She tried not to jolt at the acerbic tone. Before she could answer, her husband intervened. “Hello, Mother. Would you care to sit down and join us? I would stand, except that I’m not feeling as well as I might.” His voice held a trace of irony, and she sensed that he meant to defend her.
“I told you this would happen if you returned, Cormac.” Her voice was crisp, filled with an air of no nonsense. “And now I wish to speak with your wife.”
Emma reached for his hand, uncertain of what the matron wanted, other than to berate her. She wasn’t so certain she wanted to go with Josephine. “What would you like to talk about?” she asked, not looking at the woman.
“Your marriage and your future here.”
Well, that wasn’t exactly the sort of conversation she wanted to have at this moment. Especially since Cormac had endured several days of sickness. She wanted to remain at his side to ensure that he was feeling better.
“Perhaps in the morning,” she hedged. “I don’t want to leave my husband.”
But the dowager would not be dissuaded. “It won’t take very long.”
Although Emma thought of refusing, she sensed that it might make matters worse. She had to face Josephine sooner or later.
“Don’t let her bark frighten you,” Cormac said, squeezing her hand. “She’s more worried than angry.”
“Mind your tongue, lad. I can bark if I wish.” The dowager’s tone remained sharp, and Emma held his hand a moment longer before she released it.
She already knew Josephine didn’t like her, and the dowager probably thought she was only after Cormac’s fortune. Perhaps this might be an opportunity to be frank and possibly make an ally. They both had the same goal, she felt certain.
“Where would you like to converse?” she asked calmly.
“Downstairs in the library. That way, we won’t be interrupted.”
Emma rose from the bed and walked toward the door. It was only eight steps, so she counted as she made her way toward the earlier sound of the dowager’s voice. She’d nearly made it across the room when her foot caught on an armchair that had apparently been moved since yesterday. Just as she was about to lose her balance, Emma seized the arm and caught herself.
“Sorry,” she apologized.
Not that shewasapologetic about being unable to see, but she was rewarded when the dowager called out, “Walk with me.”
Now that she had Josephine’s location, she crossed through the doorway. “I’ll return shortly,” she said in Cormac’s direction. “Try to rest.”
“I’ll be waiting right here,” he assured her with a teasing lilt to his voice. But beneath his humor, she didn’t miss the tinge of pain.
Emma turned to follow the blur of the dowager’s black dress. Josephine’s silence suggested that she fully intended to wait until they were completely alone before they had their discussion.
She counted the stairs, and from their direction, she could tell the dowager was indeed leading her to the library. She was glad it was one of the rooms she knew. Once they reached the doorway, Emma entered and the dowager ordered her, “Sit down, girl.”
She bristled at the woman’s words but decided that now was not the time to antagonize her mother-in-law. Instead, she felt around discreetly for the chair and then sat down. It reminded her of the many times her teachers had scolded her after her lessons, telling her how stupid she was.
Josephine took the seat opposite Emma. “Now that you’ve seen my son’s illness, I suppose you’re hoping to become a widow soon.”
Though the matron’s words were quiet, Emma was aghast. She sat up in her chair and turned toward the older woman. “Why would you say something so terrible?”
“There are several who are wanting to see him dead,” she responded. “Perhaps even you.” Her voice was thin, filled with accusation.
“No,” she shot back. “Never me.” The woman’s words infuriated her, shattering any thoughts she had of them becoming friends, much less allies.
“Then why else would you marry him?” Josephine asked. “The only reason would be that you’re wanting his fortune. Perhaps you discovered his illness while you were in London.” She moved closer and said, “And we both know that if you bear a son, this castle and all the lands become his inheritance. You would live like a queen.”
Although the woman spoke matter-of-factly, Emma intended to set her straight. “I am not a fortune-hunter. And the last thing I want is for Cormac to die.” She stiffened and added, “My husband is a good man, and he doesn’t deserve this.”
His mother fell silent. “You’ve the right of that. Which is why I won’t be standing back and letting an English debutante wait like a vulture for him to die.”
An unexpected laugh broke forth from her at the accusation. “I am not at all a debutante, Lady Dunmeath. Much less a vulture.” A wallflower, yes. But she was nothing like Lady Persephone or any of the other London heiresses who cared only for a man’s title and wealth.
And yet, Emma knew she was the very worst sort of lady Cormac could have wed. She was barely hiding her blindness, and once the dowager learned she could not read or write, Josephine would do everything in her power to keep her from becoming a true countess.
