At the sound of Angus’s boots upon the tiles in the hallway the following afternoon, Emily lowered her head and tried to control the rapid beat of her heart.
Dread borne of shame. Her fingers worked feverishly over the infant’s garment she was enlarging for Elizabeth’s daughter Jane to wear, while her thoughts were in turmoil. She had wronged her husband, grievously. The time had come to atone.
She recalled the distinctive ring of her father’s shoes upon the flagstones that had made her mother visibly blanche. His entrance was always the same.
‘Margeurite,’ he’d rasp as if displeased to find her in the drawing room when it was where he confined her for most of every day. So much derision and contempt contained in the one word. Usually he’d not address her again. In earlier days he’d turn to Emily with a smile and ask proudly, ‘How’s my little beauty, today?’
When had he stopped saying that? When she was about twelve, on the cusp of becoming a woman. By then he’d fostered in her the fawning desire to please him. If he no longer praised her, she was determined he’d not deride her as he did her mother, though it seemed his displeasure grew with each successive year. It had confused her, for he’d loved her and she tried so hard. ‘The girl now looks like her!’ she’d once overheard him say in response to some whispered exhortation for discretion from Lucy, who did her best to shield Emily from his angry outburst or snide remarks.
The thought filled her with terror. If she looked so like her mother, could she one day become similarly afflicted?
She reasoned her mother must once have been very beautiful and rich to have captivated her father.
‘Beauty,’ her father had once told her, ‘is a woman’s only defence. Use yours, Emily, while you can, for you have little else to recommend you.’
Now Emily was hunched over her tatting just as her mother had once cringed at her husband’s return; though Angus could not be more different from her father.
For one thing her father never spoke cheerfully, either to his family or to the servants, she reflected upon hearing Wallace the butler laugh at his exchange with his master as he divested Angus of his multi-caped coat in the hallway. Then her husband strode into the room, making it seem suddenly much smaller.
His smile was brief, distracted, eye contact maintained only for as long as it took to say, ‘Good morning, Emily, I hope you don’t mind that I stayed away longer.’ He stooped to kiss her cheek before relaxing with a smile in the seat opposite her. He wore riding clothes, and his face had a healthy glow. Emily drew herself up, murmured an appropriate response, and wondered why he seemed so different today.
‘Thank you, Wallace.’ Angus gathered up the accumulated correspondence from the silver salver the butler held out.
Breaking the seal of the first letter, he began to read. Unaccountably, Emily was piqued. She’d been building herself up to meet this moment. She had tormented herself as to how she would offer an oblique apology without having to prostrate herself and leave herself vulnerable. This was an unfair way to look at the matter, she knew. Angus would not take advantage, but she hated being in the wrong.
Now Angus was attending to daily business as if they were a long married couple, with barely a glance in her direction.
‘Major Woodhouse called yesterday.’
He smiled briefly at her over the top of his correspondence. ‘Your sister told him of the bequest from your father.’ That got his attention, she thought, satisfied at last,
waiting for him to lose his composure.
Pretending interest in her handiwork, she watched him carefully beneath lowered lashes.
He did not immediately respond, though the studied look on his face as he stared at the page in front of him indicated he was shocked.
‘Why did you not tell me the truth, Angus?’ Emily raised her face above her tatting.
‘Would it have made a difference?’
The bluntness of his question made her squirm. Blushing, she dropped her eyes at his inference that she’d have accepted him more willingly had she known he was the Earl of Netherfield’s only son and not merely one of Sir John’s numerous brood.
He answered his own question. ‘It seemed of little importance when I had no expectations we would benefit in any way. I met my natural father only twice.’
It was extraordinary the effect his interested gaze had upon her. She felt the blush rise up her throat. This was not the diffident Angus who had asked for her hand. Now she wanted to claw her way higher in his estimation.
‘It was ill done of him to overlook his daughter,’ Angus said, finally, still studying her with neither smile, nor frown. ‘My solicitor in Habersham confirmed the size of the bequest when I visited him.’ He transferred his gaze over Emily’s shoulder, to the garden which seemed to flow right out of the house. Tapping the thick cream parchment, as if weighing up something of great importance, he said, ‘I made over part of it to Lady Catherine. I hope you don’t mind,
Emily, for we have more than enough, and she had all but nothing.’
‘Did she approach you?’ The question was prompted by curiosity in the light of Angus’s altered family relationship, but it sounded calculating, she realised, as Angus looked at her strangely.
