The Harlow Hoyden (14 page)

As he went on in this way, explaining the importance of presentable children and a well-kept house,
Emma fumed. How dare he treat Lavinia like this, coming back from two weeks away and resuming conversation as if it had never left off. No customary bidding of hello! No inquiring after one’s health and the health of one’s family! No fond kiss on the cheek! What an awful little man.

And to think that Lavinia was writing a book about horticulture. She’d never said a word about it. Emma wondered
if Sarah knew and why Lavinia would be so closed-mouthed.
Why didn’t she tell me? Didn’t she realize how proud of her I’d be? Imagine, little Vinnie writing a book—a book that this evil toad burned.

Emma could barely stand the sight of his small nose and weak chin, and she got up from the table without excusing herself. His back was toward her for the moment, as he was helping himself to a second
portion of porridge, and he didn’t see her depart. It wasn’t until ten minutes later, after he finished outlining his new financial policy for England, that he looked up from his bowl to realize he was alone.

Unable to control her anger, she bounded up the stairs looking for Sarah. The person she most wanted to talk to, of course, was Lavinia, but she knew that she had to get ahold of her temper
first. She had the urge to call out, the way she would Dobson when she wanted tea, but she restrained herself. She didn’t feel like sitting through a lecture on proper ladylike behavior, which she would have to do, if the yelling proved useful in locating Sarah. She checked Sarah’s room and the study and the drawing room with no luck. Then she looked in on Roger, who was in his old room down
the hall. Nurse had taken herself out of retirement to care for him and was even now guarding his door as a troll would a pot of gold.

“I am only looking for Sarah,” she said, trying to keep her voice down. Earlier in the week, she had greeted Nurse in full voice and had barely escaped an ear-boxing for her trouble. “Is she in there?”

Nurse shook her head.

“Have you seen her this morning?”

Nurse nodded.

“When did she leave?” she asked, hoping to get something useful out of the woman.

Before Nurse could answer—or not answer, depending on her fancy—Roger called out from the room, “Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Roger—Emma,” she answered, slipping past Nurse with a smug smile. “I don’t want to bother you. I was looking for Sarah.”

He was lying in bed, with his back against pillows.
Aside from the bandaged shoulder and a chalky complexion, he looked as he always did—good-humored and robust. “Please bother me. Lay all the problems of the world at my feet and let me sort them out. I’m bored to flinders up here. I want to go outside, but my prison warden won’t give me leave.”

“Your body has suffered a major trauma and must have time to recuperate. Nurse wants only what’s best
for you.” He snorted in response. “Really, you should be grateful. She’s the same woman who nursed Vinnie and me, but she didn’t seem to give a fig about our health. I’m sure I’d have to lose a lot more than an arm to get her attention.” Having said these words, Emma realized how insensitive they sounded and gasped. “I’m sorry. That was awful of me to say.”

Roger laughed weakly. “No, please
don’t worry about hurting my feelings. I have lost an arm but kept my life. It is a fair trade. I see that now.”

“You are remarkably well adjusted to the change, Roger,” she said, admiring his composure. “I think I would still be railing against fate.”

“Trust me, I railed. Oh, did I rail. I’m very glad that Sarah was not there to see it. I was miserable to be with for the first few days of
lucidity.”

“Then it’s good that she didn’t take me up on my offer. I wanted to hightail it to France, you know, the second I heard.”

Roger reached over and took her hand in his. “Sarah told me. You’re the best of good sisters.” He pulled her close and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Now tell me what’s bothering you.”

She looked around, expecting Nurse to be standing over her shoulder and
tapping an impatient foot. “Maybe I should…”

“No, please, I meant it. Lay every one of your problems on these shoulders—that’s right, two shoulders, one arm—and give me something to worry about other than my own bedsores. You have not been looking like yourself lately.”

“An astute observation from a man who hasn’t seen me for more than two months.”

“Please, I know what my sister looks like
and you’re looking more and more like her everyday.”

