Marrying The Major. Joanna Maitland

her ungainly bulk out of the chaise longue. By the time she had regained her feet, Emma was gone.

      Emma raced across the lawn, berating herself at every step. How could she have failed to recognise Hugo Stratton, the man whose wickedly smiling face had haunted her girlish dreams for months on end? The identity of the stranger had burst upon Emma like an exploding star the moment Jamie had mentioned his name…

      The little group was still sitting under the oak tree. Emma smiled to herself, deliberately slowing her pace to a more ladylike walk. How apt that they should meet again under an oak, even if not the same one. Emma had climbed Richard’s oak, too, many and many a time when they were children. She knew it almost as well as she knew her own.

      And much better than she knew Hugo Stratton.

      What on earth was she going to say to him?

      Emma gulped. Would he recognise her? She was a fine lady now, nothing like the grubby little brat he had generously allowed to tease him. She had been a mere child when Hugo left to join the army. To be honest, there was absolutely no reason why he should remember her at all, especially after all he had been through. And yet…

      As Emma neared the little group, she saw that Dickon was now sound asleep in his father’s arms. Richard looked proud and happy—and just a mite self-satisfied, too. Hugo was talking quietly to Richard, his back towards Emma. It seemed that neither was aware of her approach.

      She hesitated. Then, noticing the enquiring look thrown at her by the nursemaid, she lifted her head a notch and marched across the lawn, arms swinging, skirts trailing unheeded on the warm grass.

      ‘Why, Richard…’ she began.

      Richard, Earl Hardinge, rose to his feet in a single athletic movement, the child in his arms cradled snugly all the while. He smiled broadly, nodding sideways towards the nursemaid to come and relieve him of his son. He did not speak until he had carefully transferred his burden to her waiting arms. Even then, he still whispered.

      ‘Emma. How wonderful to see you so soon. I had planned to call tomorrow…’

      Richard’s words were cut off as Emma threw her arms round his neck and kissed him heartily on the cheek. ‘I could not wait to see you both…no, all three of you.’ As Emma spoke, she became conscious that she had not included Hugo in that number—and that Hugo had not risen to meet her. Intrigued, she turned around.

      Hugo was struggling to stand up, pushing an ebony cane into the soft turf in an effort to gain a purchase for his weak legs. His head was still bent, but Emma could see from the heightened colour on his neck how much the effort was costing him. How awful for him. He had been gravely wounded, clearly—Richard had thought him dead—and he was still not fully recovered. The explanation was simple enough—and obvious now she stopped to think about it. Probably it would be best to pretend that nothing was amiss.

      Emma fixed her friendliest smile on her lips and waited for Hugo to regain his balance. When, at last, he seemed to have overcome his weakness, she began, cheerily, ‘You may not remember me, Hugo, but I certainly remember the last time we met. I owe you a debt of gratitude for not betraying my presence to a certain mutual friend of ours—’ she turned back to grin conspiratorially at Richard ‘—a friend who fails to understand the significance of apple cores.’

      ‘I remember you very well indeed, Miss Fitzwilliam, and I was happy to be of service.’

      His tone was flat and formal. And his use of her full name struck Emma almost like a blow. She whirled back round to look at this man who was so quick to reject the easy friendship she was offering.

      Emma could not suppress an audible gasp. If only she had been prepared…

      Hugo Stratton was nothing like the memory she had treasured. Gone was the handsome, eager young man who had smiled up into her favourite oak tree. Under his obviously new civilian clothes, this Hugo Stratton was thin and pinched, so weak that he could not stand upright without the help of a stick. The profile she had seen earlier was lined, right enough—but the lines were clearly lines of pain, not of joy or laughter. And, on the left profile that had been hidden from her, a thin purple scar ran from forehead to chin, bisecting his eyebrow and his cheek and continuing down below his collar. Heaven alone knew what damage lay below.

      He stared her out. And he did not smile.

      Emma swallowed hard and bowed her head politely, desperately trying to disguise the horror she instinctively felt. It was a full thirty seconds before she felt able to say, ‘How do you do, Mr Stratton?’

      Chapter Two

      ‘I am so glad you have met Major Stratton again, Emma, since he will be staying with us for a time—while he recovers his strength.’ Jamie was sitting on a high spoon-back chair in the first-floor drawing room, dispensing tea from a fluted silver pot and looking hopefully at her inarticulate guests.

      Richard carried a cup to Emma with an encouraging smile. But Emma still could not bring herself to speak again. Out on the lawn, she had wished for the ground to open and swallow her up. Now her feet were resting on a priceless Aubusson carpet, but the feeling was the same. She stared at the delicate pattern, willing it to slide back beneath her chair.

      The strained silence continued while Richard ferried tea to his friend, who was seated rather awkwardly on the sofa with his cane propped up beside him. His left leg did not seem to bend very well at the knee.

      ‘Hugo—’ began Richard.

      ‘Major Stratton—’ said Jamie at the same moment.

      Richard and Jamie broke off and grinned at each other, quite unabashed. Richard made a very grand bow, indicating that his wife should go first.

      ‘Ignore him, both of you,’ Jamie said. ‘He’s play-acting. Fancies himself to be dressed in a wasp-waisted satin coat and buckled shoes with red heels, making a leg like the veriest macaroni.’

      Richard contrived to look pained. ‘Nothing of the sort, wife,’ he said. ‘I was merely conceding the precedence that you have so often informed me is your due.’

      His face was such a mixture of innocence and mischief that Emma found herself laughing along with Jamie.

      But Hugo did not join in, Emma noticed. He seemed to have withdrawn into himself. And his tea sat untouched by his hand.

      Emma decided then that it was up to her to make the attempt to draw him out. After all, her total want of manners had been the cause of severe embarrassment to Hugo. She must stop thinking about how badly she felt. Hugo’s position was surely far, far worse.

      ‘I am sure you will make excellent progress here, Major Stratton,’ Emma said, trying to infuse her voice with as much warmth as she could. ‘I know at first hand what attentive hosts Richard and Jamie can be. And the estate is a delight in summer.’

      Hugo turned his head to look directly at Emma. There seemed to be a challenge in that look. It seemed, somehow, familiar. Now that she was beginning to see beyond his terrible scars, she could at last recognise something of the young man she had remembered so vividly. His hair was still glossy and dark, his eyes still gleamed like polished steel, and his generous mouth still looked as if it might smile at any moment. But it did not. And his eyes remained hard as they swept over Emma’s figure. Emma detected not the slightest sign of approval of what he saw. Probably he favoured taller women…or brunettes.

      ‘I am sure you are right, Miss Fitzwilliam,’ replied Hugo at last, ‘especially about Lady Hardinge’s hospitality, for which I am most grateful. As to the estate, I shall do my best, but as I am unable to ride or to walk very far, I doubt I shall see all that much of it.’

      Emma was suddenly quite sure that Hugo was relishing her discomfiture. Embarrassment vanished, to be replaced by an unwonted surge of anger. How dared he? He obviously thought his wounds gave him licence to behave outrageously. Well—she would show him.

      Emma smiled dangerously. ‘I am sure that, with time and Lady Hardinge’s care,