Intertwine (14 page)

“Ignore him,” Georgiana instructed, adding a note of prim righteousness to her voice. “He’s impossible about things like this. He does not respect the power of the list.”

Their guest sighed mournfully, nodding her head in sad agreement.

“Few men do,” she said. Maybe less sincerely. “Much to their detriment. I firmly believe that I could conquer the world, if only I could make the right list.” Her eyes glinted with mischief now, catching his with a slight smile.

James chuckled, “Indeed, madam? No memory and yet you harbor dreams of global dominance, it would seem. Impressive. Most gentlewomen of my acquaintance usually satisfy themselves with the mere running of a large household. But now I am curious, what would you do as Empress of the World?”

She matched his smile, her eyes lively. “You pose a most interesting question, Mr. Knight.” Their guest pondered for a moment and then gave a mock-weary sigh. “To be honest, I find myself much too lazy to rule the world directly. A puppet regime would be more my style.”

James blinked in surprise. “A puppet regime?” he asked.

“Exactly,” she said emphatically, seeming to misread his confusion. “I would leave an underling to deal with the tedious day-to-day bureaucracy. Really, who has time for such a headache? Instead, I would just rest in my luxurious palace and pull strings from a distance. Though I do believe that my first decree as Empress of the World would be to ban all morning people and insist on chocolate with every meal.”

“Chocolate? Interesting,” James chuckled appreciatively. “Well, madam, you should start on that list as I think you would make a delightful Empress of the World. And I would be honored to assist you in finding a qualified underling to act as your puppet.” He gave her an abbreviated bow from his chair. She smiled and exchanged a sly glance with Georgiana.

“Indeed? Are you volunteering?” Her eyes sparkled as she snuggled back against the downy pillows.

James laughed. Ah, lovely, witty and intelligent. A deadly combination.

He had hoped his sense of connection with her would fade as he got to know her. That she would do or be something that disillusioned him. Or at least that the inexplicable attraction he felt would abate.

But that was decidedly not happening.

Georgiana laughed too, smoothing out her paper with her hand. “Perhaps we should go through the names on my list and see if one feels right. It would be nice to be able to call you something other than “our mystery guest” or “Lady E.” Would that be all right?”

“Of course. Please, list away!” said their guest with a flick of her hand. She seemed to be enjoying herself.

James groaned and shook his head. He wondered how much mischief the two of them would get into. The last thing Georgiana needed was a partner in crime when it came to lists and mysteries.

“Wonderful,” Georgiana smiled, lighting her entire face. “Let me start reading names, and please stop me when I get to one that feels a little familiar.”

Their guest nodded.

“Elizabeth,” Georgiana started, looking hopeful.

The woman in the bed puzzled for a moment and then shook her head.

“No? Eliza or Ella perhaps?” Georgiana continued. “Elizabeth is by far the most common woman’s name that begins with an E, so I thought to start there.”

“No, that doesn’t feel familiar,” their guest said.

“Let’s move on then.”

Ellen, Eleanor, Esther, Edith, Elena, Eva. The list continued. Each one met with a quick shake of the head.

“Well, the last name on my list is Emily,” Georgiana said in resignation.

“Emily? That seems closer than all the others, to be honest. Though I don’t think it is quite right.”

“What about Emma?” James suggested. “It’s about the only E name that Georgiana didn’t list.”

“Emma,” she said, pondering. “Yes, that feels a lot closer. Perhaps not perfect, but definitely better than all the others. . . . Yes, it feels good. Not right, but close somehow.”

James smiled broadly. “Emma it is. Or I should say Miss Emma, as that will be more proper. It will most definitely do for now.”

Emma
. He tried out the name, liking how it slid against his mind. It suited her.

“I like it,” Georgiana agreed. “Well Miss Emma, seeing how we have finally been properly introduced, you must please call me Georgiana.”

“Georgiana,” Emma smiled. “And please just call me Emma. It is nice to have something to call myself. And truly, thank you both again. I can’t tell you how much it helps to feel your kindness and care.”

“It is most definitely our pleasure,” Georgiana said, leaning forward to grasp one of Emma’s hands. “You have brought more excitement to Haldon Manor than . . . well, than I can ever remember. It is good to have something different to look forward to.”

Georgiana smiled wistfully, with a look of yearning sadness James knew too well. The familiar stabbing agony of impending loss. How long could he bear this? Months, perhaps years of knowing that he would lose her, watching her slowly fade before him? The reminder of it always intruding, a thief stealing life’s joy.

“Indeed, Georgie is right,” James said fondly, keeping all his painful emotions from his face. “I think every person in Marfield must know of our mystery guest by now. In fact, Sir Henry is beside himself to meet our fascinating Emma.” He continued with a laugh, “He has sent two notes already today—”

“Three,” Georgiana corrected

“Three? Well, Sir Henry definitely wishes to meet you. ‘Tis a pity that Sir Henry’s patience is not as strong as his persistence.” James chuckled, deliberately trying to erase the sadness from Georgiana’s face. She laughed with him. “In fact, he has been so persistent that he . . .”

