Love's Way by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

notice the striking picture they made, the fair young beauty and the tall, dark, dangerous-looking man.
    “We’re off then,” Gamble said suddenly, arising.
    “My bags aren’t packed,” Emily told him, and laughed.
    “We’ll have them sent for tomorrow,” he answered, so eager to get her away that she would be going to bed in her petticoat. It was noticed as well that the things would be sent for, not even picked up in person. One would think we were running an inn.
    I suppose the minor point must be conceded that Mr. Gamble had some latent, under-developed notions of propriety. He turned and thanked us for having entertained Emily before leaving, which is more than the hussy herself bothered to do. Neither of them made any mention of calling on us, or invited us to visit them.
    “What do you make of that performance?” I asked Edward, after they had gone.
    “He didn’t seem so bad. I cannot imagine why Emily was so frightened of him.”
    “Frightened? Bah, she’s no more frightened of him than I am, the hussy. Have you proposed to her at last?”
    “Oh no. He asked me what my intentions were, you know, and that is how he came to be asking how I would support her, but I did not commit myself.”
    Nora, having observed their exit from the top of the stairs, came tripping in to hear what we could add in the way of visual details. She allowed it to be “odd”, and with a little encouragement “very odd indeed”. Edward hunched his shoulders and went out to look at the moon. He was creating an epic on a vestal virgin which I had thought referred to Emily, but it turned out to be the moon instead.
    The only soul in the neighbourhood who shared my sense of pique at the treatment we received from them was Tom Carrick, when he came calling the next morning, and it was only Gamble he would allow to be at grievous fault. “You don’t want anything to do with them,” he said in his righteous way. “There’s bad blood in the family, always was, always will be. The old lord drinks like a fish. Gamble is a confirmed libertine, and the gel sounds little better than a flirt, when all’s said and done. They will deal well together.’’
    “What—do you think he is interested in her in a romantic way?”
    “Probably. He will inherit it all one of these days. The old lord will push for a match. The best thing for all concerned.”
     

Chapter Five
     
    For forty-eight hours we heard nothing further of Lady Emily. I ascertained while at the bank getting some money for Edward that our mortgage had not been taken over by Wingdale. Captain Wingdale had some men installing a gaudy, ugly set of arms on a hanging sign outside his inn. It looked familiar. I shall see if I can discover whose arms he has borrowed, for I doubt the Wingdales possess any.
    Edward kept us hopping at home preparing the linens and ninety-nine other items required for a walking trip of a month’s duration. His companions in the walk came out one evening to discuss the enterprise, but ended up boring Nora and myself to yawns with their poetic foolishness. Each had to recite his latest creation, you know, all sounding very much like each other, and like bad Wordsworth. Nora at least got three inches of netting accomplished; I got nothing but a slight headache from worrying about what was transpiring at the Hall. Tom’s remark had worried me. Emily was a bit of a rogue, but not rogue enough to deserve a libertine like Gamble.
    After the company left, I said to Edward, “Don’t you think you should go up to the Hall and see if Emily is all right?”
    “She is fine. Fergie mentioned seeing her in the village—in high spirits he said. I shall go to say goodbye, however, before I leave.”
    Departure was still three days away. By dint of frequent repetition, I got a promise from him to go the next day. In the interim, we were not completely bereft of news from that quarter, for anyone who dropped by had a fresh rumour.
    “They do say he’s brought