Marrying the Major: Passion and peril in Regency London (Unsuitable Matches) Read online

  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 golden 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 the same person under her conventional façade? Wasn't it obvious?

  "In one way, though, she is 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 dotes on her. And she knows exactly how to wind him round her little finger, 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.

  "Only a few yards more, Juno," she said, stroking her mare's glossy neck, "and we'll be hidden by the trees. Then we'll take the shortcut home across the fields. I think we could both do with a good gallop."

  The chestnut's ears twitched in response, as if she understood.

  Emma continued to stroke the mare's neck absently, allowing the horse to make her own way along the familiar route from Harding to Longacres. There was something niggling in the back of Emma's mind, a fleeting memory about Hugo Stratton, but she could not catch it. Like a soap bubble in the bath, it floated out of reach every time she tried to grab for it.

  "Oh, fiddlesticks," groaned Emma, deliberately swallowing the curse that had risen automatically to her lips. "I've let him see enough bad manners for one day. I'd better practise being a lady for the rest of it. Once I reach home, at least." She dug her heel into Juno's flank. "Come on then, Juno," she urged. "Let's show them what you can do."

  The chestnut flew across the grass as though the devil were at her heels. By the time they reached the stable yard, Juno was in a lather. And Emma was gasping for breath. But at least they had lost no more time.

  "Where on earth have you been, Miss Emma?" cried the grizzled old groom, dashing out of the stables to grab Juno's bridle. "Your father's worrying fit to burst. He—"

  Emma slid from the saddle and stopped the old man's tirade with an apologetic smile and a touch on his arm. "One of the keepers told me Lord Hardinge was back from London, so I called in at the house. It was on my way. More or less," she added, hoping she was not blushing. "But I stayed too long. Is Papa very worried?"

  "Well, he hasn't started scouring the woods yet, though I dare say he might have done, in another hour or so. If only you wouldn't ride out alone, Miss Emma."

  Emma grinned. "Look after Juno for me, please," she said. "I'd better present myself for inspection, to prove I'm all in one piece." Looping the tail of her habit over her arm, Emma hurried up to the house and her father's study.

  "Emma," he cried, the moment she appeared in the doorway.

  Emma could hear the note of concern in his voice. Oh, dear. First, she had upset Hugo, and now her father.

  She ran to her father, wrapped her arms tightly round his neck and kissed his cheek. "Forgive me, Papa, for being so thoughtless. I went to visit Richard and I'm afraid I lost track of time. I'm sorry you were worried."

  Her father cleared his throat loudly. "Emma, if you would only take a groom with you, I'd have no cause to worry. Why don't you—?"

  Emma fixed her wide blue gaze on her father's face. "Oh, Papa, must I? Don't you think I can ride well enough to be trusted out on my own?"

  "It's not that. And you know it," he responded gruffly, removing each of her arms in turn. "The very best of riders can be caught out. That includes you, Emma."

  He was right. Even Juno had been spooked on occasion by a strange noise or a sudden movement.

  Emma kissed her father a second time. "I'll try to be good, Papa, I promise," she said. His answering smile told her she had won him round yet again. He was easily satisfied.

  "Well," he said, settling himself back in his favourite chair, "tell me about Richard. Is he well? And little Dickon? Did you see Lady Hardinge, too? I dare swear she is worn out, after all that travelling."

  "They are all very well, Papa. And Dickon has grown so much that you will not recognise him. He is starting to walk, too. Jamie is—" Emma hesitated. "Jamie is increasing again. The midwife says it will be twins." Her words all came out in a rush.

  "Twins?" echoed Sir Edward. "Oh, my. Oh, dear."

  Emma could see that he was thinking back to the loss of his own wife, when Emma was born. Emma sat down beside him and patted his hand. "Don't worry, Papa. Jamie says she's as strong as a horse. And it's not as if it's her first." Emma's voice tailed off once more. What a stupid thing to say, reminding her father that first babies, like Emma, were by far the most dangerous. What was the matter with her today? Her brain seemed to be scrambled.

  "You'll never guess who is staying at Harding, Papa." Emma changed the subject with exaggerated cheerfulness.

  Sir Edward smiled a little wanly. "Tell me," he said.

  "Hugo Stratton. Major Hugo Stratton. Do you remember him?"

  Sir Edward nodded. "Yes, I do. A major, eh? Well, I'm not at all surprised. I thought he had the makings of a good officer, even then. Let me see, how many years is it since he joined the colours? Eight?"

  "Nearly eleven, Papa," said Emma.

  "Really? Strange that he hasn't made colonel, then," said Sir Edward, half to himself. "Though he'd have to compete with all those fellows buying their promotions, I suppose. There aren't that many field promotions, even in wartime. And a majority is something to be proud of."

