The Trouble With Emma (34 page)

‘Apparently he’s been carrying on with her as bold as brass. There’s not an ounce of shame in the man. Nor in her, either. Not an ounce!’

‘Has the poor girl any idea at all that he’s married…?’

Emma dragged in a sharp breath. Suddenly it all made sense. The conversation she’d overheard was never about her and Mark; those women were gossiping about Miss Faifax and Mr Churchill!

Her heart sank and she bit back a groan. How horribly unfair she’d been to Mr Knightley, accusing him of lying about his marital status, when all along
James
was the one deserving of censure.

Oh, what an unholy
mess
she’d made of things.

Nicky paled now and turned accusing eyes on her husband. “Is this true? Have you and this woman been – involved, while we were separated?”

“Too right we were,” Isabella cut in before he could answer. “He told me your marriage was over, and that as soon as the divorce came through, he’d marry me.” She eyed him in disdain. “Just one of his many lies.”

“Stop this right now, Isabella,” James warned her. He glanced around at the gathering of guests with a nervous smile. “Pay her no mind. She has a drinks problem.”

“I assure you,” she told everyone, “I’m as sober as a judge. My
problem
was taking a married man at his word – a married man who lied to me from beginning to end.”

“What do you mean?” Mrs Churchill demanded, her voice trembling and rising above the murmurs of the crowd. She turned to her husband’s PA. “Are you saying that there’s – there’s
more
?”

“Oh, loads more.” Isabella’s words were almost cheery. “Things went along swimmingly until your husband’s investments group – XYZ – failed to persuade Sir Cavaliere and Mr Bennet to sign their property away on the dotted line. Which failure, sadly, dealt a severe blow to the company.”

“That’s quite enough, Isabella,” Mr Churchill snapped, and stepped forward. “That’s company private information!”

“But I’m only just getting started, James. You see, he had plans for your properties,” she added, and caught Emma’s eye. “Big plans. He intended to tear Litchfield Manor and Malvern Hall down and pave everything over into a ginormous shopping mall.”

There was a shocked silence.

Emma turned to Mr Churchill, her face ashen. “Is this true?”

“No. It’s a lie,” James told her. “Utter rubbish, all of it.” But the conviction had gone from his voice.

Isabella ignored him and continued. “Then Sir C had a change of heart and told James he intended to give Malvern Hall over to his son. Very unwelcome news, that. Tiny problem, though – the son’s illegitimate and hasn’t been found.” She cast a knowing glance at Churchill. “But it’s only a matter of time, darling, isn’t it?”

Fury suffused his face. “I’m warning you, Isabella, shut up at once –”

She ignored him and continued serenely, “When it became apparent that his plans had to be scotched – your husband’s the major investor in XYZ, Mrs Churchill – he realised the only way to save it was to win his way back into your bed…and your bank account, once again.”

“Blimey,” Boz muttered to Daniel. “Such goings-on, and right here in sleepy old Litchfield!”

“Who’d of thought?” Dan agreed. “This is better than Sky TV.”

“I’ve heard quite enough.” Nicky turned to her husband. “I’m leaving.”

“Of course, darling.” He took her arm. “I’ll take you home.”

She shook his hand off and fixed him with a glare. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. Crossley Hall belongs to me, James, not you. I paid for it. It was more than an investment – it was to be our new home. But you’ve made a mockery of our marriage, and a mockery of me. I’m filing for divorce…and this time I won’t be talked round. I’m going through with it.”

“But my dearest,” he begged, as perspiration broke out on his forehead, “you can’t mean it! We’ll figure this out. We can still make it work –”

In answer, she took the flute of champagne in her hand and flung it, hard, in his face.

“I don’t think so,” she said, succinctly. “You have until tonight to pack your things. Then I want you out – out of Crossley Hall, and out of my life. Goodbye, James.”

And as Mr Churchill stood, astonished and dripping champagne, she set her glass down, stalked across the terrace, and disappeared into the house.

***

“Well,” Emma murmured, joining Lizzy and Hugh on the lower terrace a few minutes later, after reassuring herself that Mark had gone, “that was quite something, wasn’t it? Poor James.”

“Poor Nicky, you mean,” Lizzy retorted, and sipped her gin and tonic. “Married to a cheating, lying sod like that…to find out he was carrying on with that Fairfax girl, and to learn it in front of all of these people!” She tutted. “She must be devastated.”

