A Matter of Choice

Chapter Forty

James spent the night at the Fox and Hound in Banbury after a day of heavy riding in relentless rain. His first attention was to Sophocles, who he groomed and fed himself, and then he partook of a cold collation which was all the small inn had to offer. In his room, he hung his outer things to dry by the fire and then attempted to sleep in the hard cold bed. He was both physically and emotionally drained, barely having slept the night before, but sleep still evaded him as his brain coursed over the same unremitting ground. In his mind's eye all he could see was the hurt look in Emily's eyes when he had said goodbye. His finger could still feel the touch of her cheek, and he knew how close he had come to breaking his resolve at that moment. But if he had he would have injured her further. It would have been more selfish than any of his previous actions.

He got up from the bed with its twisted, tumbled blankets and went over to the window, opening the casement. The sky had cleared and stars shone thickly. The waning moon was still near-full and bright, casting a pale light over the quiet yard of the hostelry. There in the stable Sophocles was snug and dry. James gazed off, away to the west, in the direction from which he had come. There, in Barstow Hall, he had left his heart. Where was she now? Sleeping in bed, her sweet cheek nestled to her pillow, or sitting in a window like he, and gazing at the cold and distant stars? Could they, at least, be sharing that? He reached into his pocket and drew forth the handkerchief she had made him, held the embroidery to his lips. From those silken oak leaves he would need to draw all his strength and courage.

Stars, thick as dust, stared back at Emily as she peered from her window. It would be a fine day tomorrow, and he would be dry. That was all a fine day meant to her now. She watched as an owl passed between her eyes and the moon. As she looked out across the moonlit landscape she felt her soul reach out to him, to try to cross that desolate distance dividing them. If she was suffering now, what then must he feel? How was he to find any comfort? She had his letter, his words that she could read and touch, that told her she was dear to him, but he had nothing to show what she felt for him. Did he have any idea that he had won her heart? That it was travelling the empty expanse with him, hidden, so that he did not know it was there?

This day had been the longest, most arduous she had ever lived, and yet she could not sleep. She had gone from a state of pure elation that she had been too blind to recognise as the throes of love, to confusion, desolation, utter emptiness, and finally resolve. She had to face her family on her return that evening; accept quietly their anger at her disobedience in walking out. She offered no excuses and no explanation. Lying was beneath her, and the truth they had no right to. She retired almost immediately afterward, and barely had the strength to drag herself up to her room. Alice had quietly assisted her in preparing for bed, and had left her with a warm fire in the grate and a branch of candles by her bedside. She had sat in her blankets and read the letter through until she knew every blotted word, every wrinkle of the page. Then she had opened the drawer and taken out the now dry and brittle wreath and the stained handkerchief. She was still twisting the handkerchief about her fingers as she sat and contemplated the spangled sky. If she could draw all those stars within herself it still could not fill the echoing hollow.

She pulled the curtains to with resolution. She needed to build strength from somewhere to face the morrow. The task before her was not easy. She placed the withered wreath back safely in the drawer, but carried the handkerchief with her to her bed. The letter she slipped under her pillow, and after leaning over to blow out her candles, she pulled her blankets firmly under her chin. She did not fall asleep as quickly as she would have liked, and when she did the square of wrinkled cloth that she pressed to her chest was damp with the salt of her tears.

"Emily has come to visit?" queried Lord Ralph when his mother informed him that she was in the drawing room. "This is unexpected."

"But most welcome," said Lady Prescott. "I was hoping for some music this afternoon. Perhaps you could take her for a walk in the garden before tea. It is a fine spring-like morning. Do not be too long about that creation," she said as she left his dressing room and returned downstairs.

Lord Ralph turned back to his mirror. This was his third try of the morning, but it seemed he was finally about to master it. With painstaking care he finished the last flourishing touches to the new knot he was designing for his neck-cloth, and then leisurely joined the ladies in the drawing room.

"I was just now informing Emily that my dear friend Contessa Fuentes will be visiting us next week with her lovely daughter," said Lady Prescott as Lord Ralph finally made his appearance. "I have not seen her since she married Count Sergio Fuentes and went to live in his Palacio in Spain. Poor dear, her husband has recently died and she is bringing her daughter Carmen to England to present her to society."

"You have been going on about the chit this age! I do hope she can at least speak the language."

"By all accounts she has been admirably educated, and can speak English as well as you or I."

