The Marriage Wager (31 page)

He remembered the way Orsino had bent over Emma at the theater, and the look on her face as he did so. It did not require military instincts to conclude that the man meant her some sort of harm. An irresistible desire to get Orsino’s stubby neck between his hands began to build in Colin. He longed to choke the whole story out of him and then see to it that the blackguard never approached his wife again. But even more, he wished Emma would come to him and tell him what was wrong.

***

As they drove home from the Royal Academy, having shaken off Count Orsino only when they actually got into her carriage, Emma found herself biting her bottom lip to keep from screaming.

“I don’t see
how
you can say so,” declared Lady Mary Dacre with a toss of her golden hair. “That was quite the
ugliest
painting in the whole show.”

“It was far better than those sickly lambs and simpering boy that
you
liked,” replied Robin.

“He was a
shepherd
,” said Lady Mary. “And he was
not
simpering. He was under the influence of some powerful
feeling
, a state that I’m sure you would not understand.”

“Looked like he had a good deal of feeling for one of those sheep,” muttered Robin under his breath.

“What?” said Lady Mary sharply.

“I said he looked like he was about to fall asleep,” Robin answered, avoiding Emma’s eye.

“He did not!”

“Here we are,” interjected Emma, trying to keep the relief out of her voice. They had reached the Morland town house, and she was more than ready to take leave of Lady Mary.

The girl folded her arms and looked exceedingly mulish. “I can’t go in. I, er, I left my handkerchief in your drawing room.”

Emma turned to look at her in surprise. “What?”

“My handkerchief. I must go and fetch it.”

“I’ll have it sent to you.”

“No. I must get it. It’s, er, my mother embroidered it for me.” It was clear that even Lady Mary found this explanation extremely thin, but equally clear that she was determined to return to Emma’s house and that nothing short of a full-scale battle would remove her from the carriage.

Perhaps that was just as well, Emma thought. She had to warn the girl about Orsino and convince her not to speak to him again. And though she longed to be alone, this would provide an opportunity. “Very well,” she said. “We will leave Robin at—”

“I’ll go along with you,” her brother interrupted.

“But it is on our way—”

“Like to walk home,” declared Robin. “Lovely day for it.”

Exasperated, Emma looked from one to the other. It was some sort of silly contest, she decided. Neither of them was willing to be the first to leave. They really were like children. Mentally throwing up her hands, she directed the coachman home.

It was not far. In a very few minutes, they were climbing down from the barouche and walking through the door that Clinton held for them. Robin was coming inside, Emma noticed resignedly. “Shall we look in the drawing room for your handkerchief?” she asked Lady Mary.

“Oh, I can find it,” was the hurried reply. Lady Mary stepped in front of her, putting her foot onto the first stair.

“Of course I will help you,” said Emma, with a spark of malice. She had endured much this afternoon, and she was not averse to giving some of it gently back. She was very well aware that they would discover no stray handkerchief in her drawing room.

“I’ll help, too,” said Robin, following Lady Mary up the stairs.

“I do not require help,” exclaimed the girl, “particularly
your
help.” She hurtled into the drawing room and crashed head-on into Colin Wareham.

“Oh!” The girl tottered wildly on her feet. Colin was obliged to reach out and steady her. “Oh,” she said again.

Perfect, thought Emma. The day needed only this.

“You might watch where you’re going,” said Robin. “You could injure someone popping into a room like that.”

“Oh, what do you know about anything!” cried Lady Mary, and promptly burst into tears.

“Eh?” Robin seemed startled by the strength of her reaction. He blinked. He turned to Emma, who was not looking at him. He gazed questioningly about the room, his eyes finally falling on the tall, handsome figure of Baron St. Mawr. “Ah,” he said, enlightened. “Forgot.”

One corner of Colin’s mouth jerked.

“We have been looking at the pictures at the Royal Academy,” said Emma somewhat desperately. Lady Mary’s sobs continued in the background.

“Have you?” Colin was at his most urbane. “They say it is a fine collection this year.”

This was a sticky situation, Robin told himself. Sort of thing Emma had recruited him to help her with. She was relying on him. He racked his brain for something to say.

“Very fine,” agreed Emma feebly.

“Splendid technique, I’ve heard,” Colin added blandly.

Emma threw him a look.

Lady Mary let out a piercing wail “How can you all—”

“The thing is,” cried Robin loudly to forestall her.

They all turned to look at him. Even Lady Mary choked back a sob and blinked at him in surprise.

“The thing is,” he repeated, wondering what the deuce he was going to say.

