'I look forward to the tour with anticipation, Miss Harrison. Your dulcet tones will make a change from my usual guides.' Jack held out his arm, which Emma studiously ignored.
Emma heard the slight emphasis on Miss and winced. Knew what he must be thinking--
Emma Harrison, the woman expected to make a brilliant match, living the life of a spinster.
She had made the correct choice. Her mother had needed a nurse in her final days, and now her father needed a companion. She did not need to explain her decisions to anyone, least of all to a man to whom she had only been a passing fancy.
'The foundations it will be. This way, if you please, Mr Stanton.' She tightened the shawl about her body and straightened the folds of her skirt, bracing herself against the sting of the sleet. 'I have no doubt we both wish to spend as short a time as possible on this tour.'
'I am at your disposal, ma'am.' He inclined his head, but the smile did not reach his eyes.
'Can you inform me where your father is?'
'Unavailable.' She pointed towards where a solitary man dug in the mist. 'The sooner we begin this inspection, the sooner it will be over. Harrison and Lowe are the best bridge-builders in the area.'
'So your father always led me to believe.'
Emma attempted to ignore the growing pain behind her eyes. By the end of the tour Jack Stanton would be convinced that Harrison and Lowe could do the job. He had to be.
Jack Stanton followed Emma's slightly swaying hips out of the hut. He had not expected to find her here. As far as he was concerned, Emma Harrison and all she had once stood for belonged to a former life. One he had hoped to blot out for ever. He no longer had need of that dream.
He could well remember the number of beaux she'd had buzzing about her. Margaret Harrison had made that clear. She'd expected her daughter to marry and marry well.
Impetuously he had followed his heart and made an offer, counting on her affection for him and his future prospects. She'd refused him, never answered his letter, and he had left. He'd expected, if he heard of her at all, to discover she had married.
Only it would appear she had not. Time had been less than kind to Emma. He tried to reconcile the Emma he remembered with the woman who moved before him, her grey clothes mingling with the mist. Her hair was scraped back from her face into a tight crown of braids and topped by one of the most unflattering bonnets he had ever seen. Her skirt moved through the mud as if it were weighed down with chains. It was not his concern. The past was behind him. He looked forward to a glorious future--building bridges and railways, consolidating his companies and enjoying the fruits of his labour.
First he wanted to discover the mystery of why Edward Harrison had written to him, summoning him here. He had intended on leaving the bridge to Stephenson, simply providing the necessary financing. But Stephenson had agreed with the letter. He needed to go up to Newcastle and determine if all was well.
An icy blast of sleet hit as he exited the meagrely heated hut. Winter in Newcastle instead of the oppressive heat of Brazil. Instinctively he braced himself for the next blast, pulled his top hat down more firmly on his head. Emma had moved on ahead, gesturing, pointing out various spots where the foundations would be laid or where the stone had already been cleared.
The wind whipped her skirts around her ankles but she paid no attention. A sudden gust sent her hurtling forward towards the precipice.
Jack reached out his hands, grabbed her arm, and hauled her back to safety. A stone gave way and tumbled down to the bottom of the castle walls. Up close, he could see her blue-grey eyes were as bright as ever, and her lashes just as long. They stared at each other for a long moment. Then he let her arm go, stepped away.
'You are safe now,' he said. 'You should be more careful. You would not have landed as lightly as that stone.'
'I know what I am doing.' Her chin had a defiant tilt to it.
'The wind is strong, and in those skirts you are a danger.'
'You can see that this is the best site for the bridge, despite its obvious difficulties, but there is still a question of the exact line.' Emma pointed out across the remains of the castle, moved away from him, ignoring his well-meaning advice. Jack glared at her. 'If the bridge is moved slightly to the left, the keep will be saved.'
She finished with a bright smile, as if she was at a dinner party and had said something witty.
God preserve him from interfering women. She obviously had no idea of the time and effort that had gone into the planning of the bridge. And he did not intend to embark on some quixotic crusade simply to satisfy her. 'Both Stephenson and I are of one mind. The early surveys show the current path has much to recommend it.'
