The Trouble With Emma (32 page)

“Not at all. A Bloody Mary sounds divine.”

“Perfect.” She smiled warmly at him. “I’ll be right back with your drink. Don’t you dare to move.”

He laughed. “I couldn’t if I wanted to. And I most assuredly don’t want to.”

“Charli,” Emma called out as she spotted her youngest sister, flirting with a neighbour’s son, “bring out more sausage rolls, please. They’re nearly gone.”

Reluctantly Charlotte excused herself from her new acquaintance and marched up the terrace steps to the kitchen. “Where’s daddy?” she asked irritably as Emma, a Bloody Mary in hand, brushed past her.

“I’m here,” Mr Bennet announced as he appeared in the doorway, leaning on his crutches, “and feeling much better. What can I do to help?”

After setting her father to work arranging the mini apple pies on a platter, and with Charli occupied baking another tray of sausage rolls, Emma headed back to the sitting room.

“– must be an immense strain to manage Malvern Hall on your own,” Mark Knightley was saying to Sir Cavaliere as she returned. “It’s a grade-I, isn’t it? I can’t begin to imagine the headaches.”

“It’s a frightful burden. In the old days, of course, there was a staff to run the place and land to sustain it. But most of the property’s long since been sold off, which,” he added with a frown, “is the absolute worst thing one can do. It’s left me with a great money pit of a house I can no longer afford and no way to generate income to run it.”

He broke off as he caught sight of Emma. “There you are, my dear! I’ve just met this most charming fellow, Mr Knightley.”

“Oh?” She handed over his Bloody Mary and he accepted it with a gracious nod.

“Sir Cavaliere was just telling me some fascinating stories about Malvern Hall’s glory days,” Mark told her.

The older man chuckled. “Yes. Hard to imagine now, but it was quite the destination back in its day. Film stars, television celebrities – I do so detest that word, don’t you? – and all manner of political types.” He leaned forward as if to impart a dark secret. “I was once an actor, you know,” he said solemnly. “Not a terribly famous one, but I made a decent living at it as a young man.”

Emma, despite her determination to keep a safe distance from Mark, sank down on the end of the sofa. “How interesting! Didn’t your family object?”

“They did, and most strenuously.” His smile faded. “They objected to a lot of things I did in those days.” He paused. “But they’re all gone now, so it really doesn’t matter any more.”

For a moment the only sound was the rise and fall of conversation and laughter drifting in from outside.

“My choices were not well received,” he went on. “Although today, I expect no one would – as they say – bat an eyelash.” He sighed, his expression melancholy.

“If you feel up to it,” Emma ventured briskly as she stood up, “I’d be happy to take you around and introduce you to everyone. I know our neighbours are all longing to meet you.”

“They’re wondering why I’ve not popped my clogs yet, more likely,” he returned, but laughed. The shadow of sadness in his eyes was gone, replaced with a genial expression as he pushed himself to his feet. “Yes, Miss Bennet. I should like very much to meet everyone.”

He held out his arm to her in a gallant gesture, and as Emma took it, she suspected Sir Cavaliere needed an arm to lean on far more than she did.

“Thank you, my dear, for giving me a chance to catch my breath,” he murmured, and patted her hand. “Most appreciated. The old ticker’s not what it once was.”

Mark rose as well. “Emma,” he said, his eyes meeting hers, “I need to speak with you when you get a moment. It’s important.”

“I’m sorry.” She glanced back over her shoulder as she and the elderly man made their way, slowly, to the hall. “I can’t, just now. Perhaps later.”

“As you wish. But we
will
talk.”

And with a curt nod, Mark Knightley turned away and strode from the room.

Chapter 58

The absolute, unmitigated nerve of the man
, Emma thought darkly as she led her guest out to the terrace and introduced him round. Mark Knightley was, to put it politely, an ass – an arrogant, self-important, still-possibly-involved-with-her-sister ass.

Soon a cluster of friends and neighbours surrounded Sir Cavaliere, all most eager to meet him, and he sat in the garden and drank his Pimm’s – and drank in the attention – and regaled them all with stories.

Satisfied that she’d done her social duty, Emma left him to it and returned to the kitchen.

She could still hear Mark’s words as she and Sir Cavaliere left the sitting room.

