Marrying The Major. Joanna Maitland

allow that little minx’s pranks to delay you beyond your time.’

      The two young men were already making their way into the garden. Watching them, Sir Edward gave a weary shake of his head, ‘Heaven help me. Whatever shall I do with such a hoyden?’

      Emma was so deeply immersed in the fantastic adventures of the heroine of her novel that it took several minutes before the voices penetrated her concentration. Goodness—they were standing almost directly beneath her. She offered a quick prayer that they would not look up and sat as if frozen.

      ‘Well, she’s clearly not here,’ said one voice with just a thread of irritation in it.

      Emma immediately recognised Richard’s voice—and the annoyance. They had been fast friends almost since she was in leading strings but, of late, he was a little less indulgent than before. Her father said that Richard was now too grown-up to bother with a grubby little hoyden, that once he finished university he would have no time at all for Emma. But Richard wouldn’t do that, would he?

      Emma opened her mouth to call down to Richard, but thought better of it. Someone else was with him…

      ‘When she doesn’t want to be found,’ said the second voice, ‘she seems to disappear into thin air. I’d have expected you to go straight to her hiding-place, Richard. After all the time you’ve spent on this estate, you should know every nook and cranny.’

      Emma smiled slightly at the second voice. It was Richard’s friend Hugo Stratton, and he sounded more amused than annoyed. Hugo was not like Richard—except a little in looks, perhaps. Hugo did not treat Emma like a grubby little sister, to be teased and provoked. Hugo treated her almost like a lady.

      Almost, she repeated to herself. For Hugo Stratton had a wicked sense of humour. He was quite capable of behaving like a perfect gentleman while secretly laughing at everyone around him. Only the decided glint in his eye betrayed his unholy glee—and Emma had quickly learned to look for that, before anything else.

      But now, from her vantage point, all she could make out was the top of his head.

      The tree shook suddenly, as if some giant had leaned heavily against it. It was only the wind, but Emma clutched at her book, loose in her lap, to prevent it from falling. She was too late to retrieve the apple core, though, which rolled down through the branches. Mercifully, it stopped, caught on a tiny twig a few feet below Emma’s perch.

      ‘I thought I did know all Emma’s hiding-places,’ said Richard’s voice thoughtfully, ‘but clearly not. The little brat has obviously been keeping something from me. And if we don’t find her soon, she won’t have a chance to see you before you go—and then she’ll be fizzing mad.’

      ‘Why should she be?’ Hugo sounded puzzled. ‘She hardly knows me.’

      ‘With Emma, that’s not the point. She may be only thirteen, but she believes she has a divine right to know everything about everyone round here—and to put in her two penn’orth. If you leave without saying goodbye, she’ll ring a peal over me for ignoring her.’

      ‘But she’s only a child—’

      ‘Only sometimes, Hugo. Sometimes, she sounds exactly like a Society lady. It’s uncanny—especially since she still looks like a child, all dirt and scratches and tangles.’

      ‘Maybe she’s growing up,’ said Hugo quietly.

      ‘Now, that would be a pity,’ replied Richard. ‘We’ve had such fun together. She’s a great sport, you know. Never complains about cuts and bruises, or getting wet and muddy when we go fishing. I can’t imagine her as a young lady, all prim and proper and simpering—and clean!’ He laughed aloud at that.

      Emma did not pause to wonder why Hugo was leaving, for she was almost overcome by righteous anger at Richard’s words. She was not always a grubby urchin as he seemed to believe and—

      And then her eyes became riveted on the apple core. The tree was moving again, almost as if it were responding to Richard’s laughter. The apple core had become half-dislodged and it was starting to slip…

      She held her breath. For a long moment, there was silence.

      ‘I wish I were going with you, Hugo,’ said Richard, sounding suddenly very serious. ‘But with m’father the way he is…’

      ‘I know.’ Hugo sounded sympathetic. ‘But even if Lord Hardinge were not ailing, you still wouldn’t be permitted to go, you know. There are times when I’m really glad I’m only a younger son. And this is one of them. My mother’s brother has told me what great fun he had when he first joined the regiment. The older officers played all sorts of tricks on him of course—it’s a bit like school, in that sense—but he had such adventures…’

      ‘Yes, I know. You told me, remember?’ Richard was more than a little envious of his friend’s good fortune. Emma could hear it in his voice. As an only son, he would never be allowed to join the army.

      ‘Where on earth can she be?’ said Richard with a sudden burst of fury. ‘You go and look in the orchard, Hugo. I’ll search down by the river, but that’s it. If we don’t find her in the next ten minutes, we’ll have to go. You can’t afford to be late.’ He thumped the tree in exasperation. ‘Blast the brat. Why can she never behave?’

      The apple core jumped just a fraction, hung suspended in mid-air for what seemed like seconds, and then disappeared down through the leaves.

      Emma swallowed a gasp. Then, with a tiny shrug of her shoulders, she leaned towards the gap in the branches. She might as well give in gracefully. They were bound to find her now.

      But Richard had gone, striding angrily across the lawn in the direction of the river.

      Down below her, a sudden shout of laughter was quickly stifled. Hugo’s voice, rippling with amusement, said quite clearly, ‘Now, that is strange. My education must have been sadly at fault. I’d have sworn that this was an oak tree, but it’s obviously an apple. Unless this is an oak-apple… Yes, that must be it. And the teeth-marks must have been made by a…a squirrel, I suppose. Very large squirrels they have on this estate. Next time, I’ll bring my gun…’

      Emma could have sworn she saw a flash of white teeth through the leaves. The next moment, Hugo was sprinting across the grass to the orchard, without once looking back.

      She stuffed her book into her pocket and began to climb down, automatically finding the well-known footholds. Little brat, was she? Never clean? Well, she would show Richard Hardinge.

      She raced across the lawn to the side door, raging inwardly all the while. With Nurse’s help, she would be clean and ladylike in a trice—well, ten minutes, at most. She would appear as a prim, proper—and demure—young lady. She’d show him…them.

      No. That wasn’t fair. Hugo Stratton had not called her a grimy brat. Hugo had known perfectly well where she was, but he had just laughed—and flashed that wonderful smile…

      Chapter One

      1816

      Emma Fitzwilliam slowed her chestnut mare to a relatively sedate trot just before she came in sight of the lodge gates. It was bad enough that she had ridden out without her groom. No need to make matters worse by galloping into the Harding estate like a mannerless hoyden.

      She patted her blonde hair into place. Time to assume the role of the perfect lady—the role that she had long since learnt to don as easily as a pair of fine silk stockings.

      Emma was longing to see Richard and his wife again. It was only a few months since the Earl and Countess Hardinge had left England for the Continent but, to Emma, it seemed like years. Surprisingly, given that Richard had been her childhood friend, it was his wife, nicknamed Jamie, whom Emma had really missed. The two women had become as close as sisters since Jamie’s marriage. Letters had been exchanged, naturally, but that always meant delay; communications with France remained, at best, uncertain, even though the war had been over for nearly