“No,” he said softly. “It isn’t very likely that a man who labors as a servant will become a man of means in England. Most will live and die a servant.”
Her lips parted as if she would say something further. Then she closed them firmly and gazed out the window instead. They were silent again, but this time the silence was a companionable one. Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. He wondered sleepily just how much his sister’s questions were prompted by O’Hare the footman.
He dozed a bit, and when he next woke, the carriage was turning into an enormous drive.
“It’s very large, isn’t it?” Rebecca said in a small voice.
Sam had to agree. The Hasselthorpe home was more a rolling mansion. It squatted complacently at the end of the gravel drive, in the middle of a vast field of mown grass, all the better to reflect its glory. Several generations had obviously been at work on the gray stone structure. Here were gothic windows, there, Tudor chimneys; the different styles jumbled together only gave notice that the family that lived here had been in residence for centuries. In front, the drive circled and there were already four carriages there, depositing gentlemen and ladies of the ton.
Samuel straightened and gave a reassuring smile to Rebecca. “We’ve arrived.”
IT WAS A perfect day for an outdoor picnic, Emeline reflected the next morning. The sun shone and the sky was bright blue with fluffy white clouds. There was a tiny little breeze, just enough to play with the ribbons on the ladies’ hats, but not so much that it blew their hats off. The gentlemen looked handsome and manly. The ladies pretty and delicate. The grass was still green and the view lovely: rolling hills with a few sheep to give it interest. One couldn’t ask for more.
Or rather one shouldn’t have to ask for more, because unfortunately, Lady Hasselthorpe had forgotten the wine. To be fair, the lack of drink was technically the fault of the housekeeper, but every lady knew that the servant reflected the mistress. A good chatelaine hired a competent housekeeper. An absentminded chatelaine made do with a housekeeper who forgot to pack the wine.
Emeline sighed. It was funny how thirsty one became the moment it was discovered that there wasn’t anything to drink. The first footman had already sent back several of his fellows for the wine, but as the luncheon party had walked over half an hour to find this lovely spot, it would take some time.
Lady Hasselthorpe flitted about her guests, her cheeks pink, her hands fluttering helplessly. She was a great beauty with golden hair, a wide, smooth forehead, and a tiny rosebud mouth, but alas, her intellect did not nearly match her looks. Emeline had once spent an excruciating twenty minutes in her company at a ball, trying to make conversation, only to realize that her companion was incapable of following her thoughts to a logical conclusion.
Emeline wished very much that Melisande were here, but Melisande wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. A burst of overloud laughter drew her gaze. Jasper was in the midst of a group of gentlemen, and as she watched, he set them all roaring with laughter again with something he said. In contrast, Lord Hasselthorpe stood in grave conversation with the most illustrious guest, the Duke of Lister. Both Hasselthorpe and Lister were important members of Parliament, and Emeline suspected that their host had even higher political ambitions. She watched Lister send Jasper an irritated glance, which her fiancé never even noticed. The duke was a tall, balding man of middling years well known for his ill humor.
“Will you stroll with me?” Samuel’s deep voice came by her side.
Emeline turned, unsurprised. She’d known the moment he started walking toward her. It was strange but she found that she always seemed to be aware of his movements. “I thought you were angry with me, Mr. Hartley.”
Where another man might have prevaricated, Samuel met her head-on. “Not angry so much as disappointed that you plan to marry for convenience instead of passion.”
“Then I don’t understand why you would wish to stroll with me, if you’re so insulted by my choice.”
It was the first time they’d been able to speak alone since the argument with Jasper, over a week ago now, and that disastrous kiss afterward. She glanced at Jasper. Her fiancé was in the midst of some sort of story, his long face animated, and he wasn’t looking their way at all.
Samuel bent his head toward hers. “Don’t you? I think you’re quite sophisticated enough to understand my reasons.”
“Nevertheless, I don’t like to stroll with a gentleman insufficiently in control of his temper.”
He leaned close, his eyes searching hers, and while there was a small smile playing about his lips for the benefit of the other house party guests around them, she knew that he wasn’t at all amused. “Quit attempting to start an argument and walk with me.”
Lady Hasselthorpe turned in their direction at that moment. For some reason, their hostess had chosen to wear exceedingly wide panniers draped with lavender and orange satin for a ramble in the countryside. Now her fashionable skirts swayed incongruously, the hem sweeping against the grass.
“Oh, Lady Emeline, do say you aren’t disappointed in me! I can’t think what became of the wine. I shall have to dismiss Mrs. Leaping immediately on our return. Except”—she twisted her hands at her waist in a pretty, confused, and altogether useless way—“I don’t know where else I’ll find a housekeeper. They are so dear about these parts.”
“Finding a good housekeeper is always a problem,” Emeline murmured.
“And look, that woman is all by herself.” Lady Hasselthorpe indicated a strikingly handsome blond woman in a green frock that showcased an amazing bosom. “She’s the duke’s special friend, you know. He insisted we invite her, and naturally no other lady will speak to her.” Lady Hasselthorpe knitted her brow fretfully. “And with no wine! Whatever am I to do?”
“Shall we investigate the progress of bringing back the wine?” Samuel asked gravely before Emeline could say anything.
“Oh, will you, Mr. Hartley, Lady Emeline? I’d be ever so grateful.” Lady Hasselthorpe glanced about vaguely. “I suppose I’ll have to be the one to talk to Mrs. Fitzwilliam. Won’t that just be daring?”
“Indeed, my lady.” Samuel bowed. “Meanwhile, we’ll seek out your wine. Lady Emeline?” He held out his arm to her.
Which made it impossible to refuse.
“Of course.” Emeline smiled and rested her fingertips on the diabolical man’s forearm, too aware of the heat emanating from his body. She only hoped that the heat wasn’t reflected in her face.