Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

T he sight of Emma blushing under Alexander's gaze stirred George in all the wrong ways. What was worse was how he couldn't understand this feeling. Only that it was anything but pleasant. He wished he could remove Emma from Alexander's arm right now, and any other man who would dare approach her.

Just then, he felt a delicate hand slither around his own arm. He looked down at a beaming Olivia, clutching onto his arm.

"I think they make a splendid couple, don't you think?" Olivia's gaze trailed Alex as he took Emma for a turn about the room while they waited for dinner.

George heard a grunt escape him in response as he too followed them with his displeased gaze. Emma was giggling at something Alex was saying now. The nerve of them!

"They look like the perfect pair," Olivia added.

Just when George opened his mouth to dispute this, the butler appeared and announced their meal.

"Shall we?" he said to Olivia instead.

The guests paired up and began the slow procession toward the dining room. George trailed a little behind. He couldn't take his gaze off of Emma and Alexander ahead of them.

"Do you think Alex is courting her?" Olivia whispered as they followed the other guests into the dining room.

"That is ridiculous!" George couldn't help the sharpness in his tone.

"How is that ridiculous?" Olivia's expression conveyed her perplexity.

"He is not courting her, Olivia," George insisted, attempting to maintain composure.

"Well then, if Alexander isn't courting her, are you?" Her voice held a playful yet probing note, her eyes glinting with both mischief and hope.

"No," George responded, his words terser than he intended. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling suddenly out of place.

The thought of Alex showing any romantic interest in Emma was unsettling, and the idea of himself doing the same was inexplicably daunting. As they entered the dining room and found their seats, George's mood darkened further. Emma was placed next to Alexander, far across from him. Throughout the dinner, her laughter reached his ears, light and frequent, as she chatted animatedly with Alexander. George's grip on his fork tightened with each peal of laughter that floated across the room.

"Is all well, George?" The soft inquiry came from Jane, who noticed his discomfort as she sat beside him. Her hand rested gently on his, drawing his attention.

"As well as it can be, Aunt Jane," George replied, managing only a strained smile as his gaze involuntarily flicked back to Emma. "As well as it can be," he found himself repeating, the words echoing in his own ears.

Alexander leaned in and whispered something to Emma, causing a delicate blush to rise to her cheeks. Under the table, George's hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles whitening with the effort. When he finally tore his gaze away to meet Jane's, he caught a slight smile on her features—a smile he could not decipher.

After dinner, George followed Emma when he saw her excuse herself instead of going to the gardens with the others. She paused in one of the dimly lit halls, likely sensing him. George decided to reveal himself.

"Are you following me, Seymour?"

"What if I am?"

He heard footsteps and quickly took her hand, pulling her into a salon and closing the door. "What are you doing, George? This is scandalous!"

"Your attention on Firman is scandalous," he said, allowing her to take a step from him. Her face was flushed, and he had to maintain his composure.

"What do you want from me?" she asked.

"Answer me this question. What do you require in a suitor, Emma?"

"Why are you asking this?" George was not so much interested in the answer as he was in keeping her here with him, not out there smiling at Alexander.

"Am I not allowed to be curious about you?"

She looked at the door, seeming impatient. She had looked at it all evening, and he wondered why. Her happy demeanor from earlier had all but disappeared. "Why do you derive such pleasure from stepping on people's toes?" she demanded, her voice low and intense.

"I do not recall us ever dancing. And by people, you mean yourself, Emma?" he returned insolently, keeping his voice smooth, almost teasing.

"I have to go," she said, moving past him.

George took hold of her wrist. "What has you in a temper this evening, Emma?" He drew her toward him—unable to help himself.

"They will be looking for me."

"The guests?" When she shook her head, he asked, "Your parents?"

Emma did not answer, and something darkened within him. She freed her hand and stepped back. "George, I should not be in here alone with you."

But you would be with Alexander , he almost said. "Forgive me," he murmured and opened the door. She lingered and looked up at him as she wanted to tell him something. The moment was fleeing, however, and she slipped out.

He had acted like a fool just now, taking risks so he could keep her from Alex. George pinched the bridge of his nose. Emma was turning him into a man he barely recognized, and he had to stop this—whatever he was feeling.

When he joined the guests in the garden, he found Emma with Alexander, and his eyes hardly left them until an unexpected opportunity arose. A lady, the one Alexander had been paired with during the earlier treasure hunt, approached and drew him into conversation. Seizing the moment, George approached Emma.

