Sally MacKenzie Bundle (84 page)

“Oh, definitely. As soon as I can manage it.”

“My lord!” Her brain must have finally emerged from its sexual stupor. A hot flush turned her cheeks a very becoming pink. She straightened her spectacles. “I am certain this is most improper.”

“Most, I’m sure.” He grinned. “But oh, so delightful.”

She turned to face squarely forward. “I believe we should be returning to Knightsdale.”

Charles obligingly gave his horses their office to start. “Don’t you think you should call me Charles now, love? The ‘my lording’ seems a trifle disingenuous. We have just been somewhat intimate, after all.”

“I’m certain we have not.”

“No? Well, what would you call it? I did have my tong—”

“My lord!”

“If you do not wish me to describe in detail everything we just did, I think you’d better call me Charles. Not that I would mind describing it.”

“My lord, please!”

“Please continue? I shall be delighted to. In fact, perhaps I shall also say exactly what I would like to do the next time I have the pleasure of putting my tong—”

“Charles!” Emma shouted his name, grabbing his arm and shaking it.

“See? That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

She pressed her lips together. “I believe I would prefer to finish this trip in silence.”

“Splendid. I shall entertain myself contemplating all the lovely things we can do together the next time we have the opportunity.”

Miss Peterson did not rise to the bait. Charles contented himself with imagining what it would be like to strip each article of her clothing slowly from her lovely body. He had a very good imagination. He shifted on the curricle seat. Too good an imagination. He had better turn his mind to less elevating thoughts.

Emma made a small sound, a cross between a hiss and a moan. He glanced at her. She was scowling at her hands. Where had her thoughts wandered now? Hopefully not the same place his had—he wanted her smiling, not frowning, when she pictured them together. More than smiling. Groaning. Writhing with need.

“Don’t care for your style of glove, my dear?”

She grunted. “My father did not do
that
with Mrs. Graham.”

“Ah. If you say so.”

“He couldn’t have—could he?”

“I hesitate to point this out, love, but your mere presence on this earth would indicate that he could.”

Her hand flew to her lips. “Surely that is not how children are conceived?”

Charles swallowed his laughter. “Not exactly, but it does have something to do with the process.”

“How much?”

“Ah, love, how I long to show you.” He laughed at the annoyance in her eyes. If there’d been a china dog handy, he would definitely have felt it cracking over his head. “Think of it as the opening bars of the waltz, sweetheart. There are quite a few more steps to be completed before the dance is over.”

“Miss Peterson!”

The call came from a man up ahead. Charles studied the fellow as he rode closer. He had a terrible seat—stiff and awkward. But then the nag he was astride was a sorry specimen as well. Showy, but with terrible gaits. Obviously bought by a man who knew nothing of horseflesh.

“A friend of yours?”

“An acquaintance—Mr. Albert Stockley. He’s renting Mr. Atworthy’s house while Mr. Atworthy is in Town.” Emma nodded and smiled as the man drew up next to them. “Good afternoon, Mr. Stockley.”

“Miss Peterson.” Mr. Stockley bowed stiffly.

Charles liked him even less on closer inspection. He was just as showy as his horse. Small and wiry, he wore his mud-colored hair fussed into some stylish arrangement and his shirt points so high he risked poking out his watery blue eyes. His nose and lips had the perpetually pained expression of someone who smells something bad—or expects he will smell something bad in just a moment. He looked to be one of those tiresome small men who always have something to prove.

“Mr. Stockley, have you met Lord Knightsdale?” Emma was saying.

Charles definitely did not like the way Stockley’s gaze sharpened when he heard his title.

“No, I have not.” He bowed in Charles’s direction. “A pleasure, my lord.”

“Stockley.” Charles inclined his head slightly. He was delighted to see Stockley’s eyes narrow.

“Miss Peterson,” Stockley said, “I had been going to call on you at Knightsdale, but now that his lordship is in residence, I assume you have moved back to the vicarage.”

“Well, actually—”

“Miss Peterson has kindly offered to stay and help with my nieces while their governess is away attending her ailing mother.”

Mr. Stockley frowned. “Oh? Is that completely proper, my lord? Not that I wish to criticize, of course, but Miss Peterson is an unmarried lady. She needs to guard her reputation.”

Charles felt Emma stir at his side.

“You need not be concerned,” he said. “My aunt, Lady Beatrice, is in residence. She will see that I keep my animal instincts under control.”

