CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Adam and Lionel had settled themselves before the fire in the library. The snow had begun to fall again and it was cozy and warm inside the room.

To Adam’s great amusement, Lionelwas still reading Keats’ poetry, determined to finish it and tell Miss Fairfax his thoughts before Christmas. It appeared that simply reading the thing was not good enough. Lionel had already finished it twice and was trying to fathom all the hidden meanings within each poem in order to impress the lady.

Adam left his cousin to it. Lionel was always calm and quiet, and they fell into a companionable silence for many minutes until there was a knock on the door.

Both men looked up as Adam’s aunt poked her head around it, seemingly relieved to see that Adam was present.

“Did you need me, Mama?” Lionel asked dutifully.

“Yes, I need you to leave the room; I require a moment of Adam’s time.”

Lionel knew better than to argue with his mother, but he gave Adam a look of weary acceptance as he placed his book on the table between them and left the room. It was a deliberate movement on Lionel’s part—he had marked his place and would return to it—a silent message that he would not leave Adamin Augusta’s clutches for long.

Adam smiled after him, keeping his own book in his hand and waiting for his aunt to get to the point of her visit.

Augusta watched Lionel leave, walking further into the roomand leaving the door ajar. She came to sit opposite him, and he was reminded of the momentshe had arrived in his study all those days before, asking him to attend the house party.

How lucky I am that she was able to persuade me.

Augusta fidgeted in her chair for a little while, and Adam said nothing, disinclined to begin the conversation when he was almost certain he knew what this would be about.

“All I have ever wanted for you is your happiness,” Augusta said finally.

Adam’s fingers tightened around his book, and he cleared his throat. “I know that.”

“And you know if your happiness does not lie with Lady Seraphina, all you would have to do is to tell me?”

Adam tried not to flinch as she laid a hand on his arm.

“I have noticed a change in you of late,” she continued. “I thought that you might be feeling better now that you are out of the house and away from your estate, but today proved me wrong.”

She leaned forward in her chair as Adam put down his book and levelled her with a long stare.

“And what happened today?” he asked, feigning innocence.

She rolled her eyes. “It could not have been plainer that there is some connection between you and Lady Emilia. She was blushing after you caught her when she fell, I was amazed the duke did not call you out. Although I believe that man would not be able to see his own nose if it were not attached to his face.”

Adam snorted. “I hope you are not implying any impropriety on my part.”

“Absolutely not,” she said vehemently. “I know you too well, and you are too good for that. But I was surprised. I had not expected… I am sorry , is what I am trying to say.”

“Sorry?”

“For forcing the marquess’ daughter upon you. I did not know you were growing closer to Lord and Lady Sternwood’s daughter.”

Adam tensed, finding that he was unable to adequately explain what was happening between them. How might things have been if he had simply been honest with Augusta and told her he was not interested in Lady Seraphina from the start?

Would I still have proposed to Emilia?

The idea was a strange one. Anastasia’s face still lingered at the back of his mind, but increasingly it was being replaced with another. He did not like to think that his aunt merely saw Emilia as a means to an end. The clinical nature of securing the estate did not fit with his view of her at all. He did not like to think of her in those terms.

“And if I have grown closer to the lady?” he asked carefully.

“Then I would be pleased for you, of course.”

“Of course?”

His aunt sighed. “I want your future to be certain—for many reasons. If you are making a new connection, that is a wonderful thing.”

She leaned back in her chair again, her gaze sorrowful. “I hope you know that I would never wish to force you down a path you would prefer not to tread.”

“I know that, Aunt Augusta.”

“There has been a lightness in your step these last few days. If Lady Emilia is the cause, then my heart rejoices at that knowledge.”

She gave him a warm smile, and Adam could not help but return it. He knew his aunt had his best interests at heart; he merely wished that he could feel more settled in his decisions. Everything he did seemed to be laced with guilt and turmoil.

When Lionel did not return immediately, Augusta settled back in her chair and they both watched the fire together, not needing to speak further, the weight of expectation lifting a little from Adam’s shoulders.

The fire crackled merrily in the grate, casting shadows that spread across the shelves and toward the door. From the other side of it,visible through the crack where it remained ajar, two eyes watched the pair through the gap in the hinges as Frederick processed what he had heard.

Every passing word made the fear in his gut multiply to an unbearable degree and he knew if there was ever a time to act, it was now.

