from using either of the alternatives ‘—would rather people accepted him for himself,’ she ventured, in an attractively breathy tone. ‘I’d hate it if I thought my friends only cultivated me because I was your daughter, Daddy.’
Will had to smile at her audacity. In a couple of sentences, she had defused all their arguments, without causing any offence to anyone. She was obviously not as dumb as her appearance might have suggested, and he felt a little more optimistic about the evening ahead.
‘Oh—well—’ Sir George was the first to answer her. ‘If you put it like that, my dear, I suppose I have to see your point.’ He put an approving hand on her shoulder. ‘Aren’t I a lucky man—er—Lingard? A daughter with brains as well as beauty.’
‘An unusual combination,’ murmured Will drily, though after meeting Emma’s artful gaze they weren’t quite the sentiments he’d have chosen. Nevertheless, she was amusing, and far more interesting than some of the vapid débutante types he had had to deal with in the past.
The housemaid who had admitted him now reappeared carrying a tray of cocktails, but Will managed to avoid accepting one of his grandmother’s concoctions. Instead, he sidled over to the table and helped himself to a measure of vintage Scotch, surveying his fellow guests over the rim of his glass.
He saw now that Archie Rossiter, one of his grandmother’s elderly admirers, was dozing in a cane chair beside the winter cactus. Archie had been Lady Rosemary’s doctor until he retired a couple of years ago, and he could always be relied upon to even the numbers, if required. He was a pleasant old man, if inclined to be a little forgetful these days. There was a whisky glass beside his chair, too, and Will guessed he’d been imbibing long before anyone else arrived. His lips twitched. Good old Archie! They might have had their differences at times, but he felt a certain amount of affection for the old man.
‘Are we that boring?’
The voice came from close at hand, and he realised that while he had been studying Archie Rossiter Emma had left her parents talking to his grandmother, and come to join him.
‘Boring?’ he echoed, aware of her meaning but giving himself time to think. ‘Why should you think that, Miss Merritt? The evening’s hardly begun.’
‘Oh, I know that.’ She regarded the cocktail she was holding for a moment, and then tilted her head to give him the full benefit of her wide-eyed gaze. ‘And my name’s Emma, not Miss Merritt. That sounds almost as dull as you probably think we are.’
Will arched one dark brow. ‘You don’t know what I think.’
‘Don’t I?’ Clearly, she thought she did. ‘You probably didn’t want to join us for dinner, did you?’
‘Why should you think that?’
It wasn’t a denial, and he could tell from her expression that she knew it. ‘Because Daddy was so insistent that he needed a few days in the country. You can never get him out of the office when we’re at home.’
Will endeavoured to follow her conversation. ‘And where is that?’ he asked politely. ‘Home, I mean? You’re not from this area, I gather.’
‘Hardly,’ said Emma flatly. ‘Or we wouldn’t be staying at Mulberry Court. No, actually, we live in Cambridge. My father has business interests there.’
‘Does he?’
Will forbore to ask what those business interests might be. He seemed to recall his grandmother mentioning something about microchip technology, and the uses to which it could be put in mobile phones and fax machines. According to Lady Rosemary—and this was the important thing so far as she was concerned—Sir George was incredibly wealthy, and eager to acquire for his youngest daughter the kind of pedigree money couldn’t buy.
‘Lady Rosemary told us you studied at Cambridge,’ Emma continued, and he wondered exactly how much she knew of the unholy alliance to which her father aspired. ‘Unfortunately, I wasn’t clever enough to go to university,’ she added. ‘So Daddy sent me to a finishing school in Switzerland instead.’
Will’s mouth flattened. ‘I can’t believe you couldn’t have found a place at university if you’d really wanted to,’ he remarked drily, and was rewarded by a mischievous glance out of the corner of her eye.
‘Well, who wants to spend hours studying stuffy old books when one could be out riding or swimming or watching polo?’ she declared smugly. ‘It was so much more fun in Lausanne. You wouldn’t believe the things we got up to.’
Will thought he probably could, but he didn’t comment, and presently she began to talk about the history of Mulberry Court and how much she enjoyed exploring old buildings. After what she’d said about the stuffiness of books and study, Will doubted she had any real interest in the subject—not in an objective way, at least. But he knew what was expected of him, and politely suggested she might like to visit the Abbey while she was here, and he knew from the enthusiasm of her acceptance that he was right.
By the time Mrs Baxter, his grandmother’s housekeeper, came to announce that supper was ready, he felt he knew virtually all there was to know about Emma’s life up to that point. He knew the schools she’d attended, the subjects she’d enjoyed most, and her tentative plans for the future. The fact that she was keen to fall in love and get married, and subsequently have a large family, had been relayed to him in that attractively breathy tone, and he doubted few men would remain immune to such appealing candour.
Somewhat to his relief, he found Archie Rossiter on his left at supper. The heavy table, which had once occupied a central position in the dining hall, was now used as a sideboard, and the table they ate from was of a much more manageable size. Acting on his grandmother’s instructions, he was sure, Mrs Baxter had placed Will beside Emma Merritt, thus enabling Lady Rosemary to have Sir George and his daughter on either hand.
It was obvious the old lady intended to keep a sharp eye on the young woman she was hoping might become her grandson’s wife, but it suited Will’s purposes very well. He could parry any awkward questions by talking to the old man, and with Lady Merritt sitting opposite this was no small advantage.
And yet he wasn’t totally opposed to being scrutinised in his turn, and whenever his grandmother caught his eye he turned a tolerant smile in her direction. He had invited Emma to Lingard; he would see how things developed from there. He was making no impetuous promises he couldn’t keep.
He ate sparingly, finding the cook’s reliance on garlic and rich Mediterranean sauces hard to stomach. But Luisa was Italian, and didn’t take kindly to being criticised, and his grandmother was afraid to offend her in case she left. It wasn’t easy keeping staff in Yorkshire, when the lure of London and higher wages was so attractive. But Luisa had family in the neighbourhood, and the fact that Lady Rosemary spent the early part of the year in London anyway enabled her to enjoy the best of both worlds.
Besides, as his grandmother was known to argue, what was wrong with pasta and tomatoes? They were both good, wholesome ingredients, and far better for you than stodgy pies and puddings. He looked down at his plate, his lips tightening, as he remembered sharing a joke with Francesca about Luisa’s temperamental nature. His ex-wife had expressed the view that if Luisa produced pasta pies and puddings Lady Rosemary wouldn’t say a word against them.
“I understand you spent some time on our home territory,’ Lady Merritt interrupted him now, and for a moment Will didn’t know what she meant. ‘At Cambridge,’ she added pointedly. ‘Wasn’t that
