The Naked Marquis. Sally MacKenzieЧитать онлайн книгу.
for her, she can’t arrange other people’s lives to suit her wants.”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” Emma hardly knew what to say. She stared at the older woman, who shrugged.
“If Lady Claire wants what’s best for everyone, why not?”
“Best for everyone? Nanny, the marquis just arrived this morning. I barely know him—nor does he know me.”
“Oh, pish! Ye’ve been in love with the boy forever.”
“I have not.” Emma knew the words came out a little too forcefully—she didn’t need to see Nanny’s smirk to tell her that. A hot flush ran up her neck.
“I watched ye follow him around when he was a lad.”
“I was a child—younger than Isabelle.”
Nanny grinned. “And was ye a child when ye spied on him at his brother’s wedding ball?”
Emma closed her eyes. Perhaps this was all just a bad dream and when she opened her eyes, she’d see her room at the vicarage.
“William, the footman, saw ye hiding in the bushes.”
Emma was going to expire from embarrassment. No wonder Charles had thought she’d be eager to marry him.
“No, I’m sorry. Marrying Lord Knightsdale is clearly out of the question. He is having a house party and will find a suitable bride from the selection presented, I’m sure.”
Nanny made dismissive clucking noises. Emma looked over and saw Isabelle staring back at her.
“That one worries too much,” Nanny said softly.
Emma nodded. She walked over and sat down next to Isabelle on the window seat. Claire was still happily playing on the floor. Prinny had his head on his paws, a look of resignation in his eyes, as Claire tried to tie a bow on his tail.
“Could you be our mama, Miss Peterson?”
“Isabelle.” Emma gently pushed the girl’s soft blond hair off her forehead. She suddenly remembered her conversation with Charles on the way back from the vicarage, how she had said she did not want a mother. She did not, now. But she had wanted one desperately when she was Isabelle’s age.
“Isabelle, I would love to be your mama, but it isn’t that easy.”
“Why isn’t it?”
Emma looked at the girl’s small, serious face. How could she explain? When she’d been nine, she had not understood about men and women. She thought about Charles’s kisses in the curricle, how they had made her feel. She was twenty-six and she still didn’t understand.
“Isabelle, I would love to be your mama, but then I would have to marry your Uncle Charles.”
“Don’t you like him?”
Emma took a deep breath. “I don’t know him well enough to know if I like him or not.”
“Is there someone else you would rather marry?”
“Isabelle.” Emma was afraid she saw where this conversation was headed. “No, there is no one else—now. But I might find someone else, and then I couldn’t marry him if I were married to your Uncle Charles.”
Isabelle smiled. “That’s not a problem, then. Molly, one of the upstairs maids, says if you haven’t found a man by your age, you aren’t going to find one. So you can marry Uncle Charles.”
Emma was tempted to quiz Isabelle to determine which of the upstairs maids Molly was so she could strangle the cheeky girl.
“Your Uncle Charles may find a girl he would rather marry, Isabelle. That’s the point of this house party, you know.”
“No, I’m sure he won’t like any of them better than you. You are beautiful, Miss Peterson.”
No one had ever called Emma beautiful before.
“Thank you, Isabelle.” Emma touched the girl’s cheek. “Just keep an open mind, will you? I’m sure any lady your uncle marries will love you and Claire.”
“Mama Peterson, look!”
Emma turned to see Prinny tearing toward her, wearing a purple bonnet now and dragging a small cart with two of Claire’s dolls inside. Emma laughed—and heard the wonderful sound of Isabelle giggling.
“What have you done to that poor dog?” Charles asked from the doorway.
“Papa Charles!” Claire scattered her toys as she leapt off the floor and ran to her uncle. He caught her up and swung her high while she screamed and laughed.
“Now don’t get Lady Claire all stirred up, my lord.”
“Nanny.” Charles lowered Claire to put her down, but the little girl wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his cravat. Emma saw his eyes widen slightly, and then his lips slid into an odd little smile and his arms tightened around his niece.
“See,” Isabelle whispered, “Uncle Charles will make a wonderful papa.”
Emma heard the longing in Isabelle’s voice, and it went straight as an arrow to her heart. She swallowed sudden tears.
Perhaps Charles would make a wonderful father—but would he make a wonderful husband?
“Would you care for more peas, Miss Peterson?”
“No, thank you, my lord.”
Charles leaned back in his chair and observed Miss Peterson sample her turbot. Something odd was afoot. He had come to the schoolroom to invite her to take dinner with Aunt Beatrice and him. She had tried to decline, but Isabelle of all people had urged her to accept. Now Emma was concentrating on her meal as though it were an epicurean feast.
It was not. Charles sighed, taking another forkful of dry fish. Good, honest English cooking—edible, but not quite what his impending house guests would expect from a marquis. He didn’t want to offend Cook, but perhaps she’d be happy to have some help in the kitchen. Certainly Alvord or Westbrooke, if they valued their palates, would lend him the services of one of their chefs for the duration of the house party.
“Haven’t had food like this in ages,” Aunt Bea said, frowning down at her plate.
“Bland food will settle your stomach, Aunt.”
“Bah—I don’t want the stuff. Just pour me some more Madeira, will you, Charles?”
“I will not. I have just finished loading a carriage with drunken ladies—I do not want you more bosky than you already are.”
“I can hold my liquor.”
“You are certainly holding a vast quantity of it at the moment, so we will not add to it, I think.” Charles hoped she did not take an opportunity to admire herself in any mirrors. Her green and yellow ensemble was making him queasy, and he had not downed several bottles of brandy.
“You’d better have thrown some chamber pots into the carriage as well, Charles. Don’t doubt if several of the ladies will cast up their accounts, especially once the coach starts swaying.”
“Yes, that thought had occurred to me.”
Emma put down her fork. “I am sorry, Lady Beatrice, for presuming to invite the Society to meet at Knightsdale. I never would have done so if I had realized how, um, inopportune it would be.”
Aunt Beatrice hiccupped. “Nothing inopportune about it, miss. Had a wonderful time—hadn’t seen the twins or Blanche in ages. Liked Lavinia, too. Don’t think the ladies will be feeling too lively in the morning, though. Doubt they’ll be the first of the guests to arrive.”
She reached for the wine bottle. Charles moved it.
“When are your guests arriving, Lady Beatrice?”