The Trouble With Emma (27 page)

Emma managed a watery smile. “Wouldn’t
that
be something?”

Lizzy giggled. “It would. But I doubt that daddy – or Mr Churchill – would approve of such behaviour.”

“No.” Emma sighed. “What shall I do, Lizzy? I owe so many apologies to so many people after what I’ve done today that it’ll take the rest of the weekend to make amends.”

“You could start,” Mark Knightley said evenly as he appeared on the path, “with me.”

Chapter 48

“Mark,” Emma said, startled.

His glance slid past her to her sister. “Might we have a moment alone, Lizzy? Emma and I need to talk…privately.”

“Of course.” She squeezed Emma’s hand and stood to go. “I’ll see you later, Em. Hugh’s convinced daddy to consider the possibility of a loan. They’re discussing it tonight over dinner.”

“Good. I hope Hugh can make him see reason.”

“If anyone can,” Lizzy assured her, “Darcy can.” She smiled at Mark. “I’ll see you later as well, I hope?”

He glanced at Emma. “That depends entirely on your sister.”

He waited until Elizabeth was gone, then sat – cautiously – beside her.

“Shouldn’t you be with Jacquetta?” she inquired, with a trace of coolness. “After all, you’re here as her guest.”

“I regret to say I was her third choice.” His words were dry. “Jacquetta asked Simon, but he couldn’t come. Then she invited your father, but he wasn’t available either. It seems he’d already asked Mrs Cusack to be his plus one.”

“My goodness.” Emma lifted her brows. “I’d no idea daddy was so popular with the ladies.”

“Mr Bennet is full of surprises.” He paused and frowned. “Emma –”

“Mark –” she said, at the same time.

“You first.”

She drew in a breath. “I’m truly sorry for what happened to Martine earlier,” she began haltingly. “It was all my fault – I pushed her to come here, and I insisted she go with me to speak to James. I honestly had no idea he’d have such a strange reaction when I invited him to my party. I still don’t understand it.”

“What party is that? And what happened, exactly?”

She told him about her decision to have a party when the
Mind Your Manors
crew was done filming at Litchfield Manor. “I suggested James bring Martine along as his plus one.” She looked at him, her expression troubled. “He said it was out of the question and he couldn’t possibly escort Martine to the party. Then he stormed off.”

“I see.”

Emma’s throat thickened at the memory. “You should have seen her face, Mark – she was stunned. Humiliated. And it was all my doing.”

She began, once again, to weep, helpless to stop the flow of tears.

With a sigh, he withdrew a handkerchief and thrust it at her. “You’re lucky. I don’t usually carry these things.”

Emma took it gratefully and blew her nose once again. “I only meant to help her, honestly. They’re both unattached, her and James, and so I thought…”

“So you thought you’d do a bit of matchmaking, and now you see firsthand where it’s landed you.” Although his words carried censure, his expression was not unkind. “I think you mean well, Emma, in your own misguided way. But you
must
stop interfering in other people’s lives.”

She bit her lip but remained silent.

“You have to let others – especially those closest to you – find their own relationships, in their own way, and in their own time.”

“You’re right.” Her voice was a thread.

He leaned forward and cupped his hand behind one ear. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

She lifted her head to meet his eyes. “You’re right,” she retorted, and sighed. “I should never have got mixed up in Martine’s life, or Mr Churchill’s, or daddy’s…or even Isabella’s. I’ve caused no end of trouble and ruined a perfectly nice day with my interference.”

“I’m sure you’ll be forgiven, on all counts. But you must vow not to make the same mistakes again.”

“Of course I’ll do my utmost to mind my business,” Emma promised, “but meddling is an impulse I can scarcely resist.”

“Then you must try harder.”

“Emma? Em, are you here? Daddy says we have to go.”

They heard the crunching of gravel, and stood as Charlotte rounded the path and came to a stop before them. Her face was flushed and her lipgloss was smudged.

Emma parted her lips to scold her roundly – she knew exactly what her youngest sister had been up to – when Alec, Hugh’s driver, sauntered up and joined them. It was obvious from his guilty expression and the glossy lip prints near his mouth that he and Charli had been snogging, and recently.

Mark cast Emma a warning glance, reminding her to stay out of it.

She glanced pointedly from her sister to Alec, but steeled herself to make no remark on Charli’s behaviour. “We’re just leaving,” she said instead.