"Well, I have no interest in some olive skinned Spaniard! If you don't mind I will take Emily for her walk now."

Lord Ralph extended a hand to Emily, and she readily accepted it. She was not looking forward to her mission, but she wanted to get it over with as speedily as possible. They entered the formal gardens and made their way down a flagged path bordered by a ten-inch boxwood hedge. Nothing in the beds was at yet blooming, but spikes of crocus could be seen breaking the earth.

"So what do you think of my achievement? Shows up Braithwaite, wouldn't you say?"

Emily was at a loss to understand what Lord Ralph was talking about until she looked at how stiffly he was holding his neck as he regarded her. "Your neck-cloth is tied admirably, I am sure, but I actually came to speak to you on a specific subject."

"You want to consult me on some matter?" asked Lord Ralph, as he tested the dryness of a bench. He took out his handkerchief and sat upon it. "Won't you join me? I'm sure your skirts will come to no harm; the bench is almost dry, and they are such a dark colour." He smirked at her and motioned to the bench beside him.

Emily sat at the other end of the bench and opened her mouth to talk.

"You can sit closer to me than that, Emily," said Lord Ralph, grasping her hands and pulling her near. "After all, we are engaged."

"That is precisely what I have come to talk about," said Emily backing away a bit.

Lord Ralph inched closer and brought his arm around behind her, resting it on the back of the bench. "I had been hoping you would begin to show more interest," he said huskily. "Lately I gave found myself strongly attracted to you."

"I think we should reconsider our engagement," said Emily in a rush.

"What's this?" asked Lord Ralph in amazement. He looked at her speculatively and then he settled in a little closer and surer of himself. "I believe you are jealous!"

"No, Lord Ralph, I am not. I think we should call off the engagement. We neither of us want to be married to the other."

"But you are wrong there," said Lord Ralph. "I want to marry you more than ever now. You cannot mind my flirting with Sophie the other night. I was only doing it to make you jealous, don't you realise that?" He brought his hand down to Emily's shoulder and pulled her into an embrace. His breath was hot on her cheek. "You were playing the same game waltzing with Warrington, you can't deny it."

Emily pushed away from him. "Indeed I do deny it!" she said vehemently.

"I promise you Sophie and Olivia Rutherford mean nothing to me," said Lord Ralph, keeping his hold tight upon her. "We have been destined to marry all our lives. It is nonsensical that you would want to change things. Do you think to make a bigger catch than me?"

"I am not thinking to make a catch at all," cried Emily in frustration. "I just do not think we ought to be married."

"I believe you are actually serious!" cried an astonished Lord Ralph.

"That is what I have been trying to tell you," said Emily, extricating herself from his grasp.

"Why ever would you not want to marry me?" asked Lord Ralph.

"Please, understand me," pleaded Emily. "I do not want to marry where I do not love. I had thought it did not matter, but now I realise that it does."

"So you are in love with some other fellow and want to be free to marry him?" cried Lord Ralph. "That nodcock Bertie? Don't tell me it's Braithwaite. Which of them has offered for you?" Lord Ralph's hand went instinctively to his neck-cloth.

"Nobody has offered for me," said Emily. "I simply want to be released. We do not love each other."

"That has nothing to do with it! Damme, we've been promised since your birth! You just don't change a thing like that! Anyway, I think I am in love with you, and I'm sure that I can make you more than a little in love with me." Ralph pulled Emily to him again and began kissing her as she struggled madly. She managed to stomp on his well-shod foot and jumped away as he released her in surprise. "If you have scuffed the leather . . . " he began in furious accents.

Emily stood up and backed away from him, breathing in short, ragged breaths. "Don't ever do that again! I give you notice that our betrothal is no more. I have tried to reason with you politely, but your behaviour has passed all bounds. Be so kind as to inform your mother that I have left, and the reason why." Emily turned away from him and ran down the path, leaving Lord Ralph sitting on the bench gaping after her.

It was quite a few minutes more before he returned to the drawing room and braved his mother.

"Where is Emily?" asked Lady Prescott. "I want her to play for me."

"She has gone home."

"Her carriage called for her already? Why was I not informed? I made it perfectly clear to her that I desired music today."

"There was no carriage," cried Lord Ralph. "The fool girl just took it into her head to leave."

"Did you have a falling out?" asked his mother, staring at him intently. "You did not try to make any improper advances, did you?"

