Chapter 4
To anybody else present, the Duke of Calder’s garden party would certainly have appeared to be a resounding success. And it had been, Emerson knew that much.
And yet it had shaken him to the core of his being and had had an effect on him that he could never have expected.
By the time he had greeted his twentieth group of guests, Emerson had begun to find a certain rhythm to it all. The first few were a little awkward, that much was true, but he knew that he had a certain amount of natural charm, the untaught and unpolished variety that he had always had, and the more he began to relax into his own personality, the easier each greeting became.
Even those who had come agog with curiosity to see the elusive Duke, the young man who had barely been at home most of his life, had begun to seem amusing to him rather than unsettling.
And then Felix Allencourt had introduced the daughter of his cousin, Miss Georgina Jeffries. And the moment he heard her name, the very moment he heard her name, all his new-found ease seemed to evaporate. Emerson had felt as if he had slipped through a crack in time and was falling helplessly, his arms flailing wildly as he tried to retain his composure.
She gave no real indication that she had recognized him at all, barring a momentary narrowing of her gaze that was so brief he still was not entirely sure that he had seen it at all. And her conversation had been such that the initial sense of panic soon left him, even if the feeling of being greatly unsettled did not. And hours later as he stared at the firelight dancing on the crystal of the whisky decanter, that feeling seemed to oscillate. One moment he felt the relief that he was certain she did not know him and the next, all he could do was imagine the ramifications if the realization of who he really was ever dawned on her.
His sudden shock had loosened his tongue, and he had begun to chatter to Georgina Jeffries as if it would somehow prove to her that she could not possibly know him.
“Tell me, Miss Jeffries, are you staying with Mr Allencourt and his family?”
“Yes, I arrived a little over a fortnight ago, Your Grace.”
“And where is home to you ordinarily, Miss Jeffries?” As he continued to talk, he was aware of Felix Allencourt’s daughter, Fleur, studying him closely.
No doubt the young lady thought that he had taken an instant liking to her visiting cousin, and why would she not? After all, Georgina Jeffries had grown into a most beautiful young woman.
“I live on the edge of a little town called Horley in Hertfordshire, Your Grace.”
“And how do you like Devonshire, Miss Jeffries?” Emerson had felt his mouth go dry, yet he seemed unable to stop talking.
He knew he ought really to be paying equal attention to the rest of her family, but his sense of panic had created an urgency within him to convince the young lady that he was a stranger to her, an interested stranger who had no idea where she came from.
“I like it very much indeed, Your Grace. And to be staying in a beautiful place which is so close to the sea is a great treat for me. There are rivers and lakes aplenty in Hertfordshire, but I think there is nothing to compare to the sight and sound of waves rolling in.”
“I am in complete agreement, Miss Jeffries, but I am biased.” He laughed and was pleased to see that she smiled warmly without any hint of suspicion. “But I am sure that Hertfordshire is a fine county indeed.”
“Indeed, it is, Your Grace.”
“And how long will you be staying in this part of the world, Miss Jeffries?”
“It is rather open-ended, Your Grace.”
“Yes, Miss Jeffries is here taking the wonderful Devonshire air so that she might recover from an illness she suffered lately,” Felix Allencourt added helpfully.
“Oh dear, I hope you are recovering well?”
“Very well indeed, thank you. In truth, I am very much back to my old self, although my dear cousins are very attentive nonetheless.”
“I am sure that they are very glad to have you here,” he said and finally found himself able to turn away and include Fleur and Jeremy Allencourt in the conversation.
“I am very pleased to have her here, Your Grace,” Fleur said warmly, and he thought it likely that she was a nice young woman indeed.
“As am I, Your Grace.” Jeremy Allencourt, a man of his own age who was handsome and fair, smiled amiably. “It is always better to have two women in the house chastising you than simply one.”
“Indeed, I am sure that is true.” For a moment, Emerson had found himself able to relax and laugh with the pleasing young man.
He was grateful to him for easing the tension for a moment and providing him with some respite, a tiny slice of time in which to order his thoughts a little better and be certain to keep his countenance in check.
Emerson had been grateful to see his butler hovering a few feet away as the group of people gathered to be greeted by the Duke of Calder had greatly increased. He realized that he had been speaking to the Allencourt party for some time, perhaps devoting a little too much attention to them as compared with everybody else in attendance.
“Well, you must enjoy your afternoon and the fine weather we seem to be blessed with today,” Emerson said in a sort of polite dismissal that he was not at all comfortable with.
He had never really been comfortable with much of what went along with being such a titled man, and it did not seem at all right to behave that way with Georgina Jeffries. It felt so false.
The rest of his greetings seemed to drift by in a haze of indistinct chatter, as all the while Emerson let his attention stray this way and that just to see where she was.