“She looked more angry than devastated,” Hugh observed. “Well, you know what they say. Hell hath no fury…”

“Like an ex-wife scorned?” Mark finished as he returned and rejoined them, a drink in hand.

“She’s not his ex-wife,” Emma pointed out. “At least, not yet.”

“She will be.” He glanced at her, his expression unreadable, and away again. “If even half of the rumours I’ve heard are true, it’s not the first time he’s been unfaithful.”

“And how would you know that?” Emma asked, frowning.

He shrugged. “We run in some of the same circles in London. Word gets round.”

“So you
knew
he was married?” She stared at him, and her fingers tightened on the stem of her glass. “Why didn’t you say anything to me, or to Martine? You might have spared us both a world of hurt!”

He turned to her, his blue eyes snapping. “I said nothing, Miss Bennet, because James Churchill’s marital status was –
is
– none of my business. Furthermore,” he added, his words clipped, “I understood the two of them were separated and in process of getting a divorce.”

“But you might at least have warned me!”

Hugh and Lizzy exchanged glances and discreetly excused themselves.

“Unlike you, Emma,” Knightley retorted, “it’s not my custom to put myself in the middle of other people’s lives. I’m averse to such interference, which fact I’ve made clear to you on more than one occasion.”

“Oh, yes – the honourable Mr Knightley,” she flung back, incensed, “so much more principled than the rest of us mere mortals! It seems to me,” she stormed on, uncaring of the attention the two of them began to attract, “that a man who truly values the feelings of others might forego his bloody
principles
long enough to spare someone, particularly someone he claims to care about, from certain…hurt and…”

She stopped as a light-headed feeling swept over her. Pinpoints of black and red danced before her eyes, leaving her shaky and unsteady on her feet.

“Emma?” Knightley demanded, alarm plain on his face. “Emma, are you all right?”

She heard his voice as if from a great distance, and saw him reach out to her just before she lost consciousness, and crumpled down onto the terrace flagstones.

Chapter 62

“Emma!”

Her eyes fluttered open. She was surprised to find herself half-reclining on the ground; Mark Knightley knelt beside her with his hand pressed against her back to support her. A ring of faces – her father, Lizzy and Hugh, Charli and Mrs Cusack – gazed down at her in shock and concern.

“What happened?” Mr Bennet asked her anxiously. “You went as white as a baptismal stole before you collapsed.”

“She’s fainted, that’s what’s happened,” Mrs Cusack announced, and tutted. “Everyone kindly step back and give the poor girl some air. Lizzy, be a dear and fetch me a hankie and douse it with a bit of vinegar, please.”

Lizzy nodded and left. After ensuring that Emma was, indeed, all right, everyone but Mr Bennet and Mark Knightley was persuaded to drift away as well.

“I can’t believe I fainted!” Emma murmured, and managed a shaky laugh. “How very old-fashioned of me.”

“Did you eat anything this morning?” her father asked, and frowned. “You didn’t, did you?”

She shook her head. “There wasn’t time. I had too much to do.”

“You were too busy worrying about me,” he went on, his frown deepening, “to take time for yourself. This has to stop, Emma.”

“Go and fix your daughter a cup of tea and some toast, William,” Mrs Cusack suggested, gently. “She needs food in her stomach more than she needs a lecture. Run along now, and leave her to me and Mr Knightley.”

“Very well.” He sighed and re-shouldered his crutches. “Are you quite sure you’re all right, Emma?”

She nodded and smiled. “I’m fine. Thanks, daddy.”

Mark watched him go and glanced over at Isabella’s aunt. “I can take it from here, Mrs Cusack, if you don’t object.” He gave Emma a half smile. “I’ll make sure she gets a good whiff of that vinegar-soaked hankie when Lizzy returns, and I’ll insist she has her tea and toast as well.”

“Oh! All right, then.” Mrs Cusack straightened – not without a bit of difficulty – and tutted once again. “If you’re sure, dear?”

“I’m sure,” Emma told her. “Thank you so much for your help. You’ve been really kind. Kinder than I deserve.”

It was true, she realised. For the first time, she felt a genuine appreciation and fondness for the woman, who – unlike her niece – was unselfish and kind-hearted. Her father had chosen well.

“Oh, nonsense,” Mrs Cusack clucked, and met Emma’s eyes with a smile. “You’re a lovely girl. Which is more,” she added darkly as she turned to go, “than I can say for that niece of mine…”

Mark regarded Emma intently. “You gave us all quite a scare.”

