Splendid (18 page)

Just then the wheels of the carriage ground to a
halt, and a liveried footman rushed out to open the door. Emma was the last to alight, so she didn't get a very good view of Westonbirt until she finally escaped the confines of the carriage. She was not disappointed. Westonbirt was a stately old mansion that defied the word “huge.” Built during the 1500s under the reign of Elizabeth I, its floor plan was in the form of the letter
E
to honor the queen. The front of the house, which faced north, was the stem of the
E
, with three wings jutting out in back. Row upon row of tall, thin, sparkling clean windows danced across the facade, and Emma guessed that the building must be at least four or five stories tall. As she stepped closer, she was able to inspect some of the fine craftsmanship of the mansion. Each window and doorway was bordered by exquisite stone carvings that bespoke of hours of painstaking work on the part of long-gone artisans. Emma was awed by the grace and dignity of the Ashbourne ancestral home.

“Sophie,” she breathed reverently. “I can't believe you actually grew up here. I feel like a princess just standing in front of it.”

Sophie smiled. “I suppose one gets used to the things one grows up around. But you must see the rest. The back courtyards are really quite lovely.”

“I had hoped Alex might show her the rest.” Sophie, Emma, and Belle turned around to see Eugenia walking up to them. Several yards away, Henry was helping his wife down from their carriage, and Alex was being mauled by Charlie.

“Oh, I would love to see more,” Emma exclaimed. “I do so love to get out into the country, and the weather is truly perfect.” Sure enough, the gods had been smiling on England that day. The sky was cerulean blue, lightly dotted with fluffy clouds, and the sun shone warmly on Emma's face.

“Alex!” Eugenia called out. “If you can manage to unwrap Charlie from around your neck, I would like you to show Emma a bit of the area.”

Emma turned to Belle as Alex tried to loosen Charlie's viselike grip. “Why don't you join us, Belle?”

“Oh no,” Belle answered, a little too quickly. “I really couldn't. I accidentally took two copies of
King Henry IV
, Part II from our library this morning.” She held up two volumes, both bound in crimson leather, which she had brought into the carriage in case Sophie and Emma had decided to take naps. “I really need to get a copy of
King Henry IV
, Part I right away, and Sophie has promised me that I may borrow it from the library here. I don't know why we have two copies of the second part at home…” Her words trailed off.

“I can't imagine,” Emma said, well aware that just about everybody had been planning for this moment.

“I can't very well read Part II before Part I,” Belle added. “That would be like reading the last few pages of a novel before you started it.”

“Not to mention how disruptive that would be to your alphabetic order,” Emma put in, not without a small close of sarcasm.

“I hadn't even thought of that,” Belle exclaimed. “Now it is even more imperative that I get my hands on that play.”

“Do not question providence,” Alex advised as he took Emma's arm, Charlie loping along behind him. “Why don't you get changed into your riding habit, and I'll give you a tour. We'll do the fields now while the sun is out, and I'll show you 'round the house this evening.”

Charlie immediately wedged his way between the couple and started jumping up and down.
“Can I come, too? Please, please may I come?” he chirped.

“Not this time, dear,” Sophie hastily interjected. “I think you should check on Cleopatra. Mrs. Goode tells me she's due to have kittens very soon. Perhaps even this weekend.”

The possibility of kittens proved to be far more exciting than a ride through the nearby fields with Alex and Emma, and Charlie quickly yelped, “Brilliant!” and tore off toward the kitchens, where the black and gold cat made her home right next to one of the ovens.

