Time After Time (57 page)

The coach came to a stop in front of the handsome London townhouse. As he stepped down from the coach, Jonathon noticed an upstairs curtain fall back in place. He took a deep breath, straightened his cravat, and went up to the door.

• • •

“He is here, Andrew. You go down first. I shall be right there, but let me talk to him alone. I am so nervous; I have eaten nothing all day!” She ran to the mirror as Andrew closed the door. “Oh, dear God, please let this work,” she whispered. She lifted her chin peering sideways out of her eyes. Raising one eyebrow, she nodded her head regally. She had been practicing all week. “It must work!”

As she descended the curving staircase she saw a tall figure with broad shoulders and dark hair studying the portrait of Jessica, Emily’s mother. Jonathon Brentwood turned and looked up at a younger version of the portrait he had just viewed. Surprise flickered across his face, quickly replaced by a lazy, engaging smile.

“So you are Little Em,” he drawled. Not quite, he thought to himself. He gazed at the beautiful tawny-haired girl whose blue-violet eyes threatened to drown him.

Emily was stunned. This was her father’s friend? Soft brown eyes gazed at her with amusement. They were set in a bronzed, handsome face. He was dressed in a blue longcoat and cream-colored breeches that enhanced his tall, lean figure. His broad shoulders and brown curly hair tied back at the nape of his neck completed the picture of a strikingly attractive man. Emily’s cheeks felt flushed under his close scrutiny, and a strange tingle ran through her body. She reached the bottom of the stairs and looked up into his warm, brown eyes again as she extended her hand.

“Captain Brentwood? I am pleased to meet you.” Emily was annoyed at the tremble in her voice. He bent and kissed her hand, his lips brushing softly against her skin. Their eyes met as he straightened. Emily tried to steady herself, unable to make her heart stop beating so hard. She was sure he could hear it. She reminded herself of her plan, and quickly regained her composure, straightening to her full height.

“You must be exhausted after your long, hurried voyage. May I offer you some tea,” she paused noting his suppressed smile, “or some brandy?” she added.

“Brandy would be fine. Thank you … uh … Miss Wentworth,” he replied still fighting back the smile.

Emily led him into the parlor and rang for the maid; Etta appeared. Emily knew this would be difficult for Etta still thought of her as a child.

“Two brandies please, Etta.” She raised her chin as she had practiced before the mirror. Etta started to protest, but something in Emily’s eyes stopped her, and she hurried off to get the drinks.

“Please sit down, Captain Brentwood,” Emily said coolly as she sat on the end of the settee. To her confusion, Jonathon sat beside her rather than in the chair she had indicated. A crooked smile played around his lips as though he attempted to hide a joke. He thought of the “Little Em” of George’s stories and chuckled to himself. Nothing had prepared him for this beautiful girl who was trying so hard to be a woman.

“We have much to discuss, Miss Wentworth,” he said as Etta returned with a tray carrying the decanter and two crystal glasses.

“Indeed we have, Captain,” she replied.

Etta set the tray on the table in front of Emily. The housekeeper poured brandy into the glasses, and Emily was grateful for she had no idea what an appropriate amount would have been. She thought Etta rather stingy based on what was in each glass, but she took them and handed one glass to Jonathon.

“Thank you, Etta; that will be all.” She turned to Jonathon, dismissing the housekeeper.

“Hmmmph!” Etta grumbled as she left the room.

Jonathon silently saluted Emily and then took a drink from his glass. Emily sipped hers and tried to choke down the spasms of coughing that threatened to overcome her. She had sampled wine before at social gatherings, but had never tasted brandy. Heat spread down her throat and she blinked the tears out of her eyes causing her to miss the fleeting smile that crossed Jonathon’s face. It was a few minutes before she caught her breath enough to speak.

“Captain Brentwood, I loved my father very much and always obeyed him as he had my welfare as his concern above all else. However, with all due respect, sir, I think in this last instance he erred.”

Jonathon raised an eyebrow encouraging her to continue.

