Page 23 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl
Chapter 9
Emmeline opened her eyes to the sound of birdsong. She sat up, running a hand through her tousled, loose hair wearily. Her head pounded and her back ached. She slipped out of bed, feeling exhausted. She had slept badly, and her body was ramped and sore despite the soft mattress and the clean, warm bed. She limped to the nightstand and rinsed her face, then drank a glassful of ice-cold water. She was at Rilendale Manor, and she was alone.
“I wish Mama and Amelia were here,” she said aloud as she rang the bell for the maid. She did not even have her maidservant from home—or not yet. She would arrive later, when Stanely arrived. She hoped her mare would arrive soon, too. Being with her dear horse and riding across the heath was the only thing that could ease her mind.
Her maid arrived and Emmeline stepped behind the screen to change into her gown. She had chosen a pale blue one from the luggage she had brought with her—it was elegant enough and remote enough to convey nothing at all.
He seems to want as little from me as possible,she thought angrily.
It was strange, she reflected, as she sat down at the dressing table, that she had been so scared of being alone with Andrew, but the fact that he had left her by herself was somehow making her angry.
He had been so distant, so cold when he spoke to her in the hallway. She had thought he might give her one of those rare smiles like he had when they had first spoken, but he had been so aloof. She wondered if she had just imagined that smile.
“There you are, my lady,” her maid said, stepping back so Emmeline could stand up.
“Thank you,” Emmeline said a little distantly. She gazed at her hair distractedly. It was rather more formal than she usually styled it; a severe bun pulled back and with the excess hair wound several times around it. It was decorated with a blue ribbon that matched the gown.
She thanked her maid again and, taking a deep breath, made her way to the breakfast room.
“Good morning, my lady,” Andrew greeted her as she entered. He stood up and she blushed as his gaze moved over her. Heat rose to her cheeks. Was it admiration she saw in his eyes? It disappeared so quicklythat she was sure she had imagined it. She looked down at the table, feeling sorrowful. She should not care what he thought—he was a murderer, after all.
“Good morning,” she murmured softly. Andrew had evidently just eaten—his plate was covered with crumbs from a pastry and his teacup was half-full. Emmeline reached out for a piece of toast, feeling too tense to try and sample the pastries in the basket. She was not sure her stomach would even accept the toast.
“I will be riding to London today, on matters of business,” Andrew said formally as he poured himself some tea. “I will be back at lunchtime.” He tilted his head consideringly, and Emmeline realised he was waiting to see if she wanted tea. She nodded.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“I am often busy during the mornings,” Andrew continued, not looking at her. His blue gaze was focused on the window opposite. “I am sure you will find plenty to occupy yourself. There is a pianoforte in the drawing room, should you wish to play. And I trust paints and other things can be found should you wish to practice any other accomplishment.”
Emmeline gazed down at the table. He knew her so little! He had barely exchanged ten sentences with her before, so it was unsurprising that he had no idea how she liked to spend her time. She cleared her throat.
“Thank you,” she replied.
A small flare of defiance glowed into being within her. If he had no desire to get to know her, then she would not help him. He could try and guess as much as he liked, but she was not going to tell him how she planned to spend her morning or what pastimes she liked.
“Should you need anything, Pearson will assist you,” he added. He lifted his tea and drank, already pushing back his chair.
Emmeline said nothing, since she could think of nothing to say. She had never met someone who was quite so cold. Even total strangers were more forthcoming than this man when she spoke, she thought angrily. He had been horrid and unkind—not bothering to speak to her, barely exchanging pleasantries, and now hurrying off and leaving her in a house that she didn’t know for hours by herself. She looked down at her plate and she heard his chair scrape back.
“I wish you a good day,” he murmured. When she did not hear his footsteps immediately heading to the door, she looked up from buttering her bread.
“I wish you a good day, as well,” she replied neutrally. She could have been speaking to an acquaintance she had bumped into in London.
He looked at her and she bit her lip, feeling like laughing as she saw him look irritated. Perhaps he was annoyed by her aloofness as she was by his.
She was still enjoying the small victory over the cold, arrogant man when she heard footsteps in the hallway.
She looked up, expecting to see Mr Pearson, who she already trusted considerably, but it was Lady Rilendale, the dowager countess. The elderly lady limped in; the sunlight bright upon her white hair. She smiled at Emmeline; her soft hazel eyes bright with warmth.
“Good morning, Emmeline,” she greeted her warmly.
“Good morning, my lady,” Emmeline replied. She knew she could have spoken more intimately to the older woman, but she was so much older that she needed respect.
“A fine day,” the dowager countess murmured as she drew out her chair and sat down.
“Very fine indeed,” Emmeline replied softly.
She bit into her toast and chewed, tasting the sweet, slightly bitter taste of orange marmalade. She had been pleased to see it on the table—it was one of her favourite things. She expected that the dowager countess would be as aloof as her cold, unkind son, but when she looked over at the older lady, she met a pair of hazel eyes regarding her with warmth.
