Anne Ashley - Lord Hawkridge's Secret

To her amazement Emily found herself experiencing an acute stab of disappointment at the needless affectations he appeared to have acquired during their long separation. ‘I strongly suspect that those tales I’ve been reading about you in the newspapers in recent years are all too true. Be careful, Hawk, that you do not turn yourself into a complete man-milliner.’

Only for a second did his eyes narrow fractionally, before he returned the small silver box, its contents untouched, to his pocket. ‘You too have changed, m’dear.’ His gaze lingered for a moment on the square-cut neckline of her dress and what it temptingly revealed. ‘You have blossomed into a woman.’

Emily was powerless to prevent the tell-tale colour rising in her cheeks. She did not like this Sebastian Hawkridge. No, not a whit! The man she well remembered had been no tailor’s dummy, nor had he possessed the knowing gaze of the hardened rake. She had always felt so safe, so secure whenever he had been with her. She felt anything but safe now in the company of a man who might easily have been a complete stranger.

‘Yes, Lord Hawkridge, I fear we have both changed.’

‘In your case, m’dear, the changes are most definitely for the better. You have become a most elegant young lady.’

‘And you, sir, have become an accomplished flirt,’ she parried lightly in an attempt to conceal her rapidly mounting disappointment. ‘You’ll be telling me next that I’m the most beautiful girl in the room.’

The crooked half-smile which she remembered so well was suddenly tugging at one corner of his shapely mouth. ‘Oh, no, my dear. You may have altered during our years apart, but not, I strongly suspect, to the extent that you are susceptible to insincere flattery. Miss Drusilla Deverel has the edge in the looks department, as you well know,’ he returned, with that admirable candour which she had always admired.

‘That’s better,’ he announced, with a further easy smile, when she found it impossible to suppress a chuckle. ‘Now, before that young man who is purposefully heading in our direction whisks you away, would you grant me the pleasure of calling upon you tomorrow? I’ve been hearing some wonderful tales about you startling the populace by tooling yourself about the countryside in a curricle. Perhaps you might even be gracious enough to take me up beside you?’

‘Of course,’ she responded without considering the wisdom of her answer. But it was already too late to change her mind. The son of a near neighbour was standing before her requesting her as a partner in the next set of country dances, and Lord Hawkridge, after executing a graceful bow, chose not to linger.

Although far more successful in concealing the fact, Sebastian had been equally disturbed by this their first meeting in a very long time. The years he had spent in London perfecting the role of a wealthy, pleasure-seeking care-for-nobody had certainly stood him in good stead for just such an occasion as this. But it had not been easy to maintain the impersonation where Emily was concerned, even for those few short minutes.

When last he had seen her she had been scarcely more than a girl, coltish and slightly awkward, but the intervening years had wrought many changes. ‘Blossomed’ was the word which best described it, he decided, relieving a footman of a glass of champagne, and positioning himself beside the wall, where a huge vase of flowers partially concealed him from those taking part in the dance. Yes, Mother Nature had certainly performed her task well where Miss Emily Stapleton was concerned, bestowing upon her delightful feminine curves, and finely honing the delicate features into perfect symmetry.

But had all the changes been purely superficial? he could not help wondering, as he keenly followed her graceful progress down the set. Or had she matured mentally too? First impressions would suggest strongly that she had. Was the time now right for him to honour the pledge that he had made to the late Laura Stapleton? Should he attempt to woo her daughter in earnest? More importantly, could he afford to wait any longer? It would be madness to assume that, just because Emily had betrayed no interest in any gentleman during their years apart, she would continue to remain content with her single state. Another Season in Brighton with her late mother’s sister was looming large on the horizon. Then afterwards perhaps London might beckon, where numerous gentlemen bent on making the leap into matrimony would look very favourably upon such a sweetly packaged piece of merchandise. Time, clearly, was no longer on his side. She was the only female to whom he had ever proposed marriage, and against all the odds she had rescinded. Was he really prepared to risk the possibility of experiencing the humiliation and pain of rejection a second time? His mind might advocate the use of caution, and yet…

Smiling to himself, Sebastian carried his wine across to the room set out for cards. For tonight his head would continue to rule his heart. But for how much longer acumen could persist in winning the battle over desires if he remained in this locale was anybody’s guess!

Understandably enough, Sarah’s conversation at the breakfast table the following morning was all of the party, and how enjoyable it had been. Even John Stapleton surprisingly expressed his pleasure in the evening, before he sought the quiet confines of his library. Only Emily, it seemed, had been less than favourably impressed. She had arrived at Deverel Hall experiencing the gravest misgivings at the prospect of coming face to face with Lord Hawkridge. Yet a few hours later, when she had left in the carriage, she had felt nothing so much as acute resentment over his behaviour towards her.

Not once, throughout the entire evening, had he taken the trouble to ask her to dance. What was worse, he hadn’t attempted to seek her company a second time. Yet on several occasions throughout the evening she had seen him moving gracefully about the dance floor, while entertaining his various partners with his light-hearted banter. Moreover, he had been among those besotted fops who had languished at Drusilla Deverel’s pretty feet.

But why should she care? Emily wondered, desperately striving to convince herself that she was not suffering from that most unpleasant emotion—jealousy. It stood to reason that, now he had come into the title, Sebastian would one day be obliged to take the matrimonial plunge if only to beget an heir. When he had proposed to her he had been just plain Mr Hawkridge, and she had much preferred that man. The person she remembered, sincere and reliable, bore little resemblance to the male mannequin whose concerns undoubtedly didn’t rise above the set of his neck-cloth or the arrangement of his locks. Yet just once, when they had spoken together, she had believed she had glimpsed the Sebastian Hawkridge of old.

Perhaps she had imagined it, though, she decided, automatically rising from the table to help Sarah and Mrs Budd clear away the breakfast dishes. The man of whom she had thought so highly had been far too discerning, far too astute to be beguiled by a lovely face. He would have had little difficulty in recognising the selfish conceit lurking beneath Drusilla Deverel’s beautiful façade. She shook her head, at a complete loss to understand what had happened to him. Was it possible for someone’s nature to change so much in the space of a few short years? Yes, perhaps it was, she decided, after a moment’s consideration. All the same, she could not rid herself of the niggling suspicion that the manner he had adopted at the party had been something of an act.

‘Are you going out this morning, Miss Emily?’

Startled out of her reverie by the housekeeper’s enquiry, Emily recalled the foolish promise she had made and was now obliged to keep.