"After all the food you devoured earlier, I believe a walk would come in useful for you, Miss Lovell," he teased, a playful tone veiling his nervous anticipation.

"Why, it sounds like you were watching me throughout, Your Grace," Emma chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

George felt a sudden jolt of surprise at her remark. Had she noticed his gaze lingering on her throughout dinner? He hoped not, as an uncharacteristic flush of embarrassment warmed his cheeks. He had, in all honesty, been almost unable to tear his eyes away from her.

Goodness ! What must she think of him?

George offered her his arm, and with a graceful nod, Emma accepted. As they strolled away from the gathering, a subtle fragrance from her caught his attention. It was an intriguing scent, complex and unexpectedly delightful, much like Emma herself.

"I must say, Firman had you glued to him like an appendage throughout the evening," George remarked as they ambled along the cobbled pathways that wound through the lush gardens.

"You sound like a jealous man, George," she giggled, the sound light and teasing. "Why, if I didn't know you were on a mission to protect Firman, I would have thought you claimed this walk with me out of jealousy," she added with a sly grin that hinted at her playful mood.

George felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, her words igniting a spark of amusement within him. He wanted to counter her teasing accusation, but her challenging gaze spurred him to respond instead, "Well, Emma, someone has to remove the cat's claws from the meat." He shrugged insouciantly.

"I don't think I have my claws deep enough," she retorted, her voice carrying a mock lament. "A certain gentleman keeps getting in my way, I'm afraid," she added, her tone subtly accusing yet filled with an underlying flirtation.

Recalling their earlier encounter in the orangery and how she'd implored him to keep from meddling, George couldn't resist continuing their playful banter. "Ah, but that gentleman has never met a more slippery feline," he said.

"Why, is that a compliment now?" She laughed, her amusement clear in the melodious sound that followed.

As he listened to her laughter, George found it as enchanting as he remembered. The liveliness in her face, illuminated by the soft glow of the garden lanterns, warmed him more profoundly than the mild night air.

He didn't want to let go of this moment, watching her laugh and smile for him. He shouldn't let go of her. You are treading a fiery path, George, one that could harm one or both of you , a voice in his head warned as soon as the thought materialized, yet George found himself disregarding every one of them.

They circled back to the terrace which led into the house, but instead of entering, they lingered, relishing the solitude afforded by the cool evening air.

"It was just the two of us now, and I wanted to keep it that way," George thought, his gaze lingering on Emma as she admired the gardens below. The area was aglow with an array of lamps and fairy lights, each one casting its own pool of luminance that danced on the plants and the faces of the people wandering among them.

"I never saw such a concentration of light in one garden," Emma remarked, her voice filled with wonder as she observed the scene. The lights bathed everything in a magnificent glow that seemed almost magical.

George smiled, knowing well the source of such extravagance. "Aunt Jane always likes to go the extra mile in all she does, though she would never admit to any lack of subtlety."

"Rembrandt would have had a swell time with such light," he commented, his mind picturing the famous painter who had been iconic in his use of light and shadow—a technique George had always admired and sometimes drew inspiration from.

"Indeed," Emma sighed, almost dreamily. Her eyes sparkled with interest as she turned to him, her thoughts seemingly far away. "I've always found his painting of The Night Watch most intriguing. The guards are a clear symbol of order, yet for some reason, he captured them in quite a chaotic piece: a motley of people and weapons. It sheds a new light on our understanding of the word order ."

"Ah, now that is a perfect depiction of his manipulation of light and shadow," George exclaimed, his voice filled with admiration as he spoke of the famed artist. "Rembrandt not only captures these elements with his brush strokes and colors but takes us on figurative journeys through ‘light and dark.' He feeds our minds a paradox in that particular painting, especially," he elaborated, his eyes alight with fervor.

"I see you have quite the admiration for him," Emma observed, her chuckle mingling with the evening air as she noted his enthusiasm.

"Who wouldn't? Rembrandt was legendary, Emma," George replied with a nonchalant shrug, his admiration for the artist evident in his tone.

Just then, Alexander and the lady from the treasure hunt, Miss Clorette reappeared, joining them on the terrace. George's initial displeasure at the interruption flickered across his face, but he quickly composed himself, striving not to betray his annoyance.

"Ah, there you are," Alexander greeted them.