His words trailed off as Georgiana’s laugh quickly turned into a hacking cough. James laid a concerned hand on her shoulder and dug a handkerchief out of his breast pocket. Georgiana doubled over, her cough sounding deep and wretched, tearing at her too thin shoulders.

James lifted his eyes to Emma’s, holding them. Pale gold-speckled pools, willing him to fall deeper into them. He ignored the sudden speeding of his heart. He could sense her concern as well, the innate kindness within her.

He broke off the gaze first, turning back to Georgiana. She pulled a shaking hand from her mouth, his handkerchief tinged with blood. James hated the helplessness of moments like this, where all he could do was watch and wonder what would happen next.

Chapter 12

E
mme watched Mr. Knight tenderly wrap his arm around his sister, supporting her as the coughing wracked her body uncontrollably. After a moment, he rose and poured a glass of water from the pitcher sitting on Emme’s nightstand.

“Is she well, Mr. Knight?” Emme asked, concerned as he sat back down and handed the water to Georgiana. “Truly, Georgiana, you should get some rest. You have worn yourself out looking after me. Your cough sounds dreadful.”

Her coughing settling down, Georgiana straightened slightly and gratefully took the water from her brother.

“Dear Emma, we are only a few minutes into our new friendship, and I have already arranged a trial for it,” she said with a sad smile. And then, sipped the water and took a fortifying breath, “There is nothing to be done about my illness, you see. I am consumptive. The illness will kill me, little by little, until I fade entirely away.”

Emme stared at her in shock. This pale, ethereal creature was dying?

“Consumption is a terrible sickness,” Mr. Knight agreed, holding his sister’s hand. All his carefree easiness gone, concerned intensity in its place. “It slowly eats at one’s health, killing by degrees.”

This is wrong,
Alter Emme whispered, stunned.
People don’t die of consumption.

Emme found herself looking back and forth between them. It did feel wrong. Very, very wrong. Someone so young should be not be dying of a bad cough. Again, something tickled at the edges of her consciousness. Something that should be done.

“I am so sorry,” Emme found herself saying. “I don’t even know what to say. It seems so dreadful. Are you sure?”

“As long as I am still breathing, there is always hope, but so few receive a miracle. Not many survive consumption.”

Her brave smile tore at Emme.

“I am not a fair weather friend to be chased off by the first sign of rain,” Emme said, matching Georgiana’s little smile with one of her own. “We shall care for each other in our trials.” She reached out and took Georgiana’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

You’d better remember to wash that hand,
Alter Emme said.

“Thank you, Miss Emma,” Mr. Knight said, his eyes meeting hers warmly. “I know that Georgiana often pines for company. We are isolated here in the country and not many care to associate with a consumptive.”

“I am here and delighted to make Miss Georgiana’s acquaintance. I do feel that we will be great friends.” Emme smiled what she hoped was her warmest smile.

“I feel the same,” Georgiana said, clutching Emme’s hand. “And now, as James knows I do not like discussing my impending doom, I am going to officially change the topic. What were you saying about Sir Henry earlier, James?”

“You had best prepare yourself, Miss Emma,” he said, turning to Emme. “Sir Henry has invited us all to dinner later this week. And I fully expect that he will join forces with Georgiana to uncover all of your secrets!”

Haldon Manor

Near the ancient oak tree

Four days later

May 7, 1812

“Damn,” James muttered. “This is bad.”

Somehow from the moment James had heard that terrible noise several nights ago, he had known.

“Very bad.” Arthur nodded in agreement, twisting in his saddle to survey the damage.

“Very, very bad,” James repeated slowly, reaching down to pat Luther’s neck.

The ancient oak lay fragmented. Huge limbs shattered and jumbled across the meadow.

Its enormous girth had been neatly cleaved in two—sheered to the ground. As if carved into a steep canyon by a giant’s ax. The two halves of the trunk yawned apart.

With a sighing shake of his head, James dismounted and tethered Luther to a low tree branch, Arthur following suit. Picking their way through the wooden carnage, they walked slowly out into the meadow.

It was obvious they weren’t the first ones to have visited. Votive offerings dotted the meadow: a bottle of wine here, a beaded necklace there, several handkerchiefs and a shawl tied to branches. Gifts from the villagers, his own tenant farmers, all the hardworking folk from the county roundabout hoping to placate the witches who must have caused this dreadful mischief. The myths tied to the ancient oak were still strongly felt. Indeed, the legends were potent enough even the not-so-superstitious gave them heed.

Arthur sighed next to him, surveying the scattered offerings. “We are going to have to do something about this. The tenants take these ridiculous superstitions much too seriously.”

James grunted and wandered away from his brother, climbing over and under piles of tangled limbs. He stopped short of the trunk, his hands on his hips. There was nothing to be done. The tree was dead, though its still green leaves belied this reality, bobbing in the breeze as they lay sideways on the ground. They would wither soon enough.

James took a few steps closer to the sheered trunk, wondering at the power of lightning that could have so neatly severed the tree in two. Charred cindery streaks contrasted sharply with the stark brightness of raw wood. Though sharply cut apart, the massive trunk towered over James, dwarfing him. He stopped just outside the large crevice.