Marrying The Major. Joanna Maitland

urged her mare to slightly greater speed.

      As she rounded the corner of the house, Emma saw a little group of figures sitting on the lawn under the ancestral oak. She started towards them, but then paused, for Jamie was not there. Two men were sitting on a rug with a very small child, much hampered by his petticoats. Goodness, how Dickon had grown. Emma barely recognised her little godson. He must be nigh on a year old by now.

      Dickon’s anxious nursemaid was hovering as close as she dared, watching lest the clumsy males should mishandle her charge. Not much chance of that in Richard’s case, Emma thought, for he doted on Dickon and spent much more time with his little son than most fathers did. The other gentleman, however, seemed not to have noticed the child. He was half-turned away, apparently gazing into the middle distance.

      Emma screwed up her eyes against the glare to get a good view of the second man. She did not know him, she was sure, though she could see little more than his profile. He was dark, like Richard, but his lined face looked older and much more serious—rather austere, in fact, in Emma’s opinion. She hoped, secretly, that she would not have to meet him. It would spoil the happiness of her day to meet a man who preached at her.

      At that moment, little Dickon started to toddle towards the newcomer, holding out his arms and grinning toothily. His inarticulate squeals of joy at his own prowess carried across the lawn. The nursemaid started forward, arms outstretched to catch her darling before he fell. Richard—apparently unconcerned—smiled benignly. Dickon took two more steps, rocking unsteadily from one side to the other. His precarious balance was obviously beginning to desert him; his infectious grin was turning into the quivering lip that promised a wail of disappointment.

      And then the stranger turned back towards the child, bending forward to catch him and lift him high in the air. In a matter of moments, Dickon was convulsed in shrieks of delighted laughter.

      When, at last, the man moved to return the child to his father, Emma caught sight of his profile once more.

      She could scarce believe what she saw. Why, he was almost like a different person. Playing with Richard’s child had transformed the unknown from a harsh, forbidding man into someone much younger, someone whose face was alight with laughter and a flashing smile…and all because of one tiny child.

      Emma suddenly felt as if she were eavesdropping on the visitor’s innermost thoughts. Instinctively, she urged her mare towards the house.

      The door opened well before she reached it. The butler stood waiting for her, his normally impassive countenance wreathed in smiles for the young lady who had been running around the Harding estate almost since she had learned to walk. ‘Good day to you, Miss Emma. Her ladyship will be delighted to learn that you have called, I am sure. If you will just step into the blue saloon—’

      ‘Oh, I don’t think her ladyship would have us bother with such formality, do you, Digby?’ Emma bestowed a dazzling smile on the butler. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to be announced.’ Laying her whip and gloves on the hall table and lifting the generous skirts of her blue velvet habit with both hands, Emma started to run lightly up the stairs. ‘I assume Lady Hardinge is in her sitting room?’

      ‘Why, yes, ma’am,’ the butler called up to the disappearing figure, ‘but her ladyship is—’

      Emma was not paying attention. She was much too keen to see her dearest friend again.

      She knocked quickly and entered the Countess’s sitting room without waiting for an invitation.

      Lady Hardinge was seated on the low chaise longue by the bay window, looking out across the lawn towards the oak tree. ‘Emma!’ she cried delightedly. She started to rise from her place, leaning heavily on the back to push herself up. After a second or two, she abandoned the effort and sank back into the cushions. ‘Forgive me, Emma. It is rather difficult to rise from this seat. You see—’

      Emma flew across the room to embrace her friend. They hugged for a long time. Eventually, Emma stood back and said, in a voice of concern, ‘Are you unwell, Jamie, that you cannot…?’ Her words trailed into nothing as her eyes came to rest on Jamie’s middle. ‘Oh. I see,’ she said, a little uncertainly, mentally calculating the months since she had last seen her friend. ‘You did not tell me you were increasing before you left.’ Emma regretted the words as soon as they were spoken. They sounded like an accusation.

      ‘No,’ agreed Jamie with a somewhat tired smile. ‘I didn’t—’ she reached for Emma’s hand ‘—because I wasn’t.’

      Emma looked at Jamie in disbelief. Surely she was at least six months gone?

      ‘The midwife in Brussels said it was twins,’ Jamie explained, ‘and, judging by how tired I feel—never mind the size of me—I think she must be right.’

      ‘Twins?’ Emma sat down quickly on the footstool by the chaise longue. ‘But—’

      Jamie patted Emma’s hand reassuringly. ‘I know it sounds rather frightening, but I’ve had time to get used to it now. And it’s not my first, remember…’

      Emma forced herself to return her friend’s smile. ‘Congratulations, Jamie. I should have said so at once, but I was so…you looked so…’

      Jamie laughed. ‘Richard was at a loss for words, too, when I told him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so…so stricken. I told him there was nothing to worry about. I’m as strong as a horse. And I say the same to you, Emma. Don’t worry. Please.’

      Emma squeezed Jamie’s hand. ‘I promise I’ll try not to. When is it…when are they due?’

      ‘Ah, now, that is more difficult. In the autumn, I think, but the midwife said twins are always early, often by several weeks. So, I don’t really know. Probably not before October.’

      Emma’s eyes opened wide. Jamie had sounded almost nonchalant. ‘I see,’ Emma said noncommittally. To be honest, she was not sure she really wanted to see at all. Marriage was bound to involve babies, of course, but it was such a dangerous business, besides being plaguey uncomfortable in the months before. Only a very special man would make it worth the pain and risk, in Emma’s view. Jamie and Richard were a special case—they adored each other. But to marry a man one did not love…

      Emma suddenly realised she had heard not a word of what her friend was saying. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. ‘Forgive me, Jamie,’ she said. ‘I was wool-gathering. What were you saying?’

      Jamie looked indulgently at her friend. ‘I was telling you about our trip. There is so much devastation, Emma, you would be horrified to see it. Houses and villages in ruins, people in rags and starving. And everywhere, mutilated men begging for a crust. We helped where we could but… Honestly, Emma, I wept sometimes at what I saw. Oh, I know we had to defeat that tyrant, but the cost was so much more than any of us could have imagined.’

      Emma nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said seriously. ‘The beggars are in England now, too, and it seems that very few of us are grateful for their sacrifice. Papa said he saw several of them being driven out of town only last week. He has taken one of them on as a stable hand, but he was unable to do much for the others, unfortunately. The money he gave them will not last all that long.’

      Jamie was silent for a space, thinking. ‘Your father is a good man,’ she said at last. ‘He cares for the weak.’ She looked up suddenly, her eyes alight. ‘We, too, have an extra hand in the stables now, a man to whom we owe a debt we can never repay. He helped save the life of Richard’s dearest friend. Richard was sure he was dead on the battlefield. I never told you—for Richard asked me not to speak of it—but we went to Brussels in hopes of finding the grave. Instead, we found… Well, suffice it to say that Richard is over the moon at what has happened. He says that just finding Hugo alive is more than he had dared to hope for. Against that, it matters not a whit that—’

      ‘Hugo? Hugo Stratton?’ cried Emma, jumping up from her stool and knocking it over in her haste to reach the door.

      ‘Why, yes,’ replied Jamie, puzzled.