Page 10 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl (Marriage Mart Scandals #2)

Andrew walked into the drawing room. It was late and he was weary and drained. He’d spent the day riding. Before the midday meal, he’d ridden to London to meet with his solicitor. After a few hours, he’d ridden back. Luncheon had been swift and silent—he'd barely exchanged a word with Emmeline—and then he’d ridden off again to call on Neville. He sat down heavily on one of the sturdier chairs. He was exhausted.

His mind drifted back to his conversation earlier with Neville.

“Is the new Lady Rilendale going to accompany us on a ride?” Neville asked.

“I have no idea if she would wish to,” Andrew had said slowly. He knew that Emmeline could ride, since he had seen her riding that day on the heath. But he had never actually asked her about it, or even asked if she liked the sport.

“Andrew!” Neville stared at him.

“What?” Andrew asked with a shrug. He was doing his best to maintain his distance from Emmeline. In his own mind, that was the best, kindest thing he could do for her. Did Neville think that was wrong?

“Andrew! You mean, you don’t even know if she can ride or not?” Neville was shocked.

“She can,” Andrew said with some annoyance. “I’ve seen her.”

“But you didn’t ask? You don’t even know what sort of pastimes she likes?”

Andrew glared at him. “I didn’t ask you for lessons in conversation.”

Neville blinked. “All the more reason for me to offer them.”

Andrew almost swore at him, but then he saw Neville’s eyes sparkle and he had to laugh. His laughter eased the tension.

“You know, you can get close to her,” Neville had said after a few minutes of banter.

Andrew shook his head, his tension returning instantly. “No, I cannot,” he told Neville a little crossly. “You know that.”

“You mean, because you think you carry some kind of curse?” Neville asked him. His gaze held Andrew’s own.

Andrew tensed, thinking Neville was going to mock him as he so often did, but this time Neville’s face was set in a serious expression.

“Yes,” Andrew said firmly .

Neville nodded. “I know. But you have to try, old chap,” he said firmly. “You have to try.”

Neville just looked at him, and Andrew knew that he did not comprehend the terror that he was facing. They had ridden back to the estate in silence.

Andrew stretched his legs out, the sound of someone wheeling a trolley down the hallway bringing his mind back to the present. The butler walked past, and Andrew relaxed further, seeing the usual comings and goings of the house. It was the usual time that Grandma took tea in her chambers. His eyes moved to the clock on the mantel, and he grinned, seeing it was exactly five o’clock. Some things were the same every day.

He reached for the paper and flipped through it. It was last week’s copy of the Gazette, and he’d already read all the articles at least once. He gazed at it again to make sure that he had not missed anything and then put it idly on the table again. As he did so, he heard a noise in the hallway, and he looked up with surprise.

“Emmeline,” he murmured.

Emmeline was in the doorway. She tensed as if she had not expected to see him there. She had her drawstring purse on her arm, and he frowned, wondering what she was doing.

“Um...Andrew,” she replied, her eyes wide, her brow furrowing. “I...I will go to my room. I do not want to intrude...”

Andrew tensed, feeling upset by how scared she seemed. “You can come in if you wish,” he said, wincing at how ungracious that comment sounded.

“I just wished to do some sewing,” Emmeline stammered. “And the light is good here at this time of day.” She gestured to the window.

“Oh. Come in,” Andrew said, his heart twisting. She was so lovely, and she looked so scared of him. She was wearing a long blue gown—the same gown she’d been wearing that morning, now that he thought about it. The bodice was close-fitting, the skirt loose and drifting as was the usual style. Her figure was slim but when she walked, she swayed like a reed and his cheeks flushed with heat.

Emmeline took a seat by the window, and opened her bag, taking out a section of white fabric and some cotton. He watched her thread a needle and then settle down to her work. She ignored him utterly.

A fine way to be friendly, Andrew thought crossly. He bit his lip, knowing he had been no more friendly than she was now. He pushed the guilt aside and grabbed the newspaper, pretending to be interested in an article about the spice trade.

He focused on the newspaper, and it was only when he heard footsteps in the hallway that he realised he must have been focusing for a few minutes. He looked up to see Grandma there.

“Grandma!” he greeted her, a little confused. “You ought to be resting.”

Grandma smiled and shook her head. “I feel much better. I thought I’d come and sit in the sun and maybe read a book,” she said, glancing at Emmeline.

Andrew nodded. “Of course, Grandma,” he said at once. It was pleasant to see her up and about. Usually, she rested in her chamber from five o’clock until dinnertime.

He watched as Grandma went to the sunnier part of the room, where Emmeline was sitting, and took a seat beside her. His brow lifted as Emmeline turned to her with a friendly smile on her face.

“Lady Rilendale. Should I ring for some tea?” she asked.

Grandma smiled warmly back at her. “If you like, dear,” she said in a caring tone. “I have already had a cup, but I would not say no to another.”

“Very well,” Emmeline said, casting a dazzling grin in Grandma’s direction. “I will ring at once.”

She stood and went to the bell pull. Andrew sat where he was, feeling bemused. Emmeline’s smile was still bedazzling him, and he could not think properly. He watched as Emmeline came back to where she was sitting and lifted her sewing. She frowned at the fine stitches. Grandma leaned in towards her.

“Whitework.” Grandma sounded pleased. “So stylish, I believe. If the Ladies’ Gazette is anything to credit, that is.” She grinned.

