30

Emmeline thanked the fresh-faced young maid, who bobbed a curtsey, nodded to Lottie, and then trotted out of the small parlor to let Humphrey know that Lady Faris awaited him below in one of the private parlors.

“Do you know her?” Emmie asked nervously as Lottie settled herself unobtrusively into a corner seat.

“Corin? Oh yes, her family’s lived in these parts for years. Nice girl. She was in domestic service at Vance Park for a while, though it was before your time, mind you.”

“Really? She looks very young.” Emmie sat down, then stood up again. What was the etiquette for meeting with a former suitor who turned out to have been married the whole time? She did not think any manual on manners would cover quite such an eventuality.

Lottie was looking about the place with lively interest. “Have you ever visited this inn before?” Emmie asked her, nervously clasping her hands together. She was wearing a new pair of kid gloves embroidered with her initials E.V. Suddenly she remembered how the debutantes would whisper about “the hidden language of gloves.”

All she could remember now was that flinging one over your shoulder meant “follow me” and wearing one hanging halfway off your left hand meant indifference. Or was it the right hand? She couldn’t quite recall. Maybe she should drag one halfway off to let Humphrey know how little she cared for him these days?

“I’ve never been here before,” Lottie replied cheerfully. “My old mum never quite liked the place, on account of its former associations. Course, it’s gone quite respectable now. In spite of the prizefighting what’s held here on the second Friday of every month. Quite nice, isn’t it? I like the horse brasses. Polished up nice and bright, aren’t they?”

Lottie’s prattle soothed Emmie’s spirits, and she agreed that yes, the room looked very clean and cheerful despite the dark wooden screen and elaborately etched glass. She felt a little guilty that this, her first visit, was being conducted on such surreptitious terms.

She had not seen her sister-in-law, but she had caught a glimpse of William Nye through an open door to the tap room. She did not think he had seen her though. She hoped he had not, in any case. Emmie felt furtive and underhand but really, it was much better this way.

If she could just send Humphrey on his way before Jeremy so much as heard he was in the neighborhood, then the whole business could be over and done with before it could cause them too much fuss and pother. A knock on the door had Emmie whipping around to face it.

“Come in,” she called, her voice not quite steady, but to her surprise, it was not Humphrey, but William Nye who stood in the doorway, a tea towel flung over his shoulder and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Lady Faris,” he said, clearing his throat.

Emmie tried not to look as horrified by his appearance as she felt. “Mr. Nye!”

“Thought I recognized the carriage outside,” he said.

“Really? But I did not bring the one with the crest,” she said and then blushed guiltily.

One dark eyebrow shot up at this rejoinder, but he made no comment on this. “Thought you might want to know, we’ve got a private parlor for family use,” he said, angling a thumb over his shoulder. “Want me to show it to you? I’m sure you’d be more comfortable in there.”

“Oh.” Emmie’s face fell. “That’s very kind of you, but you see, I am not here as family today but rather at one of your patron’s requests.” She flushed at her clumsy explanation. “I should not want our business to intrude on family quarters,” she said earnestly. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“One of my patrons?” he repeated blankly. He looked from her to Lottie, and back, then came into the room, shutting the door carefully behind him. “Which one would that be?”

“You, er, you wouldn’t know him!” Emmie gasped. “He’s, well, he’s come from London.”

Nye’s eyes narrowed and he seemed to come to some decision. “You,” he said, pointing to Lottie. “Go and wait for your mistress outside in the public parlor. Tell Corin to fetch you a glass of port, on the house.”

“Ooh lovely!” Lottie said, rising with alacrity and making for the door. “Thanks ever so!”

Emmie’s heart sank. “Oh, er…”

Nye faced her with a shrewd gleam in his eye. “London?” he said pointedly. “Fussy-looking fellow, pudding faced? What business has he with you? Blackmail?”

Emmie sank onto the wooden bench, feeling quite drained. “No!” she protested. “No, of c-course not!”

“Don’t think I’m judging,” he said, shrugging a massive shoulder. “That brother of mine has plenty of dirty linen of his own. Only I can’t let you meet with some shady customer under my own roof, now, can I? Not in good conscience.”

“You won’t let me meet with him?” Emmie cried in dismay. “But you must! He’ll be down at any moment!”

“Not without me present,” he clarified, folding his arms. “I’ll just stand quietly by. I won’t speak a word or get in your way. I’ll just be here to make sure there’s fair play. I’ll be like one of those footmen of yours up at the Park,” he said, looking pleased with his sudden inspiration. “You must be used to those cluttering up the place by now.”

