Page 52 of Not Just Any Earl
Juliet perked up visibly at this, some of the color returning to her cheeks. “A house party with Lord Cross and dozens of loaded pistols lying about? That does sound diverting.”
Lady Fosberry laughed. “I thought you’d think so. Do you suppose Euphemia can spare you for another few weeks?”
“I’ll write to her, but I’m certain she won’t mind.”
“You do that, dear. Lord Cross may be a trifle surprised when you appear at his country estate, but surprises are pleasant things, aren’t they?”
“I’ve always thought so.”
“Yes, and I daresay Lord Cross could do with more of them.”
“I couldn’t agree more, my lady. He’s far too complacent as he is.”
“It’s settled then, dearest.” Lady Fosberry nodded, a tiny, satisfied smile on her lips.
Yes, this plan would do. It would do very well, indeed.
Chapter
Fourteen
Hambleden Manor was much as Emmeline had left it. It shouldn’t have surprised her, given she’d been gone just over a week, but it felt as if a lifetime had passed since then. The shabby old place with its worn carpets and smoking fireplaces would always be as familiar as it was dear to her, but somehow, it wasn’t the same.
Her home hadn’t changed, but Emmeline had.
“Will you go out and have a wander in Papa’s garden today, Emmeline? No one has been out since you and Juliet left for London. The fresh air will do you good.”
Emmeline had been staring down at the open page of her book without seeing it, but now she looked up to find Phee had laid aside her embroidery, and was gazing at her with poorly-disguised concern.
“It looks cold outside.” Emmeline glanced out the window at the gray sky, and an involuntary shiver wracked her, bone-deep and chilling.
“A bit, perhaps.” Phee wanted to say more, but she thought better of it, because she pressed her lips together without venturing another word.
What was there left to say? Emmeline had told Phee everything that had happened in London—
Almost everything.
She hadn’t told her Johnathan had said he loved her, nor had she confessed she was in love with him. She hadn’t told Phee she was afraid she’d made a terrible mistake, leaving London.
But Phee knew every other wretched, heartbreaking detail, from Emmeline’s shocking lapse of propriety in Lady Fosberry’s library to the rumors about the Lady in Lavender, and finally that awful night at Covent Garden Theater.
She hadn’t spared herself, or made any attempt to excuse her own conduct, but Phee hadn’t chastised her. She’d said very little, but the sadness in her eyes was harder to bear than a scold would have been.
Phee never said she’d warned Emmeline not to go to London, never reminded her that she’d cautioned both Emmeline and Juliet another battle with the ton would send one or both of them fleeing back to the safety of Hambleden Manor.
She hadn’t needed to. Emmeline was here, wasn’t she? That was proof enough Phee had been right from the start.
“I had a letter from Juliet this morning,” Phee ventured, after a long silence.
Emmeline tried to convince herself she was hoping to hear news of a betrothal between Juliet and Johnathan—that is, Lord Melrose—but the painful plunge of her heart argued otherwise. “How, ah…how does she do?”
“She’s well enough, I think. She intends to stay with Lady Fosberry for another few weeks so she might accompany her to a house party in Oxfordshire.”
“Is that all?” Emmeline swallowed. “No other news?”
Phee kept her attention on her embroidery. “No. Well, she did say she wished you would have bid her goodbye before you left Hampstead Heath.”
She hadn’t bid Juliet goodbye because she’d known Juliet would try and stop her from going, and she didn’t trust that she had the strength to resist her. “It was easier this way.”
