a concerned expression on her face. The concern on her sister’s face was her undoing.

“Oh, Lizzy,” she wept, “I’m made an absolute
muck
of things, with everyone…”

Lizzy set her drink aside and dropped down next to her, pulling her close and stroking her hair as Emma cried.

When the storm of tears had subsided, Emma took the crumpled bit of tissue her sister handed over and blew her nose. Haltingly, she told Lizzy all of it – her words with Knightley, her meddling with Martine and James Churchill, Isabella’s angry accusations.

“Now I’ve insulted Mrs Cusack as well,” she finished, “and daddy’s furious at me. And I can hardly blame him. I don’t blame any of them. Except perhaps for Isabella,” she added, and sniffled. “I despise that woman.”

“Careful, Em,” Lizzy joked, “or she’ll hear you, and the two of you will end up tearing at each other’s hair and rolling around in the grass calling each other names.”