Page 14 of Choosing Her Earl at Last
Colin shook his head and extricated his arm from Michael’s grasp. “Rebbeca is not Emmeline,” he stated firmly, using their given names for emphasis. He turned and continued walking, not waiting to see whether Michael followed or not.
Sighing, Michael fell into step beside Colin. His words had fallen on deaf ears, and there was naught that he could do about it. Surrendering his cousin’s care to God, he held his tongue.
They walked in silence for a moment, each with their own thoughts, when suddenly Colin’s body came alive with excitement. Michael followed his cousin’s suddenly happy gaze to find the Frampton sisters walking along the path toward them.
Michael groaned inwardly, feeling a headache begin behind his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and faced the oncoming storm.
“Miss Rebecca,” Colin greeted with a wide grin of pleasure. “What a fortunate encounter.”
“Mr. Barrington,” Rebecca greeted in turn, smiling up at him. “Most fortunate indeed,” she agreed.
“Would you care to join us in our perambulation?” he invited, as he extended his arm for her to take.
Blushing with pleasure, Rebecca reached out and took it, her gloved hand fitting snugly in the crook of his elbow. “My sister and I would be delighted.”
The expression on Emmeline’s face was anything but one of delight.
“Marchioness,” Colin said courteously, his usual warmth tempered by his knowledge of her disapproval.
“Mr. Barrington,” Emmeline returned, her eyes cooling as they fell upon Michael’s face. “Lord Ravenshollow,” she greeted as propriety required.
“Marchioness,” Michael returned her greeting with equally cold reserve.
Colin and Rebecca walked on, conversing animatedly about their recent activities, leaving Michael and Emmeline to fall into stepseveral paces behind. The air between them crackled with anger and unspoken hurt.
“They have much in common, your cousin and my sister,” Emmeline noted, her face showing a brief moment of surprise at her own voice as if she had spoken by accident.
“So Colin says,” Michael acknowledged stiffly.
“Their enthusiasm reminds me of a younger, more innocent time in life.”
The hint of wistfulness in her voice caught Michael off guard.
“I do not remember ever being that passionate in conversation,” Michael noted, as the young couple engaged excitedly over yet another shared interest.
“Art,” Emmeline murmured.
“What did you say?” Michael asked, not sure that he had heard her correctly.
“You were always that passionate about art,” she repeated more clearly. “You never looked more alive than when you were painting a new landscape.”
Her eyes took on a faraway expression as if her mind were in another time and place. “I always enjoyed watching you paint as you would blend the light and dark watercolors together to capture the dawn of a new day.”
Michael’s brows rose in question. He had not known that she had paid such close attention to his work. Before he could fully process her words and respond, they were passed by another group of young people.
As they approached, Michael overheard one of the women talking above the rest of the group. His eyes searched out the annoyance and found that it belonged to a blonde-haired woman in an elaborately designed dress. Her dark brown eyes gazed down her nose at Emmeline.
“It would be quite unfortunate for England’s most eligible noblemen to be taken by grasping widows who do not honor their deceased husbands with a proper period of mourning before returning to society.”
Michael felt Emmeline stiffen beside him and watched as her face became a blank mask, her eyes staring straight ahead. In spite of himself, anger flared within his chest on her behalf.
“It is a most noble woman indeed who puts aside her own needs for the care and keeping of a beloved sister,” Michael’s voicecarried above all the others within the passing group, the looks on their faces leaving no doubt that they had heard him.
“For such a sacrifice, Marchioness, you have my undying admiration. Would that all ladies of the realm exhibited such honorable love and care. England would be immeasurably better for it.”
The gossiping woman’s dark eyes grew wide as her mouth snapped shut, and she scurried away, reminding him of an offended hen with her feathers ruffled. Emmeline looked up at Michael with surprise.
“You did not need to defend me. I can defend myself. I simply choose not to engage with notorious gossips such as Selina Bragg. People will talk. There is nothing for it but to ignore them with as much grace and dignity as one can manage. You should know that by defending me, you will be the object of their ridicule.”
