Page 89

“Then perhaps I am unequal to both,” he said, bowing formally. “Good evening, Lady Cuthbert.”

This time, as he walked away, she did not call him back, and he pretended that it did not hurt him.

The following morning, Victor instructed his valet to pack for an extended trip.

By noon, he was on the road to London, Westmere Hall receding behind him like a dream from which he had forcibly awakened himself.

CHAPTER26

“My Lady.”

Emma glanced up from the book she had been attempting to read, her fingers tightening imperceptibly around its leather binding.

The morning room at Cuthbert Hall, typically her sanctuary in these quiet hours while Tristan attended his lessons with Mr. Jenkins, had been invaded by an unwelcome presence.

Sidney Bickford—her brother-in-law and Tristan’s uncle—stood examining himself in the looking glass above the mantelpiece, adjusting his already immaculate cravat with fastidious precision.

“Lord Sidney,” Emma replied, striving for a tone of cool indifference rather than the irritation that threatened to surface.

Sidney turned, his thin lips curling into what he clearly believed to be a charming smile, but it only made Emma’s skin crawl. The resemblance to Harold was disconcerting—the same patrician nose, the same calculating eyes—though while her husband had been all barely restrained brutality, Sidney gave off an air of refined sophistication.

“Pleasure to see you again, my dear.” He settled himself into the chair opposite hers, uninvited. “I come bearing good news. I am leasing Thornfield Manor.”

Emma’s composure faltered momentarily. “Thornfield? But that property lies not two miles away from Cuthbert Hall.”

“A fortunate proximity, is it not?” Sidney’s smile widened. “It will allow me to fulfill my obligations as guardian to my nephew with greater diligence. The boy requires masculine guidance.”

“Tristan has adequate masculine influences,” Emma said carefully.

“Tutors and physicians,” he scoffed with a dismissive wave of his bejeweled hand. “A boy of noble blood requires the guidance of a man who understands the particular obligations of rank. Especially a boy who will one day assume responsibility for an earldom.”

Emma set her book aside, abandoning the pretense of distracted reading. “Your concern for your nephew’s development is touching, My Lord.”

A flash of something dangerous passed across Sidney’s features before his practiced smile reasserted itself. “It is my pleasure, my dear. I wish to spare you the burden of raising a future peer alone. The demands are considerable, especially for a woman.”

The reference to her gender was meant to wound. Emma had learned, however, that allowing her brother-in-law to perceive the effectiveness of his barbs only encouraged his subtle brand of verbal cruelty further.

“How thoughtful,” she said, her voice honey over steel. “Though one continues to wonder how Lady Louisa views your sudden relocation to the countryside. When will she join you?”

His wife had provided him with three daughters and a considerable dowry before retreating into a life of quiet invalidism in their London residence.

“She understands the dictates of duty,” he replied smoothly, not answering and effectively dismissing the topic all at once. “Now, I had thought to invite you and Tristan to dine at Thornfield. Perhaps next Thursday? I have engaged a French chef whose béarnaise sauce is spoken of in reverent tones throughout Mayfair.”

Emma’s mind raced through the calendar of social obligations that lay before her. “I fear Thursday would be impossible. The Athena Society meets that evening, and I have responsibilities as a co-founder.”

His lip curled slightly. “Ah yes, your literary salon for discontented females. How… progressive.”

“We find it enriching,” Emma replied, rising in a whisper of sapphire silk. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must check on Tristan’s progress with his mathematics.”

Sidney stood as propriety demanded, though his gaze lingered inappropriately as Emma moved toward the door. “Perhaps you might reconsider Thursday, Emma. I find that responsibilities may often be… renegotiated when sufficient motivation presents itself.”

Emma paused at the threshold, her spine straightening imperceptibly. “I have found, My Lord, that principles are most valuable precisely when they cannot be renegotiated. Good day.”

She departed with measured dignity, her practiced smile dissolving the moment she was alone in the corridor.

Sidney’s sudden appearance in the neighborhood portended nothing good. Though he had remained in London for years, content to manage the Cuthbert estates from a distance, his attention had never truly strayed far from her.

His letters, when they came, often strayed into unsettling territory—comments on her appearance, her manners, herloneliness. He had made no effort to get to know his nephew, yet his fixation on her had never wavered. This unexpected visit, cloaked in the pretense of familial concern, felt less like duty and more like pursuit.