‘Of course I don’t mind about the money,’ she said hurriedly. ‘That’s not what I meant.’ Taking a deep breath, she galvanised her courage. ‘I’m sorry I misjudged you about accepting Aunt Gemma’s funds.’
His expression, as he slowly rose, took her by surprise. Standing tall and straight in the centre of the room,
his dark-brown eyes kindled with something she couldn’t quite determine. Included was certainly a measure of warmth.
He seemed handsomer, more commanding and for a heartbeat she responded with a smile that came naturally.
‘You were angry.’ He shrugged, smiling that curious smile to which she was increasingly far from immune. ‘No doubt feeling helpless, too, and that’s not pleasant.’ He gave a short laugh, breaking eye contact, turning to gaze out of the window. ‘I know that feeling better than most. I was a prisoner of war for six months.’
Good Lord! What torture and privations must he have endured that he’d never spoken of? Or had he, but she had not attended him? He’d have had excuse enough to have considered there was little point when Emily was so disinterested. Admiration struck her as she stared at the back of his head, wondering at the fact she’d never felt his close-cropped curls and had no idea if they were coarse or silky; taking in the long, lean lines of her husband’s physique and for the first time acknowledging that in comparing him with Jack she did not find Angus wanting.
No, she’d not been interested, before, but now she was consumed by curiosity.
She opened her mouth to frame her question, but the words did not come. Instead, she experienced an extraordinary and unexpected response to her husband’s warm smile when he turned, akin to sweet syrup feeding through her veins and into her heart.
Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, she was aware of her greatly altered feelings when he crossed the room towards her.
Her tatting fell unheeded in her lap while her eyes travelled up the length of his top boots, over his Nankeen-clad legs. Impulsively, she raised her hand to touch the sleeve of his well-cut riding coat.
‘Emily.’ He tilted her chin up so he could see her face, and as her body betrayed her with that familiar kindling in her belly that should only be reserved for Jack, her mind came to the rescue.
Anger, cold and cutting. Because of this man’s actions, Jack had died. Innocent though Angus’s involvement may have been, he’d walked off with the prize while Jack now lay cold in his grave. Her loyalty to Jack demanded this of her.
She turned her head from him as she shrank back into her chair, and Angus’s hand fell away. She heard him sigh. Heard his footsteps cross the soft carpet until he’d positioned himself to gaze once more out of the window.
Remorse came too late as she picked up her tatting, using the rhythm of the stitching to repeat the litany of Jack’s name. He said, conversationally, ‘Caroline thinks you are in need of some diversion. She fears you are mouldering away in the country and has asked if you’ve expressed any interest
in this tea party she’s organising.’
Emily’s mind was still on her response to her husband.
Her withdrawal seemed petty, an abuse of power in a parody of a childish game.
‘Of course. Caroline is very kind to take such an interest,’ she murmured. ‘Tell her I’m in a fever of delight.’ Her voice told a different story, but that was the way she was these days. Contrary. She wasn’t proud of it.
‘Emily, what must I do to make you happy?’
Shocked that he’d give voice to it, as much as at the desperation in his tone, she jerked up her head to find him towering over her.
‘Nothing.’ The beating of her heart terrified her. Her voice sounded thin, puling, unlike her. ‘The house is beautiful. I tried to thank you—’
‘You did not.’ His hands came down on her shoulders as he crouched before her. This time there was no warmth or sympathy in his expression as he searched her face. ‘Mere platitudes. Emily, you are my wife.’
She wriggled out of his grasp and struggled to her feet. Taking a faltering step backwards, her hands went to the locket around her neck. Jack’s locket which contained an inky black curl belonging to the hero who’d died some six months before.
‘Yes, your wife, your property. I feel forever under siege.’ It’s what she’d felt when he’d married her, but she was not prepared to think too deeply on her response to him only minutes before. She took a shallow breath, pressing on with her denials, her self-justifications, even though they sounded old and tired and no longer relevant. ‘Do you not realise that every moment in your company I am reminded of your rights over me? Do you know how that makes me feel?’
She saw the tightening of his lips, the bleakness in his eye, but still she went on, trotting out the lines that had once run endlessly round her head but which now sounded hollow; she was unable to stop now that the floodgates had been released. ‘If you smile at me, I wonder, will it be tonight? I can’t bear it. I am your wife, yes, and I have no choice. We made a bargain. I made a bargain. We have been at Wildwood three weeks and as the sun sets each day I cannot breathe for fear of what the night will bring. I cannot expect you to wait forever so for God’s sake, let’s get it over with.’ ‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ Mary interrupted, hovering in the doorway. ‘Mr and Mrs Micklen have arrived.’