“My lord, I did not mean to imply—”

“Excuse me, but in case it has escaped your notice,
gentlemen
, I am still sitting in this curricle.”

Charles smiled—Emma sounded quite annoyed.

“Mr. Stockley,” she said, “I appreciate your concern, but you may put your mind at rest. I am in no danger from his lordship’s ‘animal instincts.’”

“No, of course not. I didn’t mean to imply…I know your virtue is unassailable…. Well, I just wished to discover if you would like to go for a drive tomorrow afternoon?”

“That would be lovely, however—”

“However, Miss Peterson will be busy tomorrow afternoon, Stockley. I’m hosting a house party, and she has consented to attend, when her duties as temporary governess allow, of course. My guests should be arriving tomorrow—you’re quite welcome to come, if you’d like.”

Stockley smiled, a sudden odd eagerness in his face. “I would be delighted to attend, my lord.” He bowed again. “I look forward to seeing you both tomorrow.”

Charles was quite pleased to see the man’s back, even if he looked like a scarecrow on a job horse.

“Stockley’s an odd fish,” he said. “Do you know anything about him?”

“I believe he has some connection to shipping—he’s only been in the neighborhood a few weeks. He seemed a perfectly amiable gentleman, until just now, that is. Really, my lord, I do not enjoy being discussed as if I were not present.”

“I don’t like the man.”

“Well, that was rather apparent.”

“Has he been buzzing around you?”

“No, he has not been ‘buzzing’ around me. You are being absurd.”

“Hmm.” There was something off about Stockley. Charles didn’t doubt the man was interested in Emma, but there was something more, something twisted in his regard. He planned to keep a close eye on him. “There is something you should know, Emma.”

“What?”

“You are definitely in danger from my animal instincts.”

Emma was relieved to reach Knightsdale. She was hoping to retreat to her room for a short while to gather her composure before she sought out the girls for lessons. At least she could trust Isabelle to have walked Prinny. She was such a responsible girl.

“Miss Peterson, you have company,” Mr. Lambert said as she crossed the threshold.

“Entertaining already, Miss Peterson?” Charles raised his eyebrows, a smirk hovering on his lips. “I am so glad you are treating my house as if it were your own.”

“My lord! Please. I’m sure there’s been some mistake. Are you certain the individual asked for me, Mr. Lambert?”

“Four individuals, miss.”

“Four?”

“Four ladies, miss. Older ladies. Lady Beatrice is entertaining them at the moment.”

“Oh.” Emma slapped her hand over her mouth. “The Society. This is the second Tuesday of the month, isn’t it?”

“I believe so, miss. Lady Beatrice has requested refreshments. Perhaps you could join the ladies in the blue drawing room?”

“Certainly. Thank you, Mr. Lambert.”

“The Society, Miss Peterson? Are you some wild-eyed reformer?”

“Hardly, my lord. I would like to discuss issues, but the other ladies never get beyond the latest gossip.” She sighed. This was exceedingly awkward. “I do apologize for the intrusion. Since I was staying here, I thought it would be easiest to have the ladies meet at Knightsdale. I didn’t mean to presume.”

“No, no, I would love you to consider Knightsdale
your home. What is the name of this society I am hosting de facto?”

“The Society for the Betterment of Women.”

“My God.”

Emma thought the ladies sounded a bit more animated than usual as she approached the drawing room door. She glanced at Mr. Lambert, who was still hovering nearby. He cleared his throat.

“Lady Beatrice requested refreshments.”

“Yes, you said that.”

Charles chuckled. “Broke out the sherry, did she, Lambert?”

“And the brandy, my lord.”

“
And
the brandy? I suspect you will have some inspired discussions this afternoon, Miss Peterson. How long have they been at it, Lambert?”

“The ladies arrived shortly after you and Miss Peterson departed.”

“Ah. So plenty of time to get well and truly foxed.”

A burst of raucous laughter erupted into the hall when Emma opened the door. She stepped over the threshold cautiously.

“There she is. Come in, Miss Peterson. Let Lady Bea fill up your glass—uh, cup.” Mrs. Lavinia Begley, the squire’s wife, sat—well, sprawled, really—in a chair facing the door. Her nose was two shades redder than normal, and her face was definitely flushed.

Charles’s aunt looked over. She had changed into an apple green and jonquil striped dress with a diamond tiara. The tiara had slipped slightly so it was in danger of sliding over her eyes. She pushed it back and smiled.

