AnchorandStorm (7 page)

Chapter Six

“
He has married the little bitch!
” Caroline stomped into the room, waving a piece of paper above her head.

Raymond felt a shock from his head to his toes. He knew what his wife was talking about—few other things could make her that incensed—but he decided to feign ignorance, hoping against hope he was wrong.

“Who has married whom?” he asked in a patient tone of voice that only served to further irritate her.

“Your uncle, you dolt, has married our former governess, that conniving, sneaky little—”

He interrupted her before she could cast any additional aspersions on Emily’s character. He knew from experience she could never be sneaky or conniving, it just wasn’t in her nature. “Well, what does it matter, Caroline? It won’t change anything.”

“Oh won’t it?” His wife brandished the paper again. “They were married in May, in France. Lady Burlington writes that she and Lord Burlington crossed the channel on the boat with them and that Edgar looked healthier than she had seen him in a long time. It is now the end of September, Raymond. The little strumpet might already be pregnant.”

Raymond didn’t want to admit how much that thought bothered him…and not just for the reason that was causing his wife’s agitation. He had tried to forget Emily, but it was impossible. She haunted his dreams, with her sky blue eyes and golden curls. He sometimes went into the room she used to occupy, her scent, that sweet aroma of honeysuckle, still lingered but it was growing fainter as the weeks passed. His cock began to harden just from the memories. The thought of his aged, infirm uncle enjoying her body made him feel ill.

He lived for the day that his uncle died. Then he would get his fortune and, hopefully, Emily. He had no qualms about throwing Caroline over. He could buy her off with the money he would get. But he would be just as happy to have Emily as his mistress. When he cut off her allowance as the dowager countess she would have no choice but to come begging at his door—the door of the mansion that was hers for now.

“I tell you, Caroline, he’s not able. Don’t you think at least one by-blow from Uncle’s younger days would have shown up by now if he were so inclined? Not only is his health failing, but as I’ve said, I truly believe he prefers men.” At least, Raymond hoped he did.

He was startled to hear his wife echo his thought. “I hope you’re right. Still, I think we owe your dear, decrepit uncle a courtesy visit—to congratulate him on his nuptials.”

Raymond’s first inclination was to object but he stopped himself. It really wasn’t such a bad idea.

He would get to see Emily again.

* * * * *

“Oh no,” Edgar sighed and let the letter he was reading drop into his lap.

Emily looked up from her embroidery. Her husband rubbed his eyes hard, as if to erase the images of the words he had just read.

“Is something wrong? Is it bad news?” He looked so weary, yet it had been a good day for him. His disease sometimes affected his eyes, however, and she worried that such was the case at the moment.

Edgar gave a short laugh. “Yes, it is rather bad news. It seems we are going to have houseguests and they will most likely arrive at week’s end.”

A feeling almost of panic swept through Emily’s body. Today was Wednesday, how could she possibly have the house ready, meals planned and all the other chores that went along with entertaining guests done by the end of the week?

All her mental planning stopped suddenly when she realized she had forgotten to ask her husband the most important question. “Who is coming?”

He gave her a steady look as he said, “Raymond and Caroline,
sans enfants
, it seems. I suppose we can be grateful for that.”

Emily’s feeling of panic deepened. They were the last two people she ever wanted to see again. And how dare they invite themselves like this! It was gauche, but she should have learned to expect that from them by now. “Why do you think they are coming here?”

“To see if you are pregnant yet, my dear.”

“
What?
” Emily laughed, a bit taken aback by Edgar’s bluntness. “You’re right, of course. They have always worried that you would procreate and cheat Lord Stockdale out of his inheritance. I overheard them talking about it more than once.” Then a thought occurred to her and she sobered. “Edgar, that is not the real reason you want a son, is it?”

“Oh my darling, no, no, definitely not. As much as I dislike the thought of Raymond succeeding me as the tenth Earl of Callander, if that is the way it turns out, so be it. I will make sure you are well provided for in a way that he can’t change.” He leaned toward her and took her hand. “I want a son for you. I saw you with Raymond’s children, you will be such a wonderful mother. I want to see you with a baby at your breast.

“And I want to dandle a baby on my knee while I’m still capable of moving it.”

* * * * *

The next morning the household went into a frenzy of activity. Linens were washed and hung out to dry, curtains aired, dust covers removed and the furniture underneath polished until it gleamed. Against Mrs. Lamond’s protests, Emily even helped make up the beds. She was determined that her former employers would have to fabricate any fault they may find with her management of the house and staff.

On Friday, Emily and the housekeeper and Fen had just finished hanging the curtains in the guest bedrooms when the carriage rolled to a stop at the front steps. Emily hurried to join Edgar in the drawing room and waited for Weston to announce their uninvited guests.

Lord and Lady Stockdale sauntered into the room as if they already owned the place. Emily watched Caroline Cavendish look around, no doubt taking inventory—what to keep, what to discard to make space for her own
objets d’art
—that is, if there were any she hadn’t sold or pawned yet.

“Dear Uncle, how are you feeling?” Raymond approached Edgar and took his hand, as one would do with an elderly grandparent who had one foot in the grave. He reinforced this perception with his next words. “You don’t look at all well. Has the physician been to see you of late?”