If the previous conversation had destroyed her composure, Emily felt completely undone as the blood drained from her head in a physical reaction only her father could produce. ‘My father?’ she repeated, looking at Angus as if he would refute it. For how could her father be here when he had cast
her off? Bartholomew Micklen did not forgive.
‘Your mother, also.’ Angus had taken her arm, obviously for fear she might fall, so obvious was her distress. She felt the tenseness in his grip though his tone was conversational for Mary’s benefit, while his eyes searched her face. ‘You did not receive my letter telling you of their visit?’
‘You invited them?’ Oh, how she wished he hadn’t, but there was no opportunity to say it for now the tall, white haired old man was waving through the servant who carried her mother like a child. Directing him to the chair closest to the fire, Angus moved forward to assist.
‘Good afternoon, Emily. You look surprised to see us.’ Her father’s thin smile barely reached his eyes.
Emily did not know what to say. She’d expected never to see her father again. Her mother she’d intended to visit clandestinely. What could Angus have said to induce the old man to relent? Her mind churned with mixed reactions. She should be overjoyed, yet she was not.
‘Mama.’ Bending, she kissed her mother’s cheek before crouching to wrap her useless feet more cosily. Just as she’d done a thousand times.
After greeting his in-laws Angus turned to Emily. ‘Mary has already prepared the blue room. I hoped your parents’ visit would be’—he lowered his voice as the Micklens settled themselves—‘distracting. Mrs Micklen,’ he crossed the room to his mother-in-law, ‘are you too close to the fire? Yes? Certainly I shall move you back a little.’
It was strange hearing him enquire after her mother’s comfort when she’d never heard her father do so. She was even more astonished when that evening Angus took a seat at right angles to his mother-in-law and carried on a lengthy and lively discussion ranging from fox hunting to the war with France. Patiently, he awaited her slurred answers, his look interested, before adding his own response. This left Emily facing her father, wondering, awkwardly, what she could talk about. She could not remember having dealt with him in such a setting.
She certainly could not remember him having ever relented on a punishment when she’d transgressed. The last time she’d seen him was moments before she’d been dispatched in a dog cart with one trunk. His parting words still rang in her ears: ‘This house is forever barred to you for you have proved yourself beneath contempt.’
Now he smiled at her as he never had, and enquired after her health. Having her parents as guests in her lovely, grand new house, was extraordinary. She just wished she felt less like a trapped rabbit, and put it down to the conflicting emotions she felt at the change in her relationship with her husband.
Emily was up early the next morning, leaning over the railing of the jetty by the ornamental lake where Angus found her. She’d spent a fitful sleep in her own apartments and had risen with the sun to seek solace for her disordered thoughts. Terrifying though it had been to face her father again, he’d gone to pains to make it clear she was forgiven. This gave rise to the most unexpected relief and gratitude on her part. Gratitude that extended towards Angus. He had, carefully and consciously, worked towards a reconciliation, recognising it was an important step in her recovery.
Grief, she acknowledged, was like a painful canker that healed slowly.
Angus joined her at the railing, a faint smile curving his lips as he stared into the glittering waters, as if yesterday’s exchange had not taken place. For the benefit of her parents they’d been civil, almost conversational, over dinner.
Angling his body to face her, he said, ‘I thought I might find you here. It’s lovely at this time of morning, isn’t it?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘However, you don’t want to be late for breakfast, Emily. I suspect your father does not like to be kept waiting.’
His proximity was disturbing, for the hands he rested upon the railing were close to hers, but he made no attempt to touch her. It was a shock to acknowledge that every time he’d come near her since he’d returned from abroad she’d deliberately recalled Jack’s image as some kind of safeguard against the curious, mixed feelings that kindled within her when she found herself alone with her husband. Surely it was wrong that she had to remind herself where her true loyalties lay?
‘It was kind of you to invite my parents.’ She felt afraid to meet his eye as a gust of wind ruffled the surface of the lake. ‘You’ve nothing of which to be ashamed.’ Angus rested his chin on his fisted hand as he relaxed against the railing and she turned her head, heart hammering suddenly to meet his gaze, dark with the intensity of his feelings. ‘I’ve told you that, Emily, and now your father’s confirmed it. You’re beautiful and clever and witty and you have your future before you. You can make as much or as little of local society as you wish. Caroline is your ally. We all are.’
