Chapter Four

Sure enough, the Miss Barton who'd spent ten minutes discussing curtains with Tabitha was the peacock from Tutbury. Emma had joined her sister in greeting the newly arrived guest, mainly because she hoped to catch a hint of whether Nicholas was also here without asking directly.

"All in all," Miss Barton was saying, "they simply will not do."

Emma glanced at the curtains in question and could not for the life of her figure out how they could possibly be unsuitable. Supposedly, Miss Barton required complete and total darkness when she slept, and nothing but the blackest of curtains could assist her with that.

If the blazing fire in the grate was to remain as it was during the night—the nights could get rather cold this time of year—Miss Barton would have to consider more than only the moon's light as she slept.

Tabitha, as always, was a most gracious host and offered to fetch the darkest curtains from one of the other rooms so Miss Barton could be as comfortable as possible.

Eventually, Miss Barton realized there was someone else in the room, and she scrutinized Emma for a moment before she said, "Did I see you in town earlier?"

"I believe so," Emma replied. "It seemed you had lost someone." She bit her lip to keep from laughing about the incident at the millinery; the memory of Nicholas hunched up behind the display made keeping her amusement to herself difficult.

Falling onto the chaise longue quite dramatically, Miss Barton sighed and looked for all the world as if nothing was going her way. Her tragic expression seemed to be saying, First Nicholas and now curtains . "Indeed," she said, her voice almost musical with dramatics. "That frustrating man has a habit of disappearing at the most inconvenient times. And now he has disappeared again. Who knows what may have happened to him!"

Emma couldn't help herself, and she spoke before she could hold her tongue back. "Perhaps something drove him away."

Miss Barton lifted her eyes and narrowed them, as if sensing a challenge in Emma's words. "He would never simply leave me on my own," she said slowly. "He is the best of men."

Coughing before she said something to the contrary, Emma nodded as if Miss Barton had said something quite profound. "I am sure he is," she lied. "Though, it is unfortunate for him to have disappeared like a, er, beast in the brush."

Tabitha coughed as well, which meant she had just discovered Miss Barton's role in Emma's earlier recounting of her trip to town. "Let me see about getting you some better curtains, Miss Barton," Tabitha said and tugged the bell pull.

As soon as a maid had been summoned and given instructions to replace Miss Barton's curtains, Emma took Tabitha by the arm and led her from the room before either of them cracked. When they had reached a respectable distance, she flashed her sister a knowing smile that made them both snort in laughter.

"She is rather eccentric, isn't she?" Tabitha said quietly.

"She reminds me of Mrs. Thatcher," Emma replied. "Do you remember how particular she was about her hems? Terrorized the dressmaker enough to make her leave town."

"Mrs. Clifford left because she got remarried," Tabitha said, shaking her head. "Sometimes, Emma, I wonder if you have begun to confuse fact with fiction."

Emma knew she had a habit of embellishing things, but the plain old truth was never very exciting. "Fiction is more fun," she argued.

"Which is why Miss Barton has become a witch in your eyes, is it? And who is this mysterious beast?"

Heat spotted Emma's cheeks, and she hoped Tabitha didn't notice. "I did not get his name."

"I see." Tabitha frowned, as if she knew something Emma didn't, and busied herself with brushing her skirts.

"Perhaps Alvaro knows who he is," Emma suggested, though she was tempted to ask whether her sister was keeping something from her.

"I will ask him if there is anyone new in town. Regardless, he may likely know the man. He has far too many friends."

"Your husband has far too much of a lot of things." Another round of squeals echoed through the corridors of the house. "Energy being one of them."

Sighing, Tabitha shook her head and held on a little tighter to Emma's arm. "If I did not love the man with all my soul," she muttered, "I would hate that about him. But I cannot begrudge my girls having a loving father when we were not so lucky."

A darkness settled around them, as it always did when one of them mentioned their late father. The man had never been cruel, but loving had not been one of his more dominant traits, despite his having been born of a man as kind as Grandfather. It was one of the reasons Emma was so reluctant to marry. Unless every potential suitor she came across could be as good a man as Alvaro Rowland, she feared she would never be content with any man.