Within twenty minutes, Emma had settled into her spacious room in the west wing, changed into a fashionable midnight-blue riding habit, and hurried back to the front of the house, where Alex was already waiting for her. He was standing on the front steps, staring at some far off grassy hill when Emma arrived. She silently studied his finely chiseled profile, thinking that she had never seen him look as handsome as he did right at that moment in his expertly cut bottle-green jacket and buff-colored breeches. Her emotions had been in a jumble since their passionate kiss a few nights earlier, and the mere sight of him staring so resolutely into the distance set them churning anew. Emma sighed softly, wondering if she would ever regain her internal balance around this complex man. At the sound of her sigh, Alex turned abruptly to face her, his expression still so serious that Emma suddenly felt terribly self-conscious. Smiling shyly, she smoothed down the blue skirts of her dress with her hands. She parted her lips to speak but couldn't think of anything to say. For the past few months, she and Alex had settled into a comfortable, friendly relationship, constantly bantering with one another as if they had been
friends since childhood. But Alex was right. The kiss in the Lindworthys' garden had altered their friendship, and she felt almost as awkward as she had when they had first met.

“I trust your room is suitable?” Alex inquired suddenly.

Emma quickly looked up into his face. The highly charged silence had been broken, and while she missed the sense of intimacy she'd found in his intense stare, she welcomed the return of her wits. “Of course. Your home is lovely. Although,” she said laughingly, “I swear I'll never get used to the size of your foyer. I could fit my entire Boston townhouse in it. It would be a close fit in height, however. I might crush your chandeliers.” Emma looked up at the crystal chandeliers that dangled from the ceiling, some forty or fifty feet above her. “However does one clean those?”

Alex smiled as he took her arm. “Very carefully, I imagine.” He motioned toward the stables, and the two of them descended the steps and strolled in that direction. “I thought I might show you some of Westonbirt on horseback,” Alex said, “because it's really a bit too large to do on foot.”

Emma smiled in anticipation. “I haven't ridden in ages,” she breathed.

Alex looked down at her with disbelief. “Really, Emma, I see you in Hyde Park all the time on that cozy little white mare of your cousin's.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Goodness, you cannot call
that
riding. One can barely trot in that congested park, much less gallop. Besides, even if I could gallop, people would be talking about my
scandalous
behavior for weeks.” Emma made a face. “One would think people would have something more interesting to talk about, wouldn't one?”

Alex narrowed his eyes as he looked down at
her. “Why do I get the feeling we're no longer talking about a hypothetical situation?”

“It's possible that I might have ridden my mare through the park at something that could have been described as ‘breakneck' speed,” Emma conceded, her face a picture of innocence.

He chuckled. “And people talked about it for weeks?” At her nod, he mused, “I wonder why I didn't hear about it.”

This time it was Emma's turn to laugh. “I am afraid no one is brave enough to mention my name in your presence, much less malign me in any way.” She broke free of his grasp and skipped toward the stables, lifting her dark skirts up so that she could move quickly. Turning around to face him, she called out, “It's marvelous, really. You'll never find out about all the
shocking
things I do, and so I can enjoy a positively angelic reputation in your eyes!”

Alex increased his stride. “‘Angelic' is not quite the word that comes to mind.”

“Oh?” She continued walking backwards, glancing behind her every few moments to make sure she didn't trip over a tree root.

“‘Hellion' is considerably more appropriate.”

“Ah, but ‘angelic' is an adjective and ‘hellion' is a noun, so you cannot use one in the place of the other.”

“God save me from educated females,” Alex muttered.

Emma paused for a second, wagging her finger at him. “I heard that, you louse.”

“I cannot believe you just called me a louse.”

“I'm the only one brave enough to do it.”

“I'll say,” Alex replied, his expression petulant.

“Besides,” Emma said, continuing her backwards move toward the stables, “educated women are far more interesting than uneducated ones.”

“So the educated women keep telling me.”

Emma stuck out her tongue.

“I'd stop now,” Alex advised.

She smiled archly. “Do you think I'm not a worthy adversary?”

“Not at all,” he said with utmost composure. “I meant you should stop walking. You're about to fall into a trough.”

Emma yelped and jumped forward. Turning quickly around, she saw that Alex had not been joking with her and, indeed, she'd just been saved from a soaking. “That water doesn't look terribly clean,” she commented, scrunching up her nose.