She gaped at him. What did he know of her ability to charm? And what did he know of local society? She was terrified of her inevitable initiation. Would people know? Suspect? Would there be whispers? The cut direct, even?
‘Witty? I don’t think I’ve ever made you laugh, Angus.’ It was a self-deprecating statement which she bore up with, ‘I’ve been nothing but churlish and ungrateful. I wonder you can still speak in a civil fashion to me.’ The words were catharsis. She felt a curious flowering in the darkest recesses of her heart.
‘We’ve not had an auspicious start and you’ve not been shown to advantage, it’s true,’ he conceded with a candour that took her aback. She must add ‘plain speaking’ to her husband’s list of recommendations. ‘But remember, I saw you at the Regimental Ball when you’d experienced none of the trials life has thrust upon you during the past six months.’ He straightened, pretending a study of the half- moons of his fingernails. Almost shyly, he said, ‘I saw the impression you made on people.’ When he glanced at her with his clear-eyed gaze she felt the inexplicable desire to put out her hand and trace the line of the scar upon his cheek.
She stopped herself, cocking her head as he continued. ‘Not just the men. The women sent you envious glances. You were dazzling. I was dazzled.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘You looked so happy. As if you had the world and its moon at your beck and call … and I wanted you so badly.’
‘You … did?’
‘Emily, you will have the same effect on local society as you did back then. You can enjoy a good, rich life here … if you want.’
She was silent as she pondered this, aware of his closeness and aware of how much she wanted to bridge the distance between them.
He broke the long silence, saying in a lighter tone, ‘Your mother is astute. Amusing, too.’
‘I … never really thought much about it.’
‘She obviously enjoys little society, but she reads and listens. I was impressed.’
The warm glow in Emily’s heart intensified. No one had ever praised her mother whom her father never lost an opportunity to belittle. She was about to tell him what that meant to her when he said abruptly, ‘Major Woodhouse wants me to go away again.’
‘So soon?’ She was shocked by the extent of her dismay. ‘I have been home three weeks, Emily.’
‘Where are you going this time?’ she murmured. ‘There is much you keep from me.’
Though his hand was less than an inch from hers he made no attempt to touch her. His shrug was almost imperceptible. ‘For your own good. Ensuring your wellbeing is the only reason I do not unburden myself. Not mistrust of you.’
It was what Major Woodhouse had intimated, but she didn’t want to think of him. Angus’s smile – wistful, as if he wished she appreciated his concern – nearly undid her and she found it difficult to concentrate on his next words, so busy was she trying to make sense of her desire that he take her in his arms.
‘Not only is my work important for keeping us in comfort, Emily, both now and in the future, it is vital for the security of our country.’ He touched her cheek with the barest of caresses and she shivered, disappointed when he withdrew his hand and fixed his thoughtful gaze upon the lake. ‘Napoleon has been cutting a swathe through Europe unchecked for so long, we cannot take for granted our way of life here.’ His jaw was clenched and his gentle look hardened. ‘We cannot take anything for granted and we all have a duty to safeguard what we hold dear, for ourselves and for those we love. The threat may seem diluted now, but it is real and there are enemies amongst us who would see Napoleon have his way’—his gaze held hers as if he wanted her to share his concern—‘at the expense of all we uphold as good and reasonable.’
‘There are some who say England’s only enemies are the enemies within. What about the revolutionaries who smash the machines which would see England prosper? Those men who are destroying the new looms? The army had to be called in. Are they not more of a threat? You are a brave man, Angus.’ She put her hand on his. ‘You risk your life because of your loyalty to England, and to me, but you are fighting for a foreign cause. I suppose there might be some benefit to restoring the French king, but Napoleon will never reach England. If you are more concerned with protecting those you love, would you not be better choosing a cause closer to home?’ She sighed and when he prompted her to go on, saying that he wished to hear more of her thoughts on the crises at home and abroad, she realised she was only spouting Jack’s beliefs. Still, Jack had told her more than Angus ever would.
She glanced at their hands, hers resting almost tentatively upon his, and made sure to wipe the uncertainty from her tone. Angus clearly had different beliefs and she was beginning to doubt her own. ‘Jack wanted to confine his work to England but, like you, he was in the pay of the British Government so had to follow orders.’
‘Then Jack was an odd choice for the kind of work he did.’ Emily flinched at the scorn in his tone as he went on. ‘I would be wary of Jack’s version of the truth.’
Emily raised her chin, her tenderness for her husband fast evaporating. Removing her hand from his, she gripped the railing and tried to steady her voice. ‘Are you calling Jack a liar?’