"Were you looking for us, My Lord?" Emma's voice held a quick, perhaps too enthusiastic tone, which George noted with a slight tightening in his chest.

"You disappeared rather unexpectedly back there, I must say," Alexander chuckled.

George reflected silently on his decision to seize the moment to capture Emma's full attention, a choice he did not regret despite the interruption. "Perhaps his Grace is quite the magician then," Miss Clorette quipped, her light chuckle echoing Alexander's amusement.

"Seymore cannot do magic to save his life," Alexander laughed heartily, and the ladies joined in with equal mirth.

"Just like how you cannot hold a paintbrush to save your life, Firman?" George retorted, his words filled with humor as he returned the playful jab.

"Or tell the differences between your ridiculous color combinations," Alex chimed in, turning to the ladies with an amused smirk. "You see, Seymore here would hand you two identical swatches of colors and challenge you to distinguish them. Preposterous!" He burst into laughter, which quickly spread to the surrounding company.

"They're different shades, Firman. Different shades. Far from identical," George protested, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, which only elicited more laughter from the ladies.

"Oh, Firman. There you are!" The conversation was suddenly punctuated by a new voice, drawing the group's attention.

"Lord Devonshire has been looking for you all evening," Jane chimed in, her tone light but carrying an undercurrent of urgency.

"I'm afraid I must excuse myself now," Alex said, his reluctance clear in his voice, which George thought bordered on rueful. Was it because of Emma? Did he regret leaving her company? George felt a twinge of satisfaction at the thought, though he couldn't quite quell the stir of unease that accompanied it.

"I should like an introduction to Lord Devonshire too, My Lord," Miss Clorette lady interjected, her eyes gleaming with a mix of ambition and anticipation.

"I can take care of that," Alex assured her, offering his arm which she accepted with a pleased smile. They descended the short stairs back into the gardens, Jane following close behind, leaving George to his private musings.

Relief washed over George as he found himself alone with Emma once again. However, when he turned to her, he noticed a change in her demeanor. Her expression was thoughtful, her gaze distant, as if she were pondering something profound or troubling.

"I think the differences, like our strengths and weaknesses, add to the uniqueness and intrigue of life, don't you think?" Emma's voice broke the silence, her words carrying the weight of their earlier conversation.

George nodded, recognizing her continued reflection on the topic. "Indeed, where you see the treasure in colors and wield them excellently to communicate to our senses and imagination, the Earl's strengths lie in plants and animals like horses, appealing instead to our fancy of nature and thrill for sports…"

"These little differences we tend to overlook set us individually apart," George affirmed, his voice carrying a tone of agreement that resonated with the soft ambiance of the garden.

"Strengths and weaknesses… Sounds like a field of contrasts Rembrandt would have loved to exploit," Emma mused, her gaze drifting to the scattering of lights around them.

"A battlefield of opposites," George echoed thoughtfully.

"I would consider it more of a dance," she suggested, her eyes lighting up with the analogy.

"A dance of opposites…" He tested the words, finding them fitting perfectly into their dialogue. "Spoken like a true art lover," he chuckled, his admiration for her perspective evident in his tone.

"I would take that as a compliment then," she beamed, her smile infectious.

"Enjoy it while it lasts. I don't give those out often, Miss Lovell," he chortled, his playful banter drawing a light laugh from her.

"They wouldn't be as special if you did," she agreed, her voice soft yet sincere.

She glanced back behind them, a subtle shift in her demeanor catching George's attention before she suddenly said, "I should check on the Baroness."

She avoided his gaze as she spoke, and George sensed the distance she tried to impose. He couldn't dismiss the feeling that it was just an excuse—an excuse to leave him, perhaps even to find Alexander. A suspicious voice in his head suggested as much.

This irritation gnawed at him, kindling an odd anger within George at himself for caring too deeply about her actions and intentions. Surely it ought not to be his concern. Yet, somehow, he had made it precisely that.

Never mind that his ostensible mission here was to shield his friend from what he suspected might be a cleverly laid trap.

Before he could gather his thoughts to stop her from leaving, Emma turned and descended the stairs. However, at their base, she paused, casting a glance back over her shoulder at George. Her expression was almost conflicted, and in her eyes, there shimmered something curiously akin to longing. It was a look that tugged at his senses.

Then, without another word, she turned away, her figure blending into the shadows of the garden. George stood there, his thoughts a tempest, as he tried to decipher the silent message held in that last, lingering look.