Their mother had managed perfectly well on her own after her husband had left the three of them behind in pursuit of some wild dream to be a world traveler. His death abroad had not hurt any of them, outside of the required mourning period and its horridly plain dresses. If Emma had any say in the matter of her future, she would leave her care to no one but herself.

Just as they reached the entryway landing, one of the maids hurried up to the pair of them and curtsied. "Mr. Mackenzie would like to speak to you, miss," she told Emma. "He is in the library. And Cook was asking for you, my lady," she said to Tabitha.

Sharing one more smile with hidden laughter behind it, Emma and her sister parted ways, Tabitha to the kitchen and Emma to her grandfather.

Emma saw Elias first, tucked away in the corner behind a book, as he often was whenever he visited Harstone Court. Grandfather was in the chair next to him, and though they didn't seem to be in conversation, the two of them shared a look before Elias closed his book and rose.

"I need to ask Lord Harstone if he will let me borrow this," he said, though his voice wavered enough that Emma knew it was simply an excuse to get out of the room.

That was concerning.

Elias paused at the door, however, and glanced back to give Emma a brief smile. "I have been invited to stay for dinner," he said. "Think you can bear my company a little longer?"

Emma let out a sigh. "I am not going to grace that ridiculous question with an answer, Mr. Drake."

Smiling again, this time with a little more emotion to it, he bowed his head to Mr. Mackenzie and left the room, leaving Emma and her grandfather alone.

"Mr. Drake is a good man," Grandfather said.

Elias was the son of Mama's brother and therefore not related to Grandfather, but the two men had formed a bond after Papa left and Grandfather took over the care of his daughter and granddaughters. Grandfather treated Elias like the grandson he'd never had.

Nodding, Emma took up Elias's vacated seat near the fire, watching Grandfather's face to gain any sort of indication of what he might have summoned her for. It could not have been to talk about Elias.

"Are you well, Grandfather?" she asked quietly. If it were a trivial matter, he would not have sent Elias away, and he could have spoken to her about it when they returned home to Mackenzie Manor down the road.

Mr. Mackenzie huffed when Emma tucked her hands in her lap to stop herself from fidgeting. "Oh, stop looking so nervous, child." Setting aside the book he had been reading, Grandfather studied her with his rich brown eyes and took a slow, deliberate breath. Whatever he had to say, it seemed to carry some weight to it. "Well," he began and let out all the air in a sigh. "I'll just come right out and say it, as I would imagine you do not already know. Mr. Forester is in town."

Emma tensed. "Mr. Forester? He is in Tutbury?" That man had been nothing but a thorn in Emma's side since the day she was born, it felt like, as he was to inherit almost everything from Grandfather simply because he was a male. He wasn't even related to Grandfather, and yet he was the one who would take over the Mackenzie estate.

Surely even Elias would be a better option than someone unconnected to the family, but no.

Grandfather nodded gravely. "He is in Tutbury," he confirmed.

"But why?"

"Because he is a dear friend to your viscount brother-in-law."

Had Emma known that? Surely Alvaro or Tabitha would have mentioned something. "I suppose..." She forced herself to sound calm and unaffected, even though she would inevitably come face-to-face with the one person standing in the way of her independent future. "I suppose it will be nice to finally meet him," she said, feeling rather pathetic. The last thing she wanted was to meet her enemy. "Will he be in town for a while, then?"

"I believe so."

Emma rose, her mind spinning as she processed this unfortunate information. What if he was the man in the millinery? But no, surely this was all just a coincidence.

"Thank you for warning me," she said, curtsying before she took a step toward the door.

"That is not why I called you in here, Emma."

Emma immediately sank back into her chair.

At least Grandfather smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners and leaving nothing but warmth and kindness in his face. "My dear, I know what you must think of me, leaving everything to him when you are my grandchild."

Emma didn't open her mouth for fear of insulting the man who had taken her in when her mother had died unexpectedly, when Emma was only ten.

"I do not often approve of Society's traditions being as set as they are, but..." He trailed off, his eyes distant. "In this case, I can only do so much if I want to secure your future happiness. You are a woman, and I have no near male relations. Naming Forester as my heir allows me peace of mind, knowing our family's lands will be well cared for without the risk of greed getting in the way. And without me, the young man has nothing. You, at least, have your dowry to help you find a worthy husband to care for you."

