Running from Scandal. Amanda McCabe
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way—he had to, if his estate and his family, especially his daughter, were to be safely looked after. But when he held Emma Carrington in his arms, felt her body against his, he hadn’t felt in the least bit rational.
He felt like a sizzling, burning bolt of white-hot lightning had shot through him, sudden and shocking and just as unwelcome.
He remembered what a pretty young lady she had been before she left Barton Park and he married Maude. Her green eyes had been as bright and full of life as a spring day and she had always seemed just on the cusp of dashing off and leaping into whatever caught her attention. Her life since then more than fulfilled that promise of reckless trouble.
And now she was back, startlingly beautiful. Her pretty girl’s face had matured into its high cheekbones and large eyes, and her black clothes only set off her golden hair and glowing skin. The high collar and dull silk couldn’t even begin to hide the slender grace of her body.
The body he had held so close—and hadn’t wanted to let go.
David’s gloved hands tightened on the reins, causing the horses to go faster. He shook his head to clear it of thoughts he shouldn’t even be having and brought himself back to where he should be. In the present moment, in the full knowledge of who he was and the responsibility he had.
‘Don’t you think so, Papa?’ Bea said.
David smiled down at her. She looked up at him from beneath the beribboned edge of her bonnet, and for the first time in a long while there was a spark of real interest in her eyes.
But it was an interest she should not have. David would never let a woman hurt his daughter as his wife had when she eloped. If he did marry again, which he knew one day he would have to, it would be to a lady as fully aware of her duty as he was, someone steady and quiet. That was the sort of woman Bea should like and want to emulate.
Unfortunately, it seemed to be the spirited Emma Carrington who sparked Bea’s interest. And his own, blast it all.
‘Isn’t Mrs Carrington pretty?’ Bea said again. She held up her doll and added, ‘Her hair is just the same colour as my doll’s.’
‘Yes.’ David had to agree, for really there was no denying it. Mrs Carrington was pretty. Too pretty. ‘But there are things more important than looks, you know, Bea.’
Beatrice frowned doubtfully. ‘That’s what Nanny says too. She says the goodness of my soul and the kindness of my manners are what I should mind.’
‘Nanny is very right.’
‘Then are you saying Mrs Carrington doesn’t have a good soul?’
David laughed. ‘You are too clever by half, my dear. And, no, that’s not what I’m saying. I have no idea what Mrs Carrington’s soul is like.’
‘But she is Lady Ramsay’s sister and Lady Ramsay is kind.’
‘Indeed she is.’
‘And Aunt Louisa says you should marry again.’
This was more than Bea had spoken at one time in many weeks, and for a moment David couldn’t decipher the quick, apparent changes in topic.
Then he realised, much to his alarm, that maybe they were all of one topic.
‘Perhaps one day I will marry again,’ he said carefully. ‘You should have a new mother and Rose Hill a mistress. But I am sure we have not met her yet.’
‘Aunt Louisa said Mrs Carrington’s husband died, just like Mama did.’
‘Yes. But Mrs Carrington isn’t ready to marry again. And neither am I. We’re happy on our own for now, aren’t we, Bea?’ David felt a bolt of worry over his daughter’s sudden worry over his marital status. He had thought she was happy at Rose Hill, that once her mother’s death had receded into the past she wouldn’t be so quiet. He had thought his love and attention would see her through it all. What if he had been wrong?
‘Yes, Papa,’ Bea said quietly. She settled back on the seat and was silent for the rest of the drive home.
David could only hope she accepted his words and was truly content. Emma Carrington wasn’t the sort of lady who could ever fit into his vision of their future and he surely wasn’t the sort of person who could attract her. Not if her first marriage was her standard. He knew himself and he knew all of that very well.
Why, then, couldn’t he get the memory of her sparkling eyes out of his mind?
* * *
From the diary of Arabella Bancroft
I have met the most fascinating gentleman at the dinner tonight. His name is Sir William and he appears to have no estate yet, but the king favours him. I can see why. He is so very charming, and knows much about music and theatre and books. And most astonishing, he spent much time talking to me, despite my insignificance in such company. Indeed, he did not leave my side all evening and I did not wish him to.
He has asked to walk with me in the garden tomorrow...
Chapter Four
Miss Melanie Harding was quite, quite bored.
She sighed and propped her elbows on the windowsill as she stared down at the street below. It had surely been an hour since she sat down there and not more than ten people had gone by! None of them were at all interesting either. Why had her mother sent her off to this forsaken place? It was most unfair.
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