‘If I said I was’—a note of frustrated weariness had entered Angus’s tone—‘the conversation would end, Emily, for you would turn your back on me and flounce back to the house.’
She gasped in outrage at the same time as acknowledging the truth of it. Rein in your temper, Emily, she exhorted herself. You’ve played the ice maiden so long it’s little wonder Angus thinks you still care only for Jack. He’s deriding Jack because it’s the only way he knows how to knock down the barrier between you and him. Do not be drawn.
However, the lessons she’d learned when responding to her father’s taunts deserted her. Most of her life had been spent subsuming her inner desires, stifling her impulses. Jack had lifted the lid on her passions. Now Angus was tapping the well of her need to give sway to her deepest emotions.
Struggling for a deep breath, she pushed her shoulders back. ‘So Jack was a liar, was he?’ She tossed her head to indicate her scepticism. ‘You believe he and my father underestimated the foreign threat to our country?’
‘I don’t pretend to know what Jack believed in, Emily, but I believe he told you what it pleased him to tell you as it served his own ends.’
Her throat was suddenly very dry. She swallowed as her fury rose to fresh heights. ‘The only threat,’ she said, her tone crisp to match his, ‘as I see it, is the threat Jack’s heroic nature poses your situation. He cannot defend himself for he is dead while you have gained everything from his death. A death that occurred only on account of you!’
She’d not meant to bring it up, ever, for of course it was not Angus’s fault that brave Jack had intervened in his defence.
‘Stop, Emily!’ He gripped her shoulder as she flung away. ‘The story I told you to explain Jack’s death—’
‘Oh, so that’s not true, either?’ If only the force of her outrage could fell him on the spot. She hated him. How could she ever have started entertaining tender feelings for this calculating husband of hers? She managed to twist out of his grip, but he was too quick for her.
‘Listen to me, Emily.’ He jerked her forward, bringing his face close to hers. She heard the flapping of a bird’s wings as it settled on the railing nearby, as if to gain amusement from their altercation. His breathing was fast and shallow. She heard it as she felt her own fear at what he might say.
‘Emily, there is something I should have told you before.’ His voice was urgent. ‘Perhaps it’s foolish of me to bring it up now when you are still mourning Jack and I’m about to go away again, but I’ve said too much and I will go on.’ Distractedly, he raked a hand through his wind-ruffled hair. ‘God knows, six months is not a long time and yet it is time enough to reflect with calm and reason. I need to tell you something, Emily, and even if you choose not to believe it’— his eyes were bright, imploring—‘promise me that you will listen calmly, without flying into the boughs. That you will hear me out and not dismiss my words as an attempt to achieve my own ends at anyone’s expense.’
His words struck terror to her core. She needed all her defences for this. Stepping out of his grip, she said, ‘You can tell me now.’ She knew she sounded ungracious. ‘I am your wife. I will hear you out. You can tell me anything, have I not already told you? Jack trusted me enough to tell me his thoughts, his ideas and dreams … even his secrets.’
Was it the prickliness of her tone that made Angus appear to give up on their exchange?
He sighed, his shoulders sagging and his voice leaden as he stared back over the water. ‘I sail the day after tomorrow. You will have several weeks to enjoy your freedom. Though I would prefer – for your own good – that you did not know where I am going, I believe it only right to tell you that I shall be lodging, as I did on my last mission, at the home of Monsieur Delon and his daughter.’
She was silent for a heartbeat as she digested this, angling her body round to face him once more as she leant against the railing. ‘You are a replacement for Jack in all things, are you not?’
Her irony was not lost on him. ‘Not all things, Emily.’ Gently he rested his hand on her shoulder. ‘There is something you must know about Madeleine—’
‘Madeleine?’ She cut him off, her mind churning, still unsure what she felt to discover that Angus had taken up where Jack had left off, not just in the marital stakes. The men were so different yet Angus seemed to have stepped so easily into Jack’s shoes.
She cut him off with a forced smile. ‘There is a book of Children’s Verse I had bought Madeleine and which Jack was going to take with him on his last visit.’ She was determined to be placatory, as much to win Angus round as to learn more. ‘Now you can take it to her for me, and with my best love.’
He shook his head, his eyes bleak. ‘Save your gift, Emily. I will not take your Book of Children’s Verse. Madeleine is not—’
‘You will not take my gift? Why? Because I should know nothing of what you do? Because I should be kept in ignorance of everything, just as Major Woodhouse implies? Am I considered so untrustworthy?’