“Its odor also appears to be considerably less than pleasant.”

“Well,” she declared, “I suppose I ought to thank you.”

“That would be a delightful change,” he said, smiling.

She ignored him. “I imagine I'll have to watch where I'm going from now on.”

“Perhaps you'll accept my escort?”

She smiled sunnily. “But of course.”

Emma took Alex's arm as they walked the rest of the short distance to the stables. When they arrived they were immediately met by a groom, who led out two horses.

“Mrs. Goode sent over a picnic lunch, yer grace. It's waiting for you over there on the bench.” The groom handed the reins to Alex.

“Excellent,” Alex replied. “And thank you for getting the horses ready for me on such short notice.”

The groom beamed. “It were no trouble at all, yer grace, no trouble at all,” he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Alex led the horses out into the open. “Here you
are, love,” he said, handing Emma the reins to a spirited chestnut mare.

“Oh, she's gorgeous,” Emma sighed, stroking the mare's shiny coat. “What do you call her?”

“Delilah.”

“That's encouraging,” she muttered. “I suppose yours is called Samson.”

“Good God, no,” Alex responded. “That could prove to be far too dangerous.”

Emma looked at him suspiciously, wondered if he were talking about something other than horses, and then decided against saying anything.

Alex quickly grabbed the picnic lunch that his housekeeper had put into a sack for them, and they mounted their horses and were off.

They started out at a trot, moving fairly slowly since Emma was avidly interested in the scenery. Westonbirt was a fertile land of rolling green hills, liberally dotted with pale pink and white wildflowers. Although a great deal of the estate had been used for agriculture for several centuries, the wide fields that immediately bordered the house had been left unfarmed so that the family could enjoy all of the benefits of the countryside in relative privacy. The section through which they were riding was not heavily wooded, although it did possess several large, sturdy oaks that Emma was convinced would make excellent climbing trees. Smiling contentedly, she took a deep breath of the fresh, country air.

Alex smiled at her audible sigh. “It's different out here, isn't it?” he commented.

“Hmmm?” Emma was too content to formulate a complete sentence.

“The air. It's cleaner. It almost tastes good to breathe.”

She nodded. “I feel as if I'm purifying myself
with each breath, washing away the London grime from the inside out. I don't think I had realized how much I'd missed the country until I got here.”

“I feel the same way every time I'm able to escape town,” Alex agreed with a wry smile. “But then after a few weeks I find I'm bored almost to the state of tears.”

“Perhaps,” Emma said boldly, “you haven't had the right company.”

Alex turned his head to face her, slowing his horse to a halt as he looked at her closely. Emma stopped her horse as well, returning his direct gaze. After a few long moments, Alex finally broke the silence. “Perhaps,” he said, so softly Emma could barely hear him. He tore his eyes from her and looked straight ahead, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Do you see that tree ahead?” he asked. “Up on the ridge?”

“The one with the peach-colored blossoms?”

Alex nodded sharply. “Yes. I'll race you to it. And I'll even give you a head start, since you're trapped on that monstrous invention they call a sidesaddle.”

Emma didn't say a word. Nor did she wait for Alex to yell “go.” She simply took off at breakneck speed. When she arrived at the finish line (or rather, the finish tree), one length ahead of Alex, she was laughing with delight, both at her winning the race and at the glorious feeling of complete abandon. Her hair had almost completely broken free of its topknot, and she reached up to unfasten the rest, unselfconsciously shaking her head to let the fiery locks roll down her back.

Alex fought the urge to let himself become captivated by her seductive movement. “You might have waited for the race to begin,” he said with an indulgent smile.

“Yes, but then I probably wouldn't have won.”

“The point of a horse race is that the best rider should win.”

“The point of
this
horse race,” Emma replied, “was that the most quick-witted rider won.”

“I can see I'm not going to win this argument.”

Emma smiled innocently. “Are we arguing?”

Alex cleared his throat. “I can see I'm not going to win this discussion.”

“Can one win a discussion?”