Chapter 7 #2
Miss Pearson placed the bowl down on the carriage bench next to her. “Don’t be angry with me. I was the one who suggested Gunther’s, and I have more than adequate funds to pay for it.”
“I assure you that I have more than enough funds at my disposal to pay for Gunther’s ice.” There. That was simple, and it was the truth.
Her eyes grew wide. “I truly meant no ill will. How was I to know that a Bow Street Runner had sufficient funds to pay for such a scrumptious treat. It’s not like you’re a viscount…” Her voice trailed off as she looked at him knowingly.
His eyes snapped back up to hers. “When did you find out?”
She smirked as she picked up her bowl of lemon ice. “This morning,” she confessed. “Lord Lansdowne told me.”
“Ah, I should have known from the comments you were making,” he said, taking a bite of his treat. “I suppose you’re mad that I lied to you.”
Miss Pearson shook her head. “Not at all. I was surprised, but not upset, especially since I understand your secrecy. No one would care about me if they knew I was a lowly country miss, but I have titled suitors because Lord Downshire is my guardian.”
“Indeed,” he acknowledged. “Women have no interest in me until they find out that I am the Viscount of Wentworth. Then, they start fluttering their eyelashes at me.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I tire of gentlemen attempting to woo me because they strive to gain favor in my guardian’s eyes. I want a gentleman to fall in love with me because I’m a constable’s daughter, and not in spite of it.”
Simeon lowered his bowl of lemon ice. “I hardly believe that’s the only reason you have suitors, Miss Pearson.”
He didn’t dare tell her that she was beautiful, for he had no doubt that Miss Pearson would chastise him for being disingenuous.
“It may not be,” she murmured, “but I don’t know who is genuine and who is not.”
“I agree with your sentiments.”
She gave him a weak smile. “I know you do, Mr. Martin.”
An unspoken bond passed between them, and Simeon found himself returning her smile. However, the smile was wiped off his face when he heard a man’s voice shout from across the square.
“Miss Pearson!”
Simeon turned and saw an impeccably dressed middle-aged man. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had dark brown hair. However, it was his piercing gaze that caused him to be concerned, because that gaze was focused solely on Miss Pearson.
He heard her whisper, “That is Peter Lockhart.”
Emma placed her half-eaten bowl of lemon ice onto the bench of the carriage and forced a smile onto her face as she watched Peter cross the square. She noticed that Mr. Martin had stepped closer to her, trying to shield her from Peter’s view.
Peter had an unassuming smile on his face as he approached her. “Emma…” His words trailed off when Mr. Martin took a commanding step forward and placed his hand onto his chest, stopping him.
Mr. Martin leaned closer to Peter and growled, “Stay away from Miss Pearson.”
Turning his head to look at her, Peter asked, “Who is this man?”
“That is Mr. Martin,” she replied. “Lord Downshire hired him to guard me.”
Peter’s face grew slightly pale at her admission. “Is someone attempting to hurt you?”
“You should know,” Mr. Martin interjected.
His mouth gaped. “How dare you make such an outlandish accusation? I grew up with Emma, and I am still her solicitor.” He turned his gaze back towards her. “Tell him, Emma.”
Emma’s eyes darted between the two men, and she noticed that their interaction was starting to draw unwanted attention. Knowing she must act quickly, she said, “Mr. Martin, please release Mr. Lockhart. I would like a moment alone to speak to him privately.”
“No,” Mr. Martin replied, but lowered his hand. “Absolutely not.”
“Then at least step to the side so I may converse with him.” She hesitated before adding, “Please.”
With his gaze firmly set on Peter, Mr. Martin stepped to the side, leaned against the side of the carriage and crossed his arms. To some, it might appear that he was relaxing, but Emma could tell he was alert and poised for a fight.
Peter stepped up to the carriage and smiled at her. “Are you well, Emma?”
“Yes, I am. Thank you.” She turned her attention towards the pavement.
