Chapter 9

CHAPTER9

“Goldsmith is goin’ to have yer guts for garters for not tellin’ him ye were expectin’ guests—ye ken that, aye?” Duncan laughed, pouring a measure of good whiskey for them both.

He was technically supposed to be Silas’s valet, but as Duncan had never valeted before they had met just over a year and a half ago, and Silas had discovered that he preferred to dress himself. They usually just talked as Silas readied himself for whatever occasion lay ahead of him.

“It will teach him not to pander to my brother so much,” Silas replied, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he observed his reflection in the mirror. “You would think I never returned at all, judging by Goldsmith’s attitude toward me. And what is the use in being the Duke of Hudson if one cannot play a little trick upon a butler who needs taking down a peg or two?”

Duncan handed him one of the glasses. “I’d wager there’s another reason ye dinnae tell him.”

“Oh?” Silas asked. Satisfied with his reflection, he wandered to the window and peered out, looking down at the carriage in the driveway.

“I suspect ye were doubtful that Lady Emma was goin’ to come at all, so ye dinnae say aught about it,” Duncan said.

Silas froze. Curse you and your perception, Duncan.

“I told the housekeeper, did I not? If I was doubtful, I would have held onto the secrecy a while longer,” Silas pointed out, but Duncan just laughed.

“Aye, but ye dinnae tell yer maither. She’s goin’ to have apoplexy when she hears ye’ve brought a potential betrothed to this house and ye dinnae give her time to primp and preen.”

Silas pulled a grim face. “Now that I think of it—I probably should have mentioned it to her. She will kill me before the first course of blended grass can be served.”

“Blended grass?”

“Watercress soup.” Silas sighed, downed his whisky, and headed for the door. “I suppose I ought to face the consequences of my own actions sooner rather than later. Might you find my dueling pistols before we descend? I fear I might need them.”

Duncan chuckled. “If she likes Lady Emma, all will be forgiven swiftly.”

“My mother can like her all she wants. I am convinced that Lady Emma will do anything and everything to avoid accepting my offer at the week’s end,” Silas said wryly, feeling almost guilty about putting his mother through the night ahead.

At least he did not have to worry about his brother, who had ventured off to London that morning, and would not return until he had plowed through all of his monthly allowance.

Silas would have been lying if he had said that they were not still adjusting, considering Luke had been the substitute duke for a while, in the gap between their father’s death and Silas’s return.

But they seemed to be managing. Indeed, the only conflict they consistently had pertained to that allowance, with Luke begging for an increase. For what and for whom, Silas did not know, and did not think it was his place to ask, either.

I was six-and-twenty once. He smiled. And I undoubtedly did far worse than he could even imagine.

“Is she a pretty wee thing?” Duncan asked, as the two men reached the landing. “I havenae seen a pretty lass in months.”

A javelin of something strange skewered Silas through the chest: a surprise attack from an unknown source, though the feeling was not indecipherable.

It felt like anger and irritation, mixed together with a potent measure of something that was and was not jealousy. It was stronger, burning through him more fiercely than that. A… possessiveness that he had not anticipated.

“She is… a fine lady,” he said curtly. “Not the sort of ‘lass’ that you would appreciate.”

Duncan lifted a curious eyebrow. “Is that so? How do ye know what I would appreciate?”

“You hail from a wild place, where the women are just as wild,” Silas replied stiffly. “Here, there is no such thing as ‘wild’. It is unseemly, especially in a woman.”

A vision of Emma, face streaked with dirt, her gown torn and filthy, her eyes frantic, her hair in windswept disarray, slipped into his mind. She had been wild, then. So wild and intriguing that he had struggled to forget the encounter, even before he knew her name or if they might meet again.

“I wouldnae mind a more respectable, decent sort of lass,” Duncan teased, evidently aware that something he had said had irked his employer and friend. But he was not someone who backed away from amusement.

Before Silas could retort, the butler appeared at the bottom of the staircase and announced the obvious, “Your first guests are situated in the drawing room,” he said tersely. “I understand that more are to arrive in the coming days—is that correct?”

“You were informed of this,” Silas said, feigning frustration. “I do hope the household is prepared for the house party.”

