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They were past the point of polite discussion now. They were arguing—and as someone who disliked conflict intensely, Emma knew they would achieve nothing by it. ‘Lord Stewart, you are the heir to your father’s title and estates. As long as you marry well, what does it matter how your brother settles his affairs?’
‘It matters a great deal. I do not wish to see Peter take stock of his life in ten years’ time and come to regret what he did in a youthful burst of passion. I would rather see him suffer now than in the future.’
‘Suffer? You think your brother will suffer from being married to Linette?’
‘That’s not what I said—’
‘But it is what you meant.’ Dear Lord, the arrogance of the man! Did he really expect her to ask Linette to reconsider her acceptance of Mr Taylor’s offer? To throw over the man she loved for the sake of … what? Lord Stewart’s misplaced notion that his brother might be happier for it in the long run? ‘Lord Stewart, I … appreciate the concern you must feel for your brother, but you must also understand that the concern I feel for my sister is equally great,’ Emma said, forcing herself to speak in a calm and rational manner. ‘I believe her to be deeply in love with Mr Taylor and I could not counsel her against marrying him when I know how unhappy it would make her.’
‘Then you will not encourage her to think on it again.’
‘I will not.’
‘You could be sparing them both a great deal of heartache and embarrassment.’
‘Apart from the fact of Linette’s birth not being as lofty as you might like, she will not embarrass you or your family. She is good and loving and I know she will make your brother an excellent wife. I cannot do what you ask, my lord, nor am I sure your brother would thank me for doing so,’ Emma said quietly. ‘You saw how they looked at one another the other night. You heard how he spoke to her.’
‘Lies can be convincingly enacted, Miss Darling. So much so that, sometimes, we only see and hear what we wish to.’
Emma’s mouth hardened. ‘I like to think I see what’s there, my lord.’ How dare he suggest that Linette would lie about her feelings! Linette, who was no more capable of deceit than a child. ‘Now if you don’t mind—’
‘Excuse me, Miss Darling?’
A man’s voice interrupted, one Emma did not recognise. Until she looked up and saw the newly appointed vicar of the church in Little Moreton approaching. ‘Mr Tufton?’
John Tufton was a handsome young man with a shock of light brown hair and warm brown eyes. He had come from a parish in Sussex to take over St David’s and was at least thirty years younger than his predecessor—a fact that had not gone unnoticed by the single ladies in Little Moreton. ‘Good afternoon.’ His smile was somewhat hesitant as he glanced from Emma to her companion. ‘I hope I haven’t come at a bad time?’
Aware that he couldn’t have come at a better one, Emma said, ‘Not at all, Mr Tufton. Lord Stewart was just leaving.’
‘Lord Stewart?’ The vicar’s eyes widened. ‘I was not aware you resided in the parish, my lord.’
‘I do not.’ Lord Stewart’s voice was less than conciliatory. ‘I am here visiting my brother.’
‘Ah, yes, Mr Taylor. A most excellent gentleman. I made his acquaintance last week. I, myself, am newly arrived in Little Moreton and so am calling upon all of my parishioners in an attempt to get to know them better,’ Mr Tufton said. ‘There is generally so little time after Sunday service.’
‘Of course.’ Lord Stewart’s mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. ‘Everyone rushing home to enjoy their dinners.’ He turned to Emma, his expression growing even more cynical. ‘Well, I shall take up no more of your time, Miss Darling. But I hope we may continue our conversation in the near future.’
‘Only if the subject differs from what we spoke of today, Lord Stewart. Mr Tufton,’ Emma said, turning to smile at the parson. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to make your way to the house. I know my father and my aunt will be pleased to see you. I shall collect my things and join you there.’
‘Excellent. And I do hope we will see you and your family at church on Sunday, Lord Stewart?’
‘I really couldn’t say.’ Lord Stewart’s eyes briefly connected with Emma’s. ‘There are so many other things of importance to concern oneself with when in the country.’
With a brief nod, he whistled for his horse. Emma didn’t say a word as the elegant creature trotted obediently to his side. It made no sense that she should be annoyed that even the horse seemed to fall under his spell. Instead, she turned her back on him and walked purposefully towards her easel, heavy in heart and low in spirit.
Poor Linette. What would she say if she knew what her future brother-in-law was saying about her? Linette had gone to Ellingsworth Hall in fear of Mr Taylor’s parents, yet now it seemed it was his brother who offered the biggest threat to her happiness. He did not want the marriage to take place. And where his father did not have the courage to show his displeasure and his mother hadn’t the heart to, it seemed Lord Stewart had more than enough of both. He intended to march in and destroy his brother’s and her sister’s chances at happiness by spouting duty and obligation and all the other things that obviously mattered to him far more than love.
It was just as well the vicar’s arrival had put an end to her artistic endeavours, Emma thought moodily. Her creative urges had vanished, leaving her no more able to see the beauty in the lily pond than she could in a warty frog. She was angry and upset, yet she knew that directing her anger at Lord Stewart really made very little sense. Had she not questioned the inequity of the match herself? Was she not the one who had expressed concern over Linette’s ability to take responsibility for her decisions? The one who had told her father that Linette was changeable by nature?
