The Marriage Wager (18 page)

Emma sighed silently. She didn’t understand him. But she had taken the point that they were to present a picture of unbroken, amiable compatibility to the world and even to each other. Perhaps this was precisely what she was supposed to comprehend, she thought, what their bargain had really been about—that the level beneath the surface of things was not to be discussed or even acknowledged. Perhaps this was truly why he had not wanted a giddy schoolgirl who would be continually plaguing him and think herself head over heels in love. And if she was discovering a distressing tendency to feel such emotions, she had best keep them hidden.

Colin had no desire to stay here alone with her, she thought. No doubt he had many friends he wished to see and things he preferred doing in town. She would have to develop her own round of activities and circles of companions. “Of course, I must order the new wallpapers and draperies for Trevallan,” she said with determined cheerfulness. “And a few carpets as well.”

“You have a free hand,” said Colin with a smile.

“Take care, my lord. Aren’t you afraid I’ll indulge in an orgy of spending?”

“Not in the least.”

“You think I am too careful and frugal?” asked Emma, wondering whether she liked such a prudent characterization.

“I think your taste is too good for excesses. You will buy exactly what is needed to refurbish the place, and I believe I can easily afford that.”

Emma laughed. “I see through you, sir. This flattery is designed to keep my spending within bounds.”

“Indeed not,” he replied, but amusement glinted in his eyes.

“No, no. You imagine you have put me on my mettle, and that I will now exhaust myself searching out bargains to prove you right.”

“I had no such plan.”

“Good. For I mean to go to the most expensive merchants in town and order their finest goods.”

As she had intended, Colin laughed. But then he remembered some of the things she had told him about her life in the last few years, and some that he had worked out for himself. “Do,” he urged. “I’ll instruct my bankers to pay any bill you present to them.”

Something in his voice stopped Emma’s teasing. But she couldn’t identify just what it was. Puzzled, she turned back to the sea, dark now that the sun was gone. The sky above it still held a little light, and it was a clear, deep blue with a scattering of stars. How wonderful it would be, she thought, to live amid all this beauty. Then she shook herself a little and returned to reality. “Shall we go in?” she said. “Mrs. Trelawny will be waiting dinner for us.”

Mud-spattered, behind a tired team, the Wareham traveling carriage clattered over the London cobblestones and pulled up before the front door of St. Mawr’s town house. Emma stumbled a little when Colin helped her out. Her legs were stiff from days of traveling, and she was exhausted by the endless jolting. The weather had broken during their journey back, with a steady cold rain that turned the roads to morasses and slowed their progress to a crawl. It hadn’t done much for tempers, either; there had been intermittent flare-ups between the coachman, Reddings, the footmen, and the outriders. It was obvious from their quick movements and the relief in their faces that everyone was exceedingly grateful to be home. Emma herself was longing for a bath, a cup of hot tea, and her own soft, clean bed.

The front door opened before they could knock, revealing a tall, imposing figure in black whose face might have been carved from granite. Emma groped for the name of St. Mawr’s butler and majordomo—Clinton, she remembered from her single introduction. But had he looked quite so forbidding then?

Colin confirmed her memory by greeting the man by name. Emma echoed him. “Everything in order?” Colin added, and walked inside without waiting for an answer. Clearly, he had never received a negative to such an inquiry, Emma thought with slight amusement. She entered the grand front hall, with its black-and-white marble floor and elegant staircase curving into the upper stories.

“Not precisely, my lord,” replied Clinton as the carriage clattered around to the back of the house and the great front door was shut behind them.

Colin didn’t hear. But Emma was at once on the alert. “What has happened?” she had begun to ask when a bloodcurdling shriek rang out from the lower regions of the house, reverberating through the hall like a regimental bugle.

“What the devil?” exclaimed Colin.

Clinton’s face merely grew stonier, Emma noticed. He did not appear at all surprised. She began to get a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “That would be Nancy, my lord,” he told Colin glumly.

“Nancy? Who in blazes is Nancy?” Colin was also very tired, and rather irritable.

“The second housemaid, my lord,” said Clinton in a sepulchral tone.

“The…?” Colin’s violet eyes fixed his butler with a look that had caused more than one line of enemy infantrymen to waver. “What’s wrong with her?” he demanded.

Before Clinton could answer, a second, lesser shriek rang through the house. It ended in a gurgle that sounded very much like laughter to Emma. The sinking feeling grew stronger. She began to be very much afraid she knew the explanation for these unorthodox noises.

“Nancy is an excitable girl,” said the butler.

“Evidently,” responded Colin.

“She cannot seem to restrain her… enthusiasm for the stories told by
Mr.
Ferik,” the man added.

“Oh dear,” said Emma, her fears confirmed.

“I have
suggested
that he refrain from entertaining the younger members of the staff with his, er, reminiscences,” Clinton continued. “They do not seem to me at all suitable for a household such as ours.
Quite
the contrary, my lord. But he has not chosen to heed my advice.”