Mr. Goldsmith blanched. “The… house party, Your Grace?”

“Did you receive none of my requests?” Silas tutted under his breath. “The house party is to take place on Thursday afternoon. You have five days, so if you have not made suitable arrangements, I suggest you begin.”

The butler looked like he might faint. “Of course, Your Grace.”

As Mr. Goldsmith took off toward the kitchens, no doubt to start throwing together a menu of some kind for the evening to come, Duncan cast a sly, sideways glance at Silas. “Ye’re a cruel master, Silas.”

“Just a light jape,” Silas replied, flashing a wink as he continued on down the stairs.

A slight shiver of nerves ran through him as he approached the drawing room door, but a deep breath suppressed it, and he strode forward to greet his guests.

Every word he had intended to say died upon his lips as he took in the ethereal vision of Emma, standing by the French doors that opened out onto the stretching lawns.

The blazing sunshine cast a halo around her, and as she turned, the light caught the glossy shine of her hair, and half shone through the delicate periwinkle dress that she wore, revealing a silhouette she was perhaps unaware of revealing.

“A pretty thing indeed,” Duncan whispered behind Silas.

Silas flashed him a warning glare and the valet wandered off to the far side of the room, chuckling to himself.

It took a second for Silas to recover, bowing his head in greeting. “Ladies, it is an honor to welcome you to my home. I trust the journey was not too tiresome?”

A maid fussed with the tea service, the rattle of cups and spoons grating on him. “Leave us,” he commanded sharply.

The maid jolted, dipped her dainty chin to her chest, and hurried out of the drawing room with a stifled squeak of fright. And the ensuing look upon Eliza’s face let Silas know that she disapproved deeply. Even Emma had pursed her lips, while her acquaintance—a lady Silas did not know—frowned as if trying to figure him out.

I must be wary of my temper. It would not have been the first time it had gotten him into trouble.

“Apologies for that,” he said smoothly. “My throat has been hoarse since my return from Bruxton Hall. I cannot have anything competing with my voice, else I might lose it.”

Emma seemed to relax. “I do hope you are not falling ill, Your Grace.”

“Never,” he replied.

Emma’s friend cleared her own throat. “You have a beautiful home, Your Grace.”

“It serves its purpose,” he said, his attention unwavering from Emma. “Are you looking forward to the week ahead, Lady Emma?”

She nodded shyly. “I… think I am.”

“You think you are?” He furrowed his brow. “No, that will not do at all. I must improve your certainty. Join me in the gardens for a⁠—”

“You have invited guests, and you did not think to inform me! What if I had been in my housecoat?” a shriek blasted from the hallway outside the drawing room, as an equally furious force gusted in, fanning her face. “I ought to box your ears, Silas Algernon Howard Arnold! This is a severe offence!”

Silas cringed inwardly. His mother had arrived, an hour sooner than he had planned.

* * *

“Eliza, darling!” Augusta Arnold, the Dowager Duchess of Hudson, crowed as she thrummed across the room and promptly seized Eliza in her arms. “How long has it been? I must have been a bright young thing when I last saw you!”

Eliza clutched her back. “We were but girls, dearest Aggie!”

“Aggie?” Augusta erupted into laughter. “It has been eons since anyone called me that. Goodness, how have you been? I must say, I have often thought of you. Tell me everything!”

Emma blinked in quiet surprise. “You know one another?”

Had Eliza not said that she knew very little about Silas? Yet, the two older women were holding one another as if they were very dear to each other indeed.

“We were neighbors in our youth,” Eliza explained, over Augusta’s shoulder. “We played together as girls.”

Augusta nodded. “Then, I suppose, marriage must have taken me away. I cannot recall.”

“All I know is, we agreed to go into town together, and when I went to call upon you, on my way into town, I was informed that you had gone to your aunt’s and would not be returning.”

Augusta pulled a face. “Ah, I remember now. The gardener’s boy declared his love for me to my father, my father panicked, and I was sent away. I had done nothing untoward—why, I did not even know the boy—but my father would not listen. I was temporarily exiled until a husband could be found for me. I had just turned six-and-ten.”

