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
