Page 19 of To Marry and to Meddle
“Frances, please,” the countess said merrily. “After all, we are sisters now!”
“Then you must call me Emily,” Emily said warmly, trying to ignore the faint squelching sounds that her shoes were making. There was truly no reason she should be this wet, when great pains had been taken to ensure that she stayed dry, but she had had the misfortune tostep down from the carriage directly into an enormous puddle, and so squelch she did. Julian, noticing her struggle, paused to reach out and twine her arm through his.
The countess—Frances—was about Emily’s own age, or perhaps a bit younger, and she was tall and slender, her hair a dark auburn and her eyes the exact same dazzling blue as those of her brother. Emily recalled that she had been a great success over the course of a couple of Seasons, turning down several offers of marriage from exceedingly eligible gentlemen before becoming engaged to the Earl of Risedale in what was rumored to be a passionate love match. Emily’s impression, based on the past five minutes, was of a sister who was extremely fond of her elder brother—and positively burning with curiosity about the wife he had shown up with.
To the countess’s credit, however, she was doing an admirable job of hiding that curiosity.
So far.
“We never get to see Julian as often as we wish,” Frances continued, tossing a fond look over her shoulder at her brother. “I should have known all along that the key was simply to get him married, and then he’d immediately appear on our doorstep.”
“I don’t believe I can take any credit,” Emily said. “It is a rather curious series of events that led us here this afternoon.”
“Which I’d love to hear all about, once you’ve had a chance to dry off,” Frances said. “Ah, here we are—this is our very best guest room. You should be quite comfortable in here.” She opened the door before them as she spoke, revealing not just a single room but a suite, with a small sitting room leading into a bedchamber; through the open interior door, Emily could just glimpse the sight of a large bed.
From the basket in her hand came an inquisitivemeow, and Emilyglanced down, startled, having almost forgotten she was holding it. Cecil gazed up at her from his cocoon of chemises. He alone among them seemed to have emerged from the storm entirely warm, dry, and unscathed, and Emily, despite her great affection for the kitten, could not help but wonder if she herself would be a bit warmer and drier if she had not expended so much energy in seeing to his well-being during the brief journey from carriage to front door.
Frances, predictably, dissolved into paroxysms of delight at the sight of his fluffy little black-and-white face, and Emily gazed fondly upon the tableau of her new beloved companion basking in the glory and affection his hostess so eagerly bestowed upon him. It really was enough to bring a tear to one’s eye.
“Jesus Christ,” Julian muttered in an undertone.
Emily scowled at him.
Cecil started purring.
After a few more minutes of this, Frances at last departed, with promises to have a lavish feast from the kitchens sent up for his lordship.
“Thank you, Frannie, I really am quite famished,” Julian said.
“I meant the cat, Julian, don’t be absurd,” his sister said severely. “You go change into some dry clothes. I do not believe that you are so traumatized by a bit of rain that you can’t make it downstairs to eat and socialize like a normal human being.”
“I hate that cat,” Julian observed to the room, and Emily felt rather gratified when, this time, Frances joined her in her scowling.
Three-quarters of an hour later, Emily and Julian were warm and dry and happily munching on some rather excellent ginger biscuits in thecozy comfort of what Frances had called the green drawing room—it was, indeed, quite green, from the green silk sofa to the green-and-gold-papered walls—as the rain continued in a torrential downpour that was visible through the mullioned windows that lined one wall.
“Cream? Sugar?” Frances asked Emily as she poured her tea.
“Neither, thank you,” Emily said, accepting her cup and watching with interest as Frances added a generous dollop of milk and two sugar cubes to her brother’s cup. Catching sight of Emily’s amused face, Frances grinned.
“Yes, he still drinks tea as if he were a small boy in the nursery,” she said, handing the cup to her brother, who did not look remotely embarrassed.
“I don’t see why I should drink the stuff if it doesn’t taste good,” he said unrepentantly.
“You drink your coffee black in the mornings,” Emily pointed out, then paused, registering that she had noticed this. It seemed awfully… wifely.
“That is because I have no choice but to drink coffee, as it’s the only thing that makes me feel remotely human in the morning hours,” he said, taking another sip of tea. “Tea, however, is a choice, and I don’t see why I should choose to drink it if I don’t enjoy it.”
Emily took a sip of her own tea, relishing the sensation of it scalding the roof of her mouth. “I think it tastes lovely,” she said serenely.
“You are unnatural,” he replied, but the look in his eyes as he teased her told her that he found her anything but.
Frances, meanwhile, had prepared her own cup and was regarding this exchange with great interest.
“So,” she said, seeming to have decided that she’d been patient and polite quite long enough. “You’re married.”
“I believe we established that already,” Julian confirmed.
“By special license,” Frances said.
