Page 94 of The Summer Country

Mrs. Davenant gave a dry laugh. “Scotland is in Barbados. It’s a portion of the parish of St. Andrew.”

“It’s not terribly far.” Ever chivalrous, George jumped in to save Emily’s pride. “It’s considered a great place for a picnic. It’s very picturesque. We could ride there next week if you like.”

“If we took the carriage, Laura and Adam could come,” suggested Emily. “What do you think, Laura? You could bring your sketchbook.”

“The terrain is rugged and wild,” Mrs. Davenant said. “You’ll do better to go on horseback.”

“You can sketch it for me,” said Laura, adding, as a precaution, “In words.”

“I can draw a straight line,” protested Emily, feeling an inexplicable surge of relief, as though she’d been forgiven for a trespass she hadn’t realized she’d committed.

“Yes,” agreed Laura, looking more herself than Emily had seen her in weeks. “It’s only all the other ones that are the problem.”

“I was the despair of our drawing master,” Emily confessed to George.

“But the French mistress adored you,” said Laura. “And that poor woman who tried to teach us geography.”

She smiled across the table at Emily, and Emily smiled back, feeling as though the last few months had disappeared and they were themselves again.

“I’ll bring you back flowers to press,” she promised. “And you can come next time.”

Emily approached Adam after dinner, when the men had returned to the great room after the ritual passing of the port. They seldom lingered over their tipple; Adam found George tedious and George preferred the company of the ladies. “Will you come to Scotland?”

“Are you afraid young Davenant intends to make his intentions plain?” Emily frowned at him; George was just on the other side of the room, turning the pages while Laura played the pianoforte. Adam held up his hands. “Don’t look to me. I have a meeting in town.”

“Surely, you can do without your visit to the icehouse for one day!”

“I’m not going to the icehouse! I have a meeting with a man named Montefiore. He’s a merchant.” Adam’s mouth twisted. “I know what you think of me, coz, but believe me, this is business, not pleasure.”

“What sort of business?” Emily asked suspiciously.

“Fenty and Company business.” Lowering his voice, Adam said, “London Turner hasn’t renewed his contract. I’m sure—well, he says it’s just waiting for his clerks to produce the documents, but don’t you think if he wanted the documents ready they’d have been ready by now? I don’t know if he’s just enjoying making me cool my heels or if he has other irons in the fire.”

Emily glanced over her shoulder. George and Laura were lost in their music. But Mrs. Davenant was watching them. “I suspect the former.”

“But what if it’s not? What if he’s seen his chance to strike a better bargain elsewhere? I’ve been searching out other business. This man Montefiore isn’t as big a fish as Turner, but he’s a man of some property, with warehouses in town. If Turner leaves us empty-handed, it would be something to take home to Papa.” Adam tugged at his cravat pin, looking like the boy he had once been. “I can’t go back and tell them I’ve made a hash of everything.”

Emily put a hand on his arm. “You haven’t made a hash of everything.”

“Haven’t I? I insulted Turner’s nephew. He hasn’t forgiven that. If someone had only told me . . . But never mind. I’m determined to make it right.”

“Would you like me to speak to Dr. Braithwaite?” She certainly knew where to find him on Thursdays.

“No! That is, I mean, it wouldn’t do any good. I don’t believe Turner lets his nephew have anything to do with his business. Truly, Emily. Don’t meddle. This is my own mess. I need to fix it myself.”

“All right, then.” It had been a long time since they had spoken so frankly with each other, as they used to. It was on the tip of Emily’s tongue to tell him about the ledger and their grandparents’ marriage—but what would Adam think? Would he look at her differently if she wasn’t their grandfather’s grandchild?

“Do I have a spot on my chin?” Adam demanded. “You’re staring like you’ve never seen me before.”

Emily shook her head and said the first thing that came to mind. “Is Laura with child?”

Adam looked at her incredulously. “That’s my Emily, delicate and tactful.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was a relief to focus on something so relatively simple, to allow herself the luxury of hurt feelings.

Adam waved a hand. “Laura said she didn’t want you fussing over her.”

“I don’t fuss,” Emily protested. She looked over her shoulder at Laura, ethereal in the light of the candles in their brackets on either side of the pianoforte. “She should be drinking beef tea to build up her blood. Can you tell her? It doesn’t need to have come from me.”