She became quite engrossed in the story, pausing only occasionally when the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses’ hooves lulled her into a semidaze. “To build a hospital or not to build a hospital. That is the question,” she said aloud on one of those occasions, followed by: “That was really awful.”
It was shortly after noon when she reached London, and as they turned the final corner before reaching her cousins’ home, Emma poked her head out the window excitedly. In the distance, she saw Belle descend the front steps of the Blydon mansion. A coachman helped her into a closed carriage.
“Oh Belle! Belle!” Emma called out, waving a handkerchief.
“I don’t think she heard you, yer grace,” said Ames, one of Emma’s grooms.
“I think you’re right.” It was a long block, and Emma would have had to yell quite loudly to be heard over the clatter of the other carriages. She furrowed her brow. There had been something odd about the way the coachman had helped Belle into the carriage. He had practically picked her up. Emma felt the first pangs of worry.
“Do you want to follow her?” Ames asked.
“Yes, I suppose—Oh!” Emma suddenly exclaimed, feeling much relieved. “I know where she’s going. The Ladies’ Literary Club. She goes every Wednesday afternoon. I went with her a few times. The meetings are held at Lady Stanton’s home, which isn’t very far away. Just follow that carriage, and I’ll surprise her there.”
With a nod, Emma’s coachman urged the carriage past the Blydon mansion and followed Belle through the streets of London. Emma sat back, watching through her window as elegant townhouses floated by.
“Wait a minute,” she said in a perplexed voice as they passed a familiar mansion. She poked her head back out the window to talk to Ames. “That was Lady Stanton’s home.”
“Maybe yer cousin is doing something else today, yer grace. Maybe she’s skipping the book meeting.”
“No,” Emma replied with an emphatic shake of her head. “She never, ever misses a meeting when she’s in town.”
Ames shrugged his shoulders. “Do you want to keep following her?”
“Yes, yes,” Emma said distractedly. “Although now that I think of it, I didn’t recognize that coachman. And he was handling her rather roughly. I suppose they could have hired a new one, but still, it’s somewhat suspicious.”
“What are you saying, yer grace? Do you think someone is trying to kidnap yer cousin?”
Emma paled. “Ames,” she said sharply. “Move out of the way for a moment.” The groom sat back, and Emma stretched further out the window, scrutinizing the carriage in front of her. “Oh, my God. That’s not one of our carriages. We could have hired a new coachman, but bought a new carriage? I would have heard about it.”
Ames turned back around. “Don’t you think yer cousin would have noticed the different carriage?”
“No. Her eyes aren’t very good. All that reading, you know. But she refuses to get spectacles.” Emma gulped in fear. “Ames, whatever you do, do not let that carriage out of your sight!”
Emma sat back in the carriage and closed her eyes in anguish. There was something rotten in the city of London.
Meanwhile, back at Westonbirt, Alex was trying unsuccessfully to concentrate on his work. Norwood, the only servant who ever entered his study when it was occupied, brought a meal in on a tray.
“I’m not hungry, Norwood,” Alex grumbled.
The butler raised his brows and left the tray on a table anyway. Alex ignored the food and walked over to the window, gazing moodily out over the lawn. She really hadn’t needed to leave. At least not for a week. He acknowledged that Sophie might know a little bit more than he did about what married women did to keep themselves busy, but it certainly wouldn’t take Emma a week to learn.
Damn it, her place was with him. It had taken ages last night for the bed to warm up. He’d lain there alone, rubbing his feet against the sheets, hoping the friction would create some heat. He’d only ended up feeling sorry for himself. He wouldn’t have felt so cold if Emma had been there next to him.
He’d known he would miss her, but he hadn’t expected to miss her this much. Hell, she hadn’t even been gone for twenty-four hours. But her presence seemed to float in the air. The scent of her pervaded their room, and everywhere he turned he saw some nook or corner that they had once used for clandestine kissing.
Alex sighed. It was going to be a long week.
Maybe he should go to London. His townhouse wasn’t full of memories of Emma. He winced, remembering how he’d brutally rejected her there. Well, at least not good memories, and he could simply close off the small parlor. Besides, he was rather fond of the place, having lived there for the better part of ten years, and he supposed that he would have to sell it soon, as he and Emma would surely take over the Ashbourne mansion in Berkeley Square.
But he probably ought to consider what she had said about being bored. He supposed that he’d been less than sympathetic to her plight. He had never really thought about what it was that married women did with their time. And Emma wasn’t the same as other married women, he thought with more than a touch of pride. Hell, she had practically run a business.
Maybe that was what she needed. He was nearly overwhelmed with paperwork and documents regarding his many lands and business concerns. Maybe he ought to turn over the estate management to Emma. She could certainly handle it. And his overseers were good men. They’d listen to Emma if Alex made it clear that she would be in charge from now on. He grinned, rather pleased with his plan.