Page 11 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl (Marriage Mart Scandals #2)

Andrew glanced over his shoulder as he rode. It was morning, and he had almost forgotten he had promised Neville that he would accompany him to the new wall that was being built on a stretch of Neville’s farmland. Someone needed to inspect it, and it was a good ride. He tightened his grip on the reins, a flicker of annoyance flashing through him.

He had wanted to stay at breakfast and talk to Emmeline.

He sighed inwardly as he watched Neville ride over. His friend was an adept rider, leaning slightly forward and guiding the horse effortlessly with his movements. He reached the place where Andrew had halted quickly.

“I say, old chap! That was a fine speed,” Neville called cheerfully.

“Mm,” Andrew grunted. “We ought to be on our way.”

Neville grinned. “Impatient, eh?” he teased. “Have you an urgent appointment with your solicitor?”

Andrew shot him a sharp look. “No, as it happens. My solicitor has been rather quiet of late.” The quietness was in part due to the fact that the debts were being settled. The twenty thousand pounds was being distributed fast, but his solicitor assured him that more than half of it would remain for much-needed improvements to the estate.

“That’s grand news!” Neville exclaimed. “Just the thing.”

Andrew grunted again. “Indeed.”

Neville kept his horse in step as they rode on down the path. It was easily wide enough for two riders on this stretch, and so there was no reasonable reason to ask him to go away, or Andrew would have. He looked moodily around. He had woken early, filled with delight. He had slept for almost a week with no nightmares—ever since Emmeline arrived at the manor, he had not had a nightmare to speak of. He let out a sigh.

He was dreaming more of Emmeline, too. Not just the odd imagining in the middle of the day—imagining brushing a stray curl from her neck, or what her hair might smell like—but night-time dreams. He had slept untroubled by visions of Grandfather, and that was a relief he could not describe.

“A fine morning,” Neville remarked brightly as they rode. “Just the day for a jaunt.”

“Mm.” Andrew looked at the path. It was through the middle of a woodland, oak trees and other broad-leaved trees towering on either side of them. He tried to think of something to say. “It is,” he said, not knowing what else he might comment on the fine morning. It was indeed a fine morning, the sky hidden by a light layer of clouds, but the air was still warm and just the faintest trace of dew cooled the slight breeze.

“Pity Emmeline could not join us, eh?” Neville asked after a few minutes of peace. Andrew glared at him.

“Emmeline is tending to Grandma,” he said firmly. He had wanted to ask her on a ride, but he wanted it to be just himself and Emmeline, not with Neville there. He loved his friend dearly—he was almost a brother—but there were still some things he would rather do by himself, and riding with Emmeline for the first time was such an event.

“She is?” Neville looked surprised. “That’s grand. I dare say it should do them both a world of good.”

“Mm,” Andrew agreed. He had not mentioned to Neville what happened when Grandma had choked a few days ago—that moment when Emmeline had smiled at him had been glorious and confusing. Since then, he and she had exchanged a few smiles, and it troubled him.

He did not want to be so close to her.

“Look. There we are,” Neville murmured, changing the subject of conversation just as Andrew was about to mention Emmeline. “We’re getting close. They had to bring the stone across that bridge with the wagons. A hard job that was, I imagined.”

“Mm.” Andrew drew in a breath. “Emmeline is a capable rider,” he remarked after a beat, as Neville made no further mention of the masons and their wretched wagons.

“Is she? Did you ride together? How grand!” Neville’s expression brightened with evident delight.

“No. We did not,” Andrew said, feeling guilty. Neville looked so pleased that he almost wished he had, just to please him. “I don’t know what to do.”

“About riding?” Neville asked. Andrew could almost swear he was deliberately missing his point.

“No. Dash it, Neville. About her. About Emmeline,” he blurted.

“Ah, pardon me, old chap.” Neville inclined his head contritely. “Whatever troubles you, you know you can confide in me.”

“I already have,” Andrew said with a touch of annoyance. “I mean about me. About what I feel. I don’t know what to do. ”

“Andrew, old chap,” Neville sighed. “You need to tell her . Not me. You need to trust her more.”

“Trust her?” Andrew frowned. He hadn’t even considered whether or not he trusted Emmeline. Trust was not the issue. The person he did not trust—the person who terrified him, who seemed to carry around bad fortune and curses—was himself, not Emmeline.

“Yes. She is strong. I cannot claim to know her well, but that much is plain. You can trust her.”

Andrew let out a sigh. He wished it was that simple. He had to know her to trust her—just a little, at least—and in getting to know her, he was already falling for her. He knew it. He tried to lie to himself, but he knew what those long pauses when he thought about her meant. He knew why he fell asleep trying to imagine conversations and why he woke up wishing she was in the room.

She already had found a way to his heart.

He drew a breath to speak, but just then, a man on foot approached.

“Lord Neville?”

“Yes. I am he,” Neville said with just a touch of swagger.

“I am Mr Rellford, my lord. Chief mason, at your service, my lord.”

“Ah. Good morning, Mr Rellford,” Neville greeted politely. “I believe you and your men have ably completed the wall. I would like to see it. My friend will accompany us. He is the Earl of Rilendale.”