“What’s got daddy in such a twist, anyway?” Charlotte asked her, curious.

“I have,” Emma admitted. “I called Mrs Cusack an officious old busybody, and she and daddy overheard me. She’s upset, and he’s beyond furious with me.”

“But it’s true – she
is
an officious old busybody,” Charli said. “Everyone knows it; you only said what we all think.”

“I was wrong to say it, nonetheless,” Emma said firmly, and sighed. “I’ve hurt Mrs Cusack’s feelings; she didn’t deserve that. And I’ve upset her niece.”

“Well, I’m sorry for Mrs Cusack, but I’m sure she’ll recover. And as for Isabella, serves her right.”

“Charlotte Bennet!” Emma exclaimed.

“She’s a nasty piece of work,” Charli said, unrepentant. “Always making disparaging comments about ‘the former vicar’s daughters’ as if we’re charity cases or something. I can’t stand her.”

“She seems quite keen on that Mr Churchill bloke, though,” Alec observed, and lowered his voice. “Saw ’em earlier, I did, down by the private dock at the bottom of the hill.”

“What on earth were you doing down there?” Charli asked him. “No wonder I couldn’t find you!”

“I went down for a smoke, and to have a quick look round. Miss Fairfax was on the dock with Mr Churchill, and, well –” he paused. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but they were snogging for England.”

***

“They were
kissing
, Mark,” Emma said in a low, urgent voice as she and Mr Knightley fell in behind Charli and Alec on the path back to the house. “That changes everything.”

“It changes nothing. It’s none of your business,” he replied firmly, and gave her a warning glance. “If you heard even one word I’ve said to you today, you’ll let it go and leave it be.”

“But don’t you see, this means Mr Churchill and Miss Fairfax are involved,” she mused, scarcely heeding his words. “No wonder Isabella was so scornful of Martine – she’s jealous!”

Mark came to a stop. “Emma,” he warned, “please, do
not
go down this path again.”

“I’m not, I promise you. The only path I’m on is this one, with you, back to Crossley Hall.” She smiled demurely and slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. “I’ve learnt my lesson quite well, Mr Knightley, I assure you.”

Chapter 49

The next day, the doorbell rang.

“Martine,” Emma called out, her arms thrust into a sink full of soapy dishwater, “could you answer the door, please?”

But there was no reply, and a moment later the doorbell went again.

“Bother,” Emma muttered, and dried her hands. Where was the girl when you needed her?

Irritably she swung the door open. “Yes?”

“Flower delivery, miss.” A youngish man held out a clipboard. “Sign here, please.”

She signed and went to fetch a couple of pound coins and gave them to him as he handed over the flowers.

It was a bouquet of mixed pink roses interspersed with freesias and lilac. Emma let out a soft gasp of mingled surprise and pleasure.

“Who sent them?” she asked as she breathed in the delicious scent of roses and lilac.

Might the flowers, she wondered, be Mark’s way of apologising to her for his harsh words at the party yesterday?

“There’s a card inside.” The young man pointed to a cream vellum envelope tucked inside the bouquet and turned to go. “Good day, miss.”

“Good day,” she echoed, and shut the door after him.

Emma set the vase down on the hallway table and withdrew the card.

My dear Emma,

I hope this bouquet goes some small way to helping you forgive me for my behaviour yesterday. I was inexcusably rude and deeply regret any upset I may have caused you.

I hope that in time the reason for my actions will become clear and all will be forgiven.

With sincerest apologies,

James

Her lips curved upwards. How very thoughtful of Mr Churchill. But really, she reflected with a gathering frown, he ought to have included Martine in his apology, for it was she who’d been most upset by his behaviour.

Martine dearly loved fresh flowers, how she’d adore receiving these…

Emma had a sudden, wonderful idea. She tucked the tiny card inside her pocket and made her way quietly down the hall. After peering inside the kitchen to reassure herself that Martine wasn’t there, she paused. She could hear the girl’s voice just outside, growing louder. Perfect.

The front door opened.

“Martine,” Emma said breathlessly as she came back down the hall, vase of flowers in hand, “there you are! You’ll never guess –” she stopped.

Tom Carter came in behind Martine. It was apparent the two of them had been talking. He gave Emma a stiff nod.

She managed to nod back.

“I’ll never guess what, Miss Em?” Martine asked her.

