Three

Emma never enjoyed her mother’s visits.

Mrs Hayton arrived late that morning, just as Emma finished cleaning the parlour. She was hot and dusty when her mother appeared in the parlour door, looking as cool and dignified as ever.

“Dusting, Emma dear?” she asked with a trace of disdain.

“Yes, Mother. Someone must dust, and Jane is busy upstairs airing the beds.”

“You need more servants.”

“I have all the servants I need.” Emma pulled off her cap and grimaced as dust settled on her dress.

“No,” her mother corrected her, “you have all the servants you can afford. There is a vast difference.”

She shrugged. “Not in this case.” She set aside her cap and dusting cloth, and made herself smile. “How are you, Mother? You’re looking very well.”

“I do not have to dust my own parlour. It is far easier to look well when you haven’t got—” She tsked in dismay. “Emma, you have cobwebs in your hair.”

“They don’t hurt.” She brushed one hand over her head. “Will you take some tea?”

“Yes,” murmured her mother, a jaundiced eye still fixed on Emma’s dusty, cobwebbed hair. “Please.”

The real reason for her mother’s appearance became clear as they sat and sipped their tea in the newly cleaned parlour. “I saw Lord Norton the other day,” she remarked. “He asked me to give you his regards.”

“Thank you,” murmured Emma, steeling herself. She had heard this introduction too many times in the last two years not to know what was coming next.

“His wife died over a year ago,” Mrs Hayton went on relentlessly. “I shouldn’t think he’ll wait much longer to wed again, what with a pair of daughters in his nursery.”

“I wish him very happy.” Emma, too, could be relentless, in ignoring her mother’s hints.

“Darling, you must know he would be a fine match for you.” Mother abandoned subtlety. “He is a viscount — not an old title, ’tis true, nor the wealthiest, but a good step up from a baronet.”

“I don’t need to marry a viscount. I don’t want to marry Lord Norton.” Mrs Hayton drew breath to respond, and Emma tried to forestall her. “I am happy as I am.”

“Happy?” Her mother looked her up and down. “Dusting your own parlour and wearing last year’s fashions?”

Independent, thought Emma. Free. “Yes. I shall wear this dress until it falls apart, and I adore dusting.”

Her mother wrinkled her nose. “Nobody adores dusting, and that dress is horrid.”

“Nevertheless, I like it. And I wouldn’t marry Lord Norton if he were to show up and prostrate himself before me.” Which he wouldn’t, because Viscount Norton thought himself a great deal better than any of Emma’s family. Her mother was scheming above herself again, unflagging in her quest for better connections at any cost.

Thankfully, Jane interrupted whatever her mother might have said next. The maid tapped at the door and came in. “You’ve a caller, ma’am,” she said. “A gentleman.”

Emma blinked in surprise. Gentlemen never came to call on her. Across from her, Mother’s head came up and her eyes sharpened, like a hound scenting a fox. “Indeed,” Emma said quickly. “Who is it?”

Jane hurried over to hand her the card.

“Oh!” She gave a little relieved laugh as she read it. “Captain Quentin! Jane, you gave me such a start, when it’s only my neighbour.”

“But I never seen him in uniform,” said Jane mulishly. “He looks much finer than a neighbour ought …”

Mrs Hayton turned to look at Emma, eyebrows arched in enquiry. “I did not know you had a new neighbour.”

“Oh, yes. He bought Number 14 a few months ago.” Emma kept her expression placid. “A retired naval officer.”

“Is he …?” Mama paused, eying Emma expectantly. “Amiable?”

“Perfectly, the few times I’ve spoken to him.” She got to her feet. “I wonder why he’s come to call. Mama, would you mind—?”

“Oh yes, I really must be going.” Mrs Hayton rose with a smile. “Will you walk me out, dear?”

Emma took a deep breath. “Of course.”

They met Captain Quentin in the hall. Jane was right; he did look finer than a neighbour ought. Finer than she had expected him to look, Emma realized. He wore his uniform, which made him look very tall and impressive in her narrow hall. Although, to be honest, she had only met him a handful of times outside of their garden chats. Even though she felt fairly well acquainted with him, she had almost never seen him so clearly or so close, with his dark hair brushed neatly back, his shoulders broad in his dark-blue coat, his legs long and powerful in his white breeches. He looked overwhelmingly male, and Emma had to consciously divert her mind from that fact.

