'I know what I saw.' Lottie made a little moue with her mouth. 'It is quite shocking. And you the confirmed spinster, Miss Harrison. Tsk, tsk, tsk.'
Jack gritted his teeth. He should have erred on the side of caution. Emma's head lolled against his shoulder.
He tried another approach. 'Miss Harrison is unwell. She needs to get home to her bed.'
'She appeared well when she left the skating,' Lottie answered. 'Otherwise my sister-in-law would not have let her go, and Dr Milburn would have insisted on looking after her. He fetched her some lamb's wool punch. I heard him ask most particularly for it. He wouldn't let my mother take it to her either.'
'Are you sure?' Jack looked at the blonde woman. Could it be possible? Jack frowned and dismissed the thought. He had to stop thinking the worst about Milburn. He might be obnoxious, but it would be an incredible risk to take. The doctor did not even know about his tests for arsenic.
'I think she is shamming.' Lottie Charlton reached into the sleigh. 'Emma--Emma, say something.'
Emma gave a quiet sigh, and snuggled closer to Jack. Her full lips parted as if she had fallen asleep. Asleep, or something worse? Jack frowned. She had avoided saying how badly she had hit her head. Or was she feigning, hoping that everyone and everything would go away?
And yet Milburn had been less than pleased to see him. He had had Emma by the wrist. What had he intended? Jack felt a deep anger grow through him.
'I do hope you intend to do the decent thing, sir,' the other female voice said. 'There is only one honourable way to rectify this situation.'
'Yes--you have ruined Miss Harrison.' Lottie Charlton smacked her lips. 'Think of the scandal. Poor, poor Emma. My heart positively bleeds for her. What will Mama say when she hears? And Lucy won't be able to look down her nose at me quite so much now that Emma has behaved like this.'
Jack ignored the pair of harpies. He stared hard at the Major, who was shuffling his feet.
'What was your purpose in coming here, and who sent you?'
'I saw the sleigh skimming across the moor,' the Major answered. 'Lottie thought it would be good fun if we could catch it. We lost sight of it, but Lottie's sharp eyes spied it here in the trees and we decided to investigate.'
'You saw nothing untoward.' He looked hard at the Major, who gave a slight nod.
'Are you going to deny your responsibility?' Lottie gave a faint gasp of horror. 'I know they have always said that you are not quite a gentleman...'
Jack stared at the group in astonishment. He curled his lip. 'I am in the process of taking Miss Harrison home. The sooner she gets there the better, for all concerned. Gossip and idle chit-chat will not reflect well on anyone.'
'But...but...' There came a little squeak of protest from Lottie Charlton, and Jack knew that gossip would spread and grow. The silly woman would be unable to resist.
'I would think a modicum of tact might be worthwhile.' Jack regarded the man. 'I would take it amiss if gossip was spread about her. I would take it as a very great personal favour if it was not.'
'I can see no reason for any of us to say anything, provided the decent thing is done,' the Major pronounced. 'Miss Harrison enjoys a sterling reputation.'
'I always do the decent thing.'
Jack gritted his teeth. He was trapped. Emma was trapped. This was to have been a very different sort of sleigh ride, building their friendship. But he had been unable to resist.
He glanced at her oval face, now quiet in sleep. What would she say when she woke? Who would she blame? Neither of them had a choice.
'But he is going to make it right?' the silly blonde asked. 'Poor, poor Emma. Ruined. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do.'
'You do not know very much about me, Miss Charlton, if you call me a gentleman. That is a title I have never claimed.'
'Of all the nerve!'
He heard the shocked gasps with satisfaction as Emma snuggled down against his chest, warm and delightful.
The Emma he knew would never have behaved in such a manner. But did he really know her?
She had kissed him with an expert passion.
He clicked his tongue and the sleigh began to move.
'Where are we going, Jack?' she asked in a slurred voice, heavy with sleep. 'I have had the strangest dream. You kissed me, full on the lips. It was lovely.'
Jack gave the lines a tremendous shake, gave the horses their heads, and braced his feet against the dashboard.
'Off home. We go home, Emma,' he said, forcing the words out one at a time. 'And then we see about making this right.'
'Do you wake, or do I carry you into the house?'
