Running from Scandal. Amanda McCabe
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So much had changed. So much was the same.
As the carriage rolled to a halt, the front door to the house flew open just as a footman hurried to help Emma alight. Jane came hurrying out, as quickly as she could with her pregnant belly impeding her usual graceful speed. Her hazel eyes sparkled and she was laughing as she clapped her hands.
‘Emma, my darling! Here you are at last,’ Jane cried. As soon as Emma’s half-boots touched the gravelled drive, Jane swept her into her arms and kissed her cheek. ‘Welcome home.’
Home. As Emma hugged her sister back, felt her warmth and breathed in the soft, flowery scent of her lilac perfume, she could almost feel at home again. In sanctuary. Safe.
But wandering anchorless around Europe, seeing the dark depths all sorts of people were capable of, had taught her there was really no place safe. And even as she wanted to hold tight to Jane now, the guilty memory of how she had hurt her sister by eloping, of Jane’s disappointment, still stung.
Emma stepped back and forced a bright smile as Jane examined her closely. Emma had learned the art of hiding her true feelings with Henry, but still it was difficult to do. ‘Barton is looking splendid. And so are you, Jane. Positively blooming.’
Jane laughed ruefully as she gently smoothed her hand over her belly. ‘I’m as big as a barouche now, I fear, and twice as lumbering. But I’ve felt much better this time than I did with the twins, hardly any morning sickness at all. I’ll feel all the better now with you here, Emma. I’ve missed you so much.’
‘And I’ve missed you.’ More even than Emma had realised all those lonely months. ‘And Barton.’
Jane took her arm and led her into the hall. Emma saw the changes to Barton were not just on the outside. The old, scarred parquet floor was replaced with fashionable black-and-white marble tiles. A newly regilded balustrade curved up along the staircase, which was laid with a thick blue-and-gold carpet runner. A marble-topped table held a large arrangement of hothouse roses and blue satin chairs lined up along the silk-striped walls.
But Emma didn’t have much time to examine the refurbishments.
‘Is that our Aunt Emma?’ a tiny, fluting voice called out, echoing down the stairs. Emma glanced up to find two little faces, with two matching sets of hazel eyes and mops of blond curls, peering down at her from the landing.
‘I am your Aunt Emma,’ she said, her heart feeling as if it would burst at this sight of the twins, who she hadn’t seen in so very long. ‘You must be William and Eleanor. You are much bigger than when I last saw you. Back then you were about as large as a loaf of bread.’
The two of them giggled and quickly came dashing and tumbling down the stairs to land at her feet. They peered up at her with curiosity shining from their eyes, eyes that were so much like their mother’s.
‘You’re much younger than we imagined,’ William said.
‘And thinner,’ Eleanor added. ‘You should eat some cream cakes.’
‘Children!’ Jane admonished. ‘Manners, please.’
They curtsied and bowed with murmured ‘How do you do’s’ before Jane sent them off to find tea in the drawing room.
‘I am so sorry, Emma,’ Jane said as they turned to follow the children. ‘Hayden and I, and their nannies, work so hard to teach them how to be a viscount and a lady, but they are at such an outspoken age.’
Emma laughed. ‘Rather like we were back then? Though I fear I have not quite outgrown it, whereas you are the perfect countess.’ Suddenly she glimpsed a pile of travel trunks near the drawing-room doors. ‘Are you going somewhere?’
‘We were planning to go to London for my confinement,’ Jane said. ‘Hayden thinks I should be near the doctors there. But now that you are here...’
‘You must still go,’ Emma said firmly, a bit relieved she might have a few days to find her feet without Jane worrying over her as well as the new baby. ‘Your health comes first. You can’t worry about me now.’
‘But you can’t rattle around Barton all alone! You could come with us to London.’
London was the last place Emma wanted to be. All those watching eyes and gossiping tongues, all too ready to stir up the old scandal-broth of her elopement and disastrous marriage. ‘Actually, I was thinking I could use one of the old cottages. They are so small and cosy, a perfect place for me to decide what I should do next.’
‘Live in one of the cottages,’ Jane exclaimed. ‘Oh, Emma dear, no. This is your house.’
‘But you said yourself, it is too big for one person. And I can’t go to London now. Not yet. You wrote that Hayden was seeing about releasing my small inheritance from Mama to me soon—I can make do on that in the cottage.’
‘But...’ Jane looked all set for an argument, but she was, luckily, distracted by the twins calling for her. ‘We will talk about this later, Emma,’ she said as they hurried into the drawing room.
Emma was sure there would be a long talk later, yet she was set. A small cottage, where she could be alone and think, would be perfect for her now. She would be out of Jane’s way, and she could decipher how not to make such foolish mistakes again.
The twins were already settling in next to a lavishly appointed tea table near the windows that looked out on the gardens. Light gleamed on their grandmother’s silver tea service and platters of sandwiches and cakes, all cut into pretty shapes and arranged in artistic pyramids.
The children eyed the display avidly, but sat quietly with hands innocently folded in their laps.
‘All this for me?’ Emma said with a laugh.
‘Hannah missed you, too,’ Jane said, mentioning the woman who had been their maid for many years. In poorer times she was their only maid, but now she was housekeeper of Barton.
‘Here, Aunt Emma, you must have this cake,’ Eleanor said, passing her a pink-frosted confection.
‘Thank you very much, Eleanor dear,’ Emma said, sure her niece was most serious now about fattening her up. As they sipped at their tea, she studied the gardens outside. The terraces of flowerbeds sloped gently down to the maze and she was sure when summer came it would be a glorious riot of colour. ‘What has been happening in the village of late? Anything interesting?’
‘Oh, yes, a great deal,’ Jane said enthusiastically. ‘There is a new vicar, an excellent gentleman by the name of Mr Crawford. He is Lady Wheelington’s son from her first marriage. I am sure you must remember my friend Lady Wheelington? She is newly home from abroad herself. Mr Crawford is sadly yet unmarried, but I am sure that will soon be remedied. His mother has hinted of a young lady from Brighton. And old Lady Firth finally won the flower show last year! It was long past time. And Sir David Marton has come back to Rose Hill at last.’
‘Sir David Marton?’ Emma said, startled by the name. She feared the words came out much sharper than she intended and quickly turned away to nibble at her cake. ‘I hadn’t realised he ever left. He didn’t seem the adventurous sort.’
‘So you do remember Sir David?’ Jane said.
Of course Emma remembered him. How very handsome he was. The way he seemed to admire Jane’s sweet ways so much. The way he would look at Emma, so carefully, so close and calm, until she feared he could see her every secret.
How would he look at her now, after everything that had happened? Would he even speak to her at all?
Somehow the thought of Sir David’s disapproval made her heart sink just a bit.
‘I do remember him,’ she said.
‘Yes. He was quite kind to us when things looked rather bleak, wasn’t he? And he was such a help that night of the fire.’
He had been kind to Jane, always. ‘Yet you say he left the