Page 55 of Never a Bride
“Maxwell? Oh, well I mostly talked to Clifford’s wife. I must admit, Maxwell is easy to forget. He says so little! I think he misses you when you’re gone.”
Emmeline rolled her eyes. “What a silly thing to say, Blythe! The man worships you.”
“Worships me?” Her eyes widened with shock. “I think you must be mistaken.”
“He only talks to me because we’re friends, nothing more.”
“Maybe hewantsmore.”
“Not from me, he doesn’t. Give him a chance.”
“I give everyone a chance, Emmy. But I can’t be the only one working at it.”
~oOo~
The afternoon lengthened and Emmeline watched with increasing amazement as Clifford and Alex somehow became—friends. Before she knew it, she was munching meat pasties purchased at a booth, listening to the two of them go on and on about the best ways to rotate crops. She didn’t know whether to be offended or merely stunned.
Soon the two men trooped to the next tavern, where they ignored her protestations on the lateness of the day and proceeded to become inebriated. Even Maxwell seemed amused by them, and joined in with the drinking, if not the conversation—until they started discussing grapes, and Maxwell was blissfully swept away.
Emmeline heard Blythe sigh. “Dearest, I am sorry this is not enjoyable for you.”
“Oh, it’s not that, Emmy. In fact, I find it rather…amusing.”
The three men at their table erupted in boisterous laughter and toasted each other again, having not heard Blythe’s comment.
Emmeline shook her head. “How will we ever get them home?”
“I think we are here for the night. Shall I see if there are chambers?”
“We’ll go together. Surely there’s a reliable boy to take a message home for us. How Humphrey will insist that he should have driven us in the coach!”
Though they found a messenger to dispatch, there were no lodgings to rent. They had dragged the men from inn to inn before Alex remembered that he’d held two rooms for them at the tavern where he’d stabled their horses—just in case.
Standing on the torchlit village green, Emmeline put her hands on her hips and gave him a severe stare, while he looked innocent.
“Well, forgive me for forgetting!” he said, throwing his arms wide and almost losing his balance.
Maxwell and Clifford snickered, then Clifford sobered enough to stop before Emmeline.
“My lady, now that you’ve a place to stay, I have to go,” he said, taking her hand and bowing over it. He continued in a softer voice. “It did me good to see you happy, Emmeline. Thank you.”
What could she say? It had all been Alex’s idea, and somehow he’d been right. When she glanced at him, he wore that superior, knowing smile—then hiccupped.
She earnestly wished Clifford well, and was happy she meant it. After he’d left them, Alex and Maxwell slung their arms around each other to sing their way across the village. Emmeline and Blythe fell into step behind, pulling their cloaks about them as the darkness brought with it a remnant of a winter breeze, and the sounds of happy voices began to die away.
Emmeline shivered, then was startled when she heard a strange voice nearby. She whirled about to see another drunken man coming up behind her, and the expression on his face wasn’t pleasant.
As he tipped an imaginary hat, she felt Blythe grip her elbow urgently. The man stopped too close to her, reeking of sweat and ale and wearing a sly grin.
“What fine young ladies,” he said, with a slur to his voice. “An’ me just lookin’ for some fun, too.”
“We already have plans,” Emmeline said cautiously. “Have a good evening, sir.” Blythe pulled on her elbow, but she was afraid to turn her back.
The man took her other elbow in a tight grip, and she gasped.
“You can change yer plans,” he said.
Before Emmeline could call out, Maxwell appeared out of the darkness at her side, his blond hair mussed, his clothing sadly rumpled.