Everyone waited.

It was dashed hard to think with people staring at you like statues, Robin realized. But he had said he would help. He groped desperately for an idea—any idea. “A… a friend of mine knows of a boat that takes parties up the river toward Greenwich,” Robin babbled, surprising even himself. “That’s right. He was telling me about it just the other day. Neat little craft. Flat bottomed, like a barge, Jack says, but very clean.”

Everyone was still staring at him. Robin flushed and fumbled for words. “It… er… I was thinking, we should make an expedition,” he said, without thinking the matter through any further.

Three pairs of eyes continued to contemplate him, with varying degrees of surprise and disapproval.

“Take a picnic,” he added, thinking that was a nice touch, and feeling more and more pleased with himself. “Row upriver like Queen Elizabeth in the engraving.” Where the devil had that come from? Robin wondered, seeing the thought mirrored on the others’ faces. Then he remembered a book that had been about the house when he was small, a biography of the famous Virgin Queen with lavish illustrations. One of them must have stuck in his mind all this time, he marveled.

“I’ve never been on the river,” said Lady Mary slowly. She appeared to be examining the suggestion for potential pitfalls while growing increasingly enamored of it. “Yes, let’s,” she said finally. “It sounds like fun.”

“I don’t think—” began Emma.

“Oh,
don’t
say you won’t go,” interrupted Lady Mary, galvanized by resistance. Her tears, and the supposed reason for them, seemed completely forgotten. “If you won’t come, then it is off. And I am so tired of being cooped up at home.” She gave Emma a limpid look.

Meaning that if she didn’t agree, Lady Mary would make certain any outing they took was pure misery, thought Emma bitterly. The girl was a natural blackmailer.

“I think it’s a good notion,” said Colin, surprising them all. “What about tomorrow? I have no pressing engagements.”

“You… you will…?” Lady Mary stammered to a halt.

“I don’t know if I can arrange…” faltered Robin simultaneously.

“Colin,” admonished Emma.

“I believe it is supposed to be a fine day. Just the thing for a picnic.” Colin smiled, seemingly without concern.

“I don’t think—” began Emma again.

“Well, I
want
to go,” declared Lady Mary. “I want to see the boat. I don’t care who comes.” She looked ready to stamp her foot.

Colin met Emma’s speaking gaze, and returned it steadily. “Splendid. It’s settled, then,” he said.

“I, uh, I’ll have to speak to the boatman,” Robin pointed out.

“Yes, indeed. Offer him a larger fee if there is any objection,” said the older man. “And of course you’ll want to look in at Gunter’s and arrange for the food. They do a very creditable basket for this sort of thing.”

“Y-yes.” Robin gathered his wits. “But I can’t be sure the boat will be free, you know, on such short notice. I’ll have to—”

“Persuade him,” suggested Colin.

“Well, but—”

“Surely you can deal with a
boatman
?” said Lady Mary.

They were all looking at him. Robin’s jaw hardened. “Certainly,” he rapped out. “I’ll make all the arrangements,” he added recklessly.

“Do you really think…?” began Emma, then trailed off. Colin continued to gaze at her; his face contained some message, but she could not read it.

“It is settled, then,” he said. “We rely on you, Bellingham. Send word of the time.”

“Very well,” said Robin, like a man who had gotten in well over his head without knowing quite how it had come about.

“You are not to order lobster for our picnic,” Lady Mary said. “I
hate
lobster.”

“You needn’t eat it, then,” Robin snapped. “But I shall certainly have some myself.”

“But even the smell makes me feel quite ill. How can you—?”

Emma broke. “Robin, you will escort Lady Mary home,” she commanded through gritted teeth. “You may use my carriage.”

“Why have I got to…?”

“No doubt Lady Mary is tired,” she continued, ignoring him.

“No, I’m not,” said the girl.

“So you had best set off
now
.” Emma’s tone did not encourage argument. And the glare she directed at the two young people seemed to impress them even more.

“Oh, all right,” agreed Robin pettishly.

Lady Mary pushed out her lower lip and looked mutinous. But she turned with Robin toward the door.

“I’ll have the servants find your handkerchief and send it to you,” added Emma sweetly.

Lady Mary looked blank.

“The one your mother embroidered
especially
for you.”

“Oh.” The girl had the grace to look guilty. “That is, thank you.”

“I am completely at your service,” replied Emma savagely.

With sidelong looks at her expression, the two young people hurried from the room.

Emma turned to Colin. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I wished to help you,” he said.

“Help?”

