He turned and guided them through the long halls. As they followed, Mrs. Liston gripped Emma’s arm tighter. “You see. Such formality!” she said in a stage whisper that could likely be heard four rooms away. “It can be nothing less than a proposal.”
Emma’s cheeks flared with heat. “Please don’t make a scene, Mama,” she whispered. “We know nothing. Let us not act like fools.”
The servant stopped at a closed door, shot them a look over his shoulder and then rapped twice. To Emma’s surprise, he didn’t then enter, but waited in the hallway for the few seconds it took for James to answer.
James glanced into the hall, nodded to his servant and stepped out to join them. He shut the door behind himself and waved the footman off.
Once he was gone, James smiled at first Emma, then her bouncing mother. Emma’s chest tightened and her throat closed. He looked very upset. Something was wrong.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said. “Thank you for joining me.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Mrs. Liston said, grinning at him. Emma fought to hold back a sigh. Her mother clearly had no observational skills in the moment. She was so wrapped up in this proposal she believed was forthcoming, she couldn’t read James’s frown, the darkness in his stare, the increasingly gentle tone he used, like he was leading someone to their grave.
“What is it?” Emma whispered, holding his stare.
For a moment, his gaze faltered and darted away, but then he brought it back to her and held firm. She saw his hand stir at his side like he wanted to touch her, and in that wild moment she wished he could. She wanted to cling to him, to steady herself with this strength.
But she couldn’t.
“There is no easy way to say this,” he said. “So I will simply state it. You have a visitor who has come to this house to see you. A man I fear neither of you may wish to see.”
Emma felt herself swaying. “Who?”
“Mr. Harold Liston,” James whispered. “Emma, your father is here.”
Chapter Sixteen
Emma stared at James. He was talking, but it was like she was being held under water as she watched his lips move. He sounded incredibly far away and hollow as her mind spun on what he had just said.
Her father was here.Here! He had come all the way from London to the shire of Abernathe, found Falcon’s Landing and stormed this castle like an invading army.
He had comesearchingfor her and her mother, rather than simply waiting for their return to London in another week’s time. Andthatcould not be a piece of good news.
“—why you would believe this would not be a happy bit of news, Your Grace,” her mother was saying, her tone falsely bright. “I didn’t expect my husband to join us here, but of course we willbothbe most pleased to see him.”
Emma took in her mother’s words with a slow shake of her head. Even in this moment, when it was obvious James knew of their troubles with her father, her mother was more concerned with appearances than protection. Worse, Emma knew that the moment her mother laid eyes on her husband she would turn to a tittering debutante, swept away by a handsome man.
Because she always did.
“Is he…in there?” Emma asked, flicking her hand toward the room where James had exited from a moment before.
He nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Then in we go,” her mother said, and all but pushed past James to open the door.
James looked at Emma as Mrs. Liston did so. Then he reached out and traced just his fingers across her own. “I’m here,” he whispered. “I’mhere.”
She shivered at the intimacy of both his touch and his words, but then she stepped away. James said he was here for her, but that was not permanent. If she leaned too heavily on him, when he was gone she might not recall how to bear her own weight.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and then moved past him into the parlor where her father now stood with her mother. He was holding Mrs. Liston’s hand and she was staring up at him with adoration, despite all her statements about how dangerous and unreliable he was. It had always been that way with them.
Emma watched her father as he was distracted by the bride he found so easy to discard. It had been nearly a year since she’d last laid eyes upon him. She was always surprised by how young he still looked. His hair maintained its thickness and luster despite the growing gray at his temples, and his eyes were bright. Of course, not having to bear any responsibility would do that to a man.
“There’s my Emma,” he said, dropping her mother’s hand as he moved across the room to her. He leaned in to buss her cheek and she bore it as best she could.
“Father,” she said softly.
“Papa,” he corrected. “No need for such formality. Not when I come with such news for you.”