"She is my fiancée! I'm allowed liberties, am I not?" said Lord Ralph. "A man can only take so much! She actually said she did not want to marry me. Can you countenance that? Not want to marry me? She must have windmills in her head!"

"Maybe you were a little too forward with her," suggested his mother. "Give her a few days to settle down, and then apologise. Some flowers would be in order."

"You don't understand, mother," said Lord Ralph, his face reddening. "She told me she wanted to break off the engagement before I kissed her. She don't love me, she says. It never bothered her before! I'd give a monkey to know which one of those dashed coxcombs has taken her fancy."

"She would never break off the engagement!" cried Lady Prescott.

"She has already done so!" said Lord Ralph.

"How dare she!" Lady Prescott's face filled with fury. Cast off her son! It was not to be borne! "If Maude Sidford thinks she can come crawling back here begging us to take her ungrateful daughter back, I won't stand for it, do you hear! The engagement is over! Nobody rejects my son!"

"But mother," cried Lord Ralph, "I still want to marry her."

"No you don't," she said sternly. "We'll find you someone better. And stay out of that Sophie's clutches until we do. I'll not have her snatching you up. If Emily Sidford would rather marry the likes of Bertie Farquar, she is welcome to him, but you will not marry his sister if I have any say in the matter. We will look to the peerage; we should have all along. I am just too soft hearted and let friendship go to my head."

Lady Prescott sat down and resumed her tea. It was cold. As she rang for more, she thought of how humiliating it would be to face her neighbours when they all knew that Emily Sidford had the gall to break her engagement with Ralph. She thought back to the assembly to try to discover whom the foolish girl could possibly have chosen over her son. There had been no marked preference, except for the waltz with Mr. Warrington, but the idea was so preposterous that Penelope dismissed it entirely. Emily had always been so biddable, so obedient - somebody that Lady Prescott could mould and control, just exactly what she desired in a wife for Ralph. And now, who was to play the piano for her?

Chapter Forty-One

Brushing his wet kisses from her face, Emily walked quickly through the garden, around the mansion, and down the long drive, all the while hoping that lord Ralph would not follow after her. It was done! She was free! And though she felt revulsion at Lord Ralph's forward behaviour, and trepidation at her parent's disapproval of her actions, Emily couldn't help but feel as if a heavy yoke had been lifted from her shoulders. The years that she had devoted to complying with Lady Prescott's will, to obeying her parent's wishes at all costs, were no more, left behind to crumble in the garden of Wilverton like a shed skin. She would no longer live in that shadow world of submission, and though she had lost the centre of her own world she would strive to find purpose in what she had left to her.

She almost ran down the hill, causing a passing neighbour to look at her askance from his gig, and wonder that she should comport herself in such a common manner. Emily did not care. She was filled with exhilaration at the new-found freedom she had obtained, and she realised just what a burden she had shouldered all her life. Stopping on the bridge, Emily gazed at the slowly flowing river, and could not prevent her mind from drifting to that other time, when she had stood on the old bridge in the light of the breaking day. James. It all came flooding back to her with a need of him so great that she choked back tears that threatened to engulf her. Rather than loneliness, she must derive strength from those memories or she would not survive. If anything was to help her through the next few hours and the confrontation with her family, it was the knowledge of his love that would do it. Instead of retreating into misery, she remembered the comfort that was always hers in his presence - remembered his last words to her, ‘I will never forget you, Emily,' and the feel of his finger as it trailed down her cheek, and she continued home, determined to be able to withstand the inevitable battle that faced her.

Only Aunt Letty was in the parlour when she arrived.

"I thought you were at Wilverton, my dear," she said when Emily walked into the room, then she looked at her more closely. "Is something the matter?"

"Oh, Aunt Letty," said Emily, dropping to the floor at her feet and gazing up into her kind face. "Will you support me, no matter what I have done?"

"I will always stand by you," said Letty, taking her shaking hands, "but whatever can be so bad to have you in such a quake?"

"I have broken it off with Lord Ralph," said Emily in a hushed voice.

"My very dear girl," said Letty, gazing into her eyes. "I cannot wonder at it, but this will be difficult."

"I could not let it continue any longer," said Emily. "You do understand, don't you?"

"I was never content with the engagement, but as long as you accepted it, I could not but go along with it and hope for the best," said Letty, taking her niece into her arms, "but I have always secretly longed for a love match for you."