Rough hands shook Emma's shoulder. Her body protested at the sudden rush of air, and sought warmth again, but nothing was there. Her neck ached from being in the wrong position, and her nose was numb from the cold.
She sat up and tried to figure out where she was. The shape of her house loomed above her.
She frowned and rubbed her hand against the back of her neck. How had she got here? The last thing she remembered was the sleigh ride and the lines slipping.
'I must have fallen asleep. I had the strangest dream.'
'You are back home. Do you feel capable of walking?' Jack's voice was hard and uncompromising.
The inside of her mouth felt woolly and her lips bruised. She ran her tongue along them and tried to rid herself of a sense of impending disaster.
'What is happening?'
'I am going to see your father.'
'Why?' Emma clambered down from the sleigh and put one foot in front of the other, slipping slightly. Instantly Jack's hand was there, catching her. There was nothing lover-like in his hard fingers.
'We were seen. Your reputation is in tatters. That Charlton chit's mouth flows as freely as the Tyne.' Jack's face was hard and intent--nothing of the lover, everything of the irate businessman.
'But nothing happened.' Emma drew herself up with dignity and tried to remember the lovely dream she had had, with Jack kissing her. His lips had been soft and his voice caressing, bearing little resemblance to this. 'It was just a dream, and dreams don't count.'
'The devil you say.' The words were low and furious.
Emma rubbed a hand over her eyes, saw two doors. If she closed her eyes again all this would go away. It had to.
Emma stretched, pointing her toes and lifting her arms above her head. The linen sheets felt cool against her cheek. She regarded the bright light that shone through a crack in the bed curtains.
She tried to sit up, and rapidly put her head down on the feather pillows again. Pain shot through the front of her head. All her limbs were weak, and the ceiling showed distinct signs of moving. She closed her eyes, opened them again, and tried to focus.
'Annie,' she called. 'What time is it? I have had the strangest dreams. Dreams so vivid and real I could swear they happened, but they were sheer fantastical nonsense.'
'At last you are awake, miss.' Annie twitched back the curtains and daylight flooded into the bed.
Emma put up a hand to shield her eyes and squinted towards the mantelpiece clock. She scrubbed her eyes, focused, and then gaped. Her first glance had not lied. She doubted if she had ever slept so late in her life--not even when she was ill.
'You appear worried, Annie.'
'Your father wishes to see you directly. He has asked several times over the past few hours.'
'Why didn't you wake me?' Emma swung her legs over the end of the bed. 'I feel as weak as a newborn kitten today. Mrs Charlton's hot punch is notorious, but I only had the one cup. Is my father well?'
'Your father has been up since daybreak, miss, bustling about, sending letters here and there, barking orders.' Annie twisted her apron between her hands. 'And I would have woken you, but Mr Jack insisted I was to let you sleep.'
Emma grabbed onto the bedpost and sank back down on the bed. So Jack Stanton had arrived.
She had thought it a dream. She wrinkled her nose. No, most of it had to be a dream. It had a dreamlike quality to it. More than likely she had hit her head, come home with Lucy and simply then heard Jack's voice as she lay dreaming. She closed her eyes with relief. That was what had to have happened. The alternative was too terrible to contemplate.
'Since when do you obey Mr Stanton?' she asked, keeping her voice calm.
'Since he became your fiance, miss.' The maid gave a swift curtsey. 'I thought it best. He does appear concerned about you.'
All notion of sleep and beautiful dreams vanished, to be replaced by the ice-cold feeling of dread. Emma put a hand to her head and tried to think. Exactly how much had been a dream?
The sleigh with its bells and runners gliding over the snow? The feel of Jack's leg against hers? His warm lips seeking hers as his hands pulled her close? All of it? None of it?
Her lips ached faintly in remembrance. Had she acted in that brazen manner? Pressing her body against his? She could not imagine doing such a thing. Her entire being became numb.
She blinked twice, going back over the events. It had to have been a dream. Was she dreaming still?
She pinched her wrist and discovered that she was definitely awake, and Annie was looking at her with an increasingly puzzled expression on her face.
'I don't believe I am anyone's fiancee, let alone Mr Stanton's.'
'Mr Stanton did say that you had bumped your head, miss. Are you sure you are fit?'