“Oh dear,” said Emma again.

“And I fear, my lord, that some of the footmen encourage him,” Clinton concluded. “They appear to forget all the training they have received here when they are in his presence.” His face remained absolutely expressionless, and his voice was glacial, but Emma thought she saw a spark of something like fury at the back of his pale eyes.

“I’ll see to this,” she said.

“Mr. Ferik did mention, my lady, that he takes orders only from you.” Clinton did not look at her as he said this.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Clinton,” she replied. “I did explain the household to him, but Ferik does not always…”

The butler continued to stare at the far wall as she trailed off. Colin looked impatient with the entire subject. Pushing aside her weariness, Emma added, “I’ll just go down and speak to him.”

“Yes, my lady. Thank you, my lady,” said Clinton frigidly. He stood stiff as a wax figure, every line of his body expressing indignation.

Emma sighed. Although she had known there were likely to be adjustment problems, she had hoped for domestic peace. Resignedly, she headed for the back staircase and made her way down. As she neared the entrance to the kitchen, she could hear Ferik’s deep resonant voice rising and falling in a near-hypnotic cadence. She paused to listen before going in.

“And I saw that he was chasing me through the streets with a great cleaver in his hand,” Ferik was saying.

“Gor,” responded a high female voice. “Why would he be doing that?”

“He was very angry,” Ferik pointed out.

“I’d say so,” agreed a man. One of the footmen, Emma thought.

“And, you see, the punishment for this intrusion was to be made a eunuch.”

There was a short silence.

“What’s a unik?” inquired the woman then.

After a meditative pause, Ferik replied gravely, “The horse Riley is a eunuch.”

There were sniggers. More than one footman was present, Emma thought.

“You mean they cut… with a person?” Nancy’s voice rose toward a delighted screech once again.

Emma could almost see Ferik’s slow nod.

“And so, I ran like the wind.”

“Didn’t you just!” exclaimed a footman. “That would be the thing to give a man legs, it would! A cleaver! Lord have mercy.”

“This lord had none,” Ferik pronounced.

“That’s blasphemy,” accused a hostile male voice.

Emma decided it was past time to intervene. She pushed open the door and stepped into the kitchen. Ferik sat in a wooden armchair, his hands on his knees, looking like a giant idol. Two young housemaids, three footmen, and the scullery maid had been clustered around him, gazing upward with rapt attention. When they saw her, this group scrambled to their feet. The tiny scullery maid ducked her head and scuttled away as the others bowed or dropped curtsies. Ferik climbed ponderously upright, a huge smile lighting his face. “Mistress,” he said. “You have returned safely, thanks be to God.”

“Yes, Ferik.” He had been convinced that she would be murdered on the road without his protection. “I wish to speak to you,” she added sternly.

“Of course, mistress.” Like a monarch, he waved the other servants away. “Take this chair,” he suggested, offering the one he had been using with a broad gesture.

Emma shook her head. “Ferik, I thought I explained to you very clearly that Mr. Clinton is in charge of all the staff here.”

“Of course, mistress.” The huge man gazed back at her with bland innocence.

“You must accept that that is the way of things in this house, and you must not annoy him,” she commanded.

Ferik drew himself up and crossed his heavily muscled arms on his chest. “I have been very polite to Mr. Clinton,” he replied, deeply offended. “Even though he is a—”

“Ferik!” She knew very well what he had been doing. He had been pretending to defer while he undermined Clinton’s authority in a host of subtle ways, making certain there was nothing specific anyone could accuse him of. In the time they had been together, she had learned from his stories and his behavior that Ferik was addicted to intrigue. “You must not keep the other servants from their work,” she admonished.

A look of injured astonishment descended on Ferik’s mobile face. “I, mistress?”

“As you were just now, when I came in.”

He spread his hands. “A few moments taken from the day. A small rest.”

He was hoping to form alliances, Emma knew. He also loved attention and admiration. “No more reminiscing,” she said.

“Remin… I do not know this word.”

“No stories,” she clarified.

“But they take such joy in—”

“And you must stop plotting, Ferik.”

He spread his hands again and opened his eyes very wide, the picture of a man wrongly indicted.

“That is not the way things are done in England,” Emma insisted. Then, recalling details of some of the stories he had told
her
over the last year, she paled slightly. “And you are not to put anything in Mr. Clinton’s food,” she commanded, looking as stern as she could. “Or anyone else’s food. Do you understand me, Ferik?”

He was scowling. “I do not need to use poison,” he informed her haughtily.

Emma heaved a sigh of relief. “Good,” she said.

“I can rise to the top of this household without any such—”

“Mr. Clinton is in charge,” repeated Emma. “And he will remain in charge. He has been with his lordship for years and years.”

Ferik grew more alert. His frown gave way to a look of intense concentration. “Your lord husband favors Clinton?” he asked.

