The Trouble With Emma (20 page)

Emma flushed and turned away and stalked to the car, aware as she did of Lizzy’s laughter behind her.

“Sorry,” she said as Mark slid in behind the wheel a few moments later. “My sister loves her little jokes, especially if they’re at my expense.”

“It goes with the territory if one has a sister, I suppose.” He signalled and eased out into the flow of traffic to begin their journey back to Litchfield. “Did I hear you tell Lizzy that Mr Churchill’s holding a party at Crossley Hall next month?”

“Yes. He’s having renovations done and he wants to show the Hall off when the work is finished.”

“Ah. How very typical of him,” he muttered.

“What? Having a party?”

“No. Showing off.”

Emma regarded him in bafflement. “You really don’t like him, do you?”

“I scarcely know the man.”

“Yet you went out of your way to be rude to him at daddy’s garden party,” she pointed out. “And then there was that thing you said to me on Saturday.”

It was his turn to look baffled. “What thing was that?”

“When I accused you of suggesting that Martine wasn’t good enough for Mr Churchill, you said –”

“I said he wasn’t good enough for
her
.” He glanced at her, his face set. “And he’s not.”

“But what an extraordinary thing to say! He’s a wealthy property owner, a City businessman, and a bastion of society –”

“A bastion of society?” Mark snorted. “He’s been involved in more than a few dodgy business deals, including the purchase of several distressed country estates via an investments group, XYZ - which group tore the places down and paved them over with shopping centres and car parks and the like.”

“Oh. Well,” she said doubtfully, “he’s a businessman, after all. Isn’t that what investments groups do?”

“This particular investments group promised quite the opposite when they purchased the properties. They promised to renovate and operate the estates as hotels and spas, without destroying the charm of the country setting. In every case, they lied.”

Emma frowned, silent as she absorbed this latest and most unwelcome bit of information about Mr Churchill.

“He also fancies himself quite the ladies’ man. I warn you, you’ll do your friend Martine no favours by pushing her at him,” Mark added, his expression grim. “He’s a womaniser, and he’ll only use her and break her heart.”

“I begin to think you’re jealous, Mr Knightley.” She refused to take what he said about James at face value. “Do you perhaps envy Mr Churchill his success and his way with the ladies? You must admit he’s very charming.”

“Forgive me, Emma, but I don’t agree. I find Churchill singularly lacking in charm. I’m not so easily persuaded by a pleasant manner or a glib tongue as you ladies tend to be.”

“Meaning what?” she exclaimed, incensed. “That we ‘ladies’ haven’t the intelligence to resist a handsome face or a charming conversationalist?”

His jaw tightened. “The man is not what he seems, and that’s all I intend to say on the matter.”

Emma retreated into an affronted silence, and turned away to gaze out the window; and they spent the rest of their journey back to Litchfield without benefit of further conversation.

***

That evening Emma found herself back at Litchfield Manor, sitting at the kitchen table with her father as they shared a pot of tea and caught up on each other’s news.

“I trust Lizzy and Hugh are well, and happy?” Mr Bennet asked.

“Disgustingly so.” Emma smiled. “I’ve never seen Lizzy so content. She positively glows with happiness.”

“And how was your visit to the Tate Modern with Mr Knightley?”

“Very nice.” She stirred milk into her tea. “But we never actually made it to the Tate. We ended up taking Mark’s nephews to the Natural History Museum instead. What did I miss here?”

“Not a thing, really. Mrs Cusack and her niece had a bit of a falling out. Other than that, nothing…”

She lifted her head. “A falling out? Oh, do tell! What can the impossibly perfect and clever Miss Fairfax have done to earn her aunt’s wrath?”

“You know I don’t like to gossip.” He frowned at her in disapproval over his spectacles. “But it seems your mention of seeing Isabella with Mr Churchill in his garden led to a bit of a row between Maureen and her niece, and after some hard questions, she wrangled a confession from the girl.”

“A confession?” Emma echoed, and leaned forward. “What sort of confession?”

“Miss Fairfax needed tuition money and book fees for Central Saint Martins and hesitated to ask her aunt; so she’s been working as Mr Churchill’s assistant to earn a bit of extra cash.”