“Ah. Good morning, my lord,” the mason greeted, touching his forelock. The gesture was a little peremptory, as if he greeted noblemen often and was tired of it.

Andrew could not help being amused and he rode slowly along behind Neville as they went to inspect the wall.

He rode with Neville to the premises, but while Neville and the mason chatted, he found himself longing to ride back to the manor. He was relieved when Neville turned his horse and rode back to where he waited by a spreading oak tree.

“All right, old chap, let’s get back. Do drop in for tea...you must be hungry.”

“No. Thank you, Neville, but I’m quite all right,” Andrew assured him. “I must ride home.”

“Of course, of course, Andrew,” Neville said reasonably.

They rode back to Neville’s home in companionable silence .

Andrew rode on the remaining few miles to Rilendale. He found himself thinking of Emmeline as he rode, imagining what it might be like to show her around the grounds. He had almost made up his mind that he was going to do so. As he rode up the carriage path, he frowned. There was a coach drawn up outside the house. That was odd, since he almost never received any callers. They might be friends from the nearby estate, he reminded himself. Grandma often went to have tea there, and perhaps she had visitors for tea.

He rode closer.

As he neared the coach, his brow creased in a frown. There was a faded crest painted on the door of the carriage; one he distantly recognised. The family whose crest it was did not come back to his mind, however, and he dismounted from his horse, walking past the coach. As he did so, the door opened.

“Andrew! Cousin! How grand to see you!” A man called out to him.

Andrew stared. The man who had just alighted and was now assisting a finely dressed woman out of the coach was tall and dark-haired with a firm jaw, long nose and dark eyes. The sight of him stirred a memory—a youth of about seventeen, with the same straight brown hair, long oval face, and a distinctly smug expression in those deep, shadowed eyes. It was Cousin Ambrose.

“Cousin?” Andrew frowned, feeling slightly uneasy. “What brings you here?” His cousins had not visited for over a decade. Ambrose’s father had been the younger brother of Andrew’s father, but the two brothers had quarrelled bitterly years ago over some disagreement Andrew knew nothing about. Ambrose and his sister, Lydia, had called on them a few times when Andrew was a boy, just to visit Grandma and Grandpa. The last time Andrew had seen Ambrose, he was fourteen, and Ambrose was seventeen. Now he was eight-and-twenty, and Ambrose must be over thirty.

“A visit,” Ambrose said smoothly. “We wished to call on Grandmother. It has been years since we saw her, and... well... there might not be many more opportunities.” He looked down sadly.

Andrew stared. Grandma had indeed fallen recently, but she was not unwell. The mere suggestion, however subtle, that she might not have much time left struck him with unexpected heaviness. His throat tightened .

“Come in,” he said, his voice thick with unspoken emotion. “She will be most pleased to see you.” That much was certainly true—in all of his memories, Grandma had delighted in all of her grandchildren. “And my lady...?” Andrew asked, turning to the lady who stood by the coach. She had thick dark hair and hazel eyes, a long, slim neck and elegantly manicured hands. She wore a dress in scarlet silk.

“You must remember my sister, Lydia?” Ambrose asked. Andrew’s face flushed.

“Of course. Of course, Lydia. Delighted to see you, of course.” He bowed low. Lydia, lifting those hazel eyes to his face, dropped a low curtsey.

“A pleasure to see you, my lord.”

Andrew swallowed hard. “Please call me Andrew,” he said at once. His cousins were the children of a baron, and, as such, Lydia’s title was “the honourable Miss Randell.” Her brother had inherited the barony on the passing of their father a few years ago. He was Lord Epworth.

“Very well. Andrew.” Lydia smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s just as it was when we were children.” She gazed around the manor. Andrew tensed. They had not seen the manor in fourteen years. When they had last seen it, Grandpa had been alive and, though the funds had still been limited, the garden had not been so overgrown, and the west wing had not been off limits for being structurally unsound. He looked at his boots and then looked up.

“Much has changed in the years since,” he said softly.

“Much has changed indeed,” Ambrose said with a fleeting smile. “We have all grown up, for a start. Is that not so?” He smiled at his sister. Lydia smiled at Andrew; a dazzling smile.

“Yes. We have indeed.”

“Yes.” Andrew cleared his throat, regarding them steadily. “And I have someone to introduce to you.”

“Oh?” Lydia glanced at Ambrose. “Who is it?”

“The new Countess,” Andrew said frowningly. They had surely seen the newspapers. He might barely be included in the Ton, but he was quite certain the news had been reported. He had seen it himself.

“Yes! Yes! Delightful!” Lydia gushed. “Yes. We did see something of it in the papers, did we not, brother?” She looked at Ambrose again. “We thought it might be nothing more than rumour. ”

“No, it’s true,” Andrew said with a lift of his shoulders. He was a little uncomfortable.

“And without any warning! Sudden, eh?” Ambrose grinned. “We’ll be delighted to meet this lady. She must have charmed you swiftly.”

“Yes. Yes,” Andrew stammered. He did not want to tell them about the strange circumstances of his meeting Emmeline. Besides, she had charmed him immediately, now that he thought of it. He blushed again, but this time not from shame.

Lydia shot him another dazzling smile and he stood back for her to go up the stairs before him and walked with his cousins into the manor.

He could not deny Grandma her joy in their company.