“Sorry.” She sighed, and frowned. “You won’t really make me breathe in that nasty, vinegar-soaked hankie when Lizzy returns, will you?”

“Not if you promise to eat every scrap of your toast and drink every drop of your tea.”

“Agreed. Now, if you’ll just help me to a chair, I’ll be eternally grateful, and we can go back to not speaking.”

“And why would I want to do that?” he asked as he helped her up and settled her in a nearby chair.

“Because you’re angry at me. Furious,” she reminded him. “My interference in Martine’s life caused her no end of trouble, and ruined her chances with Tom. I accused you of being married, and I thought Mr Churchill was a bastion of society, and – oh, what an idiot I’ve been!” Tears welled and leaked from her eyes.

“It’s true I was very disappointed in you,” he agreed. “But I can’t stay angry at you, Emma. I only hope you’ve learnt your lesson.”

She gazed down at her lap. “I won’t be interfering in anyone’s life ever again, I promise you that.” She lifted her eyes to his. “And this time, I mean it.”

He sat in the chair next to hers and reached out to take her hands in his. “When you fainted, I must admit that just for a moment, I hoped…” He stopped. “I hoped you might be…”

She met his gaze. In the dark blue depths of his eyes she saw herself reflected back – a tiny, pale-faced Emma. She stared at him now in shock and dawning understanding.

“Pregnant?” she whispered, wide-eyed. “You thought I might be
pregnant
?”

“I hoped so, yes.”

“But –” she blushed. “Good heavens. It was only the once.”

He smiled. “Once is sometimes all it takes.”

A laugh escaped her lips. “You have a very great confidence in your own virility, Mr Knightley.” She reached out and touched his hand, and her smile faded. “Sorry, but I’m not.”

He turned her hand over and clasped it in his, then brought it to his lips. “Not yet,” he murmured. “But one day soon, I hope.”

Mr Bennet and Lizzy returned just then to deliver the handkerchief and Emma’s tea tray, respectively.

“Drink up,” her father urged Emma. “Can’t have you keeling over like the heroine of one of those nineteenth-century novels again, can we?”

“Certainly not,” she agreed, and dabbed at her eyes.

“Come along, daddy,” Lizzy said after she handed the tea tray over to her sister and tugged gently on Mr Bennet’s sleeve. “Let’s go and find Hugh and Mrs Cusack, and leave Mark and Emma to themselves.”

“Oh! Oh, of course.” As if realising he might, possibly, be in the way, he smiled apologetically at Mark and Emma and followed Lizzy back across the terrace.

Emma watched her sister and father go. “I love them both,” she said, and sighed, “so much.”

“They care about you a great deal. As I do.” Mark reached out to pluck the handkerchief from her fingers and tapped the tea tray. “Now drink up, and eat that toast.”

Obediently, she sipped the strong, sugary brew and took a few bites of toasted – and heavily buttered – granary bread.

“Delicious,” she declared after a few minutes, and licked her fingers before reaching out for a napkin to dab away the crumbs. “I feel much better now. Are you satisfied?”

“Yes. Now, if you’re up to it, we can talk.”

Emma met his eyes, and seeing the serious expression on his face, her heart sank. “Oh, Mark – not another lecture, please! I don’t think I could bear it, truly.”

“No lectures. I’m done with all that.”

This was it – the ‘I’m leaving for London and I hope to see you again someday’ speech, she knew it. A wave of desolation swept over her, sudden and strong. How horribly she’d miss him! For despite his lecturing, and scolding, and his occasionally pompous behaviour, she loved him.

She loved him
.

“So this is it, I suppose.” Her words were measured, even. Or at least she hoped they were. But there was an odd little quaver in her voice as she added, “This is where we say goodbye.”

His faced clouded. “Is that what you want, Emma? To say goodbye?”

She looked up at him, at his serious, questioning, beloved face, and a thousand emotions washed over her. Fear, anticipation, uncertainty, and love – most of all, love…

“I – no.” She looked away. “I won’t say goodbye. I can’t. If I don’t say it, then whatever this is between us won’t end. By refusing to say goodbye, there’s a chance, however slight, that I might see you again.”

“Oh, Emma.” He reached out to take the tray from her and set it impatiently aside. “As if there was ever any question of my not seeing you again.”

“But you’re going back to London,” she pointed out. “Tomorrow.”