He stared at her, as if weighing up something of great importance. Once more he slowly he shook his head. ‘I would trust you with my life, but I will not entrust you with the truth if it endangers you.’ He straightened. ‘Or if you are not ready for it.’
‘Come back!’ she demanded, following him as he retraced his steps along the jetty. Oh why was he leaving after saying so much and ultimately so little? Why did she have to respond with such defensiveness to anything Angus said that pertained to Jack? She tried one final desperate gambit to draw him back to her. ‘What was it you were going to tell me? Jack told me everything and we were not yet married. I know nothing yet I am your wife. Why should it be considered a breach of security for you to convey a simple book to a little girl?’
His expression, which usually softened when he gazed upon her, was hard with anger. ‘When you are in this mood you are not inclined to accept the truth if it is not what you want to hear.’
Outraged, she stamped her foot. ‘How dare you?’
‘Save your gifts, Emily,’ he muttered, stepping onto the gravel path that wound round the rose garden. ‘When I return from France I’ll give you all the evidence you need to enable you to decide where your loyalties lie. To the memory of your dead, false fiancé who could not have loved you else he’d not have deceived you as he did, or to your husband who loves you with all his heart.’
She barely slept, she was so outraged by his allegations. Angus had thrown those last few words at her out of pure cruelty just to keep her in a foment of angry curiosity.
He’d tell her when he got back. What was he going to tell her and who did he think she was? Some biddable little innocent who’d meekly accept everything?
So what if Jack had uttered a white lie here and there to protect her? It was in his nature to adopt a casual approach for the greater good, whereas brooding Angus was such a defender of the truth he’d consider the slightest whitewashing by Jack as evidence of poor character.
In the morning Angus was gone on business leaving Emily to fret and fulminate, though one unexpected consolation was her father’s interest in her affairs. For the first time the sour expression beneath the shock of white hair warmed as it had not done since she’d been a child.
He was interested in her. Concerned with her thoughts on how she intended to make an impression on local society. Of course she knew impressions counted for a great deal in her father’s eyes otherwise she’d not have been relegated to such a hopeless position and forced to marry Angus. But his interest seemed for the first time to encompass her feelings. Including, strangely, her feelings about her husband. He must be more concerned for her happiness than she’d thought.
‘He has been good to you, Emily?’ Facing her from his seat opposite in her elegantly decorated private sitting room, while her mother was resting upstairs, he picked up a small painting of Wildwood which Angus had done. ‘Indeed, Angus has been very good to you, Emily. More so than Jack would have been.’
The statement shocked her. Her father had loved Jack. He’d sanctioned the match when Jack had neither wealth nor illustrious connections.
Unconsciously, he stroked the frame of the little picture as he bent forward.
‘Jack was involved in dangerous operations abroad, Emily.’ The blue eyes beneath the thick white brows darkened. ‘I suspect you’d have been alone a great deal. Jack’s political interests would always have come first.’
This was not the Jack she knew. Jack spoke lightly of the secretive work he was engaged upon, of being nothing but a slave to the British Government who paid the bills but who should have been more concerned with fighting the enemy at home.
Jack always put Emily first. She was astonished her father knew anything about Jack’s priorities.
‘Jack spoke to you about this?’ Her heart hammered. Was her father privy to information Jack had not confided to her? It was like a betrayal. Angus’s words of the previous day returned with an ominous echo.
‘Jack commonly sought my trusted opinion, Emily.’ ‘Jack trusted me, too, Papa.’ She wished her voice sounded
stronger. ‘He told me everything about his work and the people with whom he lodged.’
Her father leaned across and patted her hand which tapped in agitation upon the arm of the sofa. ‘A husband must confide in a wife, Emily.’
Unconsciously she pulled away. ‘Angus has me in his confidence.’ It was a lie, but it seemed suddenly imperative that she carry it off if she were to maintain her elevated status in her father’s opinion. ‘Major Woodhouse chose him as Jack’s replacement.’
Immediately the words were out, Emily regretted them.
Angus would not wish her to divulge this to anyone.
She was glad her father betrayed no surprise, suggesting he already knew.
‘Major McCartney strikes me as an effective and loyal servant of the British Government, and a good choice for such a role.’
On the heels of her wish that she’d not been so indiscreet was the undeniable power in bringing a look of interest to her father’s face. He who had been singularly disinterested in her for most of her life.