Emily almost broke down in her aunt's arms, but instead she kissed her cheek and took a seat beside her. "I'm afraid that will not happen, either, but I will no longer accept a loveless one."

"Time will tell, dear," said Letty, reaching out and patting her hand. She looked into Emily's clear grey eyes and admired the resolution she saw there. Emily had matured incredibly lately, but more than that, she had gone through some kind of emotional maelstrom and had come out on top, with both her feet firmly placed on the ground. Letty had no intention of prying, but she knew that there was something and someone behind this decision to finally end it with Lord Ralph, and she would give anything to know who that someone was. She just hoped that Emily was wrong in her dire prediction. She did not wish a life like her own for Emily's future. Emily deserved more.

At that moment, Mrs. Sidford entered the parlour.

"Emily! How comes it that you are home? I was to send the carriage for you in the afternoon. Did you not find Lady Prescott well?"

"I believe she was in good health, mother."

"What of Lord Ralph?"

"He was as he always is," said Emily. "I came away of my own accord."

"You did not stay and play for Penelope?" asked her astonished mother. "Have you a headache?"

"Not as of yet, mother," said Emily, thinking that she would be sure to have one before the interview was over. "Is father here? There is something I would like to say to you both."

"Oh! You have finally set a date," cried Maude Sidford. "I will ring for the general at once."

"We have not set a date, but please, by all means ring for father."

"You are being a very aggravating girl," said Mrs. Sidford after she requested the footman to summon his master. "Whatever can you need to tell the both of us, if it is not regarding your marriage to Lord Ralph?"

"It does regard the very subject," said Emily.

"Do not tell me that Penelope has put it off again? There has not been another frightfully inconvenient death in her family has there?"

"It is nothing like that, mother," said Emily. "Do be patient and wait for father. I would rather only go through this once."

"Good heavens you are mysterious," said Mrs. Sidford. "I really don't understand the need for such secrecy. Nothing is so important that it cannot be related twice."

The General finally came through the door, and Mrs. Sidford let out a sigh. "George, you took an age! This girl refuses to give her news without you present. It is most annoying."

"I see nothing wrong with showing respect for one's father," said the general. "That was very good of you, Emily. Now what is this important news that cannot wait the dinner table? I was having a very pleasant nap in my study."

Emily took a deep breath. There was only one way to do this, and that was to be direct. "I have just now broken off my engagement with Lord Ralph."

Maude Sidford stared at her aghast and began to sputter. The general's colour heightened and his eyes looked as if they were about to explode from his head. Somehow, he found his voice first.

"You have broken off what?" He trembled with anger.

"Did you do something to cause Lord Ralph's displeasure?" shrieked Maude Sidford. "Did you offend Lady Prescott in any way? How could you have brought things to such a pass? You must go back immediately and apologise -- tell them you were in the wrong. Beg for their forgiveness! Oh! How I have worried that Lord Ralph would tire of you when you pay him such little attention!"

"Mother," said Emily in a steady voice, "you are labouring under a misapprehension. It was I who broke off the engagement, not Lord Ralph."

"YOU" shouted Mrs. Prescott, her face turning puce.

"Whatever for?" came her father's stern voice. "Have your wits gone begging girl? Do you know what this means?"

"How could you?" hissed her mother, searching her reticule for her vinaigrette. She quickly pulled the stopper and inhaled a deep breath.

"I have no desire to marry him," said Emily simply.

"You must marry him!" cried her parents in unison.

"Order the carriage, George! I must go and speak to Penelope and tell her it was all a misunderstanding. Surely Emily does not have the power to break the engagement!"

"No, mother, do not go," cried Emily. "Nothing will induce me to marry him!"

"What has the fool man done? Force his attentions upon you?"

Emily hesitated - she wanted only to forget what Lord Ralph had done. She had been taken by surprise when his lips had met hers; he had never made such an attempt before. She had pressed her own lips together and struggled to push him off, repelled by the wetness of his mouth and the sour smell of his breath. In that brief moment she had thought, ‘Is this what I would have had to put up with, and more?' something that had never even occurred to her before, and that thought had given her the strength to break free. Now, she realised, was a time for truth if she was to affect the escape she so desired, and there were certain truths she refused to give up to her parents. This was not one of them. "He did kiss me, but that is not why I have broken the engagement. He only kissed me as an inducement not to, but it was no inducement, I can assure you!"