Emma was shocked by the dowager’s candor, and it seemed she was not the only one.

“Mother, if you cannot behave, you will be asked to retire to your chambers,” Silas said coolly, his eyes flashing a warning. “You might be acquainted with the dowager, but you are not acquainted with our other guests.”

Emma put on her brightest smile. “I do not mind. It makes it rather less… um… awkward, in truth.”

“You feel uncomfortable?” The corner of his lip lifted, his eyes admiring her in a way that flooded her cheeks with warmth.

At the same time, a cool shiver of apprehension sliced through her veins. She could not quite forget the fear the maid had shown when he had barked at her. Is that what she could expect if she accepted his offer of marriage? Would that gripping thrill she felt in his presence eventually transform into terror?

She shook away the thought. He had explained his behavior, and who had not lost their temper with a servant now and then? She had certainly lost patience with her lady’s maid on at least one occasion.

“A little,” she confessed, deciding to be honest. “I am a stranger here. Is it not expected to feel somewhat awkward in a new residence?”

Augusta swept in to offer sympathy, clasping Emma’s hand. “Of course it is, my dear girl.” She paused, squinting her warm brown eyes. “Now, who on earth are you?”

“Lady Emma Bennet, Your Grace,” Emma replied, lowering her gaze.

“And who do you belong to?”

“My father is the Earl of Lambert. At present, I am under the care of my godmother.”

Eliza beamed from ear to ear. “And a charming girl she is, too. Your son could do far worse than her. Indeed, I doubt any gentleman could do better than my sweet goddaughter. The apple of my eye. The light of my life. A ray in the gloom of my existence.”

“You mean, she has given you something to do, now that your sweet Marina is a married woman. I heard and wanted to offer my congratulations, but I no longer know your address,” Augusta teased, tilting her head as she observed Emma more closely. “Are you a potential prospect for my son? Is that the reason for this visit?”

Emma faltered. “He did not tell you?”

“I did not have the opportunity.” Silas walked to Emma, casually taking hold of her elbow and pulling her toward the garden doors. “She has recently been suffering a terrible affliction.”

Augusta raised an eyebrow. “I have?”

“Yes, I believe it is called “excursionitis.” It occurs in much older ladies, who suddenly feel an unbearable impulse to visit every friend they have ever made and spend half of their son’s fortune in the process,” Silas replied, not even a twitch of a true smile upon his face.

He would be too handsome if he smiled a lot, Emma told herself, realizing she had not yet seen a real smile from him. But clearly, he was not devoid of humor.

She laughed softly, while Augusta harrumphed in mock indignation.

“It is my youngest who suffers from that malaise,” the older woman said in a conspiratorial tone. “Indeed, what a pity that you will not be able to meet him, for he has gone to London for a week or so. I think the two of you would look very becoming as a pair.”

Something peculiar flashed in Silas’s autumnal eyes, a muscle flickering in his defined jaw. Any humor that had shone in that beautiful gaze vanished in a heartbeat, though Augusta seemed entirely oblivious.

Spurred on by an impulse she could not explain—’discomfortosis,’ perhaps—Emma grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand free of her elbow.

“Well, Your Grace, let us get to know one another already, before the day loses its beauty. I think you were about to suggest a walk in the gardens, were you not?”

She glanced at Nora, who had not said a word, quietly watching the scene unfurl through the lenses of her round spectacles, that made her eyes seem twice as large as they were. “Nora? What would you say to a walk?”

Nora smiled, but it did not reach those huge eyes. “A walk would be delightful, though I daresay I am not a suitable chaperone.”

“Nonsense,” Augusta remarked. “You will suffice. Of course, I would offer, but my legs are not what they once were, and I have been apart from my dear Eliza for years. We have so much to tell one another. You all go on ahead; we shall watch you from the windows and shall not breathe a word if you should walk an inch too close to one another.”

Silas’s fingertips skimmed over Emma’s, curving her hand around his upper arm, before his other hand trapped it there. Her eyes widened as muscles bulged beneath the soft fabric of his tailcoat, hard as a rock.

She could only imagine what such muscles might look like without all of those layers on top of them… though as her chest squeezed, she realized it might be better not to imagine anything of the sort.