“Yes.” On his way home, Colin had come to certain conclusions. Emma was annoyed with him because he had refused to do anything about her scapegrace brother. He would show her that he stood ready to aid her, that he could be counted on to stand by her, and then she would no doubt confide in him about whatever problem this man Orsino posed. “I thought to lend my efforts to your campaign to show society that there is nothing in the rumors,” he added. “Won’t it be even more convincing if I join a party of which Lady Mary is a member?”

“Perhaps,” allowed Emma.

He spread his hands.

“But it will be very awkward. I don’t think…”

“I had another motive as well.”

Emma raised her eyebrows.

“It is, after all, a significant sacrifice, to spend a whole day with two bickering youngsters, one of whom fancies herself in love with me,” he pointed out.

“You cannot know how significant,” replied Emma feelingly.

“But I shall find out.”

“You certainly will.”

“And so, you see, you were wrong.”

“About what?” Emma wondered.

“I do believe that we have a partnership, and an obligation to help one another,” he said significantly. “I am ready to do my part.”

Emma gazed up at him, her eyes threatening to fill with tears. She could not tell him the real reason for her reluctance—that she was pulled violently in two directions at once. She longed to spend the day in his company. But she was also terribly afraid that she might make some slip, give him some clue about the threat hanging over her before she could eradicate it.

“I mean to hold up my end of the bargain,” he assured her.

Emma froze. She was deathly tired of that word “bargain,” she thought.

As he offered his arm to Lady Mary Dacre to escort her onto the boat that was awaiting them at the other end of the short gangplank, Robin tried to make some order of the multitude of details buzzing in his mind. He was feeling extremely harassed. In barely twenty-four hours, he had had to locate the boatman, bribe him to change his schedule and accommodate them, arrange for food and drink, provide extra funds for the odds and ends the boat suddenly, mysteriously required, and then choose suitable garments from his wardrobe for a day on the river.

His problems had begun when his friend Jack had been unable to remember the boatman’s name or location, and they had not ended yet, he thought distractedly. Though Lady Mary was chattering brightly about the sights on the docks and the fine clear weather, Robin expected only the worst from her, and he was very much afraid that the day would be a disaster. And of course, everyone would blame him. This helping people was a good deal more complicated than he had imagined, he thought. It would be quite a while before he tried anything of the sort again.

“Oh, look,” said Lady Mary. “How pretty!” She trotted over to the cluster of chairs and small table in the center of the vessel, shaded by a striped awning.

It ought to be pretty, thought Robin bitterly. He had been coerced into financing a new awning, and the rug covering the deck boards had come from home, without his father’s knowledge. He looked around to make certain everything else was in place. The boat was actually a small barge, flat and square, with a tiny shack-like house in the rear. The awning spread over most of the middle. The coils of rope and other oddments at the front corners had been tidied as he asked. The boatman and his son stood ready at the back to ply the oars. Baskets of provisions sat on the rug near the table. All seemed to be in order. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“There are no flowers,” said Lady Mary as she sank into one of the waiting chairs. “We should have had flowers, don’t you think so, Emma? The table looks so bare.”

Robin gritted his teeth.

“It is very nice as it is,” Emma said absently. She wasn’t in the mood to think of anything as trivial as flowers. Though the day was crisply lovely and the sights new and varied, she was conscious of very little but Colin at her elbow.

She stole a glance at him, and found he was looking steadily at her. She didn’t understand what was going through his mind lately. His offer to come on this expedition and prove that he was a true partner in their relationship had filled her with hope. Surely it showed he was coming to care for her? It was cruelly unfair that fears of Orsino and the threat of ruin should dominate her thoughts just now, when she desperately wanted to be open with him. This was going to be an extremely difficult day in more ways than one, she thought. She bent her head again and went to take one of the chairs under the awning, behind Lady Mary.

The boatman drew in the small gangplank and cast off from the dock. As the gap of dark water between them and the shore widened, Robin and Colin sat down as well. The two younger people pulled their chairs closer to the front of the awning, so that they could see better, leaving Emma and Colin side by side at the rear.

The boatman and his son worked the oars, and the small barge moved out into the busy river traffic of the London basin. They passed a large merchanter, whose masts towered far above them, and drew some lively comments from a sailor on deck. A waterman’s little vessel passed across their bow, taking two passengers across the river. The water swarmed with these floating hacks, which allowed those in a hurry to avoid the congestion of the bridges. Great barges also passed, hauling cargo up and down the Thames. In the distance, they could see another oceangoing ship just coming in, some of its sails still unfurled like clouds against the sky. Their oarsmen moved expertly through this crowd, weaving their way upriver and giving the passengers an excellent view of the London shoreline.