Her father ran his hands thoughtfully over the arms of the fashionable Egyptian sofa Angus had bought Emily. ‘He lodges with the Delons when he is abroad?’ Nodding at her shocked acknowledgement, he went on, ‘Jack told me about the Delons, Emily. Monsieur Delon is a faithful ally of the English.’
Guilt engulfed Emily. She stammered, ‘I don’t think Angus would like to know we were speculating about Monsieur Delon. He is very secretive about his activities.’
‘How would your husband know we were speculating?’ Her father’s expression was benign, yet there was something uncomfortable about their discussion Emily could not put her finger on.
Her father leaned towards her, his manner conspiratorial. ‘Every husband must be master of his household, Emily, and yours has the added responsibility of ensuring both your safety and that of his country. Angus is a worthy husband, yet a wife must shore up her own position.’
Emily squirmed at the manner in which his eyes raked her, hiding her embarrassment when he added, ‘Now you’ve lost the babe – Jack’s babe – you have never been more desirable to him.’ He chuckled. ‘Use it as a weapon, Emily.’
She felt her mouth drop open while her skin prickled and she felt suddenly self-conscious in her fashionable sprigged muslin, with its skirt revealing every curve. Was her father truly referring to her body? When Emily had complained as a sixteen-year-old at the ugly dresses she was forced to wear, Lucy had muttered that to flaunt herself would upset her father.
Her father continued speaking. ‘A woman’s powers of attraction are her only weapons. You are clever, Emily, but you allow your heart to rule you. That is a mistake. Jack is dead. Angus is your husband. You must learn to play him and that means using your powers of attraction to discover all you can. For your own survival.’
Her face burned. Was he intimating that she must play some wanton creature merely to gain information?
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Your Aunt Gemma told me you’d solicited her help in seeking an annulment.’
Emily’s embarrassment was replaced by shame.
‘I’m glad the matter went no further, Emily, for look what you have gained from this marriage.’ He made a sweeping motion with his arm. ‘Would you prefer to return to your old home and live out your life under my roof, spurned by society?’
She couldn’t look at him. He would see how intolerable such a notion was. ‘But father, how can I do as you tell me when—’ ‘When what?’ he asked sharply. ‘You do not love your husband?’ He sat back and fanned his hands as if he’d already supplied her with the answers and she was a fool for needing clarification. ‘You live in a world of make- believe, Emily. We exist on this earth to survive as best we can – alone. In truth, we can trust no one for there is no one who will not betray us when their own self-interest trumps the transient affection that occurs with unexplained randomness. Our survival depends on the material world and you, Emily, would have nothing if your husband had not fallen in love with your pretty face. His honour was
aroused by what would have disgusted most men.’
Including her own father. She wished one of the servants would interrupt them and bring an end to this horrible discussion.
‘You used to send small gifts to the child, Madeleine Delon.’ She flushed. ‘How did you know?’
‘Jack and I spoke often.’ He looked at her searchingly. ‘Has your husband told you about Madeleine?’
Emily shook her head, embarrassed. ‘He … said he wouldn’t take my gift to her because it would put me in danger and that he’d explain everything when he got back. Jack was very fond of Madeleine, I know.’ The memory of the ribbons he and the little girl had chosen together for her sent a flood of nostalgia through her. She brushed away a tear. ‘He spoke of her often.’
Her father frowned while his lips formed a faint smile. ‘How interesting,’ he said softly. To her astonishment he reached over and caressed her cheek. ‘Your husband obviously loves you very much, Emily, yet I sense that all is not well between you.’
Emily, embarrassed by the almost unprecedented intimacy, watched him stare thoughtfully at the ceiling. Her mind churned with confusion.
‘Let me pour your more tea, Papa.’ Relieved to withdraw from such close proximity, she reached for the teapot.
Her father smiled suddenly and his tone was different, as if he’d come to a decision. ‘Inevitably there will be things your husband will tell you that you do not wish to hear, Emily. Such is the way of life.’ He nodded as he accepted the dish of tea she offered him. ‘However, your happiness depends upon the harmoniousness of your union. You must be a loving wife, in whom Angus feels comfortable confiding. Promise me you’ll try?’
Slowly, as required, Emily forced herself to nod. She was still angry with Angus for his wounding words though she’d decided it was only natural that her husband’s long frustrated need to bring her into accord with him would lead him to denigrate Jack. Once he’d laid the facts before her she’d confidently dismiss them all. After that …
She swallowed down the lump of excitement as she reflected on the musings of her long, sleepless night. In the early hours of the morning she’d experienced an epiphany. The light had shone upon the path that would lead her to happiness and marital felicity. She would show her loyalty towards Jack by defending his memory with all her might, but she’d make it clear to Angus that she was ready to be on a different footing with her husband. The mere thought was enough to send the heat rushing to her cheeks.
