Chapter 11
Cillian shrugged a single shoulder. “I was in Town and I decided to come and check on you before I leave. Mother wanted me to make sure you were all in good health, and she’s worried you might be swanning off into spinsterhood.”
“How considerate of her,” Emma grumbled. “You may tell kind Aunt Phyllis that I’m not as unfortunate as she may think.”
His brows lifted. “I am delightfully surprised to hear. My best wishes on what will develop.”
“Thank you,” she replied, while turning to the kitchen. “How is business going?”
“It’s going well,” Cillian replied as he followed. “Managing farmers and the lands I allotted to them while overseeing the trading post and shop is a lot, but I am handling it.”
Emma found James peeking into the hearth oven while she headed for the jug of juice. “May I offer you something to drink?”
“If you have some brandy, I’ll take a glass.”
“I am sorry to disappoint, but we keep no spirits in this house,” she flickered a look up. “Grandmother does not drink on principle, and it’s not good for James’s constitution.”
“Not true, Emmy!” James contested. “I had the cakes from the church’s Christmas’ celebration.”
“It’s a cake,” she said dryly. “I am sure the content inside is not as much as you’d find in a glass.”
Cillian’s eyes shifted between the two of them, while his lips twitched. “You two are just as I remembered, always sniping at each other. You know what, Emma, I’ll take some lemonade.”
“One moment,” she said and turned to the cupboards.
“So, James,” Cillian started casually. “What have you been occupying yourself with lately? Still reading those adventure books of yours?”
“I finished Gulliver’s Travels again,” James said proudly. “Emmy reads to me, but I can do the giants part on my own now. And I’ve been reading the broadsheets too.”
“The broadsheets?” Cillian’s brows rose with mild amusement. “And what does the great James Haverleigh make of current affairs?”
“There’s a man called the Phantom of the Great Wen who breaks into lords’ houses and finds out their secrets,” James said. “I only read his parts. I think he sounds brave.”
Cillian snorted. “You sure it isn’t just your dear sister enacting vengeance on the ton?”
“Don’t encourage him, Cillian,” Emma said as she took out the lemonade pitcher.
“Always the killjoy, dear cousin,” Cillian rolled his eyes, then turned back to James. “And how’s your title? Still gathering dust on a shelf?”
Emma paused on taking the glass down from the sill. Something inside her stomach somersaulted with trepidation because of Cillian’s tone. What an odd thing to ask.
“Grandmother has my documents somewhere,” James shrugged. “It’s not like the title is worth that much; the viscountcy died with Papa.”
Not entirely true. The viscountcy is in flux.
“You are mistaken, cousin,” Cillian tutted. “The viscountcy is fine. Your father entrusted a steward to manage it in your absence. Surely, you must have received annual or quarterly letters of what was done on your behalf.”
James’ eyes widened. “I have never seen any such a thing.”
Emma took the glass down and filled it with cool lemonade, then handed it to Cillian. “Why your sudden interest in the title?”
“Just idle curiosity,” Cillian shrugged. “I was trying to make a jest, but it fell flat, I suppose.
Emma narrowed her eyes, “A title isn’t everything, you know.”
“Of course it is, silly.” He laughed. “You’ll see the benefits of such things when you marry a lettered lord. By the by, who is this mysterious lord, if I may ask?”
“How do you know he is a Lord?”
Cillian flashed a look at James, who was engrossed in the contents of the hearth oven again.
“I’ll tell you…” Emma began, then gave him a tight smile, “…if it does come to something.”
“Fair enough,” Cillian replied, before finishing his glass and then plucking a timepiece out from his coat. After inspecting it, he sighed. “It seems I must head off for a prior engagement. I hope to see you again before I go off to Manchester, dear Emma and James.”
“I’d love that!” James clapped excitedly. “And thank you for the new boots. I did need some.”
“You gifted him boots?” Emma curled a brow, slightly shocked.
“New leather, made by a man I put my trust in,” Cillian said as he embraced James. “If I do not see you for Christmastide, consider it an early gift. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, dear Emma. It takes a bit more to decipher what is best to give a young lady.”
“Or you could ask me,” Emma offered.
“I would,” he laughed. “But that would take away from the surprise. Now, I must go. Take care the both of you and give Grandmother my love.”
“Will do,” Emma promised him and trailed after him as he got to the door.
She watched as he stepped into his waiting carriage and soon enough the vehicle went off, leaving her to lean against the doorjamb. Cillian’s visit confused her and tickled an uneasy sensation in her belly.
He was never one to give his poor cousins much attention, and while it was honestly possible that he had been in Town and remembered them, she felt there was more about it than what he’d presented.
She turned to James. “May I see the boots?”
“Sure!” James beamed.
As he skipped off, her eyes strayed to the clock in the corner of the room, noting it was about six hours to midnight. Was she truly going to go to Vincent at midnight? Did she dare?