Emmie regarded him, aghast. His hulking presence looked nothing like a footman. “You don’t understand! Humphrey, well, he…” A tap at the door made her jump. “This must be him now!” she hissed.

Nye turned pointedly aside, producing a glass from somewhere which he started polishing unhurriedly with his tea towel. “Er, come in,” Emmie quavered, given very little choice in the matter. The door opened and Humphrey came in, wearing his best navy suit and red waistcoat.

“ Emmie! ” he exclaimed, his voice swelling with emotion. To her consternation he made straight for her.

Unnerved, she retreated until she had put the table between them again. “Good morning, Mr. Stockton,” she said freezingly. “I’m afraid my husband could not accompany me this morning as he is occupied with business presently, but I have my brother-in-law here with me to, er, ensure all is decent.”

Humphrey finally noticed Nye lurking in the corner of the room and visibly flinched. “But, this, er, is surely the landlord of this establishment, is it not?” He faltered, quickly looking away.

“That is also correct,” Emmie conceded.

Humphrey looked extremely disconcerted. “I do not understand,” he said flatly.

“Will you not sit down?” Emmie asked pointedly. If he sat down, then so could she. With a show of some reluctance, Humphrey lowered himself onto the wooden bench opposite her and Emmie did likewise.

“What are you doing here, Humphrey?” she asked forthrightly. “I confess, I am quite at a loss.”

“Doing here?” Humphrey repeated incredulously. “Did I not explain, at great length, in my heartfelt letter to you on the subject?”

“I could scarcely make head nor tail of it,” Emmie said, lifting her chin. “But I recall quite well our final meeting when you rushed from the room after confessing your prior connection to another.” She sent a quick glance at William Nye, whose ankles were now crossed and whose gaze was fixed on the lamp fitting.

“You ordered me to leave!” Humphrey retorted indignantly. “You refused to let me explain myself further!”

“I did not wish to hear your excuses,” Emmie said frigidly. “And what’s more, I still don’t!”

Humphrey gulped. Clearly, their interview was not going as he would have wished. He extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. “Will you not try and see things from my viewpoint?” he appealed.

“You played me for a fool,” Emmie said tightly. “For ten years. What more remains to be said?”

“I… Well, if you do not require explanations, perhaps I do!” he expostulated. “Who is this mysterious nobleman, for one! That’s what I want to know!” At his vehement tone, Nye uncrossed his ankles and straightened up. Humphrey eyed him nervously. When he spoke again, his voice was more restrained. “Clara told me he claimed to be a Count Stevens when he showed up, demanding the return of your letters, but then I find out you are married to a Viscount Faris!”

“They are one and the same,” Emmie said with dignity. “Count Stefano is my husband’s alias when he wishes to employ discretion.”

Humphrey spluttered. “And what about Hillman and the others receiving compensation?” he continued with an injured air. “Whereas I could not even get a letter of recommendation! What about—?”

Whatever he had been about to utter, they were never to know, for at that moment, the door burst open, and Jeremy came in with a face like thunder, seized a hold of Humphrey, hauled him from his chair, and punched him square in the face.

Emmie covered her mouth with her hand and sat transfixed with horror as Humphrey dropped like a stone and lay groaning on the floor with a bloodied nose. Seemingly unsatisfied with this, Jeremy immediately pounced on him and dragged him to his knees, apparently intent on punching him a second time.

“Mercy!” shrieked Humphrey.

“Jeremy!” Emmie cried, finally finding her voice. “Please stop!” When her words fell on apparently deaf ears, she turned to William Nye, who was watching proceedings with interest. “Oh, can’t you stop him?” she appealed.

“Seems a shame to do that,” Nye answered.

Finding her feet, Emmie rounded the table and tugged at Jeremy’s shoulder. “Please stop, my lord,” she sobbed. “For my sake.”

With some reluctance, Jeremy released Humphrey’s shirt and let the poor wretch drop back to the ground. Stepping over him, he turned to face the fireplace, gripping the mantelpiece and catching his breath.

“Give him a moment,” Nye advised when Emmie took a step toward him. “His blood’s still up.” He walked over to Humphrey and, catching hold of his jacket, dragged him over to a chair in the corner and deposited him there, where he sat slumped, pale and shaken. “I’ll fetch some brandy,” Nye said and left the room.