She introduced her mother to him, and then Mother left, acting suspiciously uninterested in the Captain. Emma said a quick prayer that was so, and ushered her guest into the parlour. Jane had hastily whisked away the tea tray, and Emma asked her to bring a fresh one. She didn’t know if the Captain would like tea, but she didn’t have much spirits in the house. Not that she knew he drank spirits, either. She had some port; perhaps she should offer that? But it wasn’t even noon yet …

She gathered her scattered thoughts. “How nice of you to call, Captain,” she said as they sat down.

“I ought to have done so much sooner.” He sat in the chair by the window, where the sun fell full and warm on him, and smiled at her. Emma felt the room tilt around her. He had blue eyes, the same blue as her heavenly bedroom walls. Her neighbour was a handsome, impressive figure of a man, much more so than she had realized. For a moment she stared, transfixed.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

She jerked her gaze away from his and smiled. “Not at all! It just seems odd to speak to you face to face. We have talked so much over the fence, and so rarely called on each other.”

“The failing is mine,” he said with a rueful laugh, “and one I mean to correct.”

Still cringing from being caught staring, Emma barely heard him. “Of course,” she said, then blushed in realization as speculative surprise lit his face. And his eyes. “I m-mean,” she stammered, “that would be lovely. Of course we should feel free to call on each other more, as neighbours.”

“Yes.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “As neighbours.”

She took a deep breath. “And as more, I hope. I do so enjoy our conversations in the garden.”

“I do, Lady Bowen.” Again he smiled at her. Fine lines crinkled around his eyes. “Very much so.”

Well. Her heart skipped a beat. Why had he called on her today? She found herself smiling back. How silly she would feel if he had merely come to tell her Jane dumped the dishwater too near his steps.

But before she could hear why he had come, the door opened. “Dear me, I seem to have forgotten my gloves,” announced Mother. Her eyes darted between the two of them. “Please forgive me.”

“Not at all, Mrs Hayton.” Captain Quentin was on his feet already.

“I was some distance down the street when I realized I didn’t have them.” She smiled prettily at the Captain. “I am so sorry to disturb your visit.”

“Of course not,” said the Captain.

“Where did you leave them?” Emma asked, trying not to glare at her mother. She should have expected this. “I didn’t see them after you left.”

“Well, let me see …” Mother turned her head from side to side, her eyes large and limpid. “I don’t see them — oh dear, they are my favourites, I shall be so distressed to lose them …”

“Nonsense,” said Captain Quentin gallantly. “They are sure to be here somewhere. Let us look for them.”

Emma, who knew very well her mother hadn’t gone anywhere other than the chair where the Captain now sat, set to work, checking the table and looking behind the chair. Under Mother’s direction, the captain looked under all the furniture and behind all the cushions. When Mrs Hayton exclaimed happily that she had found the gloves, Emma was sure Mother had slipped them out of her reticule. Then she thanked the Captain profusely, and before long she was sitting around the tea tray with them. Just as Emma knew she had intended, when she came back on such a flimsy pretence.

She didn’t waste any time getting around to her purpose, either. “How nice of you to pay a neighbourly call, Captain,” she said, smiling at him with an almost adoring air. “I’d no idea my daughter had a new neighbour.”

“Not so new,” he said, returning her smile. “I’ve lived in George Street since early spring.”

“Oh, dear!” Mother glanced at Emma with wide eyes. “And you are just now becoming acquainted?”

Emma opened her mouth to reply, but the Captain didn’t notice and spoke first. “We have spoken often, Mrs Hayton. I hold Lady Bowen in very high regard.”

Emma closed her mouth. Her mother slowly turned her head to look Emma squarely in the face, her expression slightly victorious.

“Mother, the Captain will hardly wish to sit and chatter all day with two women,” Emma said in warning. “I am sure he is a very busy man.” Her mother was at it again, and if the Captain hadn’t been present, Emma would have asked her mother to leave at once.

“Of course, dear, of course.” Mother patted her hand. “But he came to call; that must indicate some desire to converse, surely?”

Emma flushed. Too late the Captain seemed to recognize the presence of a trap; his expression grew more closed and cautious. Mrs Hayton turned to him and smiled again. “Are you enjoying this fine weather, Captain?”

The grey clouds that had alarmed Jane were just visible through the window, although sun still streamed in. Emma glanced at the Captain just in time to meet his eyes, glimmering with wry humour.