“I see.” Well, she thought, at least Isabella’s story tallied with James’s. So they were either both telling the truth, or they were both lying.

“Of course Maureen informed her quite firmly that she needn’t worry about the money, and that her tuition will be taken care of; but Isabella wouldn’t hear of quitting her work for Mr Churchill. She says it gives her something useful to do until her classes start.”

“How noble of her,” Emma observed, and only just resisted rolling her eyes. “So there’s nothing of a…romantic nature between them, then?” she added.

Her father regarded her in surprise. “No, of course not! He’s far too old for Isabella, at any rate. Really, Emma – I didn’t realise you had such a suspicious nature.”

“I’m not suspicious, daddy.” She smiled and patted his hand reassuringly. “I just prefer not to take things at face value.”

She stood and kissed him goodnight, and went upstairs to bed.

Chapter 37

Tuesday morning arrived, and so did Mark Knightley and the rest of the production crew from
Mind Your Manors
.

As she passed him in the hall and wished him a curt good morning, Emma was glad she’d be working at the bakery today. Although he looked particularly fit in jeans and a blue polo shirt, she had no desire to spend the day crossing paths – or swords – with him.

Mark returned her greeting with a brief nod before vanishing into the library in search of Jacquetta and Simon.

Prat
, she thought irritably, and took up her father’s keys to head off to work.

***

Just before noon, Isabella Fairfax swept into the bakery and came to stand before the counter. She had the distinct gleam of combat in her eye.

“Hello, Miss Fairfax,” Emma said warily, and closed the till with a clang. “What can I do for you today?”

“You can mind your own business, for starters,” Isabella retorted.

Emma flushed. Thank goodness there were no other customers in the shop at the moment, or she’d be quite embarrassed. “I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t affect that posh, Lady Mary Crawley tone with me, Emma Bennet!” she snapped. “I know exactly what you did. You saw me talking with Mr Churchill in his garden last week, and you couldn’t wait to rush off to my aunt and tell her.”

“I thought she had a right to know. You’re her niece, after all, and she’s responsible for you while you’re here in Litchfield.”

“Yes, she is.
You
, however, are not. What I do is none of your concern. My aunt was terribly upset after hearing your news, and jumped to quite the wrong conclusion, until I managed to smooth her ruffled feathers and assured her I’m merely assisting Mr Churchill for the summer.”

Emma stiffened. “Well, I’m sorry if I caused any trouble between you and your aunt, truly.”

“No, you’re not. Your
intention
was to cause trouble, wasn’t it? To stir up gossip about myself and Mr Churchill, and to set the village tongues wagging!”

“No, honestly, it wasn’t –”

“I must say I’m surprised at you, Miss Bennet. I thought you a sensible, intelligent young woman. But you’re nothing more than a purveyor of – of vicious tittle-tattle and innuendo!”

And with that, Isabella swept back out of the shop, slamming the door behind her.

Boz popped his head around the kitchen doorway a moment later. “Crikey – what was that all about, Em?”

Emma sighed. “Sorry. It seems I must learn to keep my observations to myself in future – at least, as they apply to Miss Fairfax.”

“She was right cheesed off,” Viv agreed as she wiped her floury hands on her apron. “You’d do well to steer clear of that one, I reckon.”

“Viv’s right,” Boz agreed. “Although I have to say,” he mused, “‘tittle-tattle and innuendo’ would make a good T-shirt slogan, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t think the letters would all fit,” Emma said.

“Em has a point. Stick to yer bakin’, Boz,” Viv advised him, and turned back to the kitchen. “Speaking of which…you’d best help me get the last of these garlic and onion baps in the oven or I won’t get them out front before we close.”

“Did someone say ‘garlic and onion baps’?” Tom Carter called out as he thrust the shop door open. “I wouldn’t mind a couple of those.”

“Tom!” Emma couldn’t quite hide her surprise. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be back at the house?”

“I should, but we’re taking a twenty-minute break and so I thought I’d nip over and grab lunch and say hello. I couldn’t face another of those craft service sarnies.” He grimaced. “Mark told me you worked here.”

“He did?”