“Ah, I see you’ve taken to speaking in riddles, like the Sphinx.”

“Lavinia. You are looking more and more like you spend the whole day in a little room cross-breeding flowers.” He patted the bed and indicated that she should sit. Emma checked to make sure Nurse wasn’t watching and sat down. “Where’s the customary blossom in your cheeks from
too much time in the sun?”

“I have been mopey of late, but that’s over now. I am much too angry to be mopey,” she said, animation returning to her voice.

“What has occurred?”

“I just discovered that Vinnie was writing a book about horticulture and that repulsive worm she’s engaged to burned it. Burned it! The very thought of his touching anything of Lavinia’s makes the bile rise in my throat.”

“How did you learn of this?”

“Sir Windbag just told me. He, too, thinks I look like Lavinia.”

“You are twins.”

“Yes, but the people who care about us know the difference. The Duke of Trent never mistakes me for her,” she said, wondering where that thought had come from.

“Yes,” said Roger, “tell me about the Duke of Trent. Sarah says he’s been living in Lavinia’s pocket these past two
weeks. Why do you think that is?”

“Because Lavinia is beautiful and interesting and a fine catch for any man who has the sense to see it.”
And because I asked him to
. “It is my dearest wish that the two of them make a match of it.”

Roger digested this piece of information. He had already talked the situation over with Sarah and what puzzled him was the same thing that puzzled Sarah: Why did
he spend so much time with Lavinia when it was Emma he stared at when he thought no one was looking? “But she’s engaged to Windbourne.”

“Pooh, what woman in her right mind wouldn’t throw him over for Trent? And it’s not just that he’s rich and handsome and charming but also that he respects Lavinia and wouldn’t object to her queer gardening ways. He would support her in the Horticultural Society’s
exhibitions and be proud of her when she won and he wouldn’t burn her manuscript. He would even help her get her book published.” As she listed off all the reasons that Lavinia would choose Trent over Windbag, Emma began to feel better. Yes, this was what was right. So maybe she had developed a tendre for Trent unexpectedly—and against her will. Well, it wasn’t so unexpected if one thought
about it. He was everything she’d said—handsome and charming and supportive. What woman wouldn’t develop a partiality toward such a man? But she wouldn’t let that stand in the way of her sister’s happiness. Besides, nothing could come of it anyway. Emma never wanted to marry. And Lavinia did. “I am sure that Lavinia would have no trouble jilting Windbag for Trent. He’s the most perfect choice in the
world, and to think that this morning I was read to abandon the whole—” She broke off before she said too much.

Roger made a note of this odd behavior, determined to discuss it at length with Sarah. There was more here—much more here—than met the eye. He was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Noticing Roger’s considering look and fearful that he might refine too much upon her slip, she
quickly changed the subject. “I have yet to hear about your fall. Did Sarah tell you how suspicious I was when I first heard of it? You ride as well as I, and I would never take a spill on a pothole-ridden French road on a moonless night.”

It was an arrogant boast, just the sort one expected from the Harlow Hoyden, and Roger laughed himself into a coughing fit. Nurse came in, spitting fire at
Emma with her eyes until she got off the bed, and patted him on the back. Then she tucked the covers around him, in the mummy fashion, and left the room.

“I sincerely hope you never get to prove that,” he said, recalling the incident. “Actually, the experience is still fuzzy in my mind. Try as I might, I cannot recall what made the horse jump. It might have been dark, but I’d ridden that road
many times and knew it like the back of my hand.”

“Ridden the road many times,” echoed Emma. “I did not know you were much in France.”

Roger smiled. “This was only my second visit. When I say many times, I really mean three or four. It was the road from Paris to the coast. I meant to ride all night and catch the first boat out in the morning. I was eager to see Sarah again. But then this mishap.”
He shrugged. “The doctors were very surprised that the fall didn’t kill me. In addition to the crushed arm, I had a bump on my head the size of a breakfast roll. Indeed, it lingers still. I was unconscious for the first three days. It’s little wonder I can’t remember the accident,” he added wryly, although it was clear to Emma that he hadn’t given up on trying.