“I realize you were his dearest friend, and I appreciate your generosity in this matter, but as you can see, sir, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and Andrew. I think Father often thought of us as much younger than we actually are and so made provisions that we obviously do not need. With the wealth Father accumulated on his voyages, Andrew and I can continue to live here quite comfortably. Eventually, I will marry, and Andrew will stay on in this house. So you see, Captain Brentwood, I appreciate your willingness to care for us, but it is unnecessary.”

She took a deep breath. Would it work? She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and cross her fingers for good luck. Instead, she maintained her composure though it took all of her strength.

Jonathon continued to look at her with that amused expression. He took another drink of his brandy and, putting down his empty glass he eyed hers and looked at her inquiringly. Emily lifted her glass to her lips and sipped again. It seared her throat and brought tears to her eyes once more. She could not speak for a moment, and when she finally took a breath, the fire returned. She cleared her throat and felt warmth infuse her. Her cheeks felt flushed and her breath came in short gasps. Finally, she spoke.

“Well, Captain Brentwood, do you not agree that this is a simple solution for all of us?” The room seemed very warm.

“Miss Wentworth, I can see that you are a very sensible, as well as capable, young woman …”

Emily’s spirits soared.

“… and you are correct when you say that your father thought of you as younger. Why, he would call you ‘Little Em’ and tell me of how you sat in his lap and begged for stories. Or how you would tease the cook into an extra helping of dessert, and how, on a hot summer’s day, you would totter across the lawn with just your … ah, well, suffice it to say I was expecting someone much younger.”

Emily was blushing furiously at his last reference to her childhood. She avoided his gaze. She had to convince this man that she was mature and responsible enough to be on her own. Goodness, the room felt warm, and it seemed to be tilting a bit. Not thinking, Emily reached for the last of her brandy. Again her throat burned as the fiery liquid made its way down. Finally, she spoke.

“Well, as you can see, Captain, Father was mistaken. I am quite capable of looking after Andrew and myself.”

“Yes, I can see that. In fact, you are quite a lovely young woman.” Jonathon leaned back against the settee, casually resting one arm behind Emily. He saw through her charade and could not help teasing her for she was so serious. “I imagine you have captured the hearts of all the young men in London. How many suitors have lined up at the door asking for your hand and whispered their undying love in your delicate ear, promising ever to be true?” He had leaned forward and his breath touched her hair, his eyes held hers. His voice was soft and silken as his arm encircled her shoulders. Emily sat gazing at his warm, brown eyes, captivated. The room was warm, and the firelight flickered on their faces.

Suddenly Emily caught herself and sprang from the settee, her head swimming, desperately needing some air.

“It is a beautiful evening, Captain Brentwood. Shall we step out onto the terrace?” she asked trying to steady her trembling. It did not help that the room seemed to be moving, too.

The half-moon perched on a treetop, and the stars sprinkled across the ebony sky. They walked silently out to the garden, the smoky smell of well-stoked fires filling the crisp air. Emily felt a little steadier. They sat on a bench beneath a tall oak.

“May I speak frankly, Captain?”

“By all means, Miss Wentworth,” Jonathon smiled.

“I do not want to go to Virginia with you any more than you want to be burdened with me. I fully intend to stay here with my brother. Father’s intentions were good, but he was wrong to do this to either of us, and I believe you see the sense in this, too.” Emily folded her hands in her lap as if to end the discussion.

“Miss Wentworth, may I also speak frankly?”

“Of course,” Emily nodded.

“In the carriage on the way over here, I would have given anything to be rid of this responsibility. But now, having met you, Miss Wentworth, I am not so sure I want to be relieved of my duty. I was expecting a young child. Instead, I find a beautiful young woman who has made it perfectly clear that she does not need me. Yet I find that this is just what I want — for her to need me.” Emily could feel her embarrassed blush start at his words. “No, I do not think I will be remiss in my duty. In fact, I am sworn to my promise even more having met you. How can I desert this fair damsel in distress? Why, it is my opportunity to be a knight in shining armor come to rescue a fair maiden.” He leaned forward taking her hand. “Is it possible, my lady, that out of many I might claim your heart?” His voice was low; his eyes sparkled. “Oh, but one kiss from your sweet, gentle lips to carry with me forever would be so kind.”

