Love Finds You in Annapolis, Maryland Page 18

  Lark shook her head at his request and fanned herself. A shadow had crept into her eyes—she must be in need of a rest. “I need a brief respite.”

  “Even better.” He took her hand and led her off the dance floor, toward the end of the room where the refreshments were set up. “A lemonade?”

  Rather than answer, she pulled away to stand before the partially open door, from which cold air made its way into the room a few feet before being swallowed up by the combined heat of all the guests within.

  His lips quirked up. Had he ever tried to sneak off with her before? Of course not.

  It was high time he did.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lark breathed in one last gulp of the crisp air that didn’t refresh her and was about to turn around when an arm caught her about the waist and propelled her through the door. The sudden cold stole her breath long enough for her captor to propel her out onto the portico and return the door to its original position.

  She spun around, out of the arm. “Emerson!” And what had she expected? That some other man would have come up that quickly and kidnapped her from beneath his nose?

  That seemed every inch as likely as this. She didn’t know whether to laugh or shake her head. “Whatever are you doing?”

  The impishness of his grin made her lean toward laughter. “You looked a bit overheated.”

  “I am cool now, thank you.” Yet the words mixed with a chuckle. “We will freeze out here in about half a second.”

  He wiggled his brows. “I can keep you warm.”

  The shock wasn’t from the suggestion so much as the fact that Emerson Fielding was making it—to her. “Have we met?”

  “A time or two.” He stepped closer again and held out a hand.

  She, without quite knowing why, put hers into his. “Mr. Randel will have a fit if he finds us out here. We ought to go back in.”

  Emerson motioned to the lanterns glowing all along the rear of the house. “It was obviously anticipated that the guests might need a cooling breath now and then. Though if you fear for your reputation, I will yet again offer my promise that I shan’t see it injured.”

  Where did the amusement come from? Where was the frustration of the days before? She chuckled and shook her head. “Is that your nefarious scheme? Force me into matrimony by sullying my good name?”

  “Well, if it is the only way to win you.” His grin proved him to be jesting. Perhaps that was why she made no protest when he slid his arm around her waist. But it wasn’t mirth lighting the depths of his sienna eyes when his gaze roved her face. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

  A tremor started somewhere in her stomach. How many times had she dreamt of this? “Emerson…”

  “I don’t know when it happened, or if perhaps I have been blind all this time—a definite possibility. But watching you here, tonight especially…” He drew her closer, released her hand so he might trail his knuckles over her cheek. “You are magnificent.”

  The tremor spread to her limbs. Magnificent? Her?

  His fingers caught one of the curls framing her face, and he leaned down. Close, then closer.

  But she was not the magnificent one. She was not beautiful. She was not the one who made men’s eyes go dark with longing, the one who inspired them to risk the wrath of chaperones for a few stolen moments. Violet was, perhaps. Sena could achieve it. Alice certainly had the ability.

  And Penelope. Penelope obviously had no difficulty in luring a man away from the crowds.

  His face was only a breath from hers, his intention obvious. But all she could see was his arms around her cousin’s waist. All she could hear were the words of admiration he had spoken to another woman, another night. All she could imagine was Penelope seeing this same face, filled with the same desire, moments before he kissed her.

  “No.” She pushed him away, backing up at the same moment. Prayed her voice didn’t sound as tremulous and tearful to him as it did to her own ears. “You had two years to kiss me, Emerson, two years when it would have been welcome and permitted. Why you think you can take such liberties now I cannot fathom.”

  She expected him to press, to reach for her again. But he made no move, and the lantern light caught a gleam of regret in his eyes.

  Of course he would regret it. No doubt he couldn’t fathom what had possessed him either.

  He shook his head, his mouth taut. “I have hurt you again, when that was the last thing I intended to do. I’m sorry. Not for wanting to kiss you,” he added with a shadow of a crooked smile, “but for failing to remember you are no longer mine to kiss. It is difficult, this starting anew when we have so much already behind us.”