“But you’re home now and on the
road to recovery. There’s no reason to tease ourselves about something that’s over and done with,” she said so reasonably that her brother got suspicious.

“We mustn’t?” he asked.

“No, we must instead devote our energies to stopping an evil before it happens. Now, what will you do about this awful Sir Windbag?”

Roger looked at her in surprise. “He’s our sister’s fiancé. There’s nothing I can
do about him.”

“Very well,” she said, standing up.

Her easy acceptance worried him. It wasn’t like Emma. “Very well,” he repeated.

“I’ll just send Sir Waldo up to keep you company,” she offered on her way out. “He has no one to talk to in the breakfast room and you did say you were bored.”

“I’m not that bored,” he called after her.

She stopped in the doorway and turned around. “I think
this is just what you need. Fifteen minutes of Sir Windbag’s restorative conversation and you’ll be begging me to let you help break them up.” As she waved good-bye to Nurse, she realized that Sir Windbag had very little chance of getting past the militant caretaker.
It’s not fair
, she thought, going to her room,
that we don’t all have trolls stationed outside our doors to protect us from that
awful little man.

Lavinia was enjoying her flirtation with the Duke of Trent very much. When he’d first come to the house asking her to join him for a ride in the park, she’d hastened to inform him that she wasn’t her sister. He’d smiled pleasantly, assured her he knew that very well, thank you, and offered her his arm. She’d stared at it for several seconds, unsure how to proceed—surely Sir
Waldo wouldn’t like for her to be seen in the park with another man—before accepting it graciously. She would never learn what game was afoot if she didn’t play along.

The ride in the park had been extremely enlightening. Though she’d been out for five seasons, she had never actually felt like a member of the
ton.
She’d always seen herself as something of an outsider, a flower-growing misfit
among beautiful people who wore flowers in their lapels and hair. She never made much of an effort to be included and had no one who encouraged her to. Sarah was usually buried with Roger in their estate in Derbyshire, and Emma never courted the good opinion of anyone.

She’d been quite surprised when Sir Waldo Windbourne started paying attention to her. There was not much to recommend him—his
features were irregular and his conversation a little dull—but she couldn’t not help but think that he was a kindred spirit. She herself was considered dull by the many people who had never made the effort to draw her out. Surely Sir Windbourne had an equally sparkling inner self. That he had political ambitions only made him more appealing. Here was a man who had purpose, a desire to do something
with his life more important than resting his elbow on the mantelpiece as if posing for a Gainsborough portrait. Lavinia, who had ambitions of her own, believed she could be of use to such a man. And they could have children. How Lavinia longed to have children.

But going about with the Duke of Trent was much different than going about with Sarah or Emma or even her fiancé. He was well known
and admired, everyone they passed greeted him or stopped for conversation. He knew who everyone was and what they were up to and gladly regaled her with tales of their ridiculous exploits and indiscretions. And he always knew exactly what to say and to whom. When Lord Redkin had come tumbling down the hill in his tight gray outfit, Trent had assured him that it was an excellent day for a safari.
Redkin reached up to tip his hat, only then realizing he’d lost it during his travels, and scurried back up the hill to retrieve it. Vinnie could not recall the scene without breaking into hysterics.

Despite this, Lavinia didn’t count herself susceptible to his charms. She was an engaged lady—as good as married—and not at all a silly miss to have her head turned by the first charming man to
pay attention to her. Besides, she had seen the languishing glances Trent sent her sister’s way. Nor was she oblivious to Emma’s very odd behavior. She’d realized she’d done something wrong that very first day. When she’d sat down with her in the front parlor, Vinnie had every intention of telling her sister everything, including the story of Lord Redkin. But somehow the memory got away with her,
and she couldn’t control her laughter. That was the point when Emma walked out of the room, which was very strange indeed. Emma had never walked out on her before.