Why, then, was she angry at Lord Stewart for having said exactly the same things?
Mr Tufton did not stay long. A quiet gentleman with agreeable manners, he was careful not to wear out his welcome. After enjoying a cup of tea and a slice of seed cake, he spoke to Emma’s father and Aunt Dorothy, saying how pleased he was to meet them and how much he looked forward to seeing them on Sunday. Then, after exchanging a few words with Linette and offering congratulations on her betrothal, he left.
Emma was not sorry to see him go. Not because she disliked the man. There really wasn’t anything about Mr Tufton one could dislike. But the entire time he had been seated in their parlour, Emma had lived in fear of his bringing up Lord Stewart’s visit and that would have been awkward since she had no intention of telling Linette Lord Stewart had called.
‘Had he come to talk about the dinner?’ Linette would surely have asked. Or ‘Had he come to speak to her father about the upcoming wedding?’ And the thought of having to tell her sister the truth made Emma shudder. Such an admission would only have brought on grief and uncertainty, and tears were most effective at destroying harmony in a house.
Then her brother Ridley came home—and that fragile harmony vanished for good.
He arrived at eight o’clock in the evening. Dinner was over and they were all sitting quietly in the drawing room when the door burst open, causing the dogs to start barking as though the four horsemen of the Apocalypse had appeared, and then Ridley blew in like a westerly.
‘Well, here I am,’ he announced dramatically. ‘The prodigal son returned. Have you all missed me dreadfully?’
‘We can scarce speak for emotion,’ Mr Darling said in a dry voice.
But Aunt Dorothy was already on her feet, anxious to greet her favourite nephew. ‘Ridley, dear boy, of course they’ve missed you. And I haven’t seen you in an age,’ she said, kissing him soundly on both cheeks. ‘But what have you done to your hair?’
‘It’s all the rage in London,’ Ridley said, grinning. ‘What do you think, Em?’
Emma looked up. ‘That you look like Caesar and you know what happened to him.’
‘Darling Emma,’ Ridley said fondly. ‘I can always count on you to say the nicest things. And here is little Linette,’ he said, turning to his sister and pulling her to her feet. ‘Who I vow is even more beautiful than when I left.’
‘Don’t be silly, Ridley, you’ve only been gone a few months,’ Linette said, blushing.
‘Nevertheless, there does seem to be an additional bloom on the rose and I suspect that has much to do with the fact you are soon to marry the venerable Mr Peter Taylor,’ Ridley said. ‘Well done, Linny. If all goes well, you might just end up a countess.’
‘Highly unlikely,’ Emma drawled, ‘given that there is an older brother in line for the title.’
‘Ah, yes. Alexander the Great.’
Emma blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Alexander Taylor. Lord Stewart,’ Ridley explained, flopping down in his favourite chair. ‘The lads call him Alexander the Great because he’s a cracking good rider and a dashed hand with a whip. I won’t mind having him as a brother-in-law, I can tell you.’
‘You must be hungry, Ridley,’ Aunt Dorothy said. ‘Shall I ask Cook to prepare something?’
‘You may indeed. I did stop for a bit of overdone beef on the way, but I wouldn’t mind a slice of Mrs Dunstan’s excellent apple pie if there is any to be had.’
‘I’m sure that can be arranged. Ring for Jenks, would you, Emma?’
‘So, when are the nuptials to take place?’ Ridley enquired, fondling Rory’s silky head.
Linette blushed. ‘We haven’t set a date yet.’
‘What? I thought you would have been anxious to reel him in.’
‘Really, Ridley!’ Aunt Dorothy exclaimed. ‘The man is hardly a fish to be landed.’
‘Of course not. He’s already been hooked and I am very proud of my little sister for having done so. Imagine Linette snapping up the youngest son of an earl. It certainly trumps anything you or I have been able to pull off, Em. Unless there’s something you haven’t told me?’ He grinned. ‘Turned any gentleman up sweet yet?’
‘If I had, I’d know better than to tell you,’ Emma said, returning to her chair. ‘You would likely tease the poor man to death.’
‘Naturally. What are brothers for?’
‘To tell you the truth, I haven’t quite worked that out.’
‘All right, stop bickering, you two,’ Mr Darling said. ‘Ridley, how are you going on with your studies? Finding the intricacies of the law to your liking?’
For the first time, Ridley looked a little uncomfortable. ‘Actually, I’ve been meaning to write to you about that, Father.’
‘Oh?’
‘There’s something I have to tell you. And I don’t want you getting upset because I have given this a great deal of thought.’
Her father’s eyes narrowed. ‘Given what a great deal of thought?’
‘My decision to become a solicitor. Or rather, my decision … not to become one.’
His father dropped his book. ‘Not become a solicitor. Why the devil not?’
‘Because I’m really not cut out for it.’
‘Indeed! Then what, pray tell, are you cut out for?’