  She opened her mouth but could think of nothing to say. A gust of wind blustered around the corner, though, giving her good reason to gather her thoughts. “I am going back in. I thank you to enter by way of another room instead of this one.”

  He glanced at the other doors cracked open and nodded, looking resigned.

  Now that was an expression she had seen often upon his face. Whenever he turned to her, whenever he must play the role of her intended. Far more familiar than the interest he had shown all evening.

  Before the tears in her throat could travel to her eyes, she rushed past him and slipped back in the door to the ballroom.

  No one seemed to have noted her absence, and her reappearance caused not a stir. Good. She accepted a glass of lemonade from a passing servant. Putting to use her years of practice blending into the furniture, she made her way to the other end of the room before Sena bounced to her side.

  “There you are! Where is Mr. Fielding?”

  Lark ignored her friend’s sly grin and took a sip of her drink. “I wouldn’t know, we parted company several minutes ago.”

  “Oh.” Sena’s face went from sly to disappointed. “You seemed to be getting on well.”

  Too well, perhaps. She should have known better than to succumb to his charm. “I doubt I have scared him back to Williamsburg yet. But a couple dances make up for nothing.”

  Sena loosed a wistful sigh and linked their arms together. “I know, but ’tis so romantic. He came all this way the very moment he realized where you were. Chased you through town, has been haunting our house—and heaven only knows how he procured an invitation tonight. If ever I have seen a man more determined to win a woman’s affections, I cannot recall it.”

  Lark sighed and put down her glass so she might discreetly rub her neck. Thus far she had done her best to ignore the tension coiling in those muscles all day and the twinge of pain behind her eyes. She hadn’t even noticed it when she was dancing with Emerson. But now that the warmth of the room chased away the chill of outside, it thudded to life again.

  “Lark?” Sena turned to face her, brows knit. “Are you unwell?”

  Lark dropped her hand and pulled out a smile. “A bit of a headache, nothing to worry about.”

  “Do you want to find a seat? We can—”

  “No, not necessary.” The last thing she needed was to rest and let that scene play through her mind again. “Let us see if we can find partners for the next dance.”

  But after another half hour of jumping and reeling, the pounding in her head would not suffer her ignoring it any longer. She slipped away with a wave for Sena and headed for the quieter rooms of the house.

  A servant offered her a cake, but the very thought turned her stomach. She pressed on. The entire main floor of the massive house was open for the celebration, and it seemed as though people filled every inch. Where could she possibly find a moment’s reprieve?

  The drawing room was the likeliest option. It too was filled, but with a less boisterous crowd. She spotted the Randels in a corner, their friends around them. Hope filled her as she recalled that Mrs. Randel planned to leave before dinner, to return to little Annabelle. Surely that would be soon, and Lark could escape with her. Back to the quiet of Randel House, where there was no orchestra, no crowd, not so many glaring chandeliers. She co
uld hide herself away in Sena’s room for a few hours until the worst of the thumping subsided.

  For now, she sank into an empty chair nestled into a corner. Her eyes slid shut. She lifted a hand to her neck again and wished she hadn’t come tonight. She ought to have known better. Was she so silly a girl that without her parents to tell her to retire at the first hint of one of her headaches, she hadn’t the sense to do it herself?

  Apparently.

  Had she obeyed her better sense, she would be resting even now. She would have been spared this latest Emerson pain. Oh, to have had such foresight two hours ago. But she had let herself get caught up in the excitement when Alice had exclaimed over the intricate brocade of her gown, the gold braid, the ivory lace.

  Such trivial things. Hardly worth this price.

  “Lark?” His voice was quiet, and coming from beside her rather than above her. Lark opened her eyes to find Emerson crouched at her knee. He frowned. “What is the matter? Are you ill?”

  Her stomach churned along with the pounding in her head. “It is nothing.”

  He studied her long enough that she had to wonder what picture she presented. At the shake of his head, she suspected it was not becoming. “Have you one of your headaches?”