***

Later that evening the guests had gathered for a festive dinner and the atmosphere was lively as the main course of duck was served.

Charlotte and Lord Spencer had been placed opposite Emilia and Adam. They were having a lively discussion with the Pinkertons about Lord Spencer’s phaeton.

“Because you see,” Lady Pinkerton was saying, “I have been trying to persuade Lord Pinkerton that he is too old to purchase something so high. Everyone who uses them speaks of their dangers. Why, my nephew broke his arm falling from his,” she said reproachfully.

Lord Spencer cleared his throat, reaching for his glass and glancing at her.

“Madam, I am not the right person for you to be speaking to on the subject, though it pains me to say it. Every man should have a try in a High-Perch. They are elegant things—smooth and quick. Imagine the regal way you would look about Regents Park with two glistening chestnut mares before you.”

Lord Pinkerton, who was a wiry, slim man in his late fifties, chortled at Lord Spencer’s words and raised his glass to him.

“I believe you have picked the wrong quarry, my dear,” he said happily to his wife. “I shall make inquiries the moment we are back in London.”

“When you break your back falling off the thing, I shall have no sympathy,” said Lady Pinkerton irritably and stabbed at a piece of duck as she continued her supper.

Lionel smiled wickedly as Adam rolled his eyes.

“Do you have a phaeton, my Lord?” Emilia turned to Adam.

“I am of the same opinion as Lady Pinkerton—death traps the lot of them.”

“Poppycock!” Lionel cried, and Emilia watched Charlotte’s shoulders shudder with mirth as she tried to keep her composure.

But away from their merriment, at the other end of the table, Emilia could see the duke speaking with her father. She shifted in her seat, wondering whether he had noticed the attention Lord Bellebrook had shown her that day and what he might think of it.

“I much prefer a concert hall and a glass of port,” Adam added, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of duck as Charlotte gave Emilia a meaningful look.

“Emilia and I went to see Clementi at Hanover Square in the summer,” Charlotte said, “it was exquisite.”

“Oh, I would give anything to be able to play like him,” Emilia said. “It was a flawless performance. He was wearing blue shoes!”

Adam laughed as Miss Fairfax began to name some of the pieces they had heard at the concert to Lionel. His cousin had never had much interest in music and nodded with polite attention, but Emilia positively came alive with the topic.

She had appeared somewhat reserved since their agreement, both of them conscious that they were walking a fine line between propriety and scandal, but now she was incredibly animated.

He would have given a great deal to stand up and claim Lady Emilia right there, putting the duke off forever, but he knew it was impossible. They would have to grow their connection in a way that would be remarked upon but not overt. It was a difficult balance, and Emilia had been stiff and quiet up until this point.

Adam watched her enthusiasm with a growing sense of affection and pride. He loved hearing her speak of music—she clearly adored everything about it. He made a promise to himself that when they were married, he would take her to a concert every week.

“I lost my grandmother several years ago,” Emilia explained to Lionel. “She was the one who instilled in me my love of music. It was she who took me to my first concert.” Her voice was low and gentle. “She is what made me who I am today. I would not have adored the pianoforte quite so much if I had not heard her play.”

“Have you thought any more of your own compositions?” Adam asked eagerly, finding himself curious as to what Emilia might create if she were to write some music herself.

Miss Fairfax was looking at him strangely, an odd little smile flitting over her face as Emilia stilled and looked across at him uncertainly.

“When one speaks of Clementi, I can only think of the great composers of our time, and it chills me to think I could think of writing anything at all.”

“But you will never know,” Adam said sincerely, “unless you try.”

Emilia’s gaze met his, and for an electric moment, he was suspended in it, the excitement infectious as her eyebrows drew together.

“Perhaps I shall try then,” she said finally.

“To new beginnings.”

Adam looked across at Miss Fairfax, who had raised her glass before her in a toast, staring at her friend intently.

The Pinkertons, who seemed to be two of the most enthusiastic people he had ever met, raised their glasses, too. Soon, the toast had spread around the entire table as everyone clinked their glasses, but Adam felt that something more had passed between them than a simple toast.

As he looked at Emilia’s profile as she sipped her wine, he felt a sense of contentment and safety in her presence that was as surprising as it was unexpected.

The line between convenience and genuine feeling was beginning to blur, and he felt powerless to stop it. He was not even sure he wanted to.