how the mighty have fallen,” he murmured. “Proposals one evening, insults the next.”
“We have agreed to forget that proposal!”
“I do try, but I find it keeps coming back—” Emma looked at him with interest. “Like a toothache,” he added.
“Try oil of cloves. I hope you don’t have the party while I’m in London!”
“Why do you not put off the trip until after the party?”
“We haven’t set a definite time.” Emma was less eager for the trip since she had learned Derek was so shabby. “Very well, we shall wait until after your rout. It will be my first party since John’s death. I shall feel nervous as a deb.”
He lifted his glass and examined Emma over the rim. “Don’t worry. You’ll be the prettiest lady there.” She gave him a little smile, then he added blandly, “I shan’t invite the Lawry girls, or Miss Blenkinsop, or—”
“Or the Dowager Countess of Reeves.”
“Oh, I must invite her. Isn’t it nice that you’ve found someone other than William Bounty with whom you can have some intelligent conversation, Emma?” he asked facetiously. “We were not used to being so intellectual in our little tête-à-têtes.”
“Very true. You were used to flirt with me, when I was safely married to John. Well, it is my own fault, after all, for frightening you. And now we must return to the saloon. We cannot leave Miss Foxworth alone all evening.”
He put on a face of mock alarm. “Do you think it’s safe?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m pretty sure she has her eye on me as well. Don’t leave me alone with her.”
“That offer went to your head, Nick. One would think you had never been courted before.”
He rose and lifted her fingers to his lips. “Never by such an Incomparable—until I met the Dowager Countess, of course.”
She wrenched her hand free and strode out the door, hiding her smile behind stiff shoulders.
Chapter Seven
Derek Hunter had still not returned when Emma retired at midnight. His bleary eyes, when he came to the breakfast parlor the next morning, suggested he had been out late and drinking hard. Immediately after breakfast he asked Emma out to ride, mentioning that his Arabian gelding should be here by now. As this imaginary horse had not appeared, he rode the late Sir John’s mount. As they cantered through her meadows and pastures, he pressed on her the changes that would be required to turn Whitehern into a stud farm.
“I’m really not at all interested in that, Mr. Hunter,” she said firmly.
When they stopped by the pond to rest, Mr. Hunter showed her to a grassy surface and dropped down beside her. He removed his curled beaver and gazed out over her land with a proprietary eye. He saw not a rich, thriving dairy farm, with a new crop of calves insuring future prosperity, but a stud farm manqué. The location, too, was excellent. There wasn’t a good stud farm in this southeastern corner of England.
Emma admired him, as he admired her estate. His platinum hair and blue eyes had never looked more delightful. He turned and saw her gazing at him. It was all the encouragement he required. Before she could stop him, he had seized her hand and began pressing compliments on her.
“So beautiful, so unspoiled.”
She wrenched her hand away. “Really, Mr. Hunter! You mustn’t say such things.”
“Let me speak my heart, Emma. You’re just the sort of game chick I always hoped to find. I think you and I would deal very well. You know all about me from Aunt Miriam. It’s not as though we’re strangers, after all. I wouldn’t have spoken so soon, but it happens I met a fellow last night who has an excellent Arab stud up for sale. He’s only asking a thousand pounds for him.”
“A thousand pounds!”
“Incredible, isn’t it? He’s worth two or three times that. It happens that I’m a little short at the moment, just until next quarter day. I wouldn’t borrow from you unless there was an understanding between us.”
“We have agreed to forget that proposal!”
“I do try, but I find it keeps coming back—” Emma looked at him with interest. “Like a toothache,” he added.
“Try oil of cloves. I hope you don’t have the party while I’m in London!”
“Why do you not put off the trip until after the party?”
“We haven’t set a definite time.” Emma was less eager for the trip since she had learned Derek was so shabby. “Very well, we shall wait until after your rout. It will be my first party since John’s death. I shall feel nervous as a deb.”
He lifted his glass and examined Emma over the rim. “Don’t worry. You’ll be the prettiest lady there.” She gave him a little smile, then he added blandly, “I shan’t invite the Lawry girls, or Miss Blenkinsop, or—”
“Or the Dowager Countess of Reeves.”
“Oh, I must invite her. Isn’t it nice that you’ve found someone other than William Bounty with whom you can have some intelligent conversation, Emma?” he asked facetiously. “We were not used to being so intellectual in our little tête-à-têtes.”
“Very true. You were used to flirt with me, when I was safely married to John. Well, it is my own fault, after all, for frightening you. And now we must return to the saloon. We cannot leave Miss Foxworth alone all evening.”
He put on a face of mock alarm. “Do you think it’s safe?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m pretty sure she has her eye on me as well. Don’t leave me alone with her.”
“That offer went to your head, Nick. One would think you had never been courted before.”
He rose and lifted her fingers to his lips. “Never by such an Incomparable—until I met the Dowager Countess, of course.”
She wrenched her hand free and strode out the door, hiding her smile behind stiff shoulders.
Chapter Seven
Derek Hunter had still not returned when Emma retired at midnight. His bleary eyes, when he came to the breakfast parlor the next morning, suggested he had been out late and drinking hard. Immediately after breakfast he asked Emma out to ride, mentioning that his Arabian gelding should be here by now. As this imaginary horse had not appeared, he rode the late Sir John’s mount. As they cantered through her meadows and pastures, he pressed on her the changes that would be required to turn Whitehern into a stud farm.
“I’m really not at all interested in that, Mr. Hunter,” she said firmly.
When they stopped by the pond to rest, Mr. Hunter showed her to a grassy surface and dropped down beside her. He removed his curled beaver and gazed out over her land with a proprietary eye. He saw not a rich, thriving dairy farm, with a new crop of calves insuring future prosperity, but a stud farm manqué. The location, too, was excellent. There wasn’t a good stud farm in this southeastern corner of England.
Emma admired him, as he admired her estate. His platinum hair and blue eyes had never looked more delightful. He turned and saw her gazing at him. It was all the encouragement he required. Before she could stop him, he had seized her hand and began pressing compliments on her.
“So beautiful, so unspoiled.”
She wrenched her hand away. “Really, Mr. Hunter! You mustn’t say such things.”
“Let me speak my heart, Emma. You’re just the sort of game chick I always hoped to find. I think you and I would deal very well. You know all about me from Aunt Miriam. It’s not as though we’re strangers, after all. I wouldn’t have spoken so soon, but it happens I met a fellow last night who has an excellent Arab stud up for sale. He’s only asking a thousand pounds for him.”
“A thousand pounds!”
“Incredible, isn’t it? He’s worth two or three times that. It happens that I’m a little short at the moment, just until next quarter day. I wouldn’t borrow from you unless there was an understanding between us.”
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