Dishonourable Intent. Anne Mather
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a pleasant old man, if inclined to be a little forgetful these days. There was a whisky glass beside his chair, too, and Will guessed he’d been imbibing long before anyone else arrived. His lips twitched. Good old Archie! They might have had their differences at times, but he felt a certain amount of affection for the old man.
‘Are we that boring?’
The voice came from close at hand, and he realised that while he had been studying Archie Rossiter Emma had left her parents talking to his grandmother, and come to join him.
‘Boring?’ he echoed, aware of her meaning but giving himself time to think. ‘Why should you think that, Miss Merritt? The evening’s hardly begun.’
‘Oh, I know that.’ She regarded the cocktail she was holding for a moment, and then tilted her head to give him the full benefit of her wide-eyed gaze. ‘And my name’s Emma, not Miss Merritt. That sounds almost as dull as you probably think we are.’
Will arched one dark brow. ‘You don’t know what I think.’
‘Don’t I?’ Clearly, she thought she did. ‘You probably didn’t want to join us for dinner, did you?’
‘Why should you think that?’
It wasn’t a denial, and he could tell from her expression that she knew it. ‘Because Daddy was so insistent that he needed a few days in the country. You can never get him out of the office when we’re at home.’
Will endeavoured to follow her conversation. ‘And where is that?’ he asked politely. ‘Home, I mean? You’re not from this area, I gather.’
‘Hardly,’ said Emma flatly. ‘Or we wouldn’t be staying at Mulberry Court. No, actually, we live in Cambridge. My father has business interests there.’
‘Does he?’
Will forbore to ask what those business interests might be. He seemed to recall his grandmother mentioning something about microchip technology, and the uses to which it could be put in mobile phones and fax machines. According to Lady Rosemary—and this was the important thing so far as she was concerned—Sir George was incredibly wealthy, and eager to acquire for his youngest daughter the kind of pedigree money couldn’t buy.
‘Lady Rosemary told us you studied at Cambridge,’ Emma continued, and he wondered exactly how much she knew of the unholy alliance to which her father aspired. ‘Unfortunately, I wasn’t clever enough to go to university,’ she added. ‘So Daddy sent me to a finishing school in Switzerland instead.’
Will’s mouth flattened. ‘I can’t believe you couldn’t have found a place at university if you’d really wanted to,’ he remarked drily, and was rewarded by a mischievous glance out of the corner of her eye.
‘Well, who wants to spend hours studying stuffy old books when one could be out riding or swimming or watching polo?’ she declared smugly. ‘It was so much more fun in Lausanne. You wouldn’t believe the things we got up to.’
Will thought he probably could, but he didn’t comment, and presently she began to talk about the history of Mulberry Court and how much she enjoyed exploring old buildings. After what she’d said about the stuffiness of books and study, Will doubted she had any real interest in the subject—not in an objective way, at least. But he knew what was expected of him, and politely suggested she might like to visit the Abbey while she was here, and he knew from the enthusiasm of her acceptance that he was right.
By the time Mrs Baxter, his grandmother’s housekeeper, came to announce that supper was ready, he felt he knew virtually all there was to know about Emma’s life up to that point. He knew the schools she’d attended, the subjects she’d enjoyed most, and her tentative plans for the future. The fact that she was keen to fall in love and get married, and subsequently have a large family, had been relayed to him in that attractively breathy tone, and he doubted few men would remain immune to such appealing candour.
Somewhat to his relief, he found Archie Rossiter on his left at supper. The heavy table, which had once occupied a central position in the dining hall, was now used as a sideboard, and the table they ate from was of a much more manageable size. Acting on his grandmother’s instructions, he was sure, Mrs Baxter had placed Will beside Emma Merritt, thus enabling Lady Rosemary to have Sir George and his daughter on either hand.
It was obvious the old lady intended to keep a sharp eye on the young woman she was hoping might become her grandson’s wife, but it suited Will’s purposes very well. He could parry any awkward questions by talking to the old man, and with Lady Merritt sitting opposite this was no small advantage.
And yet he wasn’t totally opposed to being scrutinised in his turn, and whenever his grandmother caught his eye he turned a tolerant smile in her direction. He had invited Emma to Lingard; he would see how things developed from there. He was making no impetuous promises he couldn’t keep.
He ate sparingly, finding the cook’s reliance on garlic and rich Mediterranean sauces hard to stomach. But Luisa was Italian, and didn’t take kindly to being criticised, and his grandmother was afraid to offend her in case she left. It wasn’t easy keeping staff in Yorkshire, when the lure of London and higher wages was so attractive. But Luisa had family in the neighbourhood, and the fact that Lady Rosemary spent the early part of the year in London anyway enabled her to enjoy the best of both worlds.
Besides, as his grandmother was known to argue, what was wrong with pasta and tomatoes? They were both good, wholesome ingredients, and far better for you than stodgy pies and puddings. He looked down at his plate, his lips tightening, as he remembered sharing a joke with Francesca about Luisa’s temperamental nature. His ex-wife had expressed the view that if Luisa produced pasta pies and puddings Lady Rosemary wouldn’t say a word against them.
“I understand you spent some time on our home territory,’ Lady Merritt interrupted him now, and for a moment Will didn’t know what she meant. ‘At Cambridge,’ she added pointedly. ‘Wasn’t that where you took your degree?’
Will drew a breath. ‘Oh—Cambridge.’ he said politely. ‘Yes. That’s right. But it’s some years ago now. I’ve almost forgotten my college days.’
‘Not that long ago,’ inserted Lady Rosemary, proving she was not above eavesdropping herself if she felt it was needed. ‘You’re only thirty-four, Will. You talk as if it was the dim and distant past.’ She paused, and then added with rather more asperity, ‘I can imagine there are aspects of that time that are rather—disagreeable to you. But don’t dismiss your education.’ She glanced around to include the whole table in her next words. ‘It’s so important, don’t you think?’
‘Welt—’
Lady Merritt was less positive on this subject, and Emma took the opportunity to explain why. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been quite a disappointment in that department, Lady Rosemary. I have to admit, I couldn’t wait to leave school.’
‘But she had extremely good marks while she was there—’ began her mother, only to be overridden again in her turn.
‘I was talking about my grandson,’ said Lady Rosemary, managing to modify her comments without giving offence. She bestowed a brilliant smile on Emma, and then continued, ‘I wouldn’t want another bluestocking for a granddaughter-in-law, my dear. Believe me, one was quite enough.’
She had gone too far. Will knew she had sensed her mistake long before she encountered her grandson’s cool grey stare. Which was why she hurried on to another topic, asking Sir George what he thought of the local golf club where he had played a round that afternoon.
‘Was your wife very clever?’ enquired Emma artlessly, and, although her questions had amused him before, now he felt a sense of impatience.
‘Not particularly,’ he answered shortly, taking refuge in his glass of wine. Though the truth was that Francesca had been rather clever—too clever for her own good, he thought bitterly, refilling his glass.
‘I hear your man’s had some success with his fuchsias this year,’