Tom nodded. “He said if not for you and your ‘bloody job at the bakery’ he’d not have been forced to rewrite last week’s dialogue. Since this is the only bakery in Litchfield, I used my extremely clever deductive reasoning to find you here.”

Emma picked up two of the savoury baps and thrust them into a bag with a little more savagery than was strictly necessary. “That
man
–”

He fished out a fiver and handed it over with a grin as she shoved the bag at him. “Like Billy Joel says in that song of his, he’s got a way about him.”

“If I were to write a song about Mr Knightley,” Emma told him grimly as she handed him his change, “I can assure you, it would
not
be a love song.”

“‘Highway to Hell’, more like?” He laughed. “Actually, he’s not a bad bloke, once you get to know him. Bit opinionated, yeah – but he’s OK for all that.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She slammed the till drawer. “Believe me, I have no desire to get to know Mark Knightley any better than I already do.”

***

Emma had just closed and locked the shop door at half two that afternoon when she heard hushed voices rising and falling just around the corner.

“…with that Bennet girl, Emma.”

She froze with the key still in the lock.

“…really! I’d no idea…how shocking. And she seems such a nice, proper girl. Intelligent and well brought up. Clever, too.”

“Yes, well, appearances can be deceiving. Apparently he’s been carrying on with her as bold as brass. And it’s not the first time he’s cheated on his wife, from what I’ve heard. There’s not an ounce of shame in the man. Nor in her, either. Not an ounce!”

“He’s too charming by half,” someone else agreed. “Handsome, too – a difficult combination for any young woman to resist.”

“Difficult, yes,” the first woman observed, and tittered. “Nearly impossible!”

“Has the poor girl any idea at all that he’s married?”

Emma froze and dragged in a sharp breath.
Married?

“Not a clue, evidently. I reckon she’ll find the truth out soon enough, though, when…”

The ladies moved off, and by the time Emma fumbled to take the key out of the lock and rounded the corner, they were gone.

She made her way back to the car, her thoughts racing even faster than her heart. They’d obviously been talking about her…and Mr Knightley.

Her hand shook so that she could barely unlock the car door. She slid behind the wheel and sat for a moment and stared, unseeing, through the windscreen.

Mark Knightley was
married
?

She could scarcely believe it. Surely Lizzy would know if he were married; they’d kept in sporadic touch over the last few years, via the odd text or email.

Emma frowned. It was true that Mark was a very private person. But surely he’d have mentioned a wife –?

Perhaps he’d eloped on impulse, she reasoned, and the marriage went wrong, and so he’d not mentioned it to Lizzy. Or perhaps he was separated and in the process of getting a divorce.

Although he wore no wedding ring, she knew that meant nothing. Lots of married men took off their rings when they were away from home, as Mark was nine months of the year. He’d said himself he lived out of a suitcase for those nine months. He was bound to get lonely and bored.

So why should it surprise her that he sought out female companionship in the meantime? It made perfect sense.

Emma jabbed her key in the ignition and started the car, hardly aware of her trembling hands or the tears welling in her eyes. What a hypocrite! He’d criticised Mr Churchill, called him a womaniser, when it was
he
who’d betrayed his wedding vows and cheated on his own wife.

Worse still, Mark Knightley had lied to her. He’d let her think, all this time, that he was unattached; he’d made her believe –
hope
– that he entertained a more than passing interest in her. But he’d done far worse to her than merely playing at romance.

He’d played her for a fool.

And Emma would not soon forgive him for that.

Chapter 38

When she arrived back at Litchfield Manor there was, thankfully, no sign of Mark Knightley.

Emma got out of the car and shut the door. Her shock at the news of his married status had hardened into white-hot fury, and she longed to shout at him and pummel him with her fists and reveal him in front of everyone – the crew, Martine, her father – for the adulterous, cheating dog he was.

Lucky for him he wasn’t around.

She slipped through the front door and up the stairs to her room without encountering anyone; belatedly, she remembered that the crew was filming outside today.

Thank goodness she wasn’t on the call sheet until tomorrow. As she kicked off her shoes and changed into capris and a T-shirt, Emma was glad for a chance to calm her roiling thoughts and come to grips with her emotions. She needed to stay calm…and keep her wits about her.

After
she made a voodoo doll of Mark Knightley.