Emmie approached Jeremy cautiously. For the first time, she noticed he still wore his riding garb. He must have come straight here after reading her letter. Maybe it had been a mistake to leave that for him. Throwing caution to the wind, she threw her arms around his waist. “Don’t be angry with me,” she begged. “I thought—”

A footfall sounded in the doorway, and Emmie took a step back as another maid, older than the first, swept into the room with a bowl of water and some cloths. This one had a pinched, disapproving face as her eyes travelled over the room. “Thought it was fight night next week!” she exclaimed with disfavor, crossing the room to administer to Humphrey. “What a mess! Bleeding all over my nice clean floor!”

Humphrey gave a muffled sound of pain as she tended to his face, and Jeremy turned from the fireplace at last. “My apologies, Edna,” he said. “It won’t happen again.” Reaching into his jacket, he extracted his wallet and set a couple of notes on the table. “For recompense,” he said. “Add it to your Crown Derby tea fund.”

Edna looked somewhat mollified by this. “Handsome of you, milord,” she acknowledged and left Humphrey’s side to tuck the money into her apron. “I’ll just go and fetch my mop. Not much more I can do for ’im. His nose is broke.”

Humphrey gave another anguished moan and Nye stepped into the room with a bottle of brandy and three glasses. “Broken, is it?” he asked with a gleam of approval. “Thought it might be.”

Emmie turned anxious eyes on Jeremy, but he still would not meet her gaze. Nye sloshed brandy into the glasses and handed one to her and Jeremy and then one to Humphrey, who tried to refuse it, but had it pressed into his hand anyway.

“Well, Stockton,” Jeremy said, setting down his own glass untouched. “I think we had better reach some resolution here. I’ll make it plain, if you ever show your face in this part of the country again, I’ll see you prosecuted.”

Emmie, who had been taking a cautious sip of brandy, lowered her glass. “And I will have charges brought for attempted marriage fraud and breach of contract!” she added with spirit.

“Me prosecuted?” Humphrey squawked. “Lord Faris here has just committed an offence against my person! In front of two witnesses no less!”

“I think you’ll find that neither one of them will testify on your behalf,” Jeremy said mildly, “though I do see your point. Very well, I will amend my position. If you show up again hereabouts, I’ll see to it that you never bother my wife or anyone else ever again. It would not be too difficult for me to arrange,” he added thoughtfully. “As is often the case in provincial places such as these, the word of the local liege lord is considered tantamount to law.”

Humphrey’s jaw dropped. “I—you—” he spluttered in nasal tones. “You are threatening me! This is outrageous!”

“No,” Jeremy said patiently. “What is outrageous is you contacting another man’s wife and writing her a damnably impertinent letter.”

Humphrey shot a resentful look at Emmie. “That was not meant for your eyes, my lord!”

“I can well believe it,” Jeremy responded dryly.

“I—I had some very real concerns that induced me to write that letter,” Humphrey insisted, clasping the bloodied cloth to his nose. “I assure you, my motivation was pure!”

“Then let us deal with your concerns , once and for all,” Jeremy said, producing the letter and unfolding it. His eyes scanned the first few lines contemptuously. “I am not a peer of the realm, by the way, as I have never been appointed to the House of Lords.”

Humphrey sniffed, though whether that was due to his nosebleed or any other emotion, Emmie could not say. Jeremy returned to the letter, quoting aloud, “‘I need hardly say how truly astounded I was to learn you had married so precipitately, without taking counsel from your friends.’” He lowered the letter. “And which friends do you refer?” he asked pointedly.

“I assure you that Hannah Pinson has been with us every step of the way, and I do not consider anyone else to be in any way relevant. As for you ,” he said jeeringly. “You stood no friend to Emmeline. In fact, you willfully deceived her for years purely to line your own pockets at her expense.”

While Humphrey reeled from this charge, Jeremy resumed browsing the rest of the letter. “Your dear helpmeet no doubt encouraged this meeting in the hope you could induce my wife to part with even more money to furnish the comfort of your family,” he concluded damningly. “It must be hard for you pair of leeches indeed, now that you do not have her to bleed dry.”

Humphrey flailed out an arm in feeble protest, but words seemed beyond him at this point.

“Nothing more to say?” Jeremy asked. “In that case, we will take our leave of you.” He held out his hand to Emmie, who took it at once. “Say goodbye to Mr. Stockton, Emmeline. You won’t be seeing him again.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Stockton,” Emmeline said, her eyes still on Jeremy. She could not fail to notice that her husband had not looked at her directly since entering the room.