“You’ll never guess,” she went on, and glanced at Tom and away again, “but someone’s sent you flowers. Aren’t they lovely?” She held the vase out to the girl.

“Lovely,” Martine echoed, equal parts thrilled and surprised. She took the vase and inhaled the scent. “So gorgeous! But…” her face clouded. “Who’d be sendin’ me flowers, and here? No one knows I work at Litchfield Manor, no one but mum.” She eyed the bouquet and added, “There’s no card.”

Emma smiled. “They’re from Mr Churchill, of course,” she said.
Which was – technically – true
. “The delivery boy said they were sent from Crossley Hall.”
Which was also technically true
.

Martine’s confusion deepened. “But why should Mr Churchill send me flowers? He all but ran from me at the party yesterday.” The memory, and the humiliation it had caused her, flickered briefly over her face.

“He sent them by way of apology, I imagine,” Emma said. “He obviously feels very badly about what happened and wants to make amends.”

“What happened?” Tom asked, curious. “What did he do?”

“Nothing,” Martine assured him hastily. “Nothing at all.”

“Then why’d he send flowers, if it was nothing?” Tom asked. “Makes no sense.”

Emma decided it was time to step in. “It was only a silly misunderstanding. I’m sure you must be thirsty,” she added. “Tom – make yourself at home in the sitting room while I fetch some lemonade. I only just made it. Martine, would you come and help me?”

“Of course.”

Immediately they were in the kitchen, Emma drew her aside and whispered, “You’re not seeing Tom again, are you?”

Martine eyed her in surprise. “No. What makes you say that?”

“Only…the two of you seemed thick as thieves just now.”

“We’re on speaking terms again, that’s all.” The girl shrugged.

Emma felt a surge of relief as she turned away to fetch glasses from the cupboard. “Is Tom coming to our open house on Saturday?” At Martine’s nod, she added, “I’m glad. Will he be bringing someone, do you think?”

She pressed her lips together. “I don’t know. He didn’t say and I didn’t ask.”

“I see.” After adding ice to the glasses, Emma poured in the lemonade. “That’s good, then. That means you’ll be a free agent, unattached and available.”

“Available to who, exactly?” Martine asked, and frowned. She looked at Emma with dawning dismay. “Oh, no. Not Mr Churchill, surely –?”

“Of course, Mr Churchill! He sent you those lovely flowers, didn’t he? He obviously wants another chance. It would be most unkind to deny him the opportunity to make amends for his regrettable behaviour, would it not?”

Martine hesitated. “I suppose so. But I don’t think he likes me in the least –”

“Nonsense. He likes you very much, or he wouldn’t have bothered to send such lovely flowers. And that’s all we shall say on the matter.” Emma thrust a tray with three glasses of lemonade into the girl’s hands and turned towards the kitchen door. “Come along. Tom’s waiting.”

Without another word, Martine carried the tray into the drawing room, and Emma handed out the glasses, and nothing more was said about James Churchill, or the beautiful flowers he’d sent.

***

With a loan secured from Hugh Darcy and the funding firmly in place, Litchfield Manor began its transformation into a riding centre.

The Darcys’ trailered horses arrived the following week, after the stables had been scrubbed, painted, and fitted with fresh hay and bedding and new rubber mats in each of the stalls. The paddock boasted new jumps, and a fenced outdoor area for grooming and bathing the horses occupied one end. New fencing bounded the property.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Lizzy said as she and Emma leaned against the paddock fence and watched as the newly hired stable manager exercised a dapple grey. “To think that only a few weeks ago, daddy was thinking of giving up and selling the place.”

“That’s what Charli said.” Emma drew back from the fence and fixed an accusatory gaze on her sister. “So you knew about it as well? Was I the only one left in the dark?”

“I only knew because he mentioned it to me in passing one day. He said perhaps Sir Cavaliere had the right idea, to sell and be shot of the headaches of owning a property once and for all.”

“I wonder he never mentioned it to me.” Hurt crept into her voice. “I’m the one most affected by his plans, after all, since I still live at home.”

Lizzy gave her a quick glance. “I’m sure he didn’t want to upset you, Em. And it was only idle conversation, at any rate. He said Mr Churchill was quite persuasive on the subject.”

“But why should James want Litchfield Manor?” Emma frowned. “It’s not half so grand as Crossley Hall; and it has nothing to recommend it but a nice bit of land adjoining Sir Cavaliere’s property. It makes no sense, no sense at all.”