“There’s the Tower,” said Lady Mary. “That is Traitor’s Gate, where they brought prisoners in from the river to be beheaded.” She gave a happy shiver.

“Not there,” said Robin. “Farther down. See, those steps.”

“How would you know? I looked through an illustrated guidebook to the sights of London from my father’s library last night, and I am sure that is—”

“’Tisn’t,” said Robin, like a much younger lad. “There, see.” Another gate had come into view, arched and barred.

There was a silence at the front of the awning. The boat narrowly avoided collision with a waterman who was racing across the river as if his life depended on it, and their boatman exchanged some good-natured abuse with the man.

“Look there,” said Lady Mary, as if the dispute with Robin had never occurred. “That barge is full of chickens.”

They were indeed passing a large vessel piled with wicker cages from which a chorus of squawking arose.

“They’ll be at the market tomorrow,” said Robin.

“Ugh, they stink,” said the girl, wrinkling her nose as the breeze brought the smell of the fowl to them. The oarsmen exerted themselves, and they shot forward out of range.

“You know,” said Colin, near Emma’s ear. “I believe that chit has completely forgotten me.”

Emma started, and turned to find that he had shifted his chair closer to hers.

“A very short time ago, she was claiming I had broken her heart and her life was not worth living,” he commented. “And now I scarcely seem to exist for her.” He smiled wryly at Emma. “It is certainly a cure for excess vanity. Now I know how highly to rate my attractions.”

“She’s a child,” answered Emma. “She doesn’t know what love means as yet.”

“You were married at her age,” Colin reminded her.

“Exactly,” said Emma, her voice vibrating with emotion. “What better evidence could you want?”

Colin watched her. Her face was half turned away from him. She sat very straight, as if containing a high degree of energy by sheer will. Her slender figure was lovely in a gown of dark blue. “If you had not run away to be married, and I had not run off to war,” he began, then paused, thinking. “Do you think we would have met in some ballroom?” he went on at last. “Danced a set together and parted again, as heedless as those two?” He glanced at Robin and Lady Mary.

Emma clasped her hands in her lap. She was squeezing them very tightly together, Colin noted.

“Or might we have fallen madly in love,” he added, “as only the very young can do?”

“Only?” echoed Emma in an odd voice.

Colin examined her face again. It looked strained. Why would she not confide in him? he wondered. Why would she not trust him? “I think so,” he answered. “That kind of madness seems a thing of early youth.”

“Nothing that could happen to you,” she gibed.

“No more than you would elope,” he responded, surprising himself a little with the sharpness of his tone.

Emma caught her breath. She looked a trifle wild, he thought, like a horse shying at a sudden gunshot. “And do you think that is love?” she breathed.

“What?”

“That self-absorption, that insistence on getting one’s own way, that… that lunacy?”

He was somehow losing the thread of the conversation, he thought.

“You think that is what ‘love’ means?”

“I suppose there are many kinds of love,” he answered, playing for time.

“You suppose? But it is not a subject you know from direct experience?” The threat of tears hovered in her voice.

“Emma, what is the matter?”

She turned to him, and searched his face.

“You can rely on me,” he urged. “I am not some hotheaded youth who thinks of nothing but his own gratification. I can stand fast.”

“Stand fast?” she repeated in a questioning tone.

“I can be trusted,” he replied, feeling resentful at having to say it aloud. “I know the value of duty and honor and keeping one’s word.”

“Or one’s bargains?” asked Emma.

“That is another way of putting it.”

She turned her head away.

“So?” he said impatiently after a moment. Surely he had given her every opportunity to tell him what was wrong, every assurance that she could require?

“What?”

“Have you nothing you wish to say?” he added.

“I?”

“There is no one else taking part in this conversation!”

Emma glanced at him, then quickly away. “Were we not having a philosophical discussion, my lord? I fear I have exhausted my small store of knowledge.”

Her face had gone smooth and closed. She had drawn away from him. Colin was overtaken by intense frustration.

“Emma,” said Lady Mary, turning around in her chair. “Look at the ducks!”

As his wife leaned forward to follow their guest’s pointing finger, it was all Colin could do not to curse out loud.

Weaving back and forth through the stream of vessels, their boat passed the congested docks of the city and the more scattered moorings along the outskirts. At last, they left London behind and passed between grassy banks where willows trailed their leaves in the water. Emma doggedly participated in the conversation between Robin and Lady Mary, all the while feeling Colin silent beside her. She felt as if pressure were building deep inside her, and that she would not be able to contain it for very much longer.