Edgar gave a rather tolerant smile. “On the contrary, Raymond, I have not felt this well in a long time.”

Raymond looked over at Emily. “Then marriage must agree with you.” He did not smile and Emily saw a muscle in his jaw twitch.

“Aren’t you going to congratulate us?” Edgar asked.

“Of course. How very rude of me,” Raymond said, never taking his eyes off Emily. “My sincerest congratulations on your nuptials, Uncle. And to you, Emily.”

“That’s Lady Callander, nephew,” Edgar reminded him.

Raymond inhaled deeply and his nostrils flared. He made a slight bow and said, begrudgingly, “My apologies, my lady.”

It occurred to Emily that Caroline had not said a word since entering the room. She turned and looked at her former mistress only to find that one glaring at her. If looks could kill, Emily thought, Edgar would be a widower now.

“Caroline? Aren’t you going to congratulate the happy couple?” Raymond prompted. His snide tone of voice was not lost on Emily.

She wondered how long they planned to stay…and how she would be able to hold her tongue for the duration.

Dinner that evening was the longest two hours Emily had ever endured. Raymond continued to stare at her. And now that she had found her tongue, Caroline chattered almost nonstop.

“…and it is costing us a small fortune to keep George at Haddington and Sylvia at Mrs. Rosemont’s Academy, as you know, Uncle. I just don’t know what we’re going to do. I so want them to have a decent education.”

“There are certainly less expensive schools that will give the children a more than adequate education, as I’m sure you know,” Edgar said.

“Yes, I know, but Haddington is your
alma mater
, is it not? As I understand it, all of the Earls of Callander have been educated there. I would not want to break with family tradition.”

Emily didn’t know whether to be angry or upset. Caroline clearly believed she was raising the eleventh earl and at the rate things were going, she just might be right. It was hard enough to picture Raymond in that position, much less his son. She remembered the boy as rather bright but sneaky and, at times, simply mean.

Emily resolved to pray extra hard that night. Surely, God wouldn’t want to see events take that turn either.

“We shouldn’t keep you up any longer, Uncle. You look tired.” Raymond rose to help Edgar out of his chair.

“On the contrary, I never go to bed this early.” Emily knew he was lying to save face and to irritate Raymond further. Edgar often needed to retire early—more frequently than Emily wanted to think about.

“Shall we all move to the drawing room for tea and brandy?” Emily suggested, although she wished Raymond and Caroline would themselves retire.

Alas, her wish was not fulfilled.

The conversation in the drawing room was just as awkward and stilted as at the dinner table. Too often, Raymond found a way to stand behind her chair or sit near her and touch her arm or hand in some offhand, innocent gesture that Emily feared was not so innocent. She saw Edgar’s gaze follow his nephew’s movements and watched his brows knit together, but when their eyes met, he gave Emily an apologetic smile.

“How long are you and Caroline planning to stay with us, Raymond?” Edgar asked.

Caroline let out an irritating, high-pitched giggle. “What? Tired of us already, Uncle? Why, we’ve only just arrived.”

It was not lost on Emily that she didn’t actually answer the question.

“I thought I might go riding tomorrow. I trust you still have a fine stable,” Raymond said.

“In truth, I have sold off a lot of my stock. There are some good horses left, though. MacNeill can see that you are outfitted properly.”

“Won’t you join me, Emily? I mean, Lady Callander.”

“No, I, uh….” She certainly didn’t want to be out alone with Raymond.

Edgar came to her rescue. “Emily has been feeling a bit under the weather lately. I have advised her to refrain from too much exercise until she regains her strength.”

Emily raised her hand to her mouth to hide her smile, but nodded her thanks to Edgar for so quickly coming up with an excuse.

Raymond and Caroline exchanged a quick glance. Emily could swear there was almost a look of fear in their eyes.

“Well, I shall have to go alone then. Do you still have that exquisite stallion? Tar, I think you called him.”

“I do, but only MacNeill rides Tar.”

“Indeed? Why is that, if I may ask?”

“Because no one else can handle him.”

“Are you telling me that that Highland savage is better able to ride than I?”

“Yes, Raymond, that is exactly what I’m saying. MacNeill rides as if he had been born on a horse.”

Under his breath, Raymond commented, “Huh, more likely born in the stable that housed the horse.”

Edgar smiled and said, “Perhaps he was, after all. It would seem a good omen to me. Was not our Lord born in a stable?”

Raymond’s mouth fell open, then closed, repeatedly, making him look for all the world like a landed fish. Emily took a sip of her tea to hide her grin.

* * * * *

“She hasn’t been feeling well. He won’t let her ride.” Caroline barely waited until they got to their rooms before her tirade began.

“So?”

“What does that tell you, Raymond? She’s pregnant. I’ll wager anything on it.”

The thought again made Raymond physically ill. How could she swive that invalid? He had to make her see that his uncle was fading rapidly—and perhaps find a way to hasten the process—and that her only option was to let him help her in her widowhood. His help would, of course, come at a price.

“And, pray, what would you wager, Caroline? We have blessed little left, as you may recall.”