  "Papa, I don't understand. What is wrong with being a major?"

  "Nothing, my d
ear, nothing. I'm sure Major Stratton has had a distinguished career. He's sold out now, I suppose?"

  "I–I don't know, Papa. He has been badly wounded. I'm not sure how, or when. He walks with a limp and has to use a cane. And h–his face is horribly scarred, Papa." Her father's shock was evident. "Oh, I'm sure it will look better in time but, at the moment—"

  Suddenly, Emma's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Papa, I've done such a dreadful thing. I didn't know, you see. And when I saw Hugo, I got such a shock that I–I embarrassed him terribly, staring at his scars. I couldn't tear my eyes away. And Hugo was insulted. He could hardly bring himself to speak to me. Oh, Papa, I'm so ashamed. What shall I do?"

  Sir Edward patted her shoulder consolingly. "You must apologise," he said quietly.

  "I tried to, but I couldn't get the words out, not when he was staring me out with those hard grey eyes of his. And now, it's too late to say anything. That would only make matters worse."

  He offered her his handkerchief. "You may be right, my dear." He paused to pull at his ear lobe, as he always did when he was worrying about something. "Well, if you cannot tell him you are sorry, you must show him, go out of your way to help him to come to terms with his injuries. Can you do that, do you think?"

  Emma nodded dumbly and wiped her eyes, feeling more ashamed than ever. She never lost control. She had always prided herself on that. And she never allowed herself to cry, especially not in front of her papa. He liked her to be gay, and cheerful. And strong-minded. As she would be again.

  Even with Major Hugo Stratton.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "No. I could not accept."

  Jamie cast an imploring look towards her husband. She had clearly exhausted her own arguments and was desperate for him to intervene.

  "Hugo, please reconsider," Richard said seriously. "The Fitzwilliams are our oldest friends. They will be very hurt if you refuse."

  "I have absolutely no intention of providing a raree-show for Miss Fitzwilliam and her dinner guests, Richard. Acceptance is out of the question. Now, if you will excuse me." Hugo limped towards the door. "My apologies to you, ma'am," he said as he opened it, "if my refusal creates difficulties for you with your friends. But my mind is made up. I will not attend." He closed the door quietly behind him.

  "Oh, dear." Jamie's shoulders had slumped. "How will we ever persuade him to return to society if he will not attend even a small dinner amongst friends?"

  Richard shook his head sadly. He hated to see his wife so upset. "I don't know, my love. I really don't. I'd ask Emma to talk to him, but, after yesterday's encounter, he seems to wish to avoid her completely." He started to pace. "I had better ride over to Longacres to warn Emma, though, before she receives Hugo's note. If she learns of his refusal by letter, we really will be in the suds."

  "Tell her how hard we tried, Richard," said Jamie, a little wearily.

  "I will, but she will know that without my telling her. Remember, she knows you." Richard bent to place a gentle, lingering kiss on his wife's lips. "Don't worry, my love. Even if we can't resolve this now, it will soon blow over. And Hugo is bound to become less sensitive. Eventually."

  That thought remained with Richard throughout his ride across his own estate to Sir Edward's. Hugo was as stubborn as a mule. And stiff-necked besides, as well as proud, touchy, exasperating—

  Richard could have continued with his list for some time, but he did not. Hugo was a good man, and a good friend, who had suffered a great deal during his years as a soldier. With time, his testiness would mellow. Probably.

  "Richard!"

  Emma was almost upon him before Richard realised that she was there. He swore under his breath. He hadn't yet worked out how he was going to explain to her about Hugo's refusal.

  Emma was too full of her own laudable aims to notice that there was anything amiss with Richard. "You weren't coming to visit me, were you, Richard?" she asked brightly. "No need, for I am before you. And since I have already covered a much greater distance than you, it would be ungentlemanly in you to expect me to retrace my steps—" she smiled like the cheeky child she had once been "—would it not?"

  Richard's answering smile was a little forced, Emma thought. Perhaps he had been coming to remonstrate with her in private about her unacceptable treatment of Hugo. He had cause, but she would not permit any man to lecture her. "To tell you the truth, Richard," began Emma, more seriously now, and determined to make a clean breast of her failings, "I was hoping for a chance to talk to Hugo, to apologise for my behaviour yesterday—" that was not quite true, she realised "—or, at least, to try to show him that I mean us to be friends again. It was just that I–I was unprepared for the change in him. I—"

  "Jamie did try to warn you, Emma." Emma recognised Richard's big brother voice. "If you hadn't rushed out so quickly—"

  "I know. And I'm sorry, Richard. Truly." Emma tried to look contrite but she knew she was not making a very good fist of it. She was going to make amends. Surely that was enough? "However, once Hugo has been introduced to all his old friends, he will have no more cause for concern. I shall visit all the guests before the dinner party to warn them so that—"

  "Hugo refuses to attend, Emma."