They drifted past grand houses with swaths of lawn and private boathouses and past small huts surrounded by vegetable patches with one leaky dinghy pulled up on the muddy shore. The sunlight sparkled on the moving water, which lapped the sides of their boat with a hypnotic sound.

After a time, before they could grow bored with the passing scenery, the boatman began to steer in toward shore. Deftly maneuvering, he brought them up beside a small wooden dock, and his son jumped off to tie up the ropes. “We’ll picnic here,” said Robin, very pleased with his arrangements so far. “Hawkins says there’s a fine spot just over the rise.”

The boatman threw down the gangplank, and then he and his son gathered up the baskets of provisions and prepared to escort them to shore. “Not that one,” said Robin, taking one from him. “That one’s for you.” He set it on deck again.

“Thank’ee, sir,” said Hawkins, with a gap-toothed grin.

They walked up the slope of the bank and into a meadow scattered with flowers. “Here we are,” said Robin.

“I want to go over there,” demanded Lady Mary, pointing to a small cluster of trees on the other side of the meadow, just past a fence.

“This is much better,” protested Robin. “It’s sunnier, and closer to the boat.”

“
You’re
not carrying anything,” the girl pointed out.

“I know, but—”

“I
want
to go over there,” she repeated, looking thunderous.

“Oh, very well!” Scowling, Robin started to trudge through the long grass.

They all followed him. Colin loosened a rail so that the ladies could step over the fence, and the Hawkinses spread a large red blanket out under a tree and placed the food baskets on it before turning back to the river.

“Perfect,” said Lady Mary, sinking down in a pool of skirts. “Listen to the wind in the leaves! It is like the ocean.”

Robin showed no signs of listening. He was still frowning as he unpacked the provisions he had bought and began to spread them out on the blanket.

“How lovely it all looks,” said Emma.

Robin brightened. “We’ve cold chicken and rolls,” he said. “
And
lobster.” He threw Lady Mary a look. “There’s wine, and these peaches. The woman particularly recommended those. And some pastries as well.”

“A feast,” responded Emma, winning a smile.

Robin found the corkscrew and began to open the wine. Emma got out the plates and cutlery and spread them out. Colin carved the chickens, and Lady Mary oversaw them all with benevolent approval.

They began to eat. Robin and Lady Mary were arguing over whether it was more enjoyable to picnic outdoors or to stop at a rustic inn. The breeze rustled the leaves and carried birdsong across the meadow. It was an idyllic scene, thought Emma. She could almost feel carefree and forget that anything oppressed her.

Suddenly, Colin stiffened. Emma saw his eyes widen slightly and his jaw harden. She started to turn to see what he could be staring at with such wary intensity. “Everyone sit absolutely still,” he said, in a tone that commanded instant obedience.

But only for a moment. “Why?” asked Lady Mary, looking around for an explanation.

“I believe we are sharing this field with a bull,” said Colin. “And from the looks of him, he is not a good-tempered animal.”

Emma followed his gaze and saw a huge, wickedly horned bull moving slowly toward them. It had a reddish hide with white markings on the face and neck, and it seemed as big as a house. It paused, snorted as if annoyed, and came on.

“Good God!” cried Robin, leaping up. The bull’s head tossed in an echo of the movement. “Run for it. I’ll distract him.” He hurried to the right, but this put him among the trees, where the bull couldn’t see him.

“Robin!” cried Emma.

“Get back over the fence,” said Colin calmly, pulling both women to their feet and beginning to push them toward that barrier. The bull snorted again, sounding closer.

At the fence he urged them over, and then replaced the rail he had removed earlier. Turning, he saw that Robin had come forward and was waving his handkerchief to attract the bull’s attention. “Come
on
,” Colin called to him.

But Robin ignored him. “I’ve heard they do this in Spain,” he said gaily, brandishing his handkerchief in wider arcs. “Ha, bull, come and get me!” He capered around a tree, going closer to the giant animal.

“Robin!” cried the two women in unison.

Colin shook his head, briefly closing his eyes in disbelief.

“I need something larger,” said Robin. His eyes lit on their picnic, and he went and pulled the red blanket from under the food, knocking most of it helter-skelter into the grass. “Just the thing,” he said, turning and waving the cloth in the bull’s direction.

“Young fool,” muttered Colin. He started toward the boy.

With a bellow, the bull collected himself and lowered his head so that his horns were in line with the center of the blanket. With another resonant snort, he charged.