He placed his hands on the sides of the carriage, eliciting a low growl from Mr. Martin. “You look beautiful.”
Ignoring his compliment, she asked, “Why are you here?”
“I work in town now.”
Her eyes scanned the bustling crowd of the square and the stream of carriages driving through the center. How had he seen her? Rather than question him about that, she asked, “When did you seek out new employment?”
He shrugged. “It was a recent change, but I needed a break from the drudgery of living in a small village.”
“Won’t your family miss you?”
“I suppose, but I hope to return soon,” his gaze grew intense, “assuming I find what I’m looking for.” He was silent for a moment before saying, “My mother misses you.”
A smile came to her lips. “Please tell Mrs. Lockhart that I said hello.”
“You could tell her yourself,” he urged. “Come back to Totternhoe with me… just for a visit.”
“No, I am here for the Season.”
Peter watched her for a long moment before changing the subject. “Do you remember fishing in the stream on your property?”
Her smile grew. “I do. I also remember when you pushed me in and laughed.”
“I recall it quite differently.” He chuckled. “You were trying to catch a fish with your hands.”
She brought her gloved hand up to cover her laugh. “David was furious and challenged you to a duel.”
“A duel with tree branches,” he joked. “We had such fun together.”
A silence descended over them before he said, “As your solicitor, you should know that I have received multiple offers for your cottage and surrounding land. Are you interested in selling?”
“No, I am not,” she stated in a firm tone. “I will never sell my family’s home.”
“That’s ludicrous, Emma,” he responded in a disapproving tone. “I’ve received good offers that I want you to consider…”
She spoke over him. “I’m not interested, Mr. Lockhart. Furthermore, I have granted leave for Lord Downshire to handle all of my financial matters.”
“I perceive that you do not lack for income at this time,” he remarked, frowning.
Deciding to take hold of this conversation, Emma shifted her gaze from his as she said, “Well, I hope you have safe travels.”
Peter had always been intense, but she had never found herself uncomfortable. At least, until now. Reaching out, he placed his hand over hers. “Are you happy?”
“Peter,” she admonished in a low tone, pulling back her hand and scooting over on the bench to create more distance between them, “you are being too familiar.”
“Are you in earnest?” he huffed.
Smoothing out her gown, she replied, “Very much so.”
“Why haven’t you returned any of my letters?” he asked, the hurt visible in his tone.
“I was only recently made aware of them, but that would not have changed anything,” she responded, picking up her bowl of lemon ice. “It’s inappropriate for a woman to write letters to a man that is not her family or her betrothed.”
She wanted to laugh at her own words, because Rachel would be so proud that she was standing on ceremony with Peter.
“But, Emma… we were betrothed,” he stated cautiously.
She shook her head. “No, we were not, Peter. You kept insisting that we were, but I have only ever considered you a friend.”
“How can you say that?” he asked, his voice rising.
Mr. Martin took a step closer to them and shot Peter a warning look.
Emma glanced down at her melted ice and sighed. So much for a delicious treat. She brought her gaze back up to Peter. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and my family but…”
“No buts, Emma,” he said, speaking over her. “I promised your father that I would care for you on his deathbed. He gave us permission to wed.”
“Regardless, I have no desire to marry you, Peter.”
Unexpectedly, Peter’s expression turned thunderous. “You pompous chit,” he growled. “You are trying to rise above your station.”
Her gaze snapped back to his. “How dare you speak to me like that!”
He scoffed. “You’re just a country bumpkin. You don’t belong in this world,” he proclaimed, tossing his hands up in the air. “You belong with me.”
“I do not,” she asserted. “And I do belong in this world, because Lord Downshire is my guardian…”
Peter cut her off. “I have read about you in the morning papers, you know,” he began in a mocking chide.
“You fell off a horse in Hyde Park, rolled in a mud puddle, and then you became inebriated at your own ball.” He shook his head.
“I daresay that Lord Downshire is not the spectacular guardian that you are making him out to be.”