"Don't be so missish, child," stormed her father. "As your fiancé he has some rights, and it is your duty to accede to them, with due modesty, of course."

"I tell you, that is not why I broke it off," cried Emily in frustration. "I do not love him."

"Is that all?" asked her mother. "Is that what all this hue and cry is about? You would put our entire future in jeopardy over something as unimportant as that?"

"It means everything to me!" cried Emily.

"Don't tell me you have been allowing someone else to woo you all the while!" shouted her father. "I do not care who has won your heart! You will marry Lord Ralph, and that is final!"

"I will not. I have already ended it," said Emily. "It is over."

"Listen to the child," said Letty. "Why must needs she marry the man if she is so against it?"

"You would do well to keep out of this," said her brother, turning a steely gaze upon her. "It is none of your affair."

"You shall do as your father says," said Mrs. Sidford. "Go to your room and put on a different gown. Something dainty and attractive, and then we shall make haste to Wilverton where you can apologise and say it was all an unfortunate misunderstanding. If you hurry there will still be time for you to play for Lady Prescott after we have settled the matter and you and Lord Ralph are betrothed once more. I think it would be most acceptable for you to allow him some favours at this point too. He is a man, after all, and it is your duty to keep him happy."

"Favours?" asked Emily aghast.

"An inviting smile and a chaste kiss are not unseemly for a fiancée to bestow," said Maude Sidford. "After all, we must mollify his wounded pride. Oh! When I think of all the damage you must repair, I could just scream. How did you come to do such a foolish willful thing?"

"Mother, it was neither foolish nor willful," said Emily. "It was sensible and necessary. I refuse to marry Lord Ralph, and my decision is final."

Maude was about to go into another tirade, when her husband held up his hand, effectively stopping her. "I think it is time to explain the real situation to the girl, and then she will understand where her duty lies." He turned to Emily, and said, "we had wanted to keep this from you, but I think the time has come for you to know how things stand."

"How things stand?" asked Emily, somewhat bewildered.

"Yes. I must confess that I have not managed our finances very wisely, and your mother's free spending has been an encumbrance as well, not that I ever begrudged it. I wanted her to have all her finery and jewels. I had hopes to recoup any of my losses at the table with trips to the races, but luck does not seem to ride with me. And this estate has been more a burden than a boon. The expenses are never ending, and with the land mortgaged to the hilt, it is all money down the drain. The only thing that keeps the creditors from my back, Emily dear, is the very fact that you are poised to marry into a fortune. If it weren't for that the land would have been long gone, and possibly the house itself. You could not wish a future like that on your mother and myself."

"So I am to pay for your improvidence? For mother's extravagance? For your propensity to gamble?" asked an outraged Emily.

"Lord Ralph is a handsome man. You will be a Lady with a fine house, in want of nothing. Are we asking you to suffer? I think not. Any number of young ladies would beg to have the future we have designed for you," said her mother reprovingly.

"I would rather live in a cottage and earn my keep with my bare hands," said Emily.

"You? Do you think this only affects you?" cried her father. "Your selfishness passes all bounds. What do you think we will be left with?"

"You may have my settlement," said Emily. "I shall not need it."

"Your settlement has gone with all the rest!" Her father looked at her with eyes as hard as stones. There was no contrition. "It seemed a safe bet, but then my luck turned once again."

"Then give up your horses! Mother can sell her jewels! Retrench!"

"Do you know what you are asking?" said her mother. "It would kill your father to do that."

"So I must die instead, a slow and lingering death at Wilverton? No." Emily had had enough. She stood up and looked at her parents. "I will not be moved." She turned and walked out of the room, her back firm and straight. As the door closed behind her she ran for the stairs and without knowing how she managed to make her way there, she found herself lying on her bed, shaking uncontrollably, with tears streaming down her face, a stained handkerchief and withered wreath clasped tightly to her heart.

Downstairs in the parlour, the general collapsed on a chair calling for brandy while his good wife was pacing back and forth, debating whether it would be more expedient to rush to Wilverton that very moment and beg for dear Penelope's understanding, or to visit the following morning with a contrite and submissive Emily, and an elaborately designed excuse for her untoward behaviour. Letty favoured them both with a look of unmitigated disapproval.