  She found the ability to smile. A bit. “You actually know of those?”

  “I am apparently not as oblivious as we assumed. I believe your parents usually insist upon rest and quiet.”

  “And darkness.” She breathed a painful laugh. “I knew it was coming on. I should have stayed home, but I told myself it would go away.”

  “I am not the cause, then?” Relief tinged his tone, though it didn’t eclipse the concern.

  “No need to flatter yourself. I assure you, you are not the only cause of pain in my life.” The moment the words left her lips, she regretted them. “I am sorry.”

  “I deserve it. Let me go fetch—”

  “Fielding, are you bothering my guest again?” Mr. Randel appeared with a smirk that soon evaporated. “Miss Benton, whatever is the matter?”

  “She has one of her headaches.” Emerson straightened and tugged his coat back into place. “We must take her home.”

  Mr. Randel studied her much like Emerson had, then nodded. “Martha plans on leaving in a moment anyway. Let me find Sena. We can all go, if—”

  “No, you needn’t force Sena away. Just let her know I went with her mother.”

  Mr. Randel sighed. Emerson straightened his shoulders. “I will accompany them back, sir.”

  “I suspect ’tis no use arguing with you, Fielding, so instead I will thank you for it. I was not fond of the idea of sending my wife home without escort, but I must stay so long as my daughter does.” He regarded Lark again and held out a hand. “I called for the carriage, so let’s find your cloak. I am sure Martha and Mrs. Green will do all in their power to assure your comfort.”

  She let her host help her up. When he then placed her hand on Emerson’s arm, she made no protest. It was enough that they led her toward the door, explained to Mrs. Randel what was going on, and that Mr. Randel promised to seek out Sena and let her know Lark would be retiring.

  Then she finally stepped outside, away from the bustle and noise. If only it weren’t so cold, and she could lie down somewhere…

  “Here we are, darling.” Emerson helped her into the Randels’ carriage, as carefully as if she were made of porcelain. She settled onto the seat and let her head rest against the padded back, her eyes sliding closed again.

  “You poor dear.” Mrs. Randel entered too, and apparently sat opposite. “You look miserable. Mrs. Green and I will make you comfortable as can be, and if the boys make so much as a peep, I shall send them straight to bed.”

  Lark tried to smile.

  Emerson vaulted up and took the seat beside her. He sat closer than necessary, even went so far as to wrap an arm around her shoulder. She ought to pull away, but as the carriage rocked forward, she was too grateful for the support to do anything but bury her aching face in his shoulder.

  They passed the couple minutes’ drive in blessed silence and were soon back on North Street. Emerson helped Mrs. Randel out first, and then wrapped his hands around Lark’s waist and swung her to the ground. “You will be resting in a moment, darling.”

  She hummed. He led her up the steps and through the door, where Mrs. Green was quick to grasp one of her hands. “Oh, sweet Lark. What can we do for you? A hot bath? A compress? Some tea? Or do you wish to lie down for a while?”

  Lark unclasped her cloak as she considered. “Some tea might be good, then I will lie down.”

  “I have the water hot already. Mr. Fielding, will you take a cup with her? I hate for her to be left alone, but dear Mrs. Randel had to rush right up to take care of the babe, Alice is seeing to her own children, and I was about to fetch the boys their dinner.”

  Emerson nodded. “I would be happy to keep her company for a few minutes. If she makes no objection.”

  “I have none.” Her voice came out no more than a whisper.

  While Mrs. Green bustled off, Lark turned into the parlor where the comfort of the sofa beckoned. She heard Emerson follow but paid little attention to where he took himself, until he settled beside her. Then she sighed. “You needn’t stay.”

  “I want to.”

  She breathed a dry laugh and closed her eyes again. Lifted a hand to her neck. Perhaps she should have sent him home, so she could take down her hair. “That takes a bit of getting used to.”

  “What does?” He brushed her hand away and put his on her neck instead, rubbing the sore muscles gently.