Mr. Martin stepped closer and warned, “Keep a civil tongue towards Miss Pearson, or this conversation is over.”
Taking a step back, Peter declared, “You don’t belong with these people. You would be nothing without me, and now you want to erase me from your life. I don’t think so, Emma.” His words were cruel and stiff. “We are connected, you and I.”
“It is time for you to leave… now,” Mr. Martin asserted, stepping in front of her. “If I ever see you speaking to Miss Pearson again, I will have you arrested.”
Peter gave him an irate look. “You can’t make that threat. You’re just a lowly guard.”
Removing a pistol from the back of his trousers, Mr. Martin brought it down to his right side. “I do have that authority. I am a Bow Street Runner, and I can make your life very uncomfortable, Mr. Lockhart.” His gaze turned hard, unyielding. “Stay away from Miss Pearson.”
A flicker of fear came to Peter’s eyes before he blinked it away. “As you wish,” he replied, performing an overexaggerated bow. He turned his gaze back towards Emma and winked.
Emma watched as he spun around and stormed away.
“Are you all right?” Mr. Martin asked, his eyes not wavering from Peter’s retreating figure.
She shuddered. “Thank you for stepping in when you did. I had no idea he would create a scene in the middle of the square.”
Her eyes scanned the square, and she saw women and men watching her, all with looks of censure on their faces. She let out a loud sigh. “This Season keeps getting worse and worse.”
“Would you like to leave? Or we could go on a walk through the maple trees?” Mr. Martin surprised her by asking.
“A walk sounds delightful,” she replied, placing her hand on the side of the carriage and allowing Mr. Martin to assist her down. Once her feet were on the ground, Mr. Martin stepped to the side, and she noticed that he begrudgingly offered his arm.
She couldn’t help but notice that he did not enjoy being near her. Or was it any woman? She would have to ask him that during their next interview.
“Do not give any heed to what Mr. Lockhart said,” he remarked, leading her onto the pavement. “His words were inaccurate and in no way reflect the woman that I have had the privilege of getting to know.”
She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
“Do you think your father granted him permission to marry you?” he asked, giving her a side glance.
“Heavens, no,” she stated with conviction. “My father did not want me to marry at sixteen, nor would he have ever selected Peter as a suitable candidate.”
She could feel the taut muscles under Mr. Martin’s jacket, making her feel safe.
“May I ask why?” Mr. Martin pressed. “After all, he employed Lockhart as his solicitor.”
Up ahead was a break in the iron fence that led towards an established footpath through the maple trees.
She kept her eyes on the trees while she explained, “My father always said that Peter was good at business but lousy at life. Furthermore, he was the only solicitor in our village, and his family’s land neighbored ours. ”
The sound of horse hooves pounding on the cobblestone caused her to turn her eyes towards the direction of the street. A black coach, with two horses and a lone driver, was charging right for them.
Women and men started screaming as they darted out of the pathway of the carriage. Immediately, Mr. Martin grabbed her arm and pulled her behind the safety of the iron fence in such a hurried fashion that they both toppled to the ground with Mr. Martin landing on top of her.
The carriage roared past them and down the street before turning the corner.
“Thank you for saving me,” Emma murmured, their faces now only inches apart. She couldn’t help but admire his handsome face, and she had an immense desire to reach up and touch the dark stubble along his jawline. Thankfully, she was still in control of her senses.
“You are welcome, Miss Pearson,” he breathed as his eyes landed on her lips.
A growing number of people were congregating near the fence, and they started whispering loudly back and forth. A few of the women even had fans in front of their faces. It was evident that they were talking about her… again.
Mr. Martin rose and extended his hand to assist her in rising.
Emma straightened and started dusting off the dirt and leaves from her once-pristine gown. Perhaps Peter was right. It appeared that the universe was telling her that she did not belong in this world.
With her head held high, she allowed Mr. Martin to escort her back to his carriage. She felt confident that this was the worst Season ever!