“So, this is where you hide yourself, Emmeline.” Kent Fitzgerald’s voice startled her.
Emmeline had not expected Kent to return to Tarlton Manor so soon, for it was only a matter of days since he had last returned to the Midlands. Surely, he could only have been in his own home for a day and a half before returning to Emmeline’s home. Emmeline’s home for the present, at any rate.
“I am not hiding, Sir,” Emmeline said a little waspishly, her voice defiantly trying to hide a sudden stab of fear.
Emmeline was at the very far end of their grounds, some distance away from the beautiful rose bushes she had shown Hunter on the day that he had made his curious proposal. She had been looking for some peace and quiet and had gone to her favourite place. Not just her favourite place in the garden, her favourite place in the world. It was a tiny area of flagstones with an old wooden bench upon it which was tucked away on the edge of their grounds. It was a secluded, private place, shielded from the world by thick box hedging and tall trellises covered in clematis and passionflower. The gardener always set out a few pots of flowers in the little space, silently acknowledging that he knew it was well used. But it was only used by Emmeline.
“But nobody from the outside can see you, so I would say again that you are hiding.” He smiled at her, but it was not in the attempt at friendliness that he had customarily used.
This was a different smile altogether, almost the cruel grin of a cat knowing that it had a mouse cornered. It seemed to Emmeline that her cousin had become less and less attractive as time had gone on.
He still had that bland handsomeness, his face pleasing only because it was a symmetrical, featureless landscape. But it was pleasing in a very general way, pleasing to all but attractive to none. He was certainly not attractive to Emmeline, quite the contrary. Ever since he had sat inappropriately close to her during the afternoon of bridge at Croston Hall, Emmeline had been repulsed by him.
Time and time again, she had gone over his words and tried to excuse him. Although he had said nothing which she could use to make an accusation, it was the manner of his speech which had been so unsettling. Without saying it, he had made it very clear that he had an interest in her and, furthermore, that he was choosing to make some progress with that interest.
The very idea of it sickened her, and there had been times when she had wished that their period of grace would come to an end, that they would walk away from Tarlton Manor and that dreadful relation and away into a new life. Of course, such feelings were only fleeting and, when she thought about it rationally, the idea of leaving Tarlton still broke her heart.
“Finding a little peace and quiet in which to read and hiding are two different things. Still, if you yourself would care to use this space, I shall let you have it.” Emmeline began to rise and reached out to pick up the book she had laid on the bench when Kent had arrived.
Before she had laid her hand on the book, Kent Fitzgerald had snatched it up and was studying its front cover.
“Walter Scott,” he said to himself as he read the front. “I am not so sure that this is such a suitable choice for a young lady.”
When Emmeline had returned from Addison Hall some days before, she had immediately gone through her books and plucked out Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott to read once more. Although she knew the story well, something about her conversation with Hunter Bentley had compelled her to look at it again, to read through every passage with fresh eyes, thinking of his observations and seeing where they fit.
“I do not see how it is an unsuitable book,” Emmeline spoke with confidence, although she was careful not to antagonize him.
“It is not simple romance, is it? I am led to believe that the romance is tucked away behind great historical themes, themes which would be traditionally associated with the masculine.”
“You are led to believe?” she said slowly. “Then am I to take it, Sir, that you have not read the volume yourself?”
“No, I have not read it. I am a very busy man, and I have little time for such diversions.” He spoke angrily, much as one who had been caught out in something. Like a child who had been found out and could only be angry in response.
“Then I cannot see how you can claim it to be unsuitable. I have found it the most enlightening book, with adventure, yes, and romance. I found nothing unsuitable in it, I assure you.” Emmeline was careful not to defend her reading of the book.
It was true that there was nothing unsuitable in it, nothing at all. The very fact that her cousin could have said such a thing made it clear that he had never read it. But she would not defend herself; she would not apologize. What Emmeline chose to read was her affair and hers alone. Kent Fitzgerald had already given her the idea that he was, perhaps, a man who liked to control people. At the afternoon of bridge, she had sensed that feeling most keenly.
“I cannot think historical themes and adventure appropriate,” he snapped.
“Cousin, you speak as if you had some control over what it is that I read. Whilst you are set to inherit this house, whatever I might think of it, you do not inherit me also. You will have control of this house and nothing else. And only then when the period of the grace is at an end and you become the master of this house. But by then, we shall be gone, and it will be of little matter to me what you choose to do and control.”
“My dear cousin,” he began and paused for a moment to compose himself. Emmeline knew that she had seen a flash of vile anger in his eyes, and she had thought, for an awful moment, that he might strike her. “My dear cousin, I sought only to offer an opinion on the matter and nothing more. If you have taken it to mean something else, if you have misconstrued my intentions as an instruction, then please do allow me to apologize for my lack of clarity.” He gave a little bow that she was not convinced by.
“I daresay life is full of misconstrued intentions,” Emmeline said ambiguously and smiled. “Still, if you would excuse me.”
This time, Emmeline rose fully to her feet and held out her hand to take the book from him. However, he did not hand her the book but merely turned it over and over in his hand, not looking up at her. Emmeline did not want to leave without the book, nor did she want to spend any longer in his company than she had already.
“If you would not mind, Sir, I should like my book …”
“I believe you have spent some time at Addison Hall with the Earl in the last days,” he spoke quietly, almost in a manner which might have seemed to others conversational.
To Emmeline, however, it was anything but. She could hear not only the inquiry in his tone but also the accusation.