'My head hurts.' Emma explored the base of her scalp and found an egg-sized lump. 'But not in the manner I would expect. I think Mrs Charlton's punch must have been stronger than I first thought.'
'Bound to have been, miss,' said Annie, bustling about the room. 'It is an old wassailing recipe I had from Jeannine, Mrs Charlton's lady's maid. But you are definitely Mr Stanton's fiancee. There can be no doubt about that.'
Emma pressed her lips into a firm line. An old wassailing recipe? But that begged as many questions as it answered. No one else appeared to have suffered the difficulties that she had.
'Exactly when am I to be married? My memory is a bit vague on the precise details.'
'As soon as possible, or so the servants say.' Annie put her hands on her hips. 'And it is hardly surprising your memory ain't good. You were bundled up to bed the moment your foot touched the hall. On Mr Jack's orders. Right angry he was about everything, too.'
'Christmas is only three days away, and there are still preparations for the Goose Feast to settle. It will have to be in the New Year.' Emma tapped her finger against her mouth.
'It would not be for me to say.' Annie stood with her eyes downcast. 'But there was talk of a Special Licence. Servants' gossip only, mind. Rose the under-housemaid had it from Fackler, who heard it from Mr Stanton's valet.'
'Servants' gossip?' Emma gave her maid a stern look. 'You should know better than to go repeating tales.'
'Very good, miss, but I know what I heard.'
Emma pressed her fingers into the bridge of her nose. There was a slim chance that this was simply gossip--misheard rumours and innuendo. She had not agreed to marry anyone! She would know if she had. It was not something one easily forgot. 'It has to be just rumours, Annie. I would remember if Jack Stanton had asked me to marry him. I know I would.'
'I thought you would like to know, miss, just in case.' Annie bobbed a curtsey. 'I must say the thought of a Special Licence sent a little tremor through me.'
Emma drew in a breath, the woolliness vanishing as sweet relief flooded in. She knew she had not agreed to anything. She would not forget a detail like that.
A Special Licence...
Despite everything, a small thrill went through Emma as well. When her hair had been in plaits and she had dreamt of dancing all night, and of tall, broad-shouldered dukes who would sweep her off her feet, she'd also had a wish to be married by Special Licence. It had a certain ring to it, and was certainly more attractive than eloping to Gretna Green. Her mother had been furious when Claire had married simply by ordinary licence.
She forced her mind away from girlish thoughts. What sort of licence did not matter. What mattered was that everyone was under the impression that she was going to marry Jack Stanton. And he had never even asked her!
'I am certain you have heard wrong, in any case.' Emma started to dress, tying the tapes of her petticoats with practised fingers. 'When I go down I shall prove what nonsense this conversation has been.'
'As you wish, miss, but what shall I do about your trousseau?'
'My trousseau?'
'I can't have my lady being married without a proper one. I know your under-things are serviceable, but a married lady requires more. And there simply is not time to send a Marriage and Outfitting order out to the linen warehouse at Bainbridges. Even with the best will in the world it will take a few weeks. Christmas is nearly upon us.'
'I can always acquire the things later, if it is necessary.' Emma gave a smile and wished the pain in her head would cease. She would clear up the mystery and life would go on as before.
This talk of trousseaux was premature. Things were rapidly spinning out of control--like a trickle of water that had become a stream and then a torrent, carrying all before it. She drew a deep breath and refused to panic. 'I am positive we shall have time. Bainbridges are very efficient.'
'But, miss, your wedding dress...You should send to London for that. I wouldn't trust any in Newcastle for such a thing as that.'
'My wedding dress will be dealt with when the time comes,' Emma said firmly.
She regarded her dresses. The one thing she absolutely refused to think about was a wedding dress. But Annie was correct. None of them would do. She raised a hand and stroked the rose silk. Jack's eyes had shone when he saw her in this. And when they had danced in the drawing room--She drew her hand back as if the dress had bitten her.
Enough of this foolishness.
She refused even to allow herself to build castles in clouds. Her life had to be real and solid.
Her future was not married bliss with Jack Stanton, despite the longings of her heart. She had to be sensible. She had spent seven years being sensible and mature. Now was not the time to revert back to the girl she had been. Dreams were for other people.