Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
A GREAT SHOCK
The first thing Richard did was find a pretext to remain in London for the next few weeks.
He visited his friend Hastings and made a request for a temporary placement at one of the offices.
He cited a desire both to learn more of strategy and to hone his sword skills at a suitable establishment as his reasons, although in truth he had other motivations for this move.
There were advantages, it seemed, to being a colonel and the son of an outspoken earl, for his request was considered and granted with all haste, and he removed to Darcy’s house within days.
He desired, of course, to spend some time with Darcy and Georgiana before they decamped to Pemberley at the end of July.
Once they had settled themselves in Derbyshire, it would be some time before they would return to Town.
Whilst Darcy travelled back and forth often enough, it was likely the last time Richard would see Georgie for several months, maybe as long as a year.
He adored his young cousin and wished to enjoy as much of her company as possible before the move.
Even more, he wished to be proximate to Emily.
Now that he had found her again and had rekindled their friendship, he was loath to be anywhere other than in her immediate presence.
After his light duties were concluded each day, he wended his way to the Barrows’ apartments, where he sat with the ladies or helped out where he could, and waited for the colonel to return.
Often, he would enjoy a drink before departing; other times, he would remain for dinner.
No matter what, as long as the weather was suitable, he would ensure he and Emily had a few minutes to walk in the nearby square and enjoy some moments of private conversation before he left.
He felt complete for the first time since he left Bermuda.
Somewhat disconcertingly, the dreams had begun again.
They often started innocently enough. He would be wandering the grounds of Rosings, talking with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, or conversing with Miss Eastway over a cup of coffee and sweet cakes in the parlour at Matlock house.
Then one soft hand would reach for him, and there, instead of Miss Bennet or Miss Eastway, was Emily before him.
In the dreams, her hands moved gently and caressed him, and the surroundings melted away until they were somewhere private and intimate, alone and safe from the world.
Often the dreams would end there, leaving him awake and frustrated.
Other times they would continue for a time until his sheets were knots around him.
He felt no desire for either Miss Bennet or Miss Eastway, and he could not understand why they should appear to torment his sleep.
The increasingly awkward question of whether he felt any affections other than those of friendship for Emily was a matter he would not allow himself to dwell upon.
They had shared that one kiss, to be sure, but it was born of anger and fear and a desperate need to comfort.
Was it not? For the first time in months, he began to dwell on that aberrant kiss, and why he did it and what it meant.
Still, he pushed any stray ideas of romance from his mind.
Theirs was a friendship to be cherished, and he would not—could not—risk damaging such a precious jewel with foolish thoughts.
For her part, now that their rift had been mended, Emily seemed to echo his wish to spend as much time together as was seemly.
She often came by his office during the day, presumably on her way to deliver some food or drink to her father, who was working in the buildings just a few streets away, or as a short detour from her daily errands.
She was always appreciative when Richard was able to take some time away from his tasks to converse with her, but she never hurried on her way once seated in his small office.
His secretary, seated at a cramped desk in the anteroom to his office, soon came to accept that Colonel Barrow’s daughter would be a regular visitor, and he let her through without a question or second glance.
“Richard!”
She grinned at him from the doorway. It was the middle of July, and the day was hot and sultry, despite the hour still ticking towards noon.
Richard had his window wide open to admit whatever it was that passed for a breeze in this stinking city, and a glass of lemonade sat untouched on his desk as a fly circled above it.
Such was the closeness of the room that he had removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves.
His secretary would give him ample warning to dress again should someone come by to see him.
Emily, however, was an exception. She was given free rein to walk in at her leisure, and this she did.
He looked up from his documents and returned her broad smile. “Come in! Have a drink. I have more lemonade in the pitcher. Let me find you a glass.” He began to rise from his seat, but she stopped him.
“No, no!” She took the chair opposite his on the other side of his laden desk.
“But I brought you some fresh rolls. I just took a similar package to Father. Here, let me ready it for you.” She unwrapped the brown paper to reveal two small buns, still warm if the aroma told the truth, and a small pot of jam.
She searched the surface of the desk for a place to leave them, but seeing the forest of paper, she shook her head with a smile.
“There, on that small sideboard.” There was an escritoire along the wall to Richard’s side, and it was mostly clear.
She rose again and carried her burden to set up for him.
She unfolded a colourful handkerchief to lay on the top, like a small tablecloth, and then arranged the rolls and jam on their brown paper wrapper, a sort of substitute for a plate, with a knife along the side to spread the jam.
Richard watched her careful movements. Her hands were graceful and her motions elegant, and he found himself entranced by the ballet they performed in the air as she completed her mundane task.
There was something about those hands, so cool and smooth and precise, that captured his attention, and the full memory of the dreams rushed upon him.
Those hands, moving towards him, touching his face, touching his body… These images would not leave him alone, and he sat transfixed as she fussed with the bread and handkerchief.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“There.” She stepped back, summoning his mind to the present.
“All ready for when you wish for something to eat.” She did not return to her chair but perched on a small paper-free spot on the corner of his desk.
“Shall I find a tavern and bring you back an ale? It is dreadfully hot today. A cold beer might do you good.”
Richard cleared his throat. How thick would his voice be when he spoke? He shook his head instead.
“I shall get by quite well with my lemonade,” he managed at last. “I thank you!” He strove for something to say that would bring his mind back to more proper thoughts.
“I must talk to Darcy. I wish very much to invite your family to dine before my cousin returns to his estate and I return to my camp. He can be rather prickly at times with people he does not know well, but he is a good egg. I would like very much for you to meet him. I will talk to him this very night.” He blinked, and the final visions of her hands upon his body cleared away.
“I would like that, as will my parents, I am sure.” She reached forward as she spoke and placed one of those cool soft hands against his bare forearm.
All his efforts to rid himself of his thoughts were suddenly for naught.
It was as if the world stopped spinning.
The sounds of men and horses outside his window vanished.
The stacks of papers disappeared from his desk.
The flies ceased their buzzing. All he could sense, all he could feel, was Emily’s hand on his arm, light and tentative and perfect.
That spot became the centre of all of God’s creation, the sole focus of his being, and he felt the entirety of his body’s energy converge upon that small square inch of skin just above his wrist.
Only the strongest effort at self-control kept him from grabbing her and kissing her again. He forced himself to breathe as he stared at his arm. It looked completely normal to his eye, despite the jagged rushes of electricity that seemed to jolt from that spot.
“Er, yes.” That was his voice. It sounded like his voice.
He dared to look up at her. Her face was calm and her expression clear.
Was he the only one who had felt that moment of fire?
Her cheeks were pink, a delicate flush over her complexion, still unfashionably tanned from the tropical sun, but her expression was calm and her voice easy and light.
“Yes,” she repeated. “I ought to go… Mother is expecting me home to go over the accounts.” She blushed again. “Will we expect you this afternoon?”
The sudden, unexpected intimacy of their meeting had shaken him.
He dared not accept, for he needed time to think over what had happened.
If he went to visit her family, he would most likely beg for an interview and throw himself at her feet, thereby destroying a perfect friendship.
He had to take the time for sober thought.
“No, sadly, not today. I am expected at my parents’ home for dinner, and my own mother expects me to be dressed as if for an audience with Prinny. But soon… and I shall do what I can to procure that invitation.”
He lifted her hand from where it still rested upon his arm and pressed a kiss to the back of it. It was meant to be a playful gesture, but there was nothing frivolous about the way his heart was still beating.
“Until later, Richard.” Emily pulled back and bobbed her head before rushing from the room.