  The action was probably improper, but it was exactly what she needed, so she didn’t much care. “You wanting to stay with me.”

  “Ah. Does this help? When my sisters have the headache, they beg someone to rub it away for them.”

  He had to ask?

  “See you keep it brotherly.” Mrs. Green’s voice, stern and yet soft, made Lark jump. Perhaps it was for her benefit he designed the question.

  “Certainly, madam.”

  “And know if it were not so clear she is in dreadful pain, I would never allow such familiarity.”

  Emerson sounded like he was choking back a chuckle. “I understand, Mrs. Green. And if she were not in such pain, I would never attempt it.”

  The sound of the tea service sliding onto the table preceded Mrs. Green’s huff. “I know young men better than that, sir. Now, I have to go take dinner to the boys, but I will be back to check on you in a minute—so behave accordingly.”

  “Yes’m.”

  Lark opened her eyes long enough to watch the housekeeper leave, then gave in to exhaustion again. “It does help. At home, Wiley or Mamma does this for me.”

  “Well, I am happy to help in their absence.” He shifted, sighed. “I’m sorry for ruining your evening, Lark.”

  “It would have been ruined regardless, with this headache.”

  “Still. I ought to have known better than to act as I did.”

  For a long moment she let the silence hold, let it soothe her while she replayed his flirting, his contrition afterward. “It was not so much your action as…as my memory of your similar actions that night. All I could see was Penelope in your arms.”

  His hand stopped its ministrations, fell away. And why did that make her feel as though she should apologize?

  Perhaps she should. Perhaps it was a fault of hers, that she remembered what was best forgotten. Kate would surely forgive it. Sena would let it rest. Alice would gracefully move beyond it. Secure, all of them, in who they were and who others perceived them to be.

  Why could she not be such? Why must she always fall short? Opening her eyes again, Lark turned toward him.

  Emerson rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Why did you ever love me, Lark?”

  Whatever intention she’d had vanished. “Pardon?”

  He shook his head, then leaned over to press a kiss to her brow. “Let me pour your tea.�
�

  She said nothing as he stood and crossed to the table. She said nothing when he handed her a cup a moment later. She said nothing when he sat again, across from her this time. She had nothing to say. All her thoughts, all her consideration had been on herself, on why he had not loved her. But this, this question…it raised a whole other host of thoughts to plague her.

  Why had she loved him to begin with?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wiley draped his legs over the arm of the chair—something he would never dare do outside his own room—and broke the seal on the folded paper. There had been two letters enclosed in the latest correspondence from Lark, and their parents were undoubtedly reading theirs even now with unbridled joy.

  As for himself, he wondered if he ought to beware of poisons lacing the ink, or perhaps some deadly insect folded within, ready to bite.

  Although he had to admit he’d liked to have seen sweet little Lark’s face when she caught a glimpse of Emerson in Annapolis.

  Smiling, he set his gaze upon the missive.

  Dearest, Traitorous Wiley,

  For a man who was as set on getting me out of Williamsburg as I was determined to escape, you have a remarkably short memory. Imagine my surprise when I stepped out of the State House and was hailed by none other than the man you promised to keep away from me.

  Yes, I admit he is a humbler, more sincere Emerson than the one I knew. But that does not excuse the fact you didn’t lift a finger to stop him from coming. Which I forgive. What you will pay for in some clever way I have yet to devise is the letter you gave to him. You knew very well that was not for his eyes! When I arrive home, you will have to watch your back, dear brother.

  And here is where I sigh and say that, your treachery notwithstanding, seeing him again was not as bad as I feared. Other than the tumble I took into the bay, that is.

  Oh, you want to hear about that? So sorry, I am all out of time. You shall have to wait.

  As I told Emerson, I have no intentions of leaving Annapolis yet. He has said he will stay here, then. We shall see. But for now, know I miss you and all your troublesome ways, and I look forward to seeing you again. In the meantime, have a wonderful few months with our darling cousin.