Page 52 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl
“Oh?” Ambrose looked confused. “She was in quite a poor state yesterday when I sat with her. She barely opened her eyes. I was certain she would not wake today.”
Andrew’s own brow lowered in a frown. “She was very lucid,” he told him slowly. “She spoke with me quite clearly.” She had recalled events from before her injuries and she was reading a book of Francis Bacon’s essays. She had a sounder mind than anyone he knew.
“Oh?” Ambrose sounded as though he could barely believe him. “She was so weary yesterday. Her speech was muddled—it was most distressing to witness.” His gaze was worried.
“That is strange,” Andrew replied.
“I took the liberty of calling for the physician. He has agreed to visit upon the morrow.”
“What?” Andrew shot an angry look at his cousin. “That was not necessary.”
“I apologise,” Ambrose said thinly. “But she is my grandmother as well, and I acted as I deemed proper under the circumstances.”
Andrew could see the anger in Ambrose’s gaze, and he understood at once. He and Lydia had been elbowed out during Father’s lifetime due to the disagreement between his father and their own. Ambrose was right—theywereGrandma’s grandchildren after all. He did not wish to continue the feud. Much as he disliked Ambrose, he was still his cousin.
“I apologise,” he said at once. “I spoke hastily. If you saw fit to summon the physician, I cannot but be grateful you did so. And if the physician visits her tomorrow, it will surely put your mind—and mine—at rest,” he added carefully. If the physician came in and found her reading Bacon's essays and remembering things quite clearly, he would surely understand she was cured.
“Good. I am glad you see things as I do.” Ambrose’s reply was cool.
“Indeed,” Andrew said lightly. He did not wish to argue. He was too happy to argue. He had Grandma’s permission to confide his feelings in Emmeline—more than permission. He had to.
He grinned to himself. He would have done so anyway, but her insisting on it made him find courage. He went up to his room, where he hastily checked his appearance in the looking glass. He had chosen a navy-blue velvet jacket, and his high-necked shirt was tied with a simple cravat—he had never liked the frothy, overdone fashions many men favoured at Court. He adjusted it a little, checked that his hair was still neatly brushed and went to find Emmeline.
As he had expected, she was in the drawing room.
“Good morning?” he called from the doorway. She had taken to sitting in there, and he had wanted to ask her what she was doing often on his way past—he had just never found the courage. Lydia had been in there with her once or twice and he did not want to ask her in front of Lydia. He didn’t understand why, but his relationship with Emmeline was something fiercely private; something only Grandma was allowed to comment on or witness.
Her head whipped around in surprise. Her thick red hair was arranged in a chignon, most of it spilling out of the bun on the back in an array of untidy curls. He grinned to himself. With her green eyes wide with surprise, her red curls tumbling in disarray around her face, she was as pretty as a picture.
“Andrew!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t hear you walk in.”
“I was quiet,” Andrew said smilingly. “I was afraid I would disturb you.” He tried to crane his neck to see what she was doing, but she covered the page on the table in front of her with a square of blotting paper.
“I take offence,” she teased, “at being sneaked up upon.”
He laughed; her bright, quick reply making him want to tease her a little too. “I ought to be quieter next time,” he answered. “Then you will be unaware, and so cannot reprimand me.”
Her brow lifted, a smile brightening her face like a candle. “I will hear you,” she warned playfully. “I have very good hearing.”
“I am a very good sneaker.”
They both laughed.
Her gaze held his and he drew a breath. Her smile still lingered, and she was beautiful.
“I wanted to ask you,” he said, his throat suddenly tight because of shyness, “if you might have a moment to take a walk about the grounds with me.”
“A moment?” Emmeline asked. She did not sound like she did not wish to, however. “Yes. I would be pleased to go outdoors.”
“Good.” Andrew inclined his head. His heart was thudding in his chest. “I am glad.”
He waited as she stood up and went to the door and followed her downstairs.
The garden was cool—a slight breeze blew, and the clouds were scudding along. The sunshine broke through now and again, and it waspromising to be a fine day after all. They walked silently for a moment or two without talking.
When they were about ten yards from the house, Andrew cleared his throat.
“I trust you find Rilendale manor to your liking?” he asked.