'A more recent survey--' Her jaw became set and her lower lip stuck out slightly.
He held up a hand. This farce had gone along enough. Edward Harrison had never allowed his daughters on building sites. The Edward Harrison he remembered had strict notions of propriety. Exactly when had he relaxed them for his younger daughter?
'The early surveys are accurate.' He touched his finger to his hat. 'I could explain, Miss Harrison, but I have no desire to bore you senseless with technical considerations. No doubt you would rather be having a conversation about the weather. Or the latest fashions in London. I fear I am out of step with the social niceties, having recently returned from several months in Brazil.'
'On the contrary, Mr Stanton.' She crossed her arms in front of her, dragging the shawl tighter around her body. 'One of the advantages of becoming a plain, acid-tongued spinster is that one might have interesting conversation rather than simply relating the latest bit of tittle-tattle.
We must take our pleasures where we can. I would welcome the discussion.'
'An acid-tongued spinster?' Jack repeated. Spinsterhood was a fate he had never envisaged for Emma Harrison. He well remembered the number of men who had circled around her. She had been the centre of attention at the Assembly Rooms, a bright, vivacious girl with a full dance card. What had happened in the intervening years? How had she come to this? 'They are not words I would associate with you.'
'After my mother's demise, it was a choice between eccentricity or a pale but brave invalid. I believe I chose the more preferable option.' A strange smile played on her lips. 'You fail to disagree with my assertion.'
Jack started, and rearranged his features. He had not realised his thought on the ugliness of her dress and her bonnet was plainly visible on his face. He made a slight bow and sought to redeem the situation. 'I had not realised that being a spinster had much to recommend it.'
'Then you realise very little indeed.' The wind had stained her cheeks and nose a bright pink, a tiny bit of colour in an otherwise dull world. 'I find the building of bridges infinitively preferable to discussions about the latest way to trim a hat, make netting or prick a pincushion.'
'It seems a bit extreme--avoiding matrimony because you harbour a dislike of frivolous conversation.' Jack tightened his grip on his cane. 'I understood matrimony was the goal of every young lady.'
'The reasons for my spinsterhood are not up for discussion, Mr Stanton. Please know I am content with my decisions.' Her eyes blazed. 'I regret nothing.'
'A wise policy. Would that everyone adopted it.' Jack chose a non-committal response.
Where exactly was this conversation leading? What did Miss Harrison want? Her words had a different purpose.
'And you? Have you married? Is your house full of frivolous conversation and pricked pincushions?' She gave him a level glance, with a steadiness that he had found entrancing in those long-ago days before he'd learnt about women and their fickle nature.
'Thankfully I have been able to escape the machinations of mothers and their daughters.' Jack pressed his lips together. Her remarks had made it obvious where her hopes lay. He would not have her presuming on the past simply because whatever brilliant hopes she'd had hadn't worked out.
Which was it? A duke or an earl that had not come up to scratch? He had forgotten the name of the man her mother had had such hopes for. And the proud Emma Harrison could not bear to admit she had misjudged the situation.
'But do you not long for domestic bliss, Mr Stanton? Warm carpet slippers by the fire?' That steady pair of blue-grey eyes looked up at him again.
Jack thinned his lips. Was this the reason for Harrison's letter? That he sought to make a match for his younger daughter? If so, he was sadly mistaken. He had no wish to renew his suit. The humiliation had been bad enough the first time.
'At present, my life is such that I enjoy my freedom. No wife would put up with me. I am constantly on the move, going from one project to the next--England, South America and Europe are all one to me.'
Her laugh resembled breaking crystal. 'You see, I was right. We would have never suited. I have rarely been out of the North East these past seven years.'
'I had forgotten that our names were once bandied together.' He made sure his face betrayed no emotion, but he derived a small amount of pleasure in reminding her of what she had casually thrown away. 'I would hate to think I had anything to do with your unmarried state.'
'Pray do not flatter yourself, Mr Stanton.' Emma drew herself up to her full height. Her hands ached from the cold and the sleet dripped off her bonnet, freezing the tip of her nose.