  "No, he wouldn't. He—"

  "He's adamant, Emma. That's what I was coming to tell you." Richard was looking away suddenly, unable to meet Emma's eye. "He thinks you invited him in order to use him as a sort of—" He cleared his throat rather too noisily. "He hates to be stared at," he finished at last.

  Emma was shocked, then disbelieving, then angry when the import of Richard's words sank in. She urged her mare into a trot. "So that's what he thinks of me," she said hotly. "Well, let's see if he has the gall to say so to my face. How dare he assume—?"

  "Emma." Richard caught up with her and laid a hand on her arm. "Emma, calm down. Please. If you fly up into the boughs with Hugo, he'll probably pack his bags and leave. And considering the trouble we had in persuading him to come here in the first place—" Richard broke off suddenly. From the look on his face, Emma fancied her friend had said more than he intended.

  Emma slowed Juno to a gentle walk, forcing Richard to do the same. "Richard," she said earnestly, "I don't really understand what is going on. I know I behaved unpardonably yesterday; and I do want to set matters right. That was why I persuaded Papa to hold a little dinner party for Hugo. I thought he— Well, no matter what I thought. Obviously, I was wrong. From what you say, it seems as if it's more than— Oh, I know the scars are dreadful, but surely they will fade?"

  Richard hesitated for several moments. "Hugo has changed a great deal, Emma. It's more than just his wounds, I think, but he will not speak of his experiences, even to me, his oldest friend. Jamie had the devil's own job persuading him to come to Harding at all. He was set to bury himself on a run-down manor miles from anywhere."

  "Oh." Emma did not know what to say. Nothing in her upbringing had prepared her to deal with a man like Hugo Stratton.

  "Perhaps it would be best if you didn't come to Harding for a day or two, Emma. Give Hugo time to come down from his high horse."

  "Of course, I—" As she spoke the words politeness demanded, Emma knew instinctively that they were wrong. "No," she said flatly. "I shan't give him time to persuade himself that I am a heartless trophy-hunter. I was not planning to put him on display, as he seems to think, and I intend to make him admit as much." She shook her head in frustration. "Devil take the man," she said fiercely. "Can't he see that I'm trying to help him?"

  Emma's resolution had all but deserted her by the time she finally caught sight of Hugo among the trees. He had walked much further from the house than she had expected. Judging from his painfully slow pace, it must have taken a very long time to come this far.

  Emma swung the tail of her claret-coloured velvet habit over her arm and hurried down the woodland path to intercept him. She knew she was looking her best in her new habit and jaunty little hat, and she was determined not to make a mull of thi
s second meeting.

  "Major Stratton." She smiled encouragingly at Hugo's tense figure. He had stopped at the sight of her. She stepped forward to meet him, holding out her gloved hand. "Good morning to you," she said, refusing to be daunted by his hard gaze and willing her hand not to shake.

  Eventually, Hugo transferred his cane to his left hand and quickly shook Emma's hand. "Good morning, ma'am," he replied.

  Emma could detect no trace of warmth in his deep voice, nor any hint that he wished to prolong their encounter. But she would not cry off now. "I see that I was wrong to take you at your word yesterday, sir," she began in as light-hearted a tone as she could muster.

  He threw her a sharp glance from beneath frowning brows before busying himself once more with his walking cane.

  "You told me you could not walk very far, did you not? But I find you a considerable distance from the house. I collect you have been bamming me, sir." She looked straight at him then, letting him see the smiling challenge in her eyes.

  He returned her gaze frankly for what seemed an age, but she could read nothing of his thoughts.

  "Even cripples may improve, ma'am," he said quite softly. "The more I walk, the more I shall be able to walk. Would you have me lie down and moulder away?"

  "No, certainly not. How could you think it?"

  The tiniest smile crossed Hugo's lips as she spoke.

  Emma's temper snapped like the dry twigs beneath her boots. "Oh, you are quite impossible, Hugo Stratton, all thin skin and stiff-necked pride. You imagine that everyone is relishing your misfortunes or repelled by your scars. You believe that I invited you to my father's house in order to provide cheap entertainment for my other guests. You think—" She shook her head so sharply that the long red feather on her hat whipped at her cheek. "Whatever you think, you are wrong," she continued quietly as he made to speak. "When I was a child, you were my friend. I wanted us to continue to be friends, so much so that, as soon as I realised who was sitting with Richard and Dickon, I dashed out to meet you without listening to what Jamie was trying to tell me. So, yes, I was shocked when I saw you. And I–I wish to apologise for my rudeness. I hope you will forgive me."