"I am appalled," she said, when she was finally able to speak. "For years I have kept my opinions to myself, but I will not be silent in this case. You have both had the audacity not only to squander your own fortunes, but to decimate your daughter's inheritance. And now, you expect her to extricate you from this mess of your own creation? She is your child, not your chattel. She has been oppressed by your demands all her life when what she really deserved from you was love. If she does not marry Lord Ralph, it will not be the end of your world. Oh, you will have to suffer social mortification over the broken engagement, but I do think there are other means to mend your finances, though they will demand sacrifices on both your parts, and not on hers. I will not allow you to browbeat Emily anymore. If you attempt to force her compliance, she and I will be gone in a pig's whisper, and then what kind of social mortification will you be left to face?" She stood up and stalked out of the room without a backward look, leaving Maude Sidford staring after her, dumbfounded, and the general choking on his brandy.

Chapter Forty-Two

After two days of riding in unremitting rain, James approached the portals of Tynestead House, relieved to see it was lit up and that his brother was evidently at home. He gave over his sodden greatcoat to a surprised retainer and placed his portmanteau in the hall. Refusing the services of the aged servant, he found his way to the billiard room and entered unannounced. His brother looked up from the table and smiled broadly at him. With a jerk of his heart, James realised just how much he had missed the bluff, good-natured captain.

"The Devil! I hadn't been expecting you, stripling!" Captain George Warrington put down his cue and, striding over to pull his younger brother into a fierce hug, said, "It's been donkey's years since I've seen you. Look like you've been dragged through a mill."

"Rained the whole way, George."

"Can't have been worse than anything I've ridden through on the peninsula! And I know you. Something else has taken its toll on you. Looks as though you're ready to cut your stick." The captain gave him a long stare. "Why are you here instead of the lad you promised me? Not that I ain't glad to see you, but . . ."

James smiled hollowly and avoided his brother's eyes. "I needed a change of place."

"Come along to the small parlour. There's a rare fire going there. What you need is to warm your backside and tell me all. I'll not be fobbed off."

"There's nothing to tell," said James resolutely as he allowed his brother to herd him into the other room.

When they were settled close to the warming fire, and James' boots had been pulled off, George leaned back in his own chair and said, "Are you sure you don't want something stronger than tea to pick up your spirits?"

James shook his head. He looked about him at the shabby elegance of the room and then turned to face his expectant brother. "This place has been left to moulder while you have been off fighting our country's battles. It is a good thing I came. I'm sure the estate is a shambles."

"Undoubtedly. But you cannot throw dust in my eyes, James. Are you regretting your choice? I'll not think the worse of you if you tell me that you've discovered you're not cut out to be a steward after all. It is difficult to always be at someone's beck and call -- and not what you were brought up to. Should have taken Randolph's advice and married an heiress." He leaned forward to watch James' reaction. It was not what he had expected, but it served to open his eyes and change the direction of his speculations.

"I will never marry a lady for financial gain!" It was said in a voice sharp with pain. James looked at the fire, letting the flames devour his eyes. "I will never marry at all." It was barely audible, tinged with longing. The words echoed in his head, until he felt that instead of emitting them in a whisper he had yelled them across the room.

George sat for a long time, watching James as he studied the fire. Finally he said softly, "Did she reject your suit, this heiress?"

James turned to face him with his fire-seared eyes. "I cannot offer for her when I am nothing; besides, she is not free."

"You are not nothing."

"In the eyes of the world I am."

"And in her eyes?"

A vision of Emily rose up before James. The candid gaze of her clear grey eyes held him entranced. How did she see him? "She holds me in friendship, and respect. She takes an eager interest in so many ordinary things, and does not judge anything above or beneath her. She is fresh and pure, open and honest, and the sweetest being I have ever come to know."

"Is she beautiful?"

James smiled a twisted little smile. "No, she is not beautiful, but there is no face I would rather see. When I first saw her, I thought her plain, but for her eyes. It was not long before I realised that in no way is she plain. Her face mirrors her soul -- a wistful, delicate bird that yearns for freedom. She is beyond beauty."

"How much is she worth?"

James looked at his brother blankly and then said, "She is priceless, and far out of my reach."

George smiled. "I was referring to her fortune."

"I know not. Fifteen or twenty thousand. And the estate, whatever it is worth."

"And you see that as an impediment? You would be set for life, cloth-head!"

