to the kitchen and through to the terrace. As she began gathering up plates and cups she heard someone giggle.
Mr Churchill and Martine were talking under the shade of the old oak. Martine held a tray of uneaten fairy cakes and tarts in front of her – there weren’t many left, Emma noticed with satisfaction – and she looked as pretty and fresh now as she’d done two hours ago.
She turned away with a smile. Mr Churchill was an inveterate flirt, and very popular with the ladies. And he was nothing if not generous with his attentions.
He’d focused himself first on her, then Isabella – although Emma was sure there was something more between them than a mere flirtation – and now Martine, all in the space of scarcely two hours.
Emma’s smile faded. Although she liked James, and enjoyed his company immensely, she began to suspect she could never be happy with a man of such profligate attentions.
She could not – no, she
would
not – watch from the sidelines as he flirted and charmed his way through the female population of Litchfield.
Whomever she chanced to fall in love with, of one thing she was determined. She must be the first in his affections.
Perhaps it was best, Emma decided, to cease her own flirtation with Mr Churchill, no matter how harmless it might be, and instead focus her attentions elsewhere…on James and Martine, for instance.
She paused now at the sound of his laughter and turned to study the two of them. They made a handsome couple. Martine was young and pretty and vibrant, and Mr Churchill had an excess of charm, a pleasant nature, and striking good looks – not to mention Crossley Hall and an expensive car, all things sure to impress a young woman like Martine.
James was wealthy and settled, and he’d make the girl –
any
girl – a perfect husband. The only drawback to her newly hatched matchmaking scheme, Emma realised, was Mr Churchill himself. For if she transferred her attentions from him and manoeuvered Martine in his path instead, she’d undoubtedly rouse his suspicions and deflate his delicate male pride.
But the end justified the means, surely?
“There you are, Emma,” Mr Bennet said, interrupting her thoughts as she returned to the kitchen and began putting plates and cups into the sink to be washed. “Mrs Davies just called. She can’t pick Martine up as she’s not feeling well. Would you mind taking her home in a few minutes?”
“No, not at all.” Thoughtfully, she squirted dish detergent into the sink and filled it with hot water. “I’ll let the dishes soak and go and take care of it right now.”
She returned to the terrace and saw Martine and James still talking under the oak tree, and paused. Mrs Davies had just handed her a perfect way to nudge the two potential lovebirds closer together.
“Martine,” she called out as she went down the terrace steps to join them, “I’m so sorry, but your mum’s just called to say she can’t pick you up. She’s not feeling well.”
“Oh! Well, I’d best find a way home then, and right away. Poor mum.” The girl smiled apologetically at Emma. “Would you mind calling a taxi for me? I’d do it myself but I forgot to bring my phone.”
“Nonsense,” Emma said, her words brisk. “I’ll take you home, it’s the least I can do.” She cast a regretful look at the piles of dirtied dishes and glasses littering the tables and sighed. “This mess will just have to wait.”
“I won’t hear of it, Emma,” Mr Churchill told her firmly. “You and your father have far too much to do. I’d be happy to take Martine home.”
Martine regarded him in surprise. “You would, sir? But I-I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“Why not? I don’t mind in the least.”
“Thank you,” Emma said gratefully. Just as she’d hoped, Mr Churchill had played right into her plans. “How very kind. I’d take her myself, but…” She sighed and glanced once again at the plates and cups and crumpled napkins piled up
Mr Churchill and Martine were talking under the shade of the old oak. Martine held a tray of uneaten fairy cakes and tarts in front of her – there weren’t many left, Emma noticed with satisfaction – and she looked as pretty and fresh now as she’d done two hours ago.
She turned away with a smile. Mr Churchill was an inveterate flirt, and very popular with the ladies. And he was nothing if not generous with his attentions.
He’d focused himself first on her, then Isabella – although Emma was sure there was something more between them than a mere flirtation – and now Martine, all in the space of scarcely two hours.
Emma’s smile faded. Although she liked James, and enjoyed his company immensely, she began to suspect she could never be happy with a man of such profligate attentions.
She could not – no, she
would
not – watch from the sidelines as he flirted and charmed his way through the female population of Litchfield.
Whomever she chanced to fall in love with, of one thing she was determined. She must be the first in his affections.
Perhaps it was best, Emma decided, to cease her own flirtation with Mr Churchill, no matter how harmless it might be, and instead focus her attentions elsewhere…on James and Martine, for instance.
She paused now at the sound of his laughter and turned to study the two of them. They made a handsome couple. Martine was young and pretty and vibrant, and Mr Churchill had an excess of charm, a pleasant nature, and striking good looks – not to mention Crossley Hall and an expensive car, all things sure to impress a young woman like Martine.
James was wealthy and settled, and he’d make the girl –
any
girl – a perfect husband. The only drawback to her newly hatched matchmaking scheme, Emma realised, was Mr Churchill himself. For if she transferred her attentions from him and manoeuvered Martine in his path instead, she’d undoubtedly rouse his suspicions and deflate his delicate male pride.
But the end justified the means, surely?
“There you are, Emma,” Mr Bennet said, interrupting her thoughts as she returned to the kitchen and began putting plates and cups into the sink to be washed. “Mrs Davies just called. She can’t pick Martine up as she’s not feeling well. Would you mind taking her home in a few minutes?”
“No, not at all.” Thoughtfully, she squirted dish detergent into the sink and filled it with hot water. “I’ll let the dishes soak and go and take care of it right now.”
She returned to the terrace and saw Martine and James still talking under the oak tree, and paused. Mrs Davies had just handed her a perfect way to nudge the two potential lovebirds closer together.
“Martine,” she called out as she went down the terrace steps to join them, “I’m so sorry, but your mum’s just called to say she can’t pick you up. She’s not feeling well.”
“Oh! Well, I’d best find a way home then, and right away. Poor mum.” The girl smiled apologetically at Emma. “Would you mind calling a taxi for me? I’d do it myself but I forgot to bring my phone.”
“Nonsense,” Emma said, her words brisk. “I’ll take you home, it’s the least I can do.” She cast a regretful look at the piles of dirtied dishes and glasses littering the tables and sighed. “This mess will just have to wait.”
“I won’t hear of it, Emma,” Mr Churchill told her firmly. “You and your father have far too much to do. I’d be happy to take Martine home.”
Martine regarded him in surprise. “You would, sir? But I-I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“Why not? I don’t mind in the least.”
“Thank you,” Emma said gratefully. Just as she’d hoped, Mr Churchill had played right into her plans. “How very kind. I’d take her myself, but…” She sighed and glanced once again at the plates and cups and crumpled napkins piled up
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