Emily felt a new rush of warmth course through her that had nothing to do with the brandy. She knew he was teasing her, yet she tingled with excitement. Just the thought of his soft lips against hers, being held in his strong arms … what was she thinking? She stood quickly.

“I fear you mock me, sir, when all I desire is to settle our lives so we can each go our separate ways. Please just agree with me that this solution would be best and we shall be finished with it.”

“I do not mock you, Emily,” Jonathon spoke softly, “but even if I wanted to, which I do not, I could not agree to your plan.”

“Why ever not?” she cried near tears.

“Because your father’s will states that I hold everything in trust for you until you marry. Or, if you do not marry, until you reach age twenty-one. I am afraid you cannot be on your own until such time.”

Emily’s face went white. Tears welled in her eyes, and she turned quickly so he could not see them. It would not do to cry. Not here, not now. Her mind raced. She would be packed off to the colonies, and she was helpless to stop it. What could she do?

“Then I shall marry.” She had not realized that she had spoken aloud. Michael Dennings had called quite frequently lately. She was sure he would propose soon. Of course, now he would have to wait until Emily was out of mourning. “That is what I shall do.”

Jonathon cleared his throat. “There is one more thing. I must approve the marriage.”

“You what?” she shouted. “Do you think, sir, to take my father’s place? How dare you come here and tell me what I can and cannot do? Whom I may or may not marry? Who gives you the right?” She shook with rage. Her upswept hair was coming loose; tendrils tumbled and framed her face and shuddered with her anger.

“Your father, Emily.”

Emily stared at him, her mouth half open.

“Father?”

“Yes, it is in his will also. Your father loved you very much, Emily. He made it very clear that I was to watch over you and Andrew. You both were so dear to him. I promised that I would take the best possible care of you. George was one of my closest friends; my promise to him means a great deal to me,” he said gently.

The loneliness Emily had felt for the past month flooded over her again. Tears stung her eyes and a dull ache settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Excuse me, Captain Brentwood, I am not feeling well. Good night.” She swept past him. Jonathon heard her choke back a sob as she ran back in through the terrace doors. He stood there for a moment staring after her, confused. What should he do with this woman-child?

• • •

Emily peered thoughtfully over her teacup at Michael Dennings as he spoke to her. Many of the matrons in the social circles had already paired them and awaited an impending engagement this season. Michael’s sandy-colored hair matched his eyes. Emily had never noticed his eyes before, and if someone had asked her their color, she would have been at a loss to answer. She did remember, however, the soft brown eyes that had warmly perused her during Captain Brentwood’s visit.

She must stop comparing them. But she knew that would be difficult, for that was all she had done since Michael had arrived for tea. Of average height, he was shorter than Captain Brentwood, and not nearly so broad in the shoulders. He wore a tan longcoat over a tan vest and matching breeches. So close were they to the color of his hair and eyes that Michael just seemed to run together, nothing distinctive, and a passing stranger would take no notice of him.

Emily had known Michael for years, and, though he was amiable enough, rack her brain as she would, she could not think of a single extraordinary thing he had ever said or done. That was Michael, ordinary and predictable, but a good, safe husband who could keep her in England. And that, thought Emily, is what I need to make him see.

“Do you not agree, Emily?” Michael repeated.

“What? I am sorry, Michael, what did you say?” Emily smiled prettily, and Michael was appeased.

“I said it is dreadful what is occurring in the colonies. Why, they are close to open rebellion!” he answered.

“And I am sailing right into it,” Emily murmured.

“I do not like the thought of your traveling over there, Emily. In fact, Mother and I were discussing it just last night. She said it is not proper for a girl of your delicacy and upbringing to be thrust into a savage land. She said it is scandalous for a genteel young lady to go off across the ocean, unescorted, with some sea captain. She said it is a shame you have not been betrothed by now, and if you were not so opinionated, that is …”

Emily ignored the last remark. She had heard it whispered before. She was more educated than was usual for a young lady of her station; consequently, no man wanted a wife who might have ideas and opinions of her own — not to mention a wife who might be smarter than her husband. She attributed this gossip to jealous girls whose mothers would not allow their education to progress any further than French knots and curtsies.