‘Painting,’ Ridley announced decisively.
Aunt Dorothy frowned. ‘Painting?’
‘Yes. As in portraits.’
‘Of what?’ his father demanded.
‘Of society’s most beautiful and aristocratic families.’ Ridley stood up and affected an elegant bow. ‘Of grand lords and titled ladies, of cherubic daughters and stalwart sons. And of their noble dogs and horses, of course,’ he said, leaning down to scratch Ranger behind the ear.
There was a moment of stunned silence before Linette said, ‘Goodness, Ridley, whatever possessed you to do such a thing?’
‘Indeed! Giving up law to dabble in paints and brushes?’ his father said stiffly. ‘I thought you had more sense.’
‘Sense I have in limited supply, but talent I possess in abundance,’ Ridley quipped. ‘I’ve already completed five commissions and have five more waiting. And they pay me very well.’
‘Then he must be good, Percy,’ Aunt Dorothy commented. ‘The aristocracy are very particular about who they engage to paint their portraits.’
‘Exactly!’ Ridley agreed. ‘They are very particular and I am very good. More to the point, those for whom I’ve done work have passed my name along to others and I actually have more work than I can handle.’
‘And I suppose you expect me to clap you on the back and say, well done, sir, well done!’ his father demanded.
‘That would be nice.’
‘Well, I shall not! Being a barrister is a respectable occupation. One that would stand you in good stead for the rest of your days. The same cannot be said for artists.’
‘Of course not, because we are all licentious reprobates who drink too much and have naked women lying around our studios,’ Ridley muttered. ‘God knows, I’ll probably be dead by the time I’m thirty.’
‘Really, Ridley, such language in front of your sisters!’ Aunt Dorothy chastised.
‘Indeed, and in front of your aunt,’ his father added. ‘I am not pleased, Ridley. Not at all pleased.’
‘But why should you be upset? It’s not as though I’m drinking myself into oblivion, or trying to cadge money from you. I make a very good living.’
‘But it is not the occupation of a gentleman!’
‘And I have never aspired to be a gentleman,’ Ridley said in exasperation. ‘I want to paint. I’ve always wanted to paint. It is the only thing I’m good at and likely the only thing I ever will be.’
The conversation was mercifully interrupted by the arrival of Jenks.
‘Ah, Jenks,’ Emma said quickly. ‘Would you be so good as to bring some fresh tea and either a slice of cake or a piece of pie for my brother?’
‘Don’t bother.’ Ridley abruptly got up and headed for the door. ‘I’ve lost my appetite. I’m going up to my room.’
‘We’ll talk about this in the morning, Ridley,’ Mr Darling called after him. ‘Don’t think we won’t!’
Emma exchanged an anxious glance with her sister, then nodded at the servant who was still standing patiently in the doorway. ‘Thank you, Jenks, it seems we won’t be needing anything after all.’
‘Very good, miss.’
After he left, the room settled into an uneasy silence. Linette picked up a book, Emma reached for a magazine and Aunt Dorothy went back to her tambour, muttering something about mismatched threads and too-tight knots.
‘Oh well, that’s just splendid!’ Mr Darling finally burst out. ‘My youngest daughter about to marry into an earl’s family and my only son announces he’s given up law to paint pictures.’
‘Portraits, Father,’ Emma corrected tactfully. ‘And it is not such a disreputable occupation. Mr Gainsborough and Sir Joshua Reynolds were both highly respected for their work.’
‘Ridley is not Gainsborough,’ Mr Darling drawled.
‘You don’t know that. You haven’t seen any samples of his work.’
‘And I have no desire to. Knowing Ridley, I can just imagine what kind of pictures—’
The door opened and Ridley walked back in. Ignoring his father, he handed a framed picture to Emma. ‘Lord Mortimer paid me six guineas for that and his recommendation brought in two more commissions for which I shall charge double. You may not like what I’ve turned my hand to, Father, but you cannot deny I’m good at it.’
With that, he left again, this time closing the door firmly behind him.
Emma glanced at the painting and slowly began to smile. The subject was a little girl no more than three years old. She was sitting on a stool with a spaniel at her feet and a small grey kitten clutched in her arms. Her hair was the colour of ripe corn and she was wearing a pale pink dress dotted with silver stars. She was a pretty little girl, to be sure, but it was the wistfulness of her expression and the innocence of her smile that Ridley had captured so perfectly on the canvas.
‘It is excellent,’ Emma said, handing the painting to Linette.
Linette didn’t say a word, but her eyes opened wide and when she looked up, Emma saw the admiration on her face. Clearly, she’d had no idea that Ridley was so talented. None of them had. The portrait was not the work of a rank amateur. It was the work of a man who deserved to be recognised for his skill and ability.
Unfortunately, thinking about paintings took Emma back to that morning and to the unpleasant confrontation she’d had with Lord Stewart. Pity she couldn’t so easily relegate him to the back of her mind. But, there he was, front and centre once again, and she had a sinking feeling he was going to stay there until she had decided what she was going to do about this situation with Linette and Peter.