It was almost as if he could not quite believe he had seen her, not to mention the fact that she had appeared not to recognize him. Every time he looked, he fully expected her to be looking back at him, her face full of recollection of the boy who had once lived in her house.
Emerson sighed and poured himself another large whisky, settling back into the heavy armchair that he had drawn up to the fire. He looked and felt dishevelled, with his tailcoat thrown carelessly over the back of the chair and his blue waistcoat hanging open. He had untied the necktie of his shirt and let it hang loosely down over the top of his unbuttoned waistcoat.
He ran his hand through his thick hair and could feel that it had given up its attempt at neat ash-brown order and had returned to its ordinarily unruly state.
Emerson took a hearty gulp of the whisky and knew that he had already taken too much; his head would be thick and cloudy the next day, and he would regret taking on so much alcohol. But that concern was for tomorrow.
As the alcohol began to take the edge off his concerns, Emerson realized that there was another reason why he had spent the rest of the garden party with one eye on Georgina Jeffries. In all his one and twenty years, Emerson Lockhart knew that Georgina Jeffries had indeed been his only real friend.
It was true that he had not seen her for more than a decade, but her kindness and care when they were children was something that he had never forgotten, despite his best efforts to adhere to his father’s advice of retraining his mind to believe in a different past altogether.
Georgina or Georgie as he had called her back then, was the only person he had ever missed when he had been taken away that night by Garrett Winstanley; ripped out of one world and neatly inserted into another.
He had been but eleven years old the last time he had seen her, and she just nine. But she had been a clever, quick-witted little girl, one with a big heart and the courage to use it wisely. She had defied the awful old woman, the one he had a recollection was her grandmother, to befriend the boy who was nothing more than a servant in her house.
But he also remembered that Georgie, like him, seemed always to be alone. They were the only children in that great house, and they were of an age to make natural friends.
It seemed to him that so much had happened since then, so many changes had occurred in his young life, that he could hardly remember much of what had gone before. And when he added in his father’s version of events, the things he must practice until he believed them himself, it all became much more confusing.
But Emerson was sure he could remember Georgie finding herself in trouble on more than one occasion for spending too much time with the boy who helped out in the stables, cleaned the boots and shoes, and took on whatever little tasks the housekeeper set him to.
And he remembered how it felt every time Georgie returned to him, even when he thought that her grandmother had chastised her so much that she never would. It always filled him with hope somehow, the idea that there might be more people out in the world just like Georgie. People who did not judge or only select their friends from a very narrow group of people.
But what he could not remember was quite how he got to that place in Hertfordshire initially. He knew with certainty that he had been a servant in Georgie’s home, and when she had said she had lived on the edge of the small town of Horley, the memory of that name had flooded back with such force he had been absolutely certain that he could only be talking to his old childhood friend.
Emerson wondered if there had been another life before he had arrived at that house in Hertfordshire. And how was it that he had come to be there when his own father had been born and always lived in Devonshire? If only the old Duke had explained that to him when he had asked. After all, it was little enough information for a man to have about his own origins.
Draining the remaining whisky in the glass and determining not to have any more, Emerson wondered if his own mother had been from Hertfordshire. But whether she was or was not, it could not explain why he had ended up as a servant in the house of people he was sure he did not know or have any connection to.
And yet he remembered being there from a very young age, he was sure. Emerson let out a great sigh and knew that he would have to revisit such memories when his head was much clearer. These were things which had been lashed down beneath a haze of half-truths and outright lies; things which had not been thought of fully for several years.
It would take some work, Emerson knew, but he would have to go back to that time in his head and search for old truths which now might make sense.
And as for Georgie, he really did not know what to do. Although she seemed to be as clever as always, but now with the poise and grace of a grown woman, Emerson realized that he did not really know her anymore. If she did find out who he was, what might she do with that information? Would she make it known to all, or would she still be a friend to him and defy the expectations of those around her?
He determined that he would find out more about Georgie; he would gently try to discover if she was still the same person underneath her adult exterior. And he would start with the musical evening at the assembly rooms.
That was the only further piece of information Emerson had gathered after leaving the Allencourt party to make their way into the gardens. When they had bid farewell to their host and had begun to depart for their own carriage at the end of the afternoon, Emerson had overheard Fleur Allencourt telling her cousin that she dearly hoped she would be well enough to attend the assembly rooms when the string quartet was playing.
Emerson rose to his feet and slumped out of the drawing room, slowly heading for the stairs in a less than straight line. Now that he was upright, his head was spinning, and he knew that he would have a most uncomfortable night followed by a most unhealthy morning.
But soon he would be back to his old self and able to think things through properly and decide how best to truly proceed.
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