She had feared this part—dreaded it—and even though she had known it was coming, she had hoped she would at least get the chance to make her case. To gain something from the man who had himself declared her his most treasured companion. Clearly all her hoping had been in vain, and she fought the tears that filled her eyes. She would have to move to another plan, then, whether that involved finding herself a husband she could tolerate or seeking employment to pay her way through the rest of her little life. Her yearly allowance would only get her so far, and there was no telling what Forester might do when he inherited.

"Emma." Grandfather's tone had gotten stronger, and when she looked up at him, his eyes twinkled a bit. "I have no intention of sending you out onto the streets when I am gone. I have a plan, if you can but be patient."

"I do not understand," she admitted, her voice wavering.

"I have given Mr. Forester a task with a deadline. The stipulations of his inheritance are clear; if he cannot procure himself a wife by the first of December, he inherits nothing."

Emma brushed away a stray tear that had escaped to her cheek. "So..."

"So if Mr. Forester proves to be just as fickle as he has been these past three years, you have every chance of besting him in this game I have created. It is a fair enough opportunity for him to take what he thinks is his."

She hardly thought so, but she was not about to tell Grandfather that. A game indeed. Not fully understanding the rules, Emma wasn't certain how giving Mr. Forester a deadline was fair to either of them, and it simply meant delaying the inevitable. Emma would receive nothing, but she would spend the next month and a half wondering whether she might have a change of luck. Surely a man of any sense would snatch up the first beauty he came across in order to secure his fortune. The small matter of marriage was nothing compared to obtaining the Mackenzie estate.

Chuckling, Grandfather leaned forward and patted Emma's hand. "Do not look so morose, child. Anthony's son is of a predictable sort, and he is as much disturbed by my decision as you are—which means he fears he will be unable to make a lasting attachment in such a short space of time. He has had three years to find himself a suitable wife, and surely you have heard of his lack of success."

Even in Staffordshire Mr. Forester was often the subject of gossip. Just this year he had supposedly spurned three prominent ladies hoping to win his hand, and despite him being one of London's most eligible, he had hardly given anyone more attention than what was polite. Emma had, admittedly, taken a keen interest in the man's adventures simply because she wanted to know the sort of man who would receive everything she hoped for.

And his adventures were many, if all the stories were to be believed. Apparently the man spent most of his time saving babies and fighting battles, despite rarely leaving London. What utter rot!

She had always disliked him, thinking him the most odious man to walk the earth. What sort of man thought himself so above others as to perpetuate so many lies to make himself appear grander?

"You think he will not succeed?" she whispered, barely daring to hope.

Grandfather smiled and gave her hand a squeeze. "I think there is hope for you yet," he replied.

There was another matter that was bothering her, though she was afraid to ask in case it complicated things even more. Still, it would be best to go into the next several weeks knowing exactly what she was up against. "And am I under the same obligations as Mr. Forester?" she asked warily. "Will I need to find myself a husband before I can inherit?"

Grandfather pierced her with a look of long-suffering. "You have always known my stance on this, Emma. No matter how sensible you may be, the law gets muddy when it comes to a woman owning property. Especially at your young age, I fear anything I give you would be taken away from you otherwise."

She wouldn't lose anything. The lands were unentailed, which meant he could give them to whomever he pleased. Emma was nearly at the age of majority and knew enough to keep the lands well maintained and prosperous. Whatever risk he thought he saw, it wasn't there. Unless... unless he had given Forester the deadline of her birthday for a reason. Surely he could have no fears once she was old enough to make her own decisions. Perhaps it was wishful thinking on Emma's part, but it was the best she had.

He sighed, reaching out to cup her cheek. "My wish is to see you find someone to love and cherish you as you deserve, my dear. Whether here in Tutbury or somewhere else, you are more than kind and beautiful enough to find yourself a good and happy life. Mr. Forester, on the other hand, needs all the help he can get in life."

What he needed was someone to prevent him from finding a wife so he could be forced into fixing his own problems. Emma would turn twenty-one at the start of December, which coincided with Mr. Forester's deadline. If he couldn't find himself a wife, surely Grandfather would leave it all to her, with or without a husband. Any other outcome would leave her hopeless and heartbroken.