How dared he imply such a thing?
He made it seem as if she was desperately attempting to discover his marital status and had been pining for him the past seven years. She had refused him and his ungallant offer of marriage. He had not cared for her, only for her fortune and the status such a marriage would bring. Her mother had been right. If he'd cared for her, he would have waited and heard her out. He would have understood what she was trying to explain instead of becoming all correct and formal.
'My decision to remain unwed had nothing to do with you. Why is it whenever anyone sees an unmarried lady they immediately assume she is discontent with her life?'
Jack lifted an eyebrow. 'I must protest. You are putting words into my mouth.'
'You implied. As an old friend, I was naturally curious as to what had happened in your life.'
Emma crossed her arms. He thought her a desperate hag. What did he expect her to do? Fall down on her knees and beg him to marry her simply because he possessed a fortune and good-looks in abundance? The man was insupportable. If she married at all it would be for love, because a man wanted to share his life with her, not keep her in some little box, surrounded by children and amusements suitable for a lady. 'There is nothing wrong with that. A light enquiry to pass the time.'
'I wished to be certain, that is all. I find it best in these circumstances.'
'You flatter your younger self, sir. I refused proposals before yours and after.' Emma tilted her chin in the air, wishing they were having this conversation when she was dressed in her new blue poplin rather than the grey sack that seemed to be becoming more dowdy by the second.
Jack inclined his head. His lips had become a thin white line. 'Forgive me, Miss Harrison, but what was I to think? You were the one enquiring about my marital status. I have learnt to be cautious about such things. I intended no dishonour.'
'It would serve us all better if you did not jump to conclusions but confined yourself to the facts.' She forced her lips to smile her best social smile and batted her lashes, longing for a fan to flutter.
Jack reached out and caught her by the arm as a white-hot anger surged through him.
How dared she bring up old memories? What had once been between them was in the past.
He had made no apologies for how he had behaved. He had made an honourable offer of marriage seven years ago. She had refused. He had not needed telling twice. His nostrils flared.
'You forget yourself, Mr Stanton.'
She gave a brief tug and he let her go. Her hand went immediately to the spot where his fingers had gripped, held it. He pressed his lips together, hating himself, hating his sudden loss of control. It had not happened for years. He took pleasure in looking at things dispassionately. Yet within a few minutes of Emma Harrison's company he had reverted to his gauche youth, when his clothes had been bought ready-made and a ball at Newcastle's Assembly Rooms had appeared an excitingly attractive prospect.
'There is no need to go further. I have seen enough, Miss Harrison,' he said.
He turned his back and rested his hands against the cane, seeking to restore his equilibrium. It had been a mistake to come here.
'You must forgive me, Mr Stanton,' her voice called. She came up by him. An entreating face peeped out from under her ugly bonnet. 'I did warn you that my tongue was razor-sharp and that I have become accustomed to speaking my mind. You were correct. My earlier remarks trespassed on our acquaintance. I did not mean to pry. Nor did I mean to imply anything. Pray forgive me.'
'The fault is entirely mine.' Jack made a bow. 'The journey north appears to have made me ill-tempered and out-of-sorts. I should have recognised it for what it was--a light-hearted remark.'
'Shall we quarrel about that now as well?' She tilted her head and her eyes shone with a hidden mischief.
A brief pang rose in Jack's throat for what could have been. He forced himself to swallow and it was gone. He should not have returned here. On a day like today, too many old memories lapped at his mind, drawing him back to a place he'd been certain he had left far behind.
'I have no wish to quarrel with you, Miss Harrison.'
'Nor I with you, Mr Stanton.' She gave a brief nod. 'I do wish, however, to show you what progress has been made so your journey will not have been in vain. I am sure if my father had known you would be here then he'd have made every effort. As it is, today being the Monday after payday, he followed his normal routine.'
'It has been a most enlightening experience.'
They stood awkwardly. Emma pointed out where the piers should be built. Jack made a few polite comments as the sleet started to drive harder. But he could not rid himself of the feeling that there was mystery here. All was not as Emma Harrison would have it seem.