“Y-yes,” said Emma, not liking the look in his eyes.

“Clinton has been in his service for a long time?”

She agreed warily.

“Perhaps since the lord was quite young?”

“I’m not certain. I think so.”

“Ah.” Ferik nodded to himself as if he had suddenly unraveled some complex problem.

“So, you understand what I have told you?” Emma said.

Ferik smiled. Emma didn’t like the look of it at all. But he said only, “Yes, mistress.”

“And the stories will stop?”

“Of course, mistress. I am at your command.” He bowed slightly, one hand on his massive chest.

As long as she knew the precise commands to make, thought Emma skeptically. For Ferik, anything that was not expressly forbidden was fair game. “I told you that you must conform to the rules of this household,” she added.

“Conform, mistress?”

“Follow the rules, obey them.”

“Ah. I have been doing my best. But there is always some new thing that I do not understand.”

It was true that he had been taught an entirely different code of conduct, Emma thought with a twinge of guilt. He could not be expected to know English ways. “If anything puzzles you, ask me,” she told him.

“Yes, mistress. Thank you. There is one thing.”

“What?”

“John the footman says that he is about to ‘lob a shot over Nancy’s defenses.’ Could you tell me the meaning of this expression?”

Emma searched for words. “Well…”

“I fear it may involve a dishonorable act,” Ferik added.

“Uh…”

“I like John. I would regret it very much if I had to kill him,” he informed her solemnly.

“Kill him!”

The giant gazed at her. He seemed surprised at her reaction. “To defend the honor of your household, mistress.”

“Oh.” It had been far simpler when she had no household, Emma thought. She and Ferik had dealt very well together then. He had folded his massive arms and glared at anyone who treated her with disrespect, and such people had promptly melted into the woodwork and disappeared. But Mr. Clinton was not going to disappear. Neither were John and Nancy. “You will not kill anyone,” she said firmly. “I forbid it.”

“But—”

“Absolutely, Ferik. Put the thought from your mind. Anyway, the, er, honor of the household is my responsibility.”

He looked doubtful. “In England, the mistress watches over the honor of her women?”

Emma nodded.

“But you cannot fight. How are you to punish wicked men who try to violate your attendants?”

“There are laws to take care of that,” she said, with more conviction than was quite warranted. “But the point is, Ferik, that you need not concern yourself with this. Do you understand that?”

“England is a country of many laws,” he replied, shaking his head. “I do not see how you remember them all.”

“We are trained in it,” Emma lied. “So you must do nothing without consulting me. Promise, Ferik.”

The huge man sighed heartrendingly. “It is all very confusing, mistress. Have I not guarded you well as we traveled here?”

He had been vital to her survival, Emma thought. And she was grateful to him. “Very well,” she acknowledged.

“But now you do not need me. You have your lord husband and his servants to guard you.”

The truth of this roused a guilty protectiveness in Emma. “You will always be my companion and guardian,” she declared.

His face lit.

“But you must do as I say,” she hastened to add. “No more talk of killing.”

“Of course, mistress,” said Ferik. “I am at your command.” He bowed again.

“And you must listen to Mr. Clinton and do as he asks,” said Emma.

Ferik gave her a serene smile. “As you say, mistress.”

Emma eyed him. He spoke as if this was a matter of no importance, and she knew that was not how he felt. He was still plotting, she realized. “Mr. Clinton is in charge of the household,” she repeated yet again.

“So you have said.”

“And so you agree?” she insisted.

“Of course, mistress.”

Though she was not at all reassured by the spark in his dark eyes, Emma could think of nothing else to forbid. As she walked back upstairs, she determined to keep a sharp watch on Ferik. Then she sighed because she knew that would be next to impossible.

At least he was safe for now, she thought. He would not attempt any new schemes so soon after talking with her. She could have her cup of tea and lie in her comfortable bed without fear of upheavals. Emma stretched her stiff shoulders. She could almost feel the pillows supporting her aching head, the cool sheets, the delicious relaxation of her whole body.

Clinton was waiting for her in the front hall. Was he expecting a report on the success of her mission? she wondered.

“You have a caller, my lady,” he said.

“Now?” replied Emma, dismayed.

“I told him you had just arrived home and were undoubtedly fatigued,” he said. “But the young man was most insistent.”

“Young man?”

He held out a visiting card. “Your brother, I believe, my lady?”

Gazing at Robin’s card, Emma sighed again.

“He seemed rather agitated,” Clinton told her.

Was the butler punishing her for Ferik’s transgressions? she wondered. But she could find no trace of this in the man’s face, which remained, as always, completely unreadable. “Is he in the drawing room?” she asked.

“Yes, my lady.”

“Very well. Thank you, Clinton.” Emma took deep breaths as she walked up another flight of stairs. She wanted to grow closer to her brother; she only wished he had chosen another day to begin the process.