“It is. Very modish,” Emmeline agreed with a smile. “But it is terribly difficult. Even with such good light, I find it very hard.”

Grandma beamed. “I’m sure, dear,” she replied. “But it will look so very fine. You’re making cuffs, yes?”

“Yes. For my favourite winter dress,” Emmeline replied lightly.

“It will look very pretty,” Grandma assured her.

Andrew observed them with a mixture of curiosity and unease. Emmeline and his grandmother had already established a comfortable rapport, their conversation flowing effortlessly. By contrast, any attempt at discourse between himself and Emmeline felt awkward, their exchanges rarely extending beyond a few strained words.

He looked up as the butler came in, feeling slightly annoyed. Why is it that Grandma can succeed where I am bitterly failing? He asked himself.

“My lord? My ladies?” Mr Pearson smiled, pausing in the doorway. “You rang?”

“Please bring tea, Mr Pearson,” Grandma told him in a matter-of-fact voice. She seemed rather livelier than she had for a long time. Perhaps, Andrew thought a little sadly, she was pleased not to be rattling around the house by herself, as she often said.

“At once, my lady.”

Andrew watched as Mr Pearson withdrew. He looked down at his hands. He had worn the skin terribly gripping the reins and he knew it was because he was worried. He would not usually grip them so tightly, often relying on his knees to guide his horse instead.

I wonder what Emmeline is like as a rider, he wondered, recalling his conversation with Neville. He frowned, wondering how he might manage to ask her. He was just framing the sentence in his mind when Mr Pearson interrupted again.

“Tea, my lord. My ladies.”

“Oh! Grand. And some cake. Thank you, Mr Pearson,” Grandma said kindly.

Andrew watched as Grandma and Emmeline helped one another with the tea as if he was not even in the room. He could not help but feel a bit annoyed. They seemed to have made friends remarkably quickly, and they were both so absorbed in chatting to each other that they had forgotten him. He cleared his throat.

As he did so, he heard another sound. Grandma, choking.

“Grandma!” he shouted, leaping out of his chair.

She had been eating a piece of pound cake, and she must have swallowed too fast because she was coughing and spluttering, the little silver fork she had held falling out of her hand and onto the floor.

Andrew rushed to her side, but before he could get there, Emmeline was patting Grandma on the back, speaking in a soothing voice.

“It’s all well, Lady Rilendale. Can you speak?” she asked.

“I...I...” Grandma tried to stammer, then gasped. Andrew let out a sigh of relief as she gasped again and managed to say a rasping word. “Choking... ”

“Here,” Emmeline murmured, passing her a glass of water.

Andrew watched as Grandma sipped the water slowly. She was breathing more easily and after a moment or two, she spoke.

“Sorry. I swallowed too quickly...” she began. Andrew shook his head.

“No need to be sorry,” he said at once. “I am so relieved that you’re unharmed.”

Grandma smiled. Her eyes were a little watery and she drank the water and turned to Andrew.

“I am too, dear,” she said.

He laughed.

Emmeline picked up the fork and passed it to her. Andrew smiled at her in thanks. She and Grandma’s friendship was good for Grandma in so many ways—not just because it seemed to have considerably cheered her up. Emmeline was also very good at responding quickly when someone needed help.

Andrew’s heart twisted in gratitude. He had been terrified—something about the situation reminded him so terribly of Grandfather and in that moment, he had been as helpless as when he was watching Grandfather lying on the floor, gasping for breath. Were he to face it alone, he was not sure what he would have done.

“I’m all right,” Grandma was saying to Emmeline, who was pouring her tea.

Emmeline nodded. “I know,” she said gently. “I’m sure you are.”

Grandma accepted some tea and added some sugar, but Andrew noticed she did not eat any more of her cake. She continued chatting with Emmeline and excused herself after she had her second cup of tea.

“I will retire to rest before dinner,” Grandma said as she stood up. Andrew stood, as was polite, as Grandma walked to the door. Then he turned to the table.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice rough with feeling. “You were very helpful.”

Emmeline looked up at him with surprise, as though she was not expecting to be spoken to.

“Of course,” she said at once. “I am very fond of your grandmother.”

“I noticed.” His lips lifted up in a smile.

Emmeline smiled back and his heart tied itself up. She had such a lovely smile, it seemed radiant; her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright.

“We were rather deep in conversation. ”

He nodded. “Indeed, you were.” He laughed. She smiled again and he took a breath, feeling like he was floating.

“Would you like some tea?” she asked him.

He tensed, suddenly feeling shy again. He had thanked her, and that was enough. He should not get any closer to her. He did not want to harm her--or himself—by being too close.

“No. Thank you. I must go to my study. There are correspondences that I must write before I come to dinner.”

“Oh. I see.” She looked down at her plate and he frowned. She looked almost disappointed. He looked away.

Nonsense, he told himself firmly. She’s probably glad you’re going to give her some peace. She thinks you’re some wicked murderer.

He faced the door.

“Good evening,” he said politely, and went out into the hallway.

He did not hear her answer and he hurried to the study and shut the door, then sat down heavily on the chair.

What is the matter with me? He asked himself in the silence of the room. The strange feelings—the longing, the joy—were as peculiar as the confusing way she behaved sometimes.

I just need to make sure I do not become fond of her , he told himself firmly. That would be dangerous .