Joanna Maitland - Marrying The Major

‘I am sure you are right, Miss Fitzwilliam,’ replied Hugo at last, ‘especially about Lady Hardinge’s hospitality, for which I am most grateful. As to the estate, I shall do my best, but as I am unable to ride or to walk very far, I doubt I shall see all that much of it.’

Emma was suddenly quite sure that Hugo was relishing her discomfiture. Embarrassment vanished, to be replaced by an unwonted surge of anger. How dared he? He obviously thought his wounds gave him licence to behave outrageously. Well—she would show him.

Emma smiled dangerously. ‘I am sure that, with time and Lady Hardinge’s care, you will soon regain your strength, Major. I pray it may be so. And, in the meantime, you may fish and shoot to your heart’s content, may you not?’

‘No.’ He dropped his gaze so that Emma could no longer see the expression in his eyes. ‘I’m afraid not, Miss Fitzwilliam. My left arm is much too weak for either.’

‘But I saw you throwing Dickon up in the air—’ Emma blurted out the words without stopping to think. How tactless she was suddenly becoming.

‘Dickon is not exactly a heavyweight, you know,’ Hugo explained patiently. ‘And besides, my good arm took most of the strain.’

Emma looked away. She could think of nothing to say to cover yet another appalling faux pas. She ought to apologise—but that would probably just make matters worse. What on earth had happened to the Emma who was held up to débutantes as a pattern-card of feminine grace and good manners? Emma cringed inwardly. Somehow, Hugo Stratton was making her forget all the lessons she had ever learned about how to be a lady in polite Society.

The chiming of the long-case clock in the hall broke the renewed silence.

‘Good gracious,’ said Emma, ‘how late it is. I must go.’ She rose quickly from her seat. ‘I’m afraid I was so excited about seeing you all, that I failed to tell anyone where I was going. Papa will be worrying by now. I only hope he hasn’t sent out a search party.’ With an apologetic smile, she started for the door. ‘Oh, pray, do not get up,’ she said hastily, as both Jamie and Hugo struggled to rise. ‘I know my way very well.’

Richard was only just in time to open the door for her.

By the time Richard returned from escorting Emma to the stables, Hugo was alone in the drawing room, leaning against the folded wooden shutter for support as he gazed out across the park.

‘Miss Fitzwilliam has an excellent seat,’ Hugo said as Richard joined him at the long window.

‘Mmm,’ agreed Richard. ‘Almost as good as Jamie’s. Where is my wife, by the way?’

‘Lady Hardinge went upstairs to rest. She was rather tired by all the excitement, she said.’ Hugo could not drag his eyes from Emma’s retreating figure. The urchin had become a real beauty. Her manners were not exactly faultless, but her behaviour was certainly a remarkable improvement on the impossible child he remembered. Besides, she had been doing her best to conceal how repulsive she found him—which could not have been easy. He should not judge her.

Richard put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘What say we adjourn to the library, Hugo? It’s more comfortable down there, and there’s some decent madeira.’

Hugo half-turned from the window. Emma was just passing out of sight into the trees. ‘I’d rather not, if you don’t mind,’ he said softly, with a note of apology in his voice. ‘It will soon be time to go upstairs to change for dinner, and—’

‘And your host has the manners of a boor to wish to condemn you to incessant stair-climbing. I’m sorry I was so thoughtless, Hugo.’ He crossed to the bell-pull. ‘I’ll have the madeira brought up here.’

Hugo looked at his friend and smiled warmly. He owed Richard so very much—and Lady Hardinge, too. Who else would have taken in the wreck of a man that he had become?

‘How long is it since you last saw Emma?’ said Richard, dropping on to the sofa and stretching out his long legs.

Hugo limped slowly across the room to join his friend, noting that Richard now knew better than to make any attempt to help him. ‘More than ten years.’ He lowered himself awkwardly on to the spoon-back chair that Lady Hardinge had vacated, grateful for its relatively high seat. ‘In fact, it was the day I left Harding to join my regiment. I could never forget that. I was so excited—so certain of adventure, and glory, and…’ Hugo’s words trailed off into heavy silence.

Nothing more was said until the butler had received his orders and returned with the tray of refreshments.

Pouring out the madeira, Richard showed a renewed determination to be cheerful. ‘So, what do you think of Emma now? You have to admit, she’s changed.’

Hugo nodded. ‘She didn’t have the look of a beauty then, certainly.’

Richard laughed. ‘How could you tell, under all that dirt?’

Hugo raised an eyebrow. ‘Your memory is at fault, old friend. By the time we actually saw her that day, she was really quite clean. And remarkably well behaved, considering she’d been skulking up trees.’

‘Had she?’ Richard drank his madeira thoughtfully. ‘You may be right about that day. I’m afraid I don’t actually remember it very well at all. Emma’s been around for so long that all my early memories of her tend to merge. She was always there, always ready for anything, and always dirty. Until her father took her in hand and insisted she learn to be a lady. By the time of her come-out, she was totally transformed. A blonde beauty—with faultless manners for every occasion. I was quite sorry, in a way. I was very fond of her mischievous spirit. I miss it.’

Hugo said nothing. Richard spoke as if Emma had been moulded into a completely different person, a sort of beautiful automaton. What made him think that Emma’s mischievous spirit had been extinguished? Surely, having known her so long, he could see that Emma was still the same person under her conventional façade? Wasn’t it obvious?

‘In one way, though, she is still the same girl,’ Richard continued after a moment. ‘Can’t tell you how many offers she’s had, but she’s refused them all. She’s already mistress of her own household, of course, and a considerable heiress to boot, so she can afford to be choosy—though I fancy Sir Edward is beginning to worry that he’ll never see his grandchildren. He still dotes on her. And she knows exactly how to wind him round her little finger—just as she does with almost every man she meets. She may have perfect manners—but I warn you that she’s highly accomplished at getting her own way.’

‘Sir Edward may have hoped that you would offer for his daughter,’ said Hugo. ‘After all—’

‘I did think of it at one time,’ interrupted Richard, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘But then I met Jamie…’

Hugo nodded. Marriage to Emma Fitzwilliam would have been a business arrangement, a marriage of convenience, whereas Richard’s marriage to Jamie was a union of two souls. Hugo took a deep breath and closed his eyes in sudden pain. He envied Richard his happiness. There was no point in denying that, not to himself. Once, he too might have hoped to marry for love—but now he would never marry at all. Love—and children—were not for him. No woman would have a disfigured cripple—especially one whose honour was as scarred as his body. The best he could hope for would be a comfortable home and kindly servants to wait on him. At least he had wealth enough to secure that, and his own independence. He would make a life for himself, somehow, however much the world might shun him. He would learn to survive alone.

Emma was sure Hugo was watching her from the house, but she refused to turn in her saddle or to increase her pace. He would not be allowed to see how much their meeting had unnerved her.