Emily May - The Unmasking of a Lady

‘Bella and I have been talking about…oh, so many things!’

Bella? Adam jerked his attention from the macaroons. His sister was calling Miss Knightley, Bella?

Not for long, he promised grimly. This was one friendship he was going to terminate.

He glanced at Miss Knightley. She was watching him. Her face was composed into an expression of politeness, but there was something in those dark eyes that made him uncomfortable.

Adam looked away, at her teacup and saucer, at her plate, and tried to identify what it was he’d glimpsed. Not amusement or laughter this time. Something darker, something—

Loathing.

He shifted uncomfortably in the chair and stared at her plate. Crumbs lay on it, golden and delicious. His mouth began to water.

‘We’ve been discussing the subject of marriage. Grace says you’re going to choose a husband for her.’

His gaze jerked up. ‘Yes,’ he said, a short, clipped word with a silent message: And it’s none of your business.

Arabella Knightley smiled. She turned her attention to Grace. ‘I’m certain your brother will choose a man of impeccable breeding and handsome fortune—but there are more important things to a husband than that.’

Adam narrowed his eyes. He opened his mouth.

‘Do you want a husband who’s kind?’ Miss Knightley asked. ‘A man who prefers to laugh, or frown? An impatient man? A proud man?’

Grace’s brow creased thoughtfully. ‘Oh.’

‘I shall take into account the man’s character,’ Adam said stiffly. The note of censure in his voice was clearer this time.

Again, Miss Knightley didn’t hear it. ‘Of course you will,’ she said affably. ‘But are the characteristics you’re looking for the same ones that Grace wants?’ Her expression was friendly, but there was a disconcerting gleam in her dark eyes, something…adversarial.

She’s baiting me, Adam realised.

Miss Knightley turned to Grace again. ‘It’s you who’ll have to live with this man, not your brother, so you must be certain he’s someone who’ll make you happy.’

‘But…how shall I know?’

‘By observation over a period of time. Which is another reason why I suggest you not be in a hurry to marry.’

Adam frowned. ‘Miss Knightley—’

‘You’re not on the shelf,’ Arabella Knightley said to Grace, ignoring him. ‘Far from it! Don’t allow yourself to be rushed into something you must live with for ever.’

‘Miss Knightley,’ Adam said curtly, ‘the subject of my sister’s marriage is none—’

‘You have your own marriage to consider.’ Arabella Knightley turned her smile to him. ‘Don’t you, Mr St Just?’

Adam blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said, retreating into hauteur, looking down his nose at her.

Miss Knightley’s smile sharpened. ‘Grace tells me you’re looking for a bride. Do choose wisely, Mr St Just. Think how tragic it would be if you married someone who made your life miserable.’

Adam looked at her in dislike.

‘Adam…?’ Grace said uncertainly. ‘You won’t—’

‘Of course not,’ he said.

Miss Knightley abandoned her needling of him. ‘Enough of marriage!’ she said to Grace. Her smile became more natural. ‘Shall we talk about books? Which do you prefer? The Mysteries of Udolpho or The Italian ?’

‘Oh, Udolpho!’ Grace said. ‘And you?’

Adam glowered at Miss Knightley. She looked the perfect lady, dressed in white muslin, dark ringlets clustered about her shapely head, but there was a vixen buried beneath that enchanting exterior.

His eyes lingered on her face, taking unwilling note of her features: the creamy skin, the soft mouth, the tantalising indentation in her chin. He was aware of a traitorous flare of attraction—

Adam wrenched his gaze away. He frowned down at the table. The golden crumbs on Miss Knightley’s plate caught his eye again.

‘Are you hungry, Mr St Just? Would you like a macaroon?’

‘Yes, do have some, Adam.’ Grace held the silver platter out to him. ‘They’re delicious.’

His stomach threatened to rumble. Adam reached out and took two. Chewing, he listened as Miss Knightley and Grace discussed Mrs Radcliffe’s novels. He ate six macaroons, wincing each time his sister uttered the name Bella, before Miss Knightley rose. ‘So soon?’ he said insincerely, brushing crumbs from his fingertips. ‘You must come again. It’s been a pleasure.’

The glint in Arabella Knightley’s eyes, the faint edge to her smile, told him she knew he was lying.

Adam bowed over her hand, and then turned to watch her leave the room. His eyes lingered in unwilling appreciation on her figure. Miss Knightley’s ankles, glimpsed beneath the flounced hem of her gown, were very fine.

He cleared his throat and turned to Grace. ‘I thought I made it quite clear last night that I don’t want you associating with Miss Knightley.’

Grace glanced at him. ‘You did.’

‘Then what was she doing here—?’

‘I like her,’ Grace said. ‘And so does Aunt Seraphina.’

Adam inhaled slowly. ‘Grace, I utterly forbid you to have anything to do—’

‘You sound exactly like Father.’

His head jerked slightly back. He blinked, offended. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘If I want to be friends with Bella, I will!’

Bella. Adam gritted his teeth at the sound of the name on his sister’s tongue. He inhaled another slow breath and tried to speak calmly. ‘Grace, you’re being unreasonable. I really must insist. Miss Knightley is not someone you should associate with.’

‘Her birth is noble.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘She’s not base-born. Is she?’

‘No, but—’

‘So what has she done?’

‘Her mother—’

‘What has Bella done that deserves censure?’

Adam looked at his sister in silence. ‘Nothing,’ he said after a long moment. He sighed, and sat down beside her. ‘Grace, I’d prefer not to go into the details—’

‘I wish you would!’

Adam looked at his sister. Her eyes were wide and interested.

He shifted uneasily on the sofa. Not for the first time he realised how ill equipped he was for the role of guardian. How much should he tell a girl of Grace’s age? ‘Ask your Aunt Seraphina,’ he said cravenly.

‘I have,’ Grace said. ‘She was very vague.’

Adam made a show of looking at his watch. ‘Is that the time? I really must be going.’

The expression on Grace’s face, the sceptical lift of her eyebrows, was wholly adult.

Adam ignored it. He rose and started for the door.

‘Then I shall ask Bella,’ Grace said to his back.

Adam halted. He turned around and stared at her.

Grace clasped her hands in her lap and stared back at him. Her whole attitude was one of hopefulness.

Better I tell her than Miss Knightley does. Who knew the sordid details Arabella Knightley would include in her recital?

Adam walked back to the sofa and sat. He straightened his cuffs and flicked a piece of lint off his sleeve, wondering what exactly to say. Keep it brief. He cleared his throat and spoke. ‘Miss Knightley’s father was the second son of the Earl of Westcote. Her mother was the daughter of a French comte. They met in France before the Terror and married without the permission of either of their families.’ He glanced at Grace. ‘She was a Catholic, you understand.’

Grace nodded, wide-eyed. ‘They were disowned?’

‘He was; Westcote was notoriously bad-tempered. As for her…’ Adam shrugged. ‘The Terror was starting. I understand her family were among the first victims.’