“Yes, do come in, Miss Peterson—and you, too, Charles.”

Emma glanced around the room. The regular Society attendees were all here—Mrs. Begley, the Misses Farthington, and Miss Blanche Russell. She had tried to get the younger ladies of the neighborhood interested in Society meetings, but so far she had not been successful. Mrs. Begley, who was comfortably over fifty, was the youngest of the group besides Emma.

“I’m very sorry, Lady Beatrice. I forgot about the meeting—and I never would have invited the ladies here if I’d known you would be in residence. I mean, I never meant to impose….”

“Don’t get yourself in a pucker, Miss Peterson. I’ve enjoyed making Mrs. Begley’s acquaintance and reminiscing with Miss Russell and the Misses Farthington. It’s been too long since we’ve enjoyed a comfortable coze, hasn’t it, ladies?”

Miss Esther and Miss Rachel Farthington, twins who had made their come out when the Prince Regent was an infant, nodded in unison.

“Yes, much too long.” Miss Esther had a green ribbon threaded through her sparse white locks.

“Since poor Paul’s wedding.” Miss Rachel’s red ribbon unfortunately accentuated the pink of her scalp.

“No, Rachel, remember…”

“…we didn’t go to the wedding. That’s right.”

“Because you were sick.”

“Had a touch of dyspepsia.”

“Which I caught from you the next day.”

“Would you care for some more inspiration, ladies?”

The twins nodded and held out their teacups for Lady Beatrice to pour another dollop of brandy.

“And you, Miss Russell?”

Mousy Miss Russell hiccupped and nodded. Well, at least the spirits had put a sparkle in her watery eyes, Emma thought.

“Come in and join us, Miss Peterson, Lord Knightsdale.” Mrs. Begley took the bottle from Lady Beatrice and helped herself. “There’s still some left.”

“Oh, sister, there’s the new Lord Knightsdale.” Miss Rachel elbowed Miss Esther so hard a little of the liquid in her teacup splashed out.

“So it is.”

The two elderly ladies stared at Charles.

“He’s gotten big,” Miss Esther said.

“I remember when he used to get into all sorts of mischief.”

“And Miss Emma, she was always following him around.”

“Think they’ll make a match of it?”

Emma assumed the twins thought they were whispering. Since they were both more than a little deaf, their whispering was only slightly quieter than their regular speech.

Miss Esther nodded. “Smelling of April and May, I’d say.”

Emma bristled. She was afraid if she looked at Charles, she would find him grinning.

“They’ll make nice-looking babies, don’t you think?”

“Yes, indeed. Lovely babies.”

Emma heard a choked laug behind her. “Wonderful babies,” Charles murmured. “Many wonderful babies.”

She felt an odd trembling in her stomach. Perhaps
she
had a touch of dyspepsia.

“Aunt, I believe these ladies would make brilliant additions to our house party, don’t you?”

“Yes, indeed. Splendid idea, Charles.” Lady Beatrice held up her teacup. “What say you, ladies? Who’s for a house party?”

The ladies—even Miss Blanche—raised their cups high.

“A house party,” they said. “Huzzah!”

“I believe I’ll go check on Lady Isabelle and Lady Claire,” Emma said.

“Were the girls well-behaved, Nanny? Down, Prinny! Shh, you idiot dog. Whatever are you wearing?”

Prinny, attired in a doll’s red bonnet and cape, yapped and danced around Emma’s skirts.

“Course we were behaved, Mama Peterson.” Claire frowned at the dog. “Come back, Lady Prinny, it’s time for you to go to the ball.”

“I thought ye said that dog was yer sister’s.” Nanny took a mutton bone from behind a battered copy of
The History of Little Goody Two-Shoes
on the schoolroom shelf. “Here, ye heathen beast, go chew on this.”

Prinny grabbed the bone and brought it over to where Claire had arranged her dolls. Isabelle was curled up in the window seat, reading.

“He is Meg’s dog.”

“Don’t look like it to me.” Nanny adjusted her spectacles and tucked a few stray strands of white hair back under her cap. “Looks like he’s making himself right at home, I’d say.”

Emma watched Claire try to tie a small cart around Prinny’s waist.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll go home quite happily when Miss Hodgekiss comes back.” Emma hated to disturb the girls. Isabelle looked so engrossed in her reading. Perhaps sums could wait for another
day. “How is Miss Hodgekiss’s mother? Has anyone had word?”