Chapter Seventeen
It was now St. John’s Eve, as Midsummer’s Eve was known these days, and a full two weeks since James had last visited the Keanes. He’d been busy in the interim, scouting about for properties for his veterans’ hospital.
But not before making travel arrangements for Miss Emma Hibbert, which he’d done as soon as he returned home. He’d corresponded directly with Mr. Keane concerning the arrangements for her passage and was disappointed to discover she hadn’t revealed her final destination to her employer. Instead, she’d elected to be dropped off at the ghastly Four Swans, the unhappy scene of his brief imprisonment.
He was intrigued to know more about her. What was her real name? How important had her family once been? And was there no way of solving their financial difficulties? He also wanted to know if anything further had occurred between her and Charles. He was determined to voice his disapproval, if it had. Not that Mr. Keane would know anything about that.
Yesterday, a scribbled note had arrived from Charles to tell him they were due to depart for Brighton shortly, and did he want to come with them? Or perhaps pay a visit to Figheldene Hall before they left?
Remembering the uncomfortable incident that had occurred on his last visit, James was none too willing. Not with Charles, but with Philippa. He wasn’t sure he could keep his countenance in front of her. It would be easier to avoid the Keanes altogether, but Charles would make a fuss if his old friend deserted him and would want to know why.
James, however, wasn’t prepared to divulge a secret that was not his own.
On the bright side, Emma Hibbert would still be there, or so he hoped. Still, he couldn’t rely on Charles throwing ink over himself to permit James a few moments alone with the young lady.
He’d just have to take his chances on all accounts.
Stepping onto the mounting block, he threw a leg over Lawrie, then urged the horse to a brisk trot and reached Figheldene in under half an hour.
Mr. Keane greeted him with great good humor. James had long suspected Charles’s father of continually comparing his scapegrace son with James himself. He was lauded as a paragon of virtue, urging poor Charles to aspire to similar heights of rectitude, good manners, and the ability to find useful occupation. Fortunately, this situation had not, thus far, led to any bad blood between himself and Charles.
To his relief, Keane apologized that Philippa and Mrs. Keane were out visiting a silk mercer’s in Bath and intended to stay the night with Keane’s sister, Letitia—thus sparing James the awkwardness he was sure would ensue when he and Philippa next met face-to-face.
When he asked after the Keanes’ governess, he was told she’d left for home only that morning, to care for her convalescent father, and was expected to remain there until the Keanes returned from their sojourn in Brighton.
How infuriating! He’d missed her by only a few hours. Why had it taken him so long to decide to visit?
Deep down, he knew the answer to that question—he was a great deal more interested in Miss Hibbert than he cared to admit. He’d spent days reminding himself not to get entangled with someone who had such an unruly tongue and such unshakeable opinions. Not to mention her current station.
It seemed he was losing the battle. To hide his disappointment, he asked, “Have you heard of any properties for sale recently? My agent tells me there are several to be had within twenty miles of Bath, but I thought you might actually have visited some of the places and can advise me on where to look first.”
“I have, indeed,” replied Keane, ringing the bell. “I’ll just order tea, then run to my study to fetch the notes I’ve been making for you.”
While waiting, James wandered across to the window and attempted to peer through the diamond-shaped panes. The rippled glass distorted the image of the cobbled courtyard outside, with its ancient fig tree pushing up the stones in one corner, the collapsing wooden wheelbarrow used for mucking out the stables, and various children’s toys spread about the place. He wondered if Willie and Mary would miss their governess and how long she was likely to be away from Figheldene.
If only he knew where she lived. He could drop by and make sure she’d had a good journey and that her father was recovering.
“James! How could you come to Figheldene and not let me know? I am mortally wounded by your careless manners.”
“Charles!” James stepped forward, hand outstretched, and greeted his old friend. “I trust I find you well. Indeed, you look very nicely turned out. Not an ink spot to be seen.”
Charles grimaced. “Trust you to bring that up. But the breeches were new—well, new-ish—and I was damned if I was going to let them be ruined. I daresay you’ve no idea how much it costs to get a decent pair of breeches these days—you just order what you want from your tailor and cost be damned.”
Of course he knew how much breeches cost. He spent hours monitoring his household and estate expenses. Charles had no idea.
“Ouch!” he exclaimed rather than refuting, and pressed a hand to his heart. “Now it is I who am mortally wounded.”
“Never mind that,” Charles said crisply. Taking James’s arm, he led him away from the window and into the corner farthest from the door. Lowering his voice, he said, “You tore a strip off me that day for trying to kiss Hibbert, and I’m not sure I’ve forgiven you yet.”
James’s heart pumped harder. This was not a subject he wanted to discuss. At least, not with Mr. Keane due back any moment.
“I thought I had good reason,” James said, equally softly. “You have a bad reputation when it comes to misusing servants.”
“Ah, but this one’s different,” Charles said, pinching James’s arm for emphasis. “There’s something special about her. I believe you’ve noticed it yourself, or you wouldn’t have paid for her to hire a private carriage back to wherever it is she comes from.”
Damnation! He hadn’t wanted Charles to find out about that. It was meant to have been kept between himself and Mr. Keane.
“I felt sorry for the girl,” James replied, keeping his tone light. “The expense was nothing to me. I knew your mama would never have approved of the governess traveling in a hired chaise, and I didn’t want to embarrass anyone, so I dealt directly with your father.”
“Yes,” said Charles, his mouth twisting. “You and he are always in cahoots. I sometimes wonder why I’m still friends with you when all you do is show me up.”
“And I wonder why I’m still friends with you,” James retorted with a wry grin, “when you never have a good word to say about me!”
Charles waved a dismissive hand. “That’s all beside the point. I just wanted you to know that I’m serious about Hibbert. So, there’s no need for you to dash in and think you’re rescuing her. Just leave me to court her in whatever way I choose, and don’t interfere.”
Court her?
James’s breath caught in his throat, and he felt the muscles of his jaw clench. He didn’t know what to say. He was being warned off?
But Charles wasn’t serious, surely? Court his family’s governess? Marry his family’s governess? It would be scandalous in the extreme. Any liaison between Emma and Charles would prove Charles’s undoing. He would be disowned by his father, his mother and, more particularly, by his mercurial Aunt Letitia, from whom he expected to inherit a considerable amount of money.
Before James could comment or examine his feelings any further, he heard footsteps coming along the passageway.
Edging away from Charles, he took up position by the window again and schooled his expression to one of polite neutrality as Mr. Keane came back into the room. But his heart still pounded uncomfortably from the shock of Charles’s revelation.
As he joined Mr. Keane at the table to pore over the newspapers he’d brought in with him, Charles left the room, tapping his nose knowingly as he left.
And James realized why his heart was pounding.
He’d never before come so close to punching his best friend. This situation between Charles and Miss Emma Hibbert was unacceptable for all concerned.
It was clearly up to James to do something about it.
But what?