“Everything is fine.” Well, except for the fact Claudia couldn’t stop lusting after her new friend and employer. She took hold of Emily’s hand and gave it a squeeze of reassurance. “We needed to take the country air to clear our minds. Isn’t that right, Mr Lockhart?”
The sinful-looking gentleman at her side nodded. “Town can be stifling.”
Dariell eyed them suspiciously before saying, “And your trip, it was successful? Everyone believes you are married?”
Hudson’s arrogant grin stretched from ear to ear. “Our acting abilities would put any skilled thespian to shame.” He glanced at Claudia. His brown eyes held the same look of restless longing she’d witnessed earlier in the carriage. “Except, of course, we hope our story will not meet a tragic end.”
“No,” Dariell mused. “I think it will be far from a tragedy.”
“What do you think of our picnic?” Emily gestured to the beautiful scene that looked like a home for Titania, queen of the fairies. “Isn’t it splendid?”
Claudia considered casting Dariell a look of reproach but found she couldn’t be angry with him, not when his ridiculous idea had brought Emily such joy. Perhaps it wasn’t a ridiculous idea after all. Perhaps it was rather romantic. The Frenchman had clearly gone to an awful lot of trouble.
“Monsieur Dariell’s efforts have produced excellent results,” Claudia said by way of praise.
The Frenchman slapped his hand over his heart. “I’m afraid I cannot take all the credit, madame.”
“No,” Emily interjected, struggling to contain her excitement. “I’m responsible for decorating the pillars with ivy and roses.”
“Then you’ve done a remarkable job.” Guilt gnawed away at Claudia’s insides. Was she just like their father when it came to doubting Emily’s abilities?
Did nothing faze Monsieur Dariell? No doubt he’d have Emily climbing mountains, swimming in streams, dancing around the maypole and riding bareback across open country.
“There is food aplenty,” Dariell said. “Join us.”
Hudson cast Claudia a sidelong glance. “I am rather hungry after the journey. And we should make the most of being outdoors before the storm breaks.”
Conflicting emotions made it difficult to make a decision. Things felt different at Falaura Glen. Emily had survived for two whole days without falling foul to her affliction. No, she hadn’t just survived. Under Dariell’s expert tutorage, she had thrived. And while Emily had found her inner spark, being home reminded Claudia that the warm feeling filling her chest was an illusion. Part of a complicated charade.
She was about to suggest they all return to the house when Hudson placed his hand on her back. “We must eat. We have a long drive to town tomorrow, and there’s much to do.”
Finding the strength to give him a half smile, she said, “Of course.”
He led her past the brazier and into the rotunda tent. If not Titania’s home it might be that of an exotic prince, a haven on his long trek through the desert. Taking a seat next to Emily on the chaise, Claudia watched Hudson Lockhart plate a selection of cured meats and plum chutney, a chunk of cheese and fresh bread.
He offered Claudia the plate after insisting on playing host, and then bent his head and whispered, “You seem different now you’re home.”
“Different?” Fearful would be the appropriate word. In such a short space of time, she had lost sight of her identity. Yes, she was the unmarried mistress of Falaura Glen, and yet somewhere deep inside she longed to be the wife of Hudson Lockhart. “Being home just makes me realise we’re from different worlds.”
Emily cleared her throat and came to her feet. “Excuse me while I assist Monsieur Dariell.” Emily navigated her way around the chaise. Dariell reached out to her and Emily’s hand slipped into his as easily as if she were blessed with sight. Without a word, Dariell drew her towards the brazier.
“We’re not from different worlds,” Hudson protested once Emily was out of earshot. “I despise pomp and ceremony and have always craved a simple existence.”
Claudia glanced back at the house. “There is nothing simple about running a home when one is short of funds.” Equally, she had come to realise there was something more than money missing from her life. Her fake marriage to Mr Lockhart had given her a glimpse of the intimacy a man and woman might share.
“Am I not helping you to rectify that problem?”
“Helping me? Am I not the one supporting you?” The sudden urge to argue came upon her like an errant devil. “Have I not embraced my role in order to help you settle your grievances?”
“You have gone over and above what is expected.”
His compliment roused her ire for no reason at all. What was she hoping to prove by challenging him? That he cared? That he was struggling to separate fantasy from reality, too?
“This agreement is to our mutual benefit,” he continued, confusion evident in his tone. “You said so yourself.” Frown lines appeared on his brow. “What is this really about?”
A host of reasons flooded her mi
nd. It was about the fact he could kiss her so rampantly, forget it so easily. It was about him telling her she could keep her wedding ring once he’d severed their connection. It was about the desperate yearning, the desperate ache for him that could not be tempered. Indeed, she was ready to pick up every damnable excuse to be angry and hurl them at him in the hope of seeing a flicker of pain.