"And what do I have? Two hundred a year, and I live off the generosity of my uncle! A fine match! Her parents will welcome me with open arms." James looked once again into the fire, seemingly absorbed by the flickering flames, then he turned back to George and continued. "They have already chosen her a Lord. Thirty thousand a year and the adjoining estate. They have been betrothed since she was in her cradle."

"Now that is a very real impediment," said George with a low whistle. "But perhaps he is fat and old and not to her liking."

"He is young and handsome, and the veriest lout you could ever lay your eyes on. Ignorant, selfish, and vain. He does not deserve her."

"And so you came away," said George thoughtfully. "I do not blame you in the least." Short of tearing off with her to the border, George could envision no other option. And running off to Gretna was only an option if the lady was willing, and not even an act he could see his brother James contemplating, willing bride or no. It was more something George would do, if he was so foolish as to wish to be leg-shackled, and for now he preferred to be free to kick up some dust. He hoped James would not work himself ragged over the business, was ever a girl worth it?

"And here I am, wreckage on your doorstep, and in need of occupation."

"If it is occupation you want, it is occupation you will get," said George, ruefully. "You were not far wrong when you said my place is a shambles. It has been sadly neglected. That's what comes from taking advice from Randolph and not from you. After six months under your care I'm sure you will have doubled my worth!"

"I cannot promise that, but I will do my best," said James. "When do you leave for Burma?"

The brothers continued on in conversation, partaking of a casual meal in that very room, bachelor style, until James finally excused himself. He fell into the comfort of a warmed featherbed so worn with exhaustion that he immediately fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, unaware of the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains.

The next morning, Emily was surprised to find her father ensconced in his study, and her mother eyeing her with silent resentment. She had been fearful that she would be facing ultimatums and orders, arguments and pleadings. The silence was cold and stark, but infinitely preferable to the coercion she had expected.

After breakfast, she wandered in the garden aimlessly until joined by her Aunt Letty, who asked if she would come with her to the conservatory and help tend to her bedding plants. The warmth under the frames of glass and the warm loamy smell of the soil comforted her. Caring for the tender young plants gave her mind direction and she became lost in the process of gently extracting each little seedling from its bed and placing it into a larger pot of its very own, pressing the earth about it firmly. As she worked she thought of James directing his crews of labourers out in the fields - somewhere far off in Bedfordshire. She allowed herself the luxury of dreaming that, in reality, he was instead upon the furrowed earth that made up the farms of her own estate, guiding Sophocles across the ruts, supervising the tilling of the fields in preparation for planting.

Maude Sidford checked her appearance in one of the many mirrors to be found in the entrance hall at Wilverton, before being announced into the drawing room. She hoped the exquisite lace collar and cap gave her just the right look of apologetic supplication. She entered the room with her hands outstretched towards her friend. "Penelope!"

Lady Prescott reached out and limply took one of her hands in a brief greeting, and then politely, and somewhat distantly, offered her a chair. "Maude. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"We must discuss this silly little misunderstanding," cried Maude Sidford. "It was just a lovers' tiff, soon to be a thing of the past."

"According to my son," said Lady Prescott regally, "your daughter has severed the engagement, in a most decided manner. I had not thought her capable of such cruelty. He is very deeply injured."

"Oh no! I'm certain she regrets all that she said. She was not well - confused. She did not know what she was saying. You must tell Lord Ralph that she is most willing to marry him."

Lady Prescott looked at her coldly. "That is why she accompanied you, no doubt."

Maude Sidford stumbled over a few words until she was finally able to emit something coherent. "She is indisposed. In her bed. Feverish. She cried herself to sleep over what she has done."

"Indeed."

"I will bring her tomorrow, when she is quite well. She will make her apologies to you both with due contrition." Maude Sidford looked up at Lady Prescott pleadingly.

"That will not be convenient. I am expecting houseguests. My son has his pride, Mrs. Sidford. He has suffered the humiliation of the refusal. Do not expect the offer to be renewed."

"But it is of such long standing!" cried Maude Sidford, shocked at her dear friend having referred to her in such formal tones. "You cannot let one silly little thing like this end it."

"It was your daughter who ended it," said Lady Prescott stiffly. "You would do well to remember that. Pinsford will show you out."

"But Penelope, please, only consider. It was our fondest hope. Our dearest wish. You planned it even at Lady Devenham's dinner party, so many years ago!" Her eyes were tragic. A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.