She’d accepted other truths, too, such as the fact that the operation in which Angus was involved required the greatest secrecy. If there were any criticism to be made of Jack it was that he had been a little too forthcoming with his information during their tender moments together. Sometimes he’d surprised her with his detailed descriptions of places and people. She’d never forgotten his description of the beautiful spy that posed their greatest threat.
‘She’s very cunning, Emily, and very wicked, but so beautiful that no man who has crossed her path has ever had the heart to see she receives justice.’ He’d made a slicing motion across his throat which had made Emily feel a little queasy before she asked, ‘You’ve seen her?’ Her distaste turned to wicked excitement when he replied, ‘She reminds me of you,’ adding at her pretended outrage, ‘but you are virtue to her evil.’ He’d laughed uproariously. ‘You’re of similar height, with the same lustrous dark hair. She is a French Madonna hiding a wicked soul while you’re an innocent blushing English rose. And aren’t you blushing now!’ The exchange had ended with giggles and kisses, but Emily never forgot that she had an evil counterpart across the channel.
She bit her lip as she checked the words she was about to say. ‘Papa, I have a book upstairs that I had intended to send’—she swallowed—‘with Jack on his last mission.’ Rallying, she added, ‘I could not bear to part with it for Jack and I had bought it together, but when I mentioned it to Angus he said he wouldn’t take it.’
Her father regarded her for a long moment. ‘He didn’t say why?’
She shook her head again and stared at her hands, clasped in her lap. ‘He said he would tell me everything when he got back from his next mission in France. He leaves tomorrow.’ Her misery increased as she admitted, ‘Angus and I spoke in anger about it. That’s why he’s not here now.’
‘Yet he said he would … explain … when he returned?’ She nodded.
‘And what do you think that means?’
It was difficult to force out the words. She could only guess, herself. Haltingly, she told him. ‘He said Jack lied to me. When I demanded that he explain in what way he said there was no point in carrying on the discussion when I’m angry but that when he returns he’ll prove it.’
‘Prove it, eh?’ Her father’s look was one of sceptical interest. ‘Are you not consumed with curiosity, Emily? Have you not demanded that Angus stop keeping secrets from you?’
Miserably, Emily shrugged. ‘I don’t want to anger Angus. Let him say what he has to say when he returns. He’ll never convince me Jack was anything other than the kindest and most loyal of men.’
Her father chuckled. ‘Indeed he was, Emily, but Angus is your husband now. Now you must prove you’re a cunning and intelligent wife and that it is not in Angus’s best interests to keep you entirely in the dark. Why not slip the book into your husband’s luggage when he’s not looking? Once he’s in France he’ll not be able to resist giving it to the child.’
Emily rose. ‘I do not wish to make Angus angry.’
‘Indeed you must not.’ Her father’s smile was colluding. ‘Remember, Emily, the more you find out for yourself, without him knowing, the greater your power over him. Every woman seeks advantage over her husband because it is the only way she can survive.’
She could not believe she was having such a conversation with her father and took a step away, embarrassed and disgusted by his plain speaking. ‘But mother—’ she began, too bravely, and was glad he cut her off.
‘My point exactly. Your mother is a hideous cripple.’ His tone was dismissive. ‘She can wield no power over me when she is confined to a chair with absolutely no powers of attraction. You, Emily, must learn to wield the weapons God has given you. Wield them for your own survival, for if you do not, you will lose the affection of your husband upon whom your survival depends.’ His eyes glittered over his steepled fingers. ‘The manner in which you and Angus have been thrown together is not the most auspicious and you will never know how deep is his disgust for your sin, therefore you must use all means to protect yourself for the future. Knowledge will give you power, Emily.’
She turned away as he added, ‘Remember, I am your father, and blood is thicker than water.’
The brief flare of camaraderie she’d felt towards her father at the beginning of this conversation was long gone. She put her hand on the door handle, anxious to get away. ‘Mama may have woken,’ she muttered. ‘I must check on her.’
‘First, bring me the book. It would amuse me while you are with your mother. There is a small child, the daughter of a cousin, who is coming to visit and Margeurite will want to buy her a present. In fact, bring me the book now and I’ll show it to your mother. I’m sure it would please her.’