But the drawing room was empty. He turned at the doorway and almost bumped into his girlish champion.
“Pardon, Miss D’Oyly.” He stepped back and bowed. “I was just coming to meet your caller.”
Emma’s cheeks were a trifle pink. “She had to leave unexpectedly, my lord. But you must be hungry after your long ride, so I’ve asked that a late luncheon be laid for you in the dining room.”
“Thank you. My horse lost a shoe.”
Emma then wanted to know more about the lost shoe. What were the circumstances? He had taken the horse to the farrier in Much Wemby? Very good. And what had the farrier said about the lost shoe? Was it the fault of someone here at Sutton Hall? She did not mean to be so inquisitive?—
“But you take an interest in the house and the estate, including the stables,” Henry said.
As well she should. Sir John thought nothing of absenting himself for days on end, and Lady D’Oyly seemed incapable of the many decisions a household required, only wanting to push Henry and Emma together at every opportunity.
He reassured Emma that the farrier had said no such thing. In truth, he thought to himself as he ate his veal chop, the farrier had said almost nothing except the surprising fact about his father writing a book.
Henry was just finishing his solitary meal and about to rise from the table when Sir John rushed into the dining room.
He was portly man, some years older than Henry, andHenry had thought him rather sedate and bookish. But now Sir John was hopping up and down, almost dancing with excitement.
“I’ve done it. I’ve done it!” he cried. “You can be on your way tomorrow, Lord Ashthorpe!”
Sir John threw himself into a chair, and Henry resumed his own seat. The butler removed a cover from a plate and brought it to Sir John.
“I’m ravenous, I declare,” Sir John said and attacked his food with zeal.
Henry waited to speak until Sir John had swallowed. “You have finished your answer to Lady Chalfont.”
“Yes, and it’s a topper. A real topper. She’ll be—” Sir John stopped, busied himself with loading his fork. “Lady Chalfont will be most interested in my reply.”
Henry would leave tomorrow. Good. He missed Mina. They had not been apart for more than a few days since she’d come to live with him.
He was also glad for Emma’s sake. It was unkind to allow her to have any expectations of a proposal from him. The sooner he was gone, the better. That would leave the field free for more suitable suitors.
True, he would have liked to visit Much Wemby one more time, to talk to the parson at the church in the village proper, to look out for more details from the Tommy stories. But perhaps it was for the best he wouldn’t have that chance.
After all, he might fall into the clutches of his enchantress again.
He did not pen a letter to Lady Chalfont that afternoon since he would be writing her when he reached home. Instead, he made sure his valet and driver knew he would depart tomorrow. He allowed Sir John to show him over the estate, although Henry had already seen most of it on walks with Emma and Charlotte. He made a fourth for whist with theD’Oyly women and suffered through Lady D'Oyly’s far-from-subtle hints about how Henry should invite the family to Bledsoe Park and her whingeing disappointment that he was leaving.
“You’ve only just arrived, Lord Ashthorpe. Emma has not even had a chance to wear her white silk for you!”
Lady D'Oyly pouted and spoke as if she were a child, as if her daughter were a doll for her to dress and show off. Even Mina would not engage in such behavior.
Henry was glad to see that, apart from her mortification over her mother’s behavior, Emma did not seem upset he was leaving.
But there was something Henry was forgetting. Something he was meant to do.
Dinner was an unpleasant affair, verging on the noxious. Lady D'Oyly was more determined than ever to see flirtation in Henry’s polite attentions to Emma and Charlotte. The young women were withdrawn. Sir John’s energy had depleted itself. And Henry was distracted.
Henry broke into Lady D'Oyly’s insistence that he praise some aspect of Emma’s appearance.
“The fête at Much Wemby.”
Lady D’Oyly blinked. “Yes, Lord Ashthorpe?”
“The family does not attend.”
“Oh, no. It’s just an opportunity for too much drink. I would never allow my Emma or Charlotte to mix with the riff-raff in that way. One hears all kinds of?—”
