From Sir Henry Verney?But why?she asked with her free hand. He was such a very amiable gentleman. She liked him better than any of the other gentlemen who partnered her and conversed with her. She frowned.
“Zounds,” he said, “you will not be deceived by a lie and you will not accept an appeal without a full and truthful explanation, will you? Sometimes I wish you were as other women are. Do you see more deeply because you are undistracted by sound, Emmy?” He raised her hand briefly to his cheek.
No, she would not be lied to. She would always know if he lied.
“My wife was once fond of him,” he said. “No, more than fond, Emmy. She loved him. He encouraged her and then cruelly rejected her. She never quite recovered her spirits.”
Ah. For a while her mind did not quite grasp what she had just been told about Sir Henry Verney—her heart was too fully occupied. Alice had never fully returned Ashley’s love, then. She had always pined for a lost love. And now Ashley had been forced to meet that man.
“And so you see,” he said, “why I fear for you, Emmy. He has the sort of looks and charm that I can imagine might be attractive to many women. But he is a cruel man. Stay away from him. Promise me?”
But she was frowning again. Sir Henry Verney deliberately cruel? Taking pleasure out of luring a woman into loving him only to dash her hopes and turn away from her? Oh no, she could not believe it. There had to be some other explanation. Unrequited love, for example. He and Alice must have known each other for a long time. They had probably grown up together. And hewasan attractive man. Perhaps she had fallen in love with him but he had been unable to return her feelings. Perhaps she had exaggerated the truth when telling Ashley—and why, for that matter,hadshe told him? How could she have been so cruel? That must surely be the explanation, though. After all, she herself knew all about unrequited love. But she would never have given Lord Powell reason to suspect the truth if she had married him.
“You do not believe me,” Ashley said. “You must believe me, Emmy. He can hurt you.”
No. She shook her head. Sir Henry Verney could not hurt her even if what Ashley said about him was true. Her heart could never be hurt by Sir Henry. Or by any other man. It was that fact that had enabled her to enjoy the past month so well—except for the past day. It was hard now to realize that Ashley had come only last evening.No,she told him with her hands.I am happy. I am me.She was not vulnerable the way he feared.
He gave up. He sat back on the seat beside her and drew her arm through his again. The evening was almost chilly when one was sitting still. She felt the warmth of his arm and side against her arm and of his shoulder touching hers. She ached to let her head fall sideways to rest against his shoulder. A long time ago she might have done just that, but no longer. She had a sudden memory of lying naked against his clothed body, his cloak snugly about her. She remembered the intense tiredness that had succeeded the shock of what had happened to her just before that. She remembered sleeping in his arms. Yet now she could not even put her head on his shoulder.
He moved then, turning slightly toward her and setting an arm about her shoulders. “You are chilly,” he said.
She shook her head. She did not want this moment to end, even though she knew she should go back to the ballroom. Aunt Marjorie would wonder where she was. But stillness and silence were so important to her, and there had been little of the former lately. She had reveled in busyness—just as if the gap really could be bridged, as if she really wished it to be. Did she? Did she want to be like others but inferior because of her deafness?
He sat still and silent with her for a long time, as if he felt her need, or perhaps even shared it. But he spoke at last, touching his fingers lightly to her chin so that she would look.
“Emmy,” he said, “after the wedding, Luke and Anna will be coming to Penshurst with me for a week or two. At least I believe they will come once I have asked them.” He grinned engagingly. “Anna will not want to leave you so soon. You have not even seen her yet. They arrived this evening, you know, before I came here.”
Oh. She smiled. Just a few weeks ago it had been a relief to get away from Bowden and all her family. But suddenly a month seemed an age. She could hardly wait to see Anna.
“And there are only three days to the wedding,” he said. “Emmy, have you considered that Lady Sterne and my uncle would probably enjoy some private time together, perhaps even a short wedding trip? For a week or two, perhaps, before they resume all their usual social activities?”
But Aunt Marjorie had assured her that her new marriage would not in any way interfere with the social activities she had planned for Emily. Emily must never feel she was in the way, Aunt Marjorie had said. And Lord Quinn had echoed her words.
“You need not look so dismayed,” Ashley said. “Of course they love you. But of course too they will be newly wed. Be kind to them, Emmy. And to Anna and yourself. And to me. Come to Penshurst too. Just for a week or so, until Theo and Lady Sterne return to town—though she will be Lady Quinn by then, will she not?”
Emily felt such a surge of yearning that for a moment she felt almost robbed of breath. It was so very foolish to want him. She had refused the opportunity to spend the rest of her life with him, because she knew the misery of seeing him and of being close to him like this when there could never be anything between them except friendship.
“I want you to see Penshurst, Emmy,” he said. “’Tis a magnificent, almost new place. But I did not enjoy being there alone. I found it cheerless. I want my family there with me. And you. I want you to see the river walk and the hills. I want to see you in the summerhouse. I want to see you happy. You are not really happy here, Emmy. And you must not deny it. Not to me. I know you too well.”
How could she be happy—at Penshurst? But she had read the description of the place on his lips and had a mental picture of it as his home—as the place where he had been, where he would be for the rest of his life. How could she ever be happy if she never saw it for herself?
“Say yes,” he said. He grinned at her again.“Sayyes, Emmy.”
“Yess,” she said.
He had moved his head forward so that he was looking directly into her face. “Thank you,” he said. “You will not regret it. I will give you a happy time there, I promise. And I will teach you more words. A vocabulary of one word is nothing to boast about, by my life. Not for your teacher, that is. I shall teach you whole sentences.”
She shrugged and laughed.
“Emmy,” he said. “Ah, Emmy. And you shall teach me—more than I will ever teach you. Please, Emmy—teach me.”
Even as her heart lurched at the strange plea, he leaned forward and set his lips to hers and kept them there for several moments. They were warm, gentle, quite without the passion with which he had kissed her at the falls. His arm was still about her and she found the side of her head coming to rest against his shoulder after all. She felt warm again, and very sad. She closed her eyes and kept them closed for a few moments after he had raised his head.
He was looking at her with a matching sadness in his own eyes when she opened hers. “I am so sorry,” he said.
They gazed at each other in sadness. She wondered for what he had apologized. She did not think it was for the kiss—it had not been a passionate embrace.
“Come,” he said at last. “I must return you to Lady Sterne and all your admirers.” He touched a finger to the small black patch she wore close to her mouth, and smiled. “I have just realized something tonight, Emmy. I cannot hold you back from being all grown up, can I, no matter how dearly I wish to believe you are still that girl I knew. My little fawn.”