"Emily has not lived up to expectation. She plays nicely, but her beauty is not what I had wished. Yet because of our friendship, I went along with this very unequal match. Lord Ralph can do much better for himself. I have always thought as much, and now he is free to. We would never have stooped to break the engagement, but since your daughter has committed the impropriety, I feel bound to accept her decision. I will say no more about it, and if you want our friendship to survive this enormous slight inflicted upon it, you would do well to quench any urge you have to forward your position. Good day." Lady Penelope turned away, giving Maude Sidford no choice but to leave the room with as much dignity as she could manage to muster, as Pinsford held the door, his face impassive but for the gleam of amusement that flicked momentarily in his eyes.

Lord Ralph galloped over the rolling meadows that flanked the border between Wilverton and Barstow. His showy horse was worked into a lather, but he noticed not. All he thought of was how it burned him that Emily had the audacity to think she could call the engagement off. What reason had she to do so? Was she really that angry about his attentions towards Sophie? She must know that it was only a meaningless flirtation. He relished the fact that he had kissed her. Emily had not expected that! He was certain it had given her something to think about. She was probably awaiting him right now, anticipating reconciliation. He turned his mount toward the fence, and took it at a rush, his fool horse almost balking, but clearing it smoothly at the last moment. Before long he was in the stables of Barstow, ordering a rub down for the animal. Enquiry told him that Emily was to be found in the conservatory. With any luck, she would be alone.

He opened the door and spied her in one corner, leaning over a frame of plants. She was dressed with her usual quiet simplicity, and she had a smudge of dirt upon her pale, wan face. He was damned if he knew what appealed to him about her, but seeing her there made his heart swell. She was not a sumptuous beauty like Sophie, or a delicate flower like Olivia, but he felt such a need of her it surprised him. How dared she say she could not love him?

"Emily," he whispered as he closed in on her.

She raised her startled eyes to his face. "Lord Ralph. Whatever are you doing here?"

"Did I never tell you that I can't take no for an answer?" he asked, his voice velvety smooth.

"I must ask you to leave," said Emily quickly. "I meant everything that I said yesterday."

"Emily," panted Lord Ralph, grasping her hands. "You cannot be angry with me any longer. Did not my kisses mean anything to you?"

"Please do not mention that," said Emily averting her face.

"Ah! I see they did have some effect. I may find it in me to treat you to more. Say that you will marry me after all. I must have you for my wife." He tried to pull her to him, but she manoeuvred herself behind the potting bench.

"Lord Ralph, please desist. I will never change my mind."

"Do you want me to go down on my knees to you and beg your forgiveness? Pledge my undying love?" asked Lord Ralph, as he eyed the soil strewn floor with disfavour. "Do you have a cushion that I may kneel upon?"

"You are making a fool of yourself," cried Emily in frustration. "I do not love you. I will not marry you. There is nothing you could say or do to change how I feel."

"So I am acting the fool am I?" asked Lord Ralph, his face beginning to colour in quick anger. "And who is it who has wrought this change of heart in you? Tell me! Who has stolen you from me?"

"I was never yours," whispered Emily.

"The devil you weren't! We've been engaged all your life. You have always belonged to me!"

"You have never owned my heart," said Emily.

"Who is it then? That popinjay Braithwaite, with his fancy ways? Has he turned your head? Or Bertie? No, that is ludicrous. Who would choose that lummox over me? Warrington? The man is a steward, blast it!"

"Does there have to be someone else? Can I not just be weary of the engagement, and willing to free you to choose a wife who will care for you?" asked Emily.

"And give up a fortune? You really must take me for a beef-witted fool!"

At that moment Letty came hurrying into the conservatory.

"I'm sorry to have taken so long with the gardener, Emily," she called out. "Lord Ralph, how nice it is to see you. I do hope your mother is well. I think you will find the general in his study, if you were looking for him."

Lord Ralph attempted to compose himself and greet the older woman with the dignity befitting his person, and then he left the building abruptly, casting Emily a look that showed his dissatisfaction. He strode over to the stables, all the while his anger building. She would make a fool of him? Never!

The harried stable lad saddled his horse as he paced and fumed. When it was finally brought to him, he threw himself upon the poor beast. With a lashing of his whip, he directed it up the drive and over the road with such recklessness and speed that a passing cart was almost overturned as it swerved upon the verge to avoid him.

© 2002, 2003 Copyright held by the author.

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