‘We
will
talk.’

Not if I can help it
, she thought grimly.

She yanked the fridge open and reached in for a fresh pitcher of Pimm’s. Perhaps she ought to take a glass down from the cupboard and have a drink – or two – herself. After this morning, Emma told herself crossly, she bloody well deserved it.

She’d just closed the door with rather more force than necessary when she became aware of voices just outside in the hallway.

“…wanted to thank you for the lovely flowers,” Martine said in a low, hesitant voice.

“Flowers?” Mr Churchill asked, puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

Alarm coursed through Emma. Martine was talking to James Churchill! Oh, God, no…

“Yes. They arrived yesterday,” the girl said shyly. “They were
so
beautiful. You needn’t have bothered on my account, though.”

“I’m sorry to say I didn’t.” His words were decisive. “There must be some mistake. Those flowers were meant for Emma Bennet, Miss Davies, not you.”

Silence.

“Oh…I see. But I thought,” Martine stammered, “that is, I must’ve…misunderstood.”

Emma set her glass down on the counter with great care and brought her hand to her lips. Poor Martine…what an almighty mess!

And it was a mess of Emma’s own doing.

“They…the flowers were for Miss Bennet?” The girl stumbled over her own words. “But she told me herself that they were for me, that you sent them.” Hurt and confusion were plain in her voice. “By way of apology,” she added.

“Apology?” Contempt undercut his words. “What have I to apologise for, and to you, of all people? Those idiots at the florist’s must’ve got it wrong. Bloody
hell
but that annoys me. Excuse me, I’ve got to make a call. I’ll be giving them a piece of my mind, I can assure you…”

Emma heard the sound of his footsteps striding angrily away, then, once again, silence.

Before she could escape and slip away out the back door and hide, Martine burst into the kitchen, her face flushed as great, gulping sobs erupted from deep inside her.

She froze mid-sob as she caught sight of Emma hovering by the sink.

“Martine,” Emma exclaimed, distressed, and hurried forward to comfort her. “I’m
so
sorry. I couldn’t help but overhear. Mr Churchill is a beast. An unfeeling beast –”

“You knew,” Martine cried out, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “You lied to me, Emma! You told me those flowers were meant for me.” Her face crumpled. “Why? How could you do it? How could you let me make a fool of myself in front of Mr Churchill – again! – and in front of all these people?”

“I-I was only trying to help –”

“Help?” Martine echoed, her face dark with fury. “Your
help
has done nothing but ruin my life! I broke things off with Tom because you said I could do better. I believed you. I trusted you! And now Tom’s leaving, and after today I’ll never see him again. I’ve lost him forever. I threw him over for someone who doesn’t care one jot for me. And it’s all
your
fault!”

Emma hung her head and said nothing. There was nothing she could say, nothing she could do to make amends for the tangled mess she’d made of Martine’s life.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So very sorry.”

“I know I’m just a housemaid,” Martine went on, as if Emma hadn’t spoken, “I’m nobody special. I don’t have a proper education, and I know I need to lose a bit of weight. And I’m all right with that, truly. Or at least, I was, until you went and put all sorts of silly ideas and – and useless fantasies about Mr Churchill in my head.”

“What’s going on here?”

Emma looked up sharply to see Mark standing in the kitchen doorway just behind Martine.

“Ask
her
, why don’t you?” Martine flung back. “She’s made me turn away the only man I ever truly cared about, for…” she dragged in a breath. “For Mr Churchill, a man who cares nothing for me, and never has. I trusted her. I believed her. I thought she was my friend.”

“I
am
your friend,” Emma cried.

She shook her head. “A friend doesn’t lie to you, or embarrass you in front of a room full of people – not once, but twice. You’ve ruined my chances with Tom, and I stood by and let you do it!”

She choked out a sob and ran from the kitchen.

“Emma?” Mark asked, and turned back to face her. His voice was deceptively quiet. “Will you please tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing that concerns you.” She struggled to maintain a haughty expression; she would not give way to tears.

“Your face – and Martine’s behaviour – tells me otherwise.” He stepped nearer and lowered his voice. “What’s going on, Emma? What have you done?”

She pressed her lips together and lifted her chin. “Nothing! I only offered Martine my advice. It was good advice, and well meant.”

“And what advice was that?”

“I told her she could do better than Tom,” she said, her words barely audible. “I encouraged her to set her sights on Mr Churchill instead.”

“I see.” Anger darkened his eyes. “Didn’t we have this conversation once before, you and I? Didn’t I warn you then to stay the hell out of other people’s lives?”

Emma nodded imperceptibly. “Yes.”

“And?” he pressed. “What else did you do? Because I’m sure there’s more.”

She hesitated. Miserably she added, “Yesterday, James sent me flowers to apologise for his behaviour at the open house. I – I threw the card away, and I told Martine they were meant for her.”

He stared at her, astounded. “Why in God’s name would you do such a thing? To what purpose?”

“I did it because I believed – I still believe – that she and Mr Churchill belong together,” Emma said, her words stubbornly determined despite the quaver in her voice. “I wanted to try one more time to…to give them a chance.”

“To interfere, you mean.”

She was silent.

“I cannot find words, Emma,” he said, his voice low but unmistakably furious, “to express my complete and utter disappointment in you. After we talked about this very thing, after you promised – swore! – that you wouldn’t interfere again in Martine’s life, or your father’s life, or anyone’s life…you paid no heed. You’ve humiliated a sweet, trusting girl to no good purpose, and you’ve proven to me that your promises mean nothing.”

He turned away.

“Where are you going?” Emma cried. “Mark –”

“That was very badly done, Emma,” he flung over his shoulder. “I’m far too angry with you just now to stay here.”

“You – you’re not leaving, are you?”

He stopped but did not turn around. “Not at this precise moment, no. But I shall be very glad to be quit of this place – and of you – after tomorrow.”

And he left.

Chapter 59

Emma turned back into the kitchen and stood pressed against the sink. She gazed blindly out at the terrace and garden, barely aware of the guests outside as they smiled and talked and nibbled on sausage rolls.

Tears fell, slowly and then faster, as the foolishness of what she’d done swept over her. She’d lost not one, but two people dear to her – a friend who’d trusted her, confided in her, and who’d been badly treated in return; and a man she loved, deeply and completely, whose good advice she’d ignored, to disastrous consequence.

Martine’s words echoed in her head.

And now Tom’s leaving, and after today I’ll never see him again. I’ve lost him forever… And it’s all
your
fault…

How ironic, Emma thought now, that her actions had landed her in the same sorry position as Martine. She’d lost Mark Knightley – if, truthfully, she ever
had
him in the first place – and after tomorrow, he’d leave for London, and she would never see him again.

And the thought of her life without him was more than she could bear.

“There you are!” Lizzy exclaimed. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Emma reached for a clean dishtowel and wiped her eyes. “Well, you’ve found me.”

“And about time, too,” her sister complained as she came nearer. “Why are you hiding away in here, anyway? You ought to be out on the terrace, enjoying the party with your guests –” She came to an abrupt stop as Emma turned around and she caught sight of her face. “What’s happened? Em, what’s wrong?”

“Onions,” she said. “I was chopping onions for daddy’s chicken salad tomorrow.”

“Bollocks,” Lizzy said succinctly. Her gaze swept over the counters and tabletop. “There’s not an onion anywhere to be seen. Besides, daddy hates raw onion in his chicken salad, and always has.” She frowned. “What’s really going on, Emma? Why were you crying just now?”

“I wasn’t crying,” she snapped.

“It’s something to do with me and Mark, isn’t it? Because you’ve acted horribly towards both of us ever since we set foot in the door.”

Emma bristled. “I haven’t!”

“You
have
. You’ve been cold, and quite rude – when you weren’t avoiding the two of us altogether.”

“Oh, Lizzy…that’s ridiculous. I’ve been busy, that’s all. I have guests to attend to.” She turned back to the sink and stared, unseeing, out of the window.

“And is this how you take care of them?” her sister persisted. “By hiding out in the kitchen, crying?”

“You once said you and Mark were involved.” Emma’s words stated the fact, nothing more.

“What? Yes, we were. You know that – because I told you so myself! But it was ages ago, a lifetime ago. And I wouldn’t say we were ‘involved,’ exactly. That would